ZAITSEV (aside). What a beauty! (To her.) Madam, there is no station master. The oaf is fast asleep. What can I do for you? May I be of service?
ZINOCHKA. This is dreadful, dreadful! The bedbugs are about to eat me alive!
ZAITSEV. Really? Bedbugs? Ah . . . how dare they?
ZINOCHKA (through tears). In short, it is dreadful! I’m going to leave at once! Tell that scoundrel of a station master to harness the horses! The bedbugs have drained me of my blood!
ZAITSEV. Poor creature! To be so beautiful, and have to put up with this . . . No, it is beyond belief!
ZINOCHKA (shouts). Station master!
ZAITSEV. Madam . . . mademoiselle . . .
ZINOCHKA. I’m not a mademoiselle . . . I’m married.
ZAITSEV. All the better . . . (Aside.) What a sweetheart! (To her.) What I mean is, not having the honor to know your name, madam, and being in my own turn a well-brought-up, respectable person, I venture to put myself at your disposal . . . I can alleviate your distress . . .
ZINOCHKA. How so?
ZAITSEV. I have an excellent remedy—I always travel with flea powder . . . Allow me to offer it to you most cordially, from the bottom of my heart!
ZINOCHKA. Ah, please do!
ZAITSEV. In that case, I shall immediately . . . this very minute . . . I’ll get it out of my suitcase. (Runs to the suitcase and rummages around in it.) What sparkling eyes, that little nose . . . We’ll have an affair! I can feel it! (Rubbing his hands.) That’s always been my luck: as soon as I hole up in some posting station, there’s an affair . . . So lovely that even my eyes are shooting sparks . . . Here it is! (Comes back to the door.) Here it is, come to your rescue . . .
ZINOCHKA holds out her hand from behind the door.
No, allow me to go into your room and sprinkle it around . . .
ZINOCHKA. No, no . . . How can I let you into my room?
ZAITSEV. Why can’t you? There’s nothing more normal, especially since . . . especially since I’m a doctor, and doctors and ladies’ hairdressers are always entitled to intrude into private life . . .
ZINOCHKA. You’re not lying when you say you’re a doctor? Honestly?
ZAITSEV. Word of honor!
ZINOCHKA. Well, if you are a doctor . . . then please do . . . Only why should I put you to any trouble? I can send my husband for it . . . Fedya! Fedya! Will you wake up, you great lummox!
GUSEV’s voice: “Huh?”
Come in here, the doctor’s been kind enough to lend us some flea powder. (Retires from view.)
ZAITSEV. Fedya! “This big surprise I greet with thanks!”4 I need this Fedya like a hole in the head! Damn him! No sooner do I manage to get to know her, no sooner do I come up with the brilliant idea of saying I’m a doctor, then all of a sudden there’s this Fedya . . . It’s like shoving me under a cold shower . . . Try and get any flea powder from me! There’s nothing lovely about her . . . No great catch, with that funny kisser . . . not one thing or the other . . . I can’t stand women like that!
GUSEV (in a dressing gown and nightcap). Pleased to meet you, doctor . . . My wife just told me that you’ve got some flea powder.
ZAITSEV (rudely). Yes I do!
GUSEV. Be so kind as to lend us a little. That insectlopedia5 has got the better of us . . .
ZAITSEV. Take it!
GUSEV. Thank you kindly . . . Much obliged to you. So you got caught on the road by the snowstorm as well?
ZAITSEV. Yes!
GUSEV. Quite so, sir . . . Dreadful weather . . . Where are you headed?
ZAITSEV. To town.
GUSEV. We’re going to town as well. Tomorrow I’ve got my work cut out for me in town, I have to get a good night’s sleep, but that insectlopedia won’t let me . . . We’ve got the most awful hideous scorpions . . . If it were up to me, I’d indict all these station masters for their bedbugs under Statute one hundred and twenty of the Penal Code enforced by the circuit courts in regard to unleashed animals. Much obliged to you, doctor . . . And what diseases you do specialize in?
ZAITSEV. Chest ailments and . . . and heads.
GUSEV. Quite so, sir . . . Much obliged . . . (Exits.)
ZAITSEV (alone). What a stick insect! If it were up to me, I’d douse him from head to foot with flea powder. I’d like to beat him at cards, the scum, and leave him holding the bag ten times running! Or even better, play him at billiards and accidentally whack him with the cue, so he’d remember me for a week . . . That blob instead a nose, little blue veins all over his face, that wart on his forehead and . . . and on top of that he dares to have a wife like her! What right has he got? It’s an outrage! No, it’s really nasty . . . And then people ask why I take such a gloomy view of life? Well, try and keep from being a pessimist!
GUSEV (in the doorway). Don’t be shy, Zinochka . . . After all, he is a doctor! Don’t stand on ceremony and ask him . . . There’s nothing to be afraid of . . . Sherventsov was no good, but maybe this one will be . . . (To Zaitsev.) Excuse me, Doctor, for disturbing you . . . Please tell me why my wife has this congestion in her chest? A cough, you know . . . congests, as if, you know, something were impacted . . . Why is that?
ZAITSEV. It’s a long story . . . It takes time to explain . . .
GUSEV. Then what are we waiting for? I’ve got the time . . . We can’t sleep anyway. Give her the once-over, my dear fellow!
ZAITSEV (aside). I’m in a pickle for sure!
GUSEV (shouts). Zina! Ah, what’s the matter with you, honestly . . . (To him.) She’s shy . . . Introverted, just like me . . . Modesty’s a fine thing, but why take it to extremes? To be shy with the doctor when you’re ill is the worst thing for you.
ZINOCHKA (enters). Honestly, I’m so embarrassed . . .
GUSEV. That’ll do, that’ll do . . . (To him.) I ought to mention that she’s being treated by Sherventsov. He’s all right, a nice guy, sharp as a tack, knows what he’s doing, but . . . who knows? I don’t trust him! He doesn’t have heart, no matter what you say! I can see, Doctor, that you’re not in the mood, but do be so kind!
ZAITSEV. I . . . I’m not against it . . . I don’t mind . . . (Aside.) What a predicament!
GUSEV. You examine her, and meanwhile I’ll drop in on the station master and order up a little samovar . . . (Exits.)
ZAITSEV. Please have a seat . . .
She sits.
How old are you?
ZINOCHKA. Twenty-two.
ZAITSEV. Hm . . . A dangerous age. Let me feel your pulse! (Takes her pulse.) Hm . . . M-yes . . .