Plays 6

by Tom Murphy

  Lyubov Dunyasha, offer the musicians some tea. Have we chosen the right evening to have our ball?! Never mind. (And she’s singing again to herself.)

  Charlotta Here is a deck of cards!

  Pishchik What’s that!

  Charlotta My darlink, dotey, peachy, Herr Pishchik, think of a card.

  Lyubov Yes, Charlotta!

  Charlotta Have you thought of one?

  Pishchik I have.

  Charlotta Now, shuffle the deck and give it back to me. Very good, you are an expert. Eins, zwei, drei! And the card is . . . (Pretends puzzlement.) Herr Pishchik, will you look in your side pocket?

  Pishchik (produces the card; astonished) Eight of spades: it’s absolutely true!

  Lyubov Bravo, Charlotta! (And others applaud.)

  Charlotta (with the deck of cards on the palm of her hand; to Petya) Name the top card?

  Petya The-the-the-the –

  Charlotta Quickly!

  Petya The Queen of spades!

  Charlotta And it is! (To Pishchik.) Now, what is the top card?

  Pishchik Ace of hearts!

  Charlotta The lady’s done it again! (She claps her two hands on the pack and the pack disappears. Now a languid pose?) Oh, the heat, the heat, this night!

  Voice (seductive, as from under the floorboards, answers) Vat wery varm veather, madame?

  Charlotta Hot. So nice, so warm, quite my ideal, the heat inspires me.

  Voice And I am wery font of you too, madame.

  Applause, laughter, etc., together with.

  Stationmaster Bravo, Madame Ventriloquist!

  Pishchik ‘And I am wery’ – Did you ever!

  Petya (giggling without knowing why, slaps Pishchik on the back) Giddy-up, horse!

  Pishchik I’m madly in love with her!

  Charlotta L-o-o-o-ve? Are you ca-pa-ble? Guter Mensch, aber schlechter Musikant! (‘A good person, but a bad musician’. Sexual overtones. Now she claps her hands.) Mesdames et Messieurs, attention s’il-vous-plait! – Achtung! One last trick. (She has taken a rug off a chair.) Here is a very good rug, I want to sell it! (Shakes it, holds it open.) What am I bid for it?

  Pishchik (rapt, fascinated: to himself) What am I?

  Charlotta This is a special rug, will no one buy it? . . . Eins, zwei, drei! (Quickly lifting the curtain-rug.)

  And Anya is standing there. She curtsies and runs to her mother to kiss her. (In a moment she will run off to the ballroom again.) Applause.

  Pishchik Well, I never!

  Charlotta And again!

  Lyubov Yes, more!

  Charlotta Eins, zwei, drei!

  The same trick and Varya stands revealed. She bows.

  Charlotta The end! (She throws the rug over Pishchik, curtsies and skips off.)

  Pishchik What a! What a rascal! (Following/chasing Charlotta.) Eins, zwei, drei . . .

  Lyubov Still no Leonid, still no Leonid, I don’t understand it, what can be delaying him? The auction surely would have happened hours ago, either the estate’s been sold or it hasn’t.

  Varya Uncle has bought it, I just know it. (Hands in prayer to heaven.)

  Petya (mocking) Oh – God! – She just knows it.

  Lyubov Why are we being kept in the dark?

  Varya The power-of-attorney from auntie to buy it in her name and transfer the mortgage.

  Lyubov With the fifteen thousand she sent us? That isn’t even enough to – (She clicks her fingers.) And to buy ‘the property’ in her name. How our doting Yaroslavl auntie loves us!

  Petya (to Varya) God replies?

  Lyubov Today my fate is being decided, my fate.

  Petya Madam Lopakhin?

  Varya You’ve been dismissed from university twice! Students are meant to be clever, not smart!

  Lyubov Why are you so angry, Varya?! He’s only teasing you about Lopakhin – What of it?! Be serious! If you want to marry Lopakhin, marry him, if you don’t, don’t! No one is forcing you, my dear! (Then.) I just don’t understand this delay. It means something, I tell you.

  Varya I am serious, Mamochka – Lyubov Then marry him!

  Varya (tearful) I can’t propose to him myself.

  Lyubov I don’t understand people – shilly-shallying!

  Varya He’s too busy getting richer! Well, d’you know what: if I had some money, ever so little, I’d leave here now, this minute, and go far away – yes, to a nunnery.

  Petya And it would be bliss!

  Varya (would like to hit him with her fist, but she switches to pitying, plaintive retaliation) How old you look, Peter. How plain, ugly and thin. (New tone.) But I must do my work: I work and I love it. Now what have I to do?

  Yasha comes in, highly amused, to cross the room.

  Yasha Yepikhodov has managed to break a billiard cue! (And he continues off, laughing.)

  Varya Yepikhodov, our clerk, is playing billiards – Who allowed him? Or! – (Indicating the departed Yasha. She leaves busily to deal with the matter.) I don’t understand some people . . .

  Lyubov Don’t tease her, Petya, the girl has griefs enough already.

  Petya Then let her mind her own business. She hasn’t let me or Anya alone all summer. She’s afraid of an – affaire: ‘There is something going on between them, I tell you.’ Have I shown any semblance of ‘something going on’? Vulgar sentimentality. Anya and I are above love.

  Lyubov Then I must be beneath it. (She’s off again, worried.) Where-is-Leonid? Calamities are happening and I do not even know what I should be thinking. Am I lost, are we all lost? Talk to me, Peter, or I shall – scream – or do something foolish. Talk to me – speak – about anything!

  Petya Be calm. Does it make a difference whether it’s been sold today or not? It was finished, done for, long ago. And all paths back are overgrown. Stop denying it. For once in your life, Lyubov Andreyevna, look truth in the face.

  Lyubov Truth? You see where it is and where it isn’t and I have lost my sight? It’s easy to have the answers when you haven’t yet had time to suffer through the questions. You –

  Petya I’ve suffered! I’ve –

  Lyubov My dear, my dear! You look ahead, boldly, with your young eyes, because you don’t know that life is going to frighten you: you don’t expect it: it’s still hidden, waiting. You are deeper, bolder, honester than us – you are. But don’t be proud. Be – generous? If only that much? (‘A little’: space between thumb and forefinger. She smiles, a grin born of fear.) After all, this is my house, I was born here. My father, my grandfather. I love my cherry orchard and, right now I cannot begin to conceive of life without it. (And a laugh.) And if it really has to be sold, well then, sell me along with it.

  She kisses him on the forehead, embraces him. (As in Act One, he is stiff/awkward in response to an embrace?)

  . . . Yes. And my son drowned here. (Wipes away a tear, smiles.) Have pity, my dear young good philosopher.

  Petya Lyubov Andreyevna Ranyevskaya, be assured of my unvarnished and sincere sympathy.

  Lyubov Ah, but not like that. Differently, you should say it differently. (She has taken out her handkerchief at some point and, with it, a telegram.) Don’t judge me. My heart is heavy today. And it’s been so noisy here. And I don’t want silence . . . I love you like one of my own, Peter, I’d gladly allow Anya to marry you. Gladly. But you must finish something, whatever it is you are studying now, you must get your degree. Because, this – Fate – of yours that you talk about, that you welcome, is just blowing you about from pillar to post. Isn’t it true? You do nothing. But isn’t it? Hmm? Petya? And you really must-do-something with that beard of yours to make it grow. (And she laughs.) Oh you’re such a funny little fellow. (The telegram slips off her lap.)

  Petya (picks it up for her) I’m not going to be a dandy or a cheat.

  Lyubov I get one every day now. (Telegram.) The wild thing has fallen ill again. He’s begging my help. Peter, you’re becoming like Varya with that serious face . . . But what can I do?! He’s ill, he’s unhappy. Who is t
here to look after him, stop him doing stupid things or give him his medicine on time? He’s alone now, this minute. Oh, why hide it, I love the so-an-so. It’s a stone around my neck and it’s taking me to the bottom but I-love-that-stone. And I cannot live without it. (She takes his hand.) You’re thinking badly of me, but don’t say anything to me now.

  Petya Lyubov Andreyevna, forgive me, but he robbed you of everything you had.

  Lyubov No he didn’t.

  Petya He’s a cheat, a miserable –

  Lyubov You mustn’t say such things –

  Petya Good-for-nothing scoundrel –

  Lyubov You mustn’t speak of him like that –

  Petya Out-and-out, a nonentity! And you’re the only one refusing to see it!

  Lyubov Oh? (Containing her temper.) And you are – What age are you?

  Petya I’m – Maybe!

  Lyubov And you’re like a schoolboy.

  Petya I’m – What if I am?!

  Lyubov You should fall in love! A man of your age! And maybe then you’d understand something. (Angry.) Yes! And you’re not pure: you just like the idea of it. Like all the other nonsense you carry about in your head. Ridiculous little freak – prude – crank!

  Petya (shocked) What’re you saying?

  Lyubov ‘I am above love’! You’re not above love, you’re just as our Firs would put it, a bungle-arse simpleton!

  Petya . . . I’m leaving.

  Lyubov Ridiculous little monster. (But she’s containing herself again.)

  Petya I’m leaving this minute.

  Lyubov Not to have a lover at your age.

  Petya It’s all over between us.

  He leaves, purposefully. Anya and Varya, who are coming in, have to step out of his path.

  Lyubov Petya, come here, I was only joking!

  A crash, off. Anya and Varya gasp. Then Anya starts laughing.

  Lyubov What has happened?

  Anya He’s fallen down the stairs. (She goes out, laughing, followed by Varya.)

  Lyubov (follows them off) What a queer little fellow . . .

  In the archway, the Stationmaster is reciting a poem, ‘The Sinful Woman’, to a group. He isn’t very far into it when a waltz strikes up and he breaks off.

  Stationmaster ‘The Sinful Woman’. (As required.) ‘Midst the bustling throng and laughter,/Where music strikes each gilded rafter,/Lush palm trees and exotic flowers/Form here and there cool private bowers,/And twixt the pillars rich brocade/Is gathered up with curious braid./The chambers, sumptuously adorned/With gold and silver . . .’

  Everyone is dancing again.

  Lyubov, Anya and Varya are returning with Petya.

  Lyubov Poor thing. You poor, poor, poor thing. Forgive me, you do have a pure soul, dance with me, let’s dance together. Let us dance . . . (They dance off to the ballroom.)

  Anya and Varya dance off together, too.

  Yasha appears from somewhere. He watches the dancers, humming, swaying affectedly. Firs comes in on his stick.

  Yasha Well, Speedy?

  Firs I don’t feel well. (He gets rid of his stick, props it somewhere.) In the past, you know, we used to have barons, admirals, generals attend our evenings. Now, the post office people are sent for, the stationmaster. And, you know, they don’t come running.

  Yasha What’re you drivelling on about now?

  Firs Yes. I’ve grown old somehow. The old master, their grandfather, he gave sealing wax for everything, dosed us all with it and, you know it, it cured every ill. I think that’s why I’m still alive.

  Yasha Just about.

  Firs Yes, sealing wax.

  Yasha (amusing himself with Firs) High time, Speedy, for you to croak it – Oui-oui?!

  Firs Shit! You no-headed gawpsheet! (Continues to himself.) Shit! Jolter-headed dummkopf! Shit! Rimstitch rantipoles today, tomfools and simpleton bungle-arsed girls . . .

  Yasha, laughing, moves aside – or just out of sight. Lyubov is returning, dancing with Petya, from the ballroom.

  Lyubov Merci! Now I must sit down. (Sits.) I’m tired.

  Anya (coming in) There was some old man in the kitchen saying Cherryorchard is sold.

  Lyubov What man? Who has it been sold to? (She’s up again.)

  Anya I don’t know if he said to whom – he’s gone. Petya! [‘Dance with me’]

  They dance off.

  Lyubov (agitated again) What man – what man?

  Yasha Some old fool babbling down there, not one of ours.

  Firs And, madam, Leonid Andreich has not returned and he’s only wearing his light coat.

  Lyubov I’m losing my reason.

  Firs He’s going to catch cold, madam, I tell you!

  Lyubov I’m going to drop dead – Go and find out, Yasha, who it’s been sold to.

  Yasha He’s gone – long gone! (He laughs.)

  Firs Tck, youngsters nowadays! (Continues muttering.)

  Lyubov I’m going out of my mind in a mad-house! And, Firs, dear soul, if Cherryorchard is sold, where will you go?

  Firs Wherever you tell me to, madam.

  Lyubov Why d’you look like that? Are you ill? You should be resting, you should lie down.

  Firs Ah! (Smiles a little triumph.) But if I do, who will look after things? There’s only me now, you know. (He goes on muttering to himself.)

  Yasha Madam? Madam Ranevskaya, may I? [‘have a word’] (He is being rather confidential and hushed.) Lyubov Andreyevna, if you go back to Paris, take me with you. I can’t stay here. I mean, I don’t have to tell you, you see it for yourself, the whole country is uncivilised, they’re all ignorant. And immorality? Everyone of them. Lyubov Andreyevna, please? The boredom, the food down there: disgusting. And him, (Firs.) mooching about – the language out of him? Very inappropriate. He’s a head-case.

  Pishchik (approaching) Beautiful lady, there you are!

  Yasha (whispers) Take me with you. (And withdraws a little.)

  Pishchik Most beautiful lady, may I have the pleasure? (She takes his arm.) And I’ll relieve you of a hundred and forty little roubles. (They dance off to the ballroom.) Oh I will, I will . . .

  Yasha (sways to the music, singing confidently to himself) ‘Could you but know the turmoil in my soul, will you ever understand the . . .’

  In the ballroom a figure in a grey top-hat and check trousers is cavorting about to cries of ‘Bravo, Charlotta Ivanovna!’

  Dunyasha, detaching herself from the ballroom scene, comes in as though to powder her face, very much aware of Yasha.

  Yepikhodov, at a cautious distance, is stalking her.

  Dunyasha (as though to Firs) I’m all of awhirl, how my poor heart beats! Miss Anya says, ‘Dance, Dunyasha, dance, dance’. Everyone insists, heigh-ho! So few ladies, so many, many gentlemen. (Yasha is ignoring her.) And, Mr Firs, you’ll never guess what the post office clerk just said to me.

  Firs What did he say to you?

  Dunyasha Fair took my breath away. I’m like a flower.

  Yepikhodov sidles in.

  You, he said, are like a flower. D’you like sensitive words?

  Yasha (leaving) Philistines! Illiterates!

  Dunyasha (to his disappearing back) I adore sensitive words! (To herself.) I am like a flower.

  Yepikhodov Avdotya Fyodorovna?

  Dunyasha What?

  Yepikhodov A word.

  Firs (to Yepikhodov) She’s going to get herself into trouble. (He moves off or aside.)

  Yepikhodov Your attitude towards me lacks definition. Respectfully, therefore, might I enquire if the reason you keep avoiding me is because I’m an insect?

  She flutters her fan in annoyance.

  (He experiments with the informal use of her name – and startles himself with its formality.) Dunyasha!

  Dunyasha Tell me, what-do-you-want of me, what is the matter with you?!

  Yepikhodov Precisely. Because the matter with me, since you ask and if I may express myself candidly, is that I thought I knew the extent of my unhappy and inelegant
lot and could face same with a smile, but you have brought it to complete reduction. Further, Avdotya Fyodorovna! – (He raises his hand to emphasise his next point and sends her fan flying.)

  He nods grimly, futilely, and lets her gather up the fan for herself.

  Dunyasha I ask you!

  Yepikhodov I –

  Dunyasha Simon Panteleyevich, please! I need this time to – dream in! Tell me later, but leave me alone now in peace.

  Varya (coming in, to Yepikhodov) Are you still here? (To Dunyasha.) Run along, Dunyasha, you’re required. (To Yepikhodov.) First, you play billiards in the billiard room and manage to break a cue, now you walk round like a guest.

  Yepikhodov (hurt) In reply, permit me to remark, you have no right to persecute me, either.

  Varya I’m not persecuting you, either, I’m telling you, it’s my job. We employ you as a clerk here – though God knows why.

  Yepikhodov (doubly hurt) The matter of how I effect my stewardship – and, indeed, whether I walk, wander, eat or try to play billiards are matters for more senior people of understanding to judge me on.

  Varya How dare you! Understanding? Are you saying that I don’t have understanding? Get out of here! Get out this minute, this instant!

  Yepikhodov (frightened of her) I should request – I’m going! – but I request that you express yourself in a more delicate mode of human commerce.

  Varya This minute, out, Two-and-Twenty Troubles!

  Yepikhodov (going, returns) I’m going, Varvara Mikailovna, but take note, I shall refer the matter of your last to the proper authority. (He goes.)

  Varya Don’t you ever set foot in here again! (To herself.) Understanding: how dare he!

  Yepikhodov (off) Mark my words, I shall be lodging a serious complaint!

  Varya Oh, he’s coming back again, is he? (She has found the stick left behind by Firs.) I’ll give you cause to lodge a serious complaint.

  Lopakhin comes in and she takes a swipe at him.

  Lopakhin Thank you very much.

  Varya I beg your pardon.

  Lopakhin Not at all, a Russian welcome.

  Varya Did I catch you?

  Lopakhin It’s just a gash. (Clowns, winces.)

  Voices (in the ballroom) ‘Lopakhin is back!’ ‘Yermolay Alekseich is here!’

  Pishchik (coming in) You’re back – Here he is – The very same, in person! (Embraces Lopakhin.) Dearest heart! Whiff of the old brandy, what? – What! [‘We’re’] Not doing too badly here either.