Ivanov

LebedevAnother snack vodka’s good with is caviar. I’ll tell you what, though, it requires intelligence. You take four ounces of caviar, two spring onions, some olive oil, mix it well and serve with a squeeze of lemon. The aroma by itself is enough to make you swoon.

BorkinTo follow a shot of vodka, fried gudgeon makes a nice little snack, I find. Only, you have to know how to fry it. You clean it, dip it in breadcrumbs, and fry till crisp – it’s got to be crunchy to the bite, crunch, crunch.

ShabelskyThat was a good snack at Babakina’s yesterday – white mushrooms.

LebedevOh, yes, indeed –

ShabelskyBut to a special recipe, you know, with onion, bay leaf, different kinds of herbs . . . The steam when they took the lid off the pan had a fragrance that was pure joy.

LebedevWho’s for another? Repetatur, gentlemen!

They drink.

Good health. (Looks at his pocket watch.) I’m going to miss Nicolas by the look of it. I must be going. So – white mushrooms at Babakina’s, is it? Is that why you’ve taken to calling on Marfutka all the time?

Shabelsky(nods at Borkin) It’s him – he wants to marry me off to her.

LebedevReally? . . . How old are you?

ShabelskySixty-two.

LebedevJust the right age for marriage. And Marfa’s just the woman for you.

BorkinThis is not about Marfutka, it’s about Marfutka’s cash in the bank.

LebedevIs that all you’re after? You might as well ask a goose for its liver.

BorkinJust wait till he’s married, it’ll be goose liver galore and you’ll be licking your lips in envy.

ShabelskyMy God, he’s serious. This genius here really thinks I’m going to do what he says and get married.

BorkinWhat do you mean? You’re already sold on it, aren’t you?

ShabelskyYou must be off your head . . . When was I ever sold on it?

BorkinWell, thanks very much! You mean you’re going to back out? First he’ll marry her, then he won’t marry her . . . Let the devil work it out. And I’ve given her my solemn word. So you won’t marry her, is that it?

Shabelsky(shrugs his shoulders) He’s serious. Extraordinary chap.

Borkin

(indignant) If that’s the case, what was the point of getting an honest woman all excited for nothing? She’s mad keen to be a Countess, she can’t sleep or eat. Is that your idea of honourable behaviour?

Shabelsky(snaps his fingers) All right then, supposing I take the plunge into this dung-hill . . . eh? Just for the hell of it. Yes, all right. I’ll do it. Word of honour. What a lark.

Lvov enters.

LebedevAh, Aesculapius, we’re honoured . . . (Shakes hands with Lvov and sings.) ’Oh save me, Doctor, dear Doctor, I’m dying and scared to death . . .’

LvovIsn’t Ivanov here?

LebedevNot yet – I’ve been over an hour waiting for him, too.

Lvov paces up and down the stage impatiently.

LebedevHow is Anna Petrovna?

LvovShe’s bad.

Lebedev(sighs) Would it be all right to look in on her, just to show we –

LvovNo, please don’t. I think she’s asleep now.

Pause.

LebedevShe’s a nice woman, I like her . . . (Sighs.) When she fell down in a faint that day on Sasha’s birthday, I took one look at her face and I knew she hadn’t got long. I never understood what made her faint just then. I run in, I take one look, there she is, pale as death, lying on the floor, Nikolay on his knees beside her, also gone white, and Shurochka in tears. It shook us up for a week.

Shabelsky(to Lvov) Here’s one for you, as one of the medical priesthood. Who’s the genius who worked out that women with bad chests might benefit from frequent visits from a young doctor? It’s a great discovery. A breakthrough. Does it come under homeopathy or allopathy, would you say?

Lvov makes to answer, but gestures contemptuously and goes out.

What’s known as a withering look.

LebedevStill, that was uncalled for. Why insult him?

Shabelsky(irritably) Because he’s a liar. ‘Tuberculosis – no hope – death’s door’ . . . It’s just lies and I won’t have it.

LebedevWhat makes you think he’s lying?

Shabelsky(stands up and walks around) I refuse to accept that somebody all of a sudden and for no particular reason can just die. Can we drop the subject?

Kosykh runs in, catching his breath.

KosykhIs Nikolay Alekseevich here? Good morning, good day, everyone.

He quickly shakes hands with everyone.

Is he at home?

BorkinNo, he isn’t.