How can you play in such heat?
Wait, I am going to put the jackstones away.
I have eighteen pair now.
Misha, the little rascal, plays well. (He goes out)
I don’t want to see him any more. Tell him to get out of here at once.
All right, I will.
Don’t say “all right,” but do what your father tells you. A fine lot of brats—that’s a sure thing! Yes, yes. (Goes) If mother saw them—
He speaks of mother as if he weren’t the one that drove her to an early grave. He talked her to death, the old scold! He just talks and talks, and nags and nags, and he doesn’t know himself what he wants.
To be with you is like being caught in the wheel of a machine. My head is spinning round and round.
Then why don’t you go away with your Savva? What are you waiting for?
Look here, why are you angry with me?
I am not angry. I am telling the truth. You don’t want to marry. You are disgusted with all your beaux. Why don’t you go into a convent?
I won’t go into a convent, but I will go away from here, soon enough, I think.
Well, go! No one is keeping you. The road is wide open.
Ah, Polya, you are angry and sulky with me. You don’t know how I spend my nights thinking about you. At night I lie awake and think and think about you, and about all the people that are unhappy—all of them.
What do you want to think about me for? You had better think about yourself.
And no one knows it. Well, what’s the use of talking? You couldn’t understand anyhow. I am sorry for you, Polya. (Pelagueya laughs) What’s the matter?
If you are sorry for me, why don’t you carry out that pail? The way I am, I shouldn’t be lifting heavy things. Why don’t you help me, if you are so sorry for me?
LIPA (her face darkening, then brightening again) Give it to me. (She picks up the pail and starts to carry it away)