Feel my heart beating ...

IVANOV [reading]: All right, later ...

BORKIN: No, feel it now. [Takes Ivanov’s hand and puts it to his chest.] Do you feel it? Boom-boom-boom-boom. There must be something wrong with my heart. I could die any minute. Tell me, will you be sorry if I die?

IVANOV: I’m reading ... later ...

BORKIN: No, seriously, will you be sorry if I die suddenly? Nikolay Alekseyevich, will you be sorry if I die?

IVANOV: Stop bothering me!

BORKIN: Just tell me, old man: will you be sorry?

IVANOV: I’m sorry you smell of vodka. That, Misha, is disgusting.

BORKIN [laughing]: Do I smell? Surprising ... Though it’s not really surprising. I met the magistrate at Plesniki, and I must confess he and I each put away eight glasses. Tell me, is it bad for one? Is it? Is it?

IVANOV: This is going too far ... just get it into your head, Misha, that this teasing ...

BORKIN: There, there ... sorry, sorry! ... Good luck to you, sit by yourself ... [Gets up and goes off.] Astonishing people, one can’t even talk. [Coming back.] Ah, yes! I almost forgot ... Give me the eighty-two roubles! ...

IVANOV: What eighty-two roubles?

BORKIN: To pay the workmen tomorrow.

IVANOV: I haven’t got it.

BORKIN: I am deeply grateful! [Imitating him.] I haven’t got it ... But don’t we need to pay the workmen? Don’t we?

IVANOV: I don’t know. I don’t have any money today. Wait till the first of the month when I get my salary.

BORKIN: To have to talk to such people! ... The workmen will be coming for their money tomorrow morning, not on the first! ...

IVANOV: So what am I to do now? Just kill me and cut me up in little pieces ... And why do you have this nasty habit of pestering me just when I’m reading or writing or ...

BORKIN: I’m asking you this: do we have to pay the workmen or not? Oh why am I talking to you! [Gesturing with his hand.] Country gentlemen, devil take them, landowners . . . What a rational enterprise ... A thousand desyatinas of land — and not a kopeck in his pocket ... A wine-cellar without a corkscrew ... I’ll just take the troika1 and sell it tomorrow! I really will! ... I’ve sold the oats still standing in the fields, and tomorrow I’ll go and sell the rye. [Strides about the stage.] Do you think I am going to stand on ceremony? Do you? No, I’m not that kind of man ...

II

[The same, SHABELSKY (offstage) and ANNA PETROVNA. SHABELSKY‘s voice through the window: ‘Noone can possibly play with you .