[IV-7]

[Chekhov]

ILYA: (as they enter) All of us get older except you, madam - you're as young and lively as ever!

IRINA: Are you trying to bring me bad luck?

TRIGORIN: (to Sorin) How are you? Still sick? That won't do. And Masha!

MASHA: I'm surprised you recognize me.

(They shake hands.)

TRIGORIN: Are you married?

MASHA: For a long time now.

TRIGORIN: And happy?

(Not waiting for an answer, he bows to Dorn and Medvedenko, who bow in return. Then he approaches Treplev.)

TRIGORIN: Your mother tells me you've forgotten the past and aren't angry at me anymore.

IRINA: (to Treplev) He brought you the magazine with your new story in it.

TREPLEV: (taking the magazine from Trigorin) Thank you. That was very kind.

TRIGORIN: Your fans in St. Petersburg and Moscow send their greetings. They're always asking me about you: what are you like?, how old are you?, is he dark or fair? For some reason, everyone thinks you're an old man, and since you write under a pseudonym, no one knows your real name. You're as mysterious as the Man in the Iron Mask.

TREPLEV: Will you be staying long?

TRIGORIN: No, I must go to Moscow tomorrow. I have a novel deadline to meet and I promised to contribute something to an anthology. Busy as ever.

(As he continues, Irina and Polina set up a card table. Ilya brings out chairs and puts out candles. He brings out a lotto game.)

TRIGORIN: The weather certainly hasn't welcomed me. If the wind dies down tomorrow, I'm going to fish at the lake. I also want to look at the garden, where your play was done - remember? Been brooding about a story and need to refresh my memory.

MASHA: Papa, can my husband have a horse? He wants to go home.

ILYA: (mimicking her) "He wants to go home." The horses have just come from the station. They can't go out again in this weather.

MASHA: There are other horses. (She's being ignored.) You're impossible.

MED.: I can walk, Masha. Please.

POLINA: Walk in this weather! (She sits down at the card table.) Come on, everyone, let's play cards.

MED.: It's only six miles. (He kisses his wife's hand.) Goodbye, mother. (He kisses Polina's hand, which she offers reluctantly.) I wouldn't be making a fuss except for the baby. Goodbye.

(He leaves.)

[follow Medvedenko]

[continue here]