ACT ONE
16 August 1929
Peasant Feodosiiās yard.
A long wooden table in the cherry orchard, with benches on either side.
The table groans under the weight of the feast: weeping sliced melons, piping-hot potatoes, freshly dug vegetables, fried meat.
There is no one at the table and only the pretty flies are hanging over the food. They buzz and make lazy landings on it.
Everyone is sitting with their backs to the table, watching the AGITATORSā performance.
They are performing a play, titled: FOR THE FEAR OF GOD!
On the imaginary stage there is a poster with a large icon pictured on it.
IVAN IVANYCH.
Will wonders never cease!
Mary from her icon speaks!
From all around they dodge and weave,
To look the icon in the teeth.
The AGITATORS enter, playing peasants. They take it in turns to pray before the speaking icon.
PEASANT. O Lord, grant me health, and grant my wife and children health, too!
ICON.
Pay me lots and lots and lots,
In no time at all youāll be strong like an ox!
PEASANT GIRL. My beloved no longer loves me. Lord, what should I do?
ICON. A few coins should do the trick.
PEASANT.
And my cow, help me, Mary, please ā
She has a fungus on her knees.
ICON. If thatās true, a note or twoā¦
AGITATOR.
But along comes an atheist.
He pulls back the icon.
And behind it, the priest and his wife are counting money ā
PRIESTāS WIFE.
Thisāll go on lace and trim,
This on spoons and such.
AGITATOR.
The priest gives his wife a knocking-about,
And there she is: all stretched out ā
Thatās the last heāll hear from her!
He hides the money under his skirts,
To keep him a while in drink and girls.
AGITATOR.
Good people, hear my word:
There is no Lord!
Take heed,
Comrades, friends,
And for all your needs,
Ask the Soviet!
The YOUNGER PEOPLE giggle and clap the ACTORS. The OLD WOMEN cross themselves quietly.
FEODOSII looks sternly at his daughter MOKRINA, who is laughing together with everyone else.
GOROBETS. Theyāre good, those actors! Could be talking about our priestās wife.
SAMSON. Bless her memoryā¦
SAMSON crosses himself three times. MASHA, an agitator, who has been giving him little glances, notices this.
MASHA. Hey, you, big fellow, do you cross yourself when youāre in bed with a woman, too?
SAMSON. Better believe it! Three times before and three after. And I make the sign of the cross on her. Like putting pepper on my soup, itās that natural.
MASHA. Well, just so you know, I like pepper and all.
She shoots long looks at SAMSON with her beautiful eyes.
GOROBETS. Look at that, Samson, youāve made an impression on their actress. Arenāt you a lucky boyā¦
SAMSON. Ah, she can go to the Devil for all I care, God forgive me. As long as Iām well fed, itās all the same to me, an actress or an old hunchback. No, you tell me this, Gorobets, is it true that the new powers-that-be are going to knock down all the churches and build red towers in their place?
GOROBETS. Heaven forbid!
GOROBETS spits three times over each shoulder.
Handsome ARSEI, who is standing next to MOKRINA, begins flirting with her.
ARSEI. Mokrina, when you grow up weāll run away with the agit-brigades. See the whole of Soviet Ukraine!
MOKRINA. Tsk! Iām not going anywhere with you.
ARSEI. But I thought you loved me?
MOKRINA. Like a dog loves a whip.
ARSEI. Well then?
MOKRINA. You havenāt asked them, Arsei.
ARSEI. I spoke to the man in charge. He promised to take me.
MOKRINA. Iām scared.
ARSEI. Of me? Kilina isnāt scared.
MOKRINA. Ha! Well, you take your Kilina with you, then!
MOKRINA gets up and runs away, angry and hurt.
ARSEI. Oh, come on! I was joking! I donāt want any old Kilina!
MOKRINA runs away from ARSEI and runs onto the improvised stage by mistake. IVAN IVANYCH seizes her around the waist.
IVAN IVANYCH. And now this pretty little lassie is going to tell us everything she knows about God and about collective farms.
MOKRINA squeals and tries to escape.
MOKRINA. Oh Lord, let me goā¦
IVAN IVANYCH. āLordā, is it? No, my name is Ivan Ivanych. So, child, you tell me, does God exist?
MOKRINA (still shy, but slyly peeping at him with black eyes). Someone do away with Him, did they?
The CROWD laughs.
IVAN IVANYCH (laughing). Course they did. Soviet power.
MOKRINA. Did they ask God first?
IVAN IVANYCH. Sent Him a letter. But the letter came back unopened. So He canāt exist, seeing as He never read the letter.
MOKRINA. Maybe He just didnāt want to read it, when He saw it was from you.
The CROWD and the AGITATORS burst into laughter.
IVAN IVANYCH. Or maybe He couldnāt read?
MOKRINA. Youād be better off praying to Him and not writing.
IVAN IVANYCH (kindly). Such a pretty, clever little lassie, and she says such silly things. Never mind. Iāll be back in a year or two. What will you say then?
MOKRINA. Iāll wish you your good health, Ivan Ivanych.
IVAN IVANYCH. And I wish you yours, my beauty. What can we have from you, then? Can you sing?
OLD WOMAN. Sing for us, Mokrina.
EVERYONE. Sing for us.
MOKRINA, pensive, begins singing a sad song which doesnāt seem to fit the cheerful mood, the laughter and the feast on the table.
MOKRINA (singing).
Woe, woe, woe to the seagull,
O seagull, poor unhappy bird,
She who wove her nest, laid her eggs,
By the well-trod road.
Where some young travelling merchants,
There did stop to graze their oxen,
And did chase the gull away,
Stole her little children.
The seagull rose and there did circle,
Then down to the road did hurtle,
To the damp, cold earth she falls,
To the men she calls.
āOh, most kind and noble merchants,
Still so young, no more than children,
Give back my little chickens,
My own little children.ā
āNo, you shall not ever see them,
Nor fold them close, no, Iāll not yield,
For youāll gather them about you,
And fly off to the field.ā
āI will never fly away,
Iāll stay here, oh, I will stay,
Here to watch over your oxen,
To mind my little children.ā
āFly, unhappy seagull, fly,
To the far green hills, fly,
For your childrenās necks are broken,
And in my pot they lie.ā
āMy childrenās slim necks are broken,
Dead in your pot they lie,
Then may your oxen sicken,
Sicken all and die.
May you know no journeyās end,
May your travels last for ever,
For my children are dead,
Lost to me for ever.ā
Everyone enjoys MOKRINAās singing. Especially ARSEI. And especially the youngest agitator, YURKO. He looks at her with pleasure and interest. MOKRINA ends her song, looking sadly into the distance, as if, at her thirteen years, she knows something more than the others. Some are saddened, some sigh, IVAN IVANYCH smiles.
IVAN IVANYCH. So, whose are you, then?
FEODOSII (with well-rehearsed pride). Mine, that is. Sheās the smartest girl in the class, mine is. Sheās only thirteen, but sheās already got a few lads after her. Still, I wonāt be giving her away in marriage. Not until sheās done her learning and grown up proper.
MOKRINA (outraged). Dad!
MOKRINA runs from the stage, covering her face with her hands. YURKO runs onto the stage and, in order to change the mood, launches into a jaunty foot-stamping chechetka.
The livestock return to the yard: cows, horses, goats and sheep. They are sleek and good to look at. The woman of the house sprinkles salt on bread and feeds her favourite cow.
The shepherd sits at the table and eats his fill after a long day at work.
* * *
A hospital ward. A...