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Ivanov
Anton Chekhov, Eamon Flack
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Ivanov
Anton Chekhov, Eamon Flack
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About This Book
Nikolai Ivanov is losing his mind. His life used to be full of possibility, but now he's moneyless on an old farm with his mendicant uncle and his inexplicably happy if slightly criminal cousin. He's in debt to his neighbours, nothing much makes sense to him anymore, and worst of all, his wife is dying. But one afternoon at a local birthday party, a glimmer of a new life reveals itself...Written when he was 27, Ivanov is Anton Chekhov's first full-length play. Eamon Flack's adaptation was written specially for Belvoir. Updated to the present, and set in a 'Russia' that may or may not resemble modern Australia, this is the first professional production of Chekhov's marvellous, overlooked comedy.
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ACT ONE
Late afternoon on IVANOV’s old family estate. IVANOV is sitting in the garden, reading. In his own world. Inside the house, through an open window, is the sound of a cello and piano rehearsing. BORKIN enters with a gun. He sneaks up on IVANOV and aims the gun at his head. IVANOV is still in his own world. Long pause. IVANOV notices BORKIN and the gun.
IVANOV: My God, what are you—? Jesus Christ! Misha! Go away. It’s not funny! You scared me. Is it funny to scare someone with a loaded gun in the face?
BORKIN: Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s funny! Come on! It’s not even a real gun! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise I won’t do it again. Bang bang bang! Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry, Nikolai. Sorry.
IVANOV: Don’t do it again.
BORKIN: I just said!
IVANOV: Misha.
BORKIN: Sorry, I promise.
IVANOV: I hate guns.
BORKIN: It’s not even a real gun.
IVANOV: That’s not the point. [Looking at the gun] Yes it is!
Short pause.
BORKIN: Yes it is. Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I played a funny joke with a real gun. We’re on a country estate! It’s hot, isn’t it? I rode my bike six kilometres to get here.
IVANOV: You live in the cottage right there.
BORKIN: I went the long way. For a swim. Feel this. Feel my heart.
IVANOV: Later.
BORKIN: No, feel it now. Feel that? Is that a heart murmur? Is that a heart murmur?
IVANOV: Misha, I’m reading.
BORKIN: Would you be sorry if I died suddenly? Nikolai? Would you be sorry if I died suddenly?
IVANOV: No.
BORKIN: No, but really—
IVANOV: Misha, you’re saying everything twice.
BORKIN: It’s the holidays! I’m happy!
IVANOV: Are you drunk?
BORKIN: What? Drunk? No.
IVANOV: Mikhail.
BORKIN: Nikolai.
Pause.
A little bit. It’s the holidays! I’m happy!
IVANOV: Stop saying everything twice.
BORKIN: You stop saying everything twice.
No answer.
[Leaving] Okay. Fine. Sorry. Best wishes to you. Sit by yourself. Fine by me. [Not leaving anymore] Oh, I forgot. Four hundred smackaroos.
IVANOV: What?
BORKIN: I’m supposed to get four hundred roubles from you.
IVANOV: What for?
BORKIN: To pay the workmen.
IVANOV: I haven’t got it.
BORKIN: ‘I haven’t got it.’ Don’t we have to pay the workmen?
IVANOV: I don’t have any money. What do you think I’m living on a farm for in the first place?
BORKIN: It’s an estate.
IVANOV: It’s an unworkable mortgage.
BORKIN: It’s our family estate.
IVANOV: I can’t live in the city because I have no money. I won’t get any money until someone pays me for doing something.
BORKIN: Well, it’s lucky you’re not one of the workmen.
IVANOV: What?
BORKIN: Whatsisname the workman is coming this afternoon to get paid for the work they did five weeks ago.
IVANOV: What am I supposed to do about it?
BORKIN: Pay him. For the work he did.
IVANOV: Kill me and cut me up into little pieces. Better than this nasty habit you have of annoying me at exactly the moment I’d like to sit down and read something meaningful …
Short pause.
BORKIN: Right, so are we paying the workmen today or not? Nikolai?
Short pause.
I don’t know what’s happening.
IVANOV shrugs.
Fine. I’ll sell the tractor.
IVANOV: [knowing full well] We have a tractor?
BORKIN: I’ve sold the car. I’ve sold the horse. Tomorrow I’ll go and sell the … I dunno … One of the fields.
IVANOV: Uh-huh.
BORKIN: Do you think I won’t? I’m the kind of m...