EFIMOVNA. [To NAZAROVNA] Give the old man a nudge dear! ''t get any answer out of him.
NAZAROVNA. [Lifting the er of a cloth c of SAVVA''S fabsp;Are you alive or are you dead, you holy man?
SAVVA. Why should I be dead? I''m alive, mother! [Rais himlf on his elbow] Cover up my feet, there''s a saint! That''s it. A bit more on the right one. That''s it, mother. God be good to us.
NAZAROVNA. [ing up SAVVA''S feet] Sleep, little father.
SAVVA. What sleep bsp;I have? If only I had the patienbsp;to endure this pain, mother; sleep''s quite another matter. A sinner doesn''t derve to be given rest. What''s that noi, pilgrim-woman?
NAZAROVNA. God is nding a storm. The wind is wailing, and the rain is p down, p down. All down the roof and into the windows like dried peas. Do you hear? The windows of heaven are opened... [Thunder] Holy, holy, holy...
FEDYA. And it roars and thunders, and rages, sad there''s no end to it! Hoooo... it''s like the noi of a forest.... Hoooo.... The wind is wailing like a dog.... [Shrinking babsp;It''s cold! My clothes are wet, it''s all ing in through the open door... you might put me through a wringer.... [Plays softly] My certina''s damp, and so there''s no musibsp;for you, my Orthodox brethren, or el I''d give you subsp;a cert, my word!—Something marvellous! You bsp;have a quadrille, or a polka, if you like, or some Russian danbsp;for two.... I bsp;do them all. In the town, where I was an attendant at the Grand Hotel, I couldn''t make any money, but I did wonders on my certina. And, I bsp;play the guitar.
EFIMOVNA. [To NAZAROVNA] Give the old man a nudge dear! ''t get any answer out of him.
NAZAROVNA. [Lifting the er of a cloth c of SAVVA''S fabsp;Are you alive or are you dead, you holy man?
SAVVA. Why should I be dead? I''m alive, mother! [Rais himlf on his elbow] Cover up my feet, there''s a saint! That''s it. A bit more on the right one. That''s it, mother. God be good to us.
NAZAROVNA. [ing up SAVVA''S feet] Sleep, little father.
SAVVA. What sleep bsp;I have? If only I had the patienbsp;to endure this pain, mother; sleep''s quite another matter. A sinner doesn''t derve to be given rest. What''s that noi, pilgrim-woman?
NAZAROVNA. God is nding a storm. The wind is wailing, and the rain is p down, p down. All down the roof and into the windows like dried peas. Do you hear? The windows of heaven are opened... [Thunder] Holy, holy, holy...
FEDYA. And it roars and thunders, and rages, sad there''s no end to it! Hoooo... it''s like the noi of a forest.... Hoooo.... The wind is wailing like a dog.... [Shrinking babsp;It''s cold! My clothes are wet, it''s all ing in through the open door... you might put me through a wringer.... [Plays softly] My certina''s damp, and so there''s no musibsp;for you, my Orthodox brethren, or el I''d give you subsp;a cert, my word!—Something marvellous! You bsp;have a quadrille, or a polka, if you like, or some Russian danbsp;for two.... I bsp;do them all. In the town, where I was an attendant at the Grand Hotel, I couldn''t make any money, but I did wonders on my certina. And, I bsp;play the guitar.