Anathema A Tragedy in Seven Scenes 4
BEZKRAINY.
Don't drink her soda-water. From her water rats are dying and roaches
stand up on their hind legs.
SARAH.
Ivan, aren't you ashamed to take away a customer? I am not saying
anything about your noblemen's cider, which is fit only for mad dogs to
drink.
PURIKES.
_Joyously._
A customer! A customer! Please don't buy anything from me, you needn't
buy anything from me,--all I want is to look at you. Sonka, do you see?
A buyer!
SONKA.
I don't see anything. I can't see.
_Anathema lifts his hatband bows to all kindly._
ANATHEMA.
Thank you. I will drink a glass of soda-water with pleasure, and
perhaps even a glass of your noblemen's cider. But I should like to
know where David Leizer's business place is.
SARAH.
_Surprised._
It is here. Do you want David? I am his wife, Sarah.
ANATHEMA.
Yes, madam Leizer, I want to see David, David Leizer.
SARAH.
_Suspiciously._
You have come with bad news: David has no friends that wear clothes of
such fine cloth as you wear. If that is so, you had better go away.
David is not here, and I will not tell you where he is.
ANATHEMA.
_Heartily._
Oh, no, madam, don't be uneasy; I am not bringing you any bad news. But
how pleasant it is to see such love.--Do you love your husband very
much, madam Leizer? He must be a very strong and healthy man, earning
much money.
SARAH.
_Frowning._
No, he is sick and old and unable to work. But he has not sinned
against God or man in any way, and even his enemies dare not say
anything bad about him. Here is some seltzer, sir, it is better than
soda. And if you are not afraid of the heat, I would ask you to sit
down and wait a while; David will soon be here.
ANATHEMA.
_Sitting down._
Yes, I have heard many good things about your husband, but I did not
know that he was so feeble and old. Have you any children, madam Leizer?
SARAH.
We had six, but the first four died....
ANATHEMA.
_Nods his head compassionately._
SARAH.
Yes, we lived miserably, sir. And we have only two left. Our son Naum....
BEZKRAINY.
A good-for-nothing, who makes believe that he is sick and saunters
about the city all day long.
SARAH.
Stop, Ivan, aren't you ashamed to slander honest people? Naum is going
around because he has to get credit. Then, sir, we have a daughter,
and her name is Rosa. But unfortunately she is too beautiful, too
beautiful, sir. Happiness what is happiness? One person dies of
smallpox, while another person needs smallpox, but it would not come,
and the face is as pure as a flower leaf.
ANATHEMA.
_Feigning amazement._
Why are you so sorry about it? Beauty is a gift from God, which He has
bestowed upon man, whom he has thus elevated and brought nearer to
Himself.
SARAH.
Who knows? It may be a gift from God, and it may be a gift from
somebody else of whom I would not speak. But there is one thing I do
not know; why has a man beautiful eyes, if he must hide them? Why has
he a white face, if he must cover it with soot and filth? Beauty is a
too dangerous treasure, for it is easier to hide money from a robber,
than beauty from a wicked man. (_Suspiciously._) Did you come perhaps
to see Rosa? Then you better go away,--Rosa is not here, and I will not
tell you where she is.
PURIKES.
A buyer. Sarah, look, a buyer is here.
SARAH.
Yes, yes, Purikes. But he will not buy that which he has come for, and
he will not find that which he is seeking.
_Anathema smiles good-naturedly and listens
attentively to the conversation; every time some
one begins to speak, he stretches his neck and
turns his head to the speaker, holding it slightly
bent on one side. He makes grimaces like an
actor, expressing now amazement, now sorrow or
indignation. He laughs, inappropriately, thereby
frightening and surprising the people._
BEZKRAINY.
Sarah, you are making a mistake in valuing your goods too highly and
not selling when people are ready to buy. Every article loses its value
if you keep it too long.
SARAH
_Tearfully._
What a wicked man you are, Ivan. I gave you credit for ten copecks, and
you are forever slandering us.
BEZKRAINY.
Don't pay any attention to me, Sarah,--I am wicked because I am hungry.
You, sir, in that black coat, go away: Sarah is an honest woman and she
will not sell her daughter to you, even if you offered her a million.
SARAH.
_Hotly._
That's right, Ivan, thank you. But who told you, sir, that our Rosa is
beautiful? It is not true--don't laugh, it isn't true, she is as ugly
as deadly sin. She is as filthy as a dog that has just crawled out of
the coal-hole of a ship; her face is furrowed by smallpox and it looks
like a field where people dig lime and sand; there is on her right eye
a cataract as large as on an old horse. Look at her hair--it is like
faded wool, half torn away by birds; and when she walks, she stoops,--I
swear to you, she stoops when she walks! If you take her, everybody
will laugh at you, everybody will spit at you, the street urchins will
give you no rest....
ANATHEMA.
_Surprised._
But, madam Leizer, I have heard--
SARAH.
_Sorrowfully._
You have heard nothing! I swear to you, you have heard nothing.
ANATHEMA.
But you yourself--
SARAH.
_Imploringly._
Have I said anything? My God, women are so talkative, sir; and they
love their children so dearly that they always consider them beautiful.
Rosa--beautiful! (_Laughs._) Just think of it, Purikes,--Rosa is
beautiful!
_She laughs. Rosa comes over from the direction of
the city. Her hair is disheveled, almost covering
her black, flashing eyes; her face is smeared with
something black, and she is dressed wretchedly.
She walks with a youthful and stately gait, but on
noticing the strange man, she stoops like an old woman._
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