Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 62

AST. She has never had any friends; she needed none.

FOMa. She has relatives, I suppose?

AST. None.

FOMa. What mystery explains this solitude?

AST. If there is a mystery it is easily guessed. It is an everyday story; the story of a peasant woman betrayed and deserted by a n.o.bleman.

She came with her child to this town; and instead of sinking, set herself bravely to work, to win a living for the two of them. She was young and strong then; her work prospered with her.

FOMa. And her son was worthy of her love?

AST. He was a fine boy--handsome and intelligent. By dint of the fiercest economy she got him a n.o.bleman's education; sent him to the Gymnase, and thence, when he was eighteen, to the University of Moscow.

Praskovya herself cannot read or write, but her boy ... the books on that shelf are the prizes which he won. She thought him a pattern of all the virtues.

FOMa. Aha! now we're coming to it! So he was a sinner after all?

AST. We are none of us perfect. His friends were ill-chosen. The hard-earned money that Praskovya thought was spent on University expenses went on many other things--on drink, on women, and on gambling.

But he did one good thing--he hid it all safely from his mother. I helped him in that. Together we kept her idea safe through a difficult period. And before he was twenty it was all over--he was dead.

FOMa. Yes, he was murdered by some foreigner, I know.

AST. By Adamek, a Pole.

FOMa. And what was the motive of the crime?

AST. It was for money. By inquiries which I made after the trial I ascertained that this Adamek was a bad character and an adventurer, who used to entice students to his rooms to drink and gamble with him. Sasha had become an intimate friend of his; and it was even said that they were partners in cheating the rest. Anyhow, there is no doubt that at one time or another they had won considerable sums at cards, and disputed as to the owners.h.i.+p of them. The last thing that was heard of them, they bought a sledge with two horses and set out saying they were going to Tula. On the road Adamek murdered the unfortunate boy. The facts were all clear and indisputable. There was no need to search into the motives. The murderer fell straight into the hands of the police.

The District Inspector, coming silently along the road in his sledge, suddenly saw before him the boy lying dead by the roadside, and the murderer standing over him with the knife in his hand. He arrested him at once; there was no possibility of denying it.

FOMa. And it was quite clear that his victim was Sasha?

AST. Quite clear. Adamek gave intimate details about him, such as only a friend of his could have known, which put his ident.i.ty beyond a doubt.

When the trial was over the body was sent in a coffin to Praskovya Petrovna, who buried it here in the Troitski Cemetery.

FOMa. And the Pole?

AST. He was sent to penal servitude for life to the silver mines of Siberia.

FOMa. So Praskovya is even madder than I thought. Her religion is founded on a myth. Her life is an absurd deception.

AST. No; she has created something out of nothing; that is all.

FOMa. In your place I should have told her the truth.

AST. No.

FOMa. Anything is better than a lie.

AST. There is no lie in it. Praskovya's idea and Sasha's life are two independent things. A statement of fact may be true or false; but an idea need only be clear and definite. That is all that matters. [_There is a tapping at the door; the latch is lifted, and the Stranger peeps in._] Come in, come in!

[_Enter the Stranger, ragged and degraded. He looks about the room, dazed by the light, and fixes his attention on Asteryi._]

Who are you? What do you want?

STRANGER. I came to speak to you.

AST. To speak to me?

FOMa. Take off your cap. Do you not see the eikons?

AST. What do you want with me?

STRANGER. Only a word, Asteryi Ivanovitch.

AST. How have you learnt my name?

FOMa. Do you know the man?

AST. No.

STRANGER. You do not know me?

AST. No.

STRANGER. Have you forgotten me, Asteryi Ivanovitch?

AST. [_almost speechless_]. Sasha!

FOMa. What is it? You look as if you had seen a ghost.

AST. A ghost? There are no such things as ghosts. Would that it were a ghost. It is Sasha.

FOMa. Sasha?

AST. It is Praskovya's son alive.

FOMa. Praskovya's son?

SASHA. You remember me now, Asteryi Ivanovitch.

AST. How have you risen from the dead? How have you come back from the grave--you who were dead and buried these twenty years and more?

SASHA. I have not risen from the dead. I have not come back from the grave; but I have come a long, long journey.

AST. From where?

SASHA. From Siberia.

FOMa. From Siberia?