The Power of Darkness

epub:type="z3998:persona">Matryóna “No sign whatever,” he says. He’s taken a rouble for it. “Can’t sell it for less,” he says. Because it’s no easy matter to get ’em, you know. I paid him, dearie, out of my own money. If she takes them, thinks I, it’s all right; if she don’t, I can let old Michael’s daughter have them. Anísya O-o-oh! But mayn’t some evil come of them? I’m frightened! Matryóna What evil, my jewel? If your old man was hale and hearty, ’twould be a different matter, but he’s neither alive nor dead as it is. He’s not for this world. Such things often happen. Anísya O-o-oh, my poor head! I’m afeared, Mother Matryóna, lest some evil come of them. No. That won’t do. Matryóna Just as you like. I might even return them to him. Anísya And are they to be used in the same way as the others? Mixed in water? Matryóna Better in tea, he says. “You can’t notice anything,” he says, “no smell nor nothing.” He’s a cute old fellow too. Anísya Taking the powder. O-oh, my poor head! Could I have ever thought of such a thing if my life were not a very hell? Matryóna You’ll not forget that rouble? I promised to take it to the old man. He’s had some trouble, too. Anísya Of course? Goes to her box and hides the powders. Matryóna And now, my jewel, keep it as close as you can, so that no one should find it out. Heaven defend that it should happen, but if anyone notices it, tell ’em it’s for the black-beetles. Takes the rouble. It’s also used for beetles. Stops short. Enter Akím, who crosses himself in front of the icon, and then Peter, who sits down. Peter Well then, how’s it to be, Daddy Akím? Akím As it’s best, Peter Ignátitch, as it’s best⁠ ⁠… I mean⁠—as it’s best. ’Cos why? I’m afeared of what d’you call ’ems, some tomfoolery, you know. I’d like to, what d’you call it⁠ ⁠… to start, you know, start the lad honest, I mean. But supposing you’d rather, what d’you call it, we might, I mean, what’s name? As it’s best⁠ ⁠… Peter All right. All right. Sit down and let’s talk it over. Akím sits down. Well then, what’s it all about? You want him to marry? Matryóna As to marrying, he might bide a while, Peter Ignátitch. You know our poverty, Peter Ignátitch. What’s he to marry on? We’ve hardly enough to eat ourselves. How can he marry then?⁠ ⁠… Peter You must consider what will be best. Matryóna Where’s the hurry for him to get married? Marriage is not that sort of thing, it’s not like ripe raspberries that drop off if not picked in time. Peter If he were to get married, ’twould be a good thing in a way. Akím We’d like to⁠ ⁠… what d’you call it? ’Cos why, you see. I’ve what d’you call it⁠ ⁠… a job. I mean, I’ve found a paying job in town, you know. Matryóna And a fine job too⁠—cleaning out cesspools. The other day when he came home, I could do nothing but spew and spew. Faugh! Akím It’s true, at first it does seem what d’you call it⁠ ⁠… knocks one clean over, you know⁠—the smell, I mean. But one gets used to it, and then it’s nothing, no worse than malt grain, and then it’s, what d’you call it,⁠ ⁠… pays, pays, I mean. And as to the smell being, what d’you call it, it’s not for the likes of us to complain. And one changes one’s clothes. So we’d like to take what’s his name⁠ ⁠… Nikíta I mean, home. Let him manage things at home while I, what d’you call it⁠—earn something in town. Peter You want to keep your son at home? Yes, that would be well: but how about the money he has had in advance? Akím That’s it, that’s it! It’s just as you say, Ignátitch, it’s just what d’you call it. ’Cos why? If you go into service, it’s as good as if you had sold yourself, they say. That will be all right. I mean he may stay and serve his time, only he must, what d’you call it, get married. I mean⁠—so: you let him off for a little while, that he may, what d’you call it? Peter Yes, we could manage that. Matryóna Ah, but it’s not yet settled between ourselves, Peter Ignátitch. I’ll speak to you as I would before God, and you may judge between my old man and me. He goes on harping on that marriage. But just ask⁠—who it is he wants him to marry. If it were a girl of the right sort now⁠—I am not my child’s enemy, but the wench is not honest. Akím No, that’s wrong! Wrong, I say. ’Cos why? She, that same girl⁠—it’s my son as has offended, offended the girl I mean. Peter How offended? Akím That’s how. She’s what d’you call it, with him, with my son, Nikíta. With Nikíta, what d’you call it, I mean. Matryóna You wait a bit, my tongue runs smoother⁠—let me tell it. You know, this lad of ours lived at the railway before he came to you. There was a girl there as kept dangling after him. A girl of no account, you know, her name’s Marína. She used to cook for the men. So now this same girl accuses our son, Nikíta, that he, so to say, deceived her. Peter Well, there’s nothing good in that. Matryóna But she’s no honest girl herself; she runs after the fellows like a common slut. Akím There you are again, old woman, and it’s not at all what d’you call it, it’s all not what d’you call it, I mean⁠ ⁠… Matryóna There now, that’s all the sense one gets from my old owl⁠—“what d’you call it, what d’you call it,” and he doesn’t know himself what he means. Peter Ignátitch, don’t listen to me, but go yourself and ask anyone you like about the girl, everybody will say the same. She’s just a homeless good-for-nothing. Peter You know, Daddy Akím, if