YASHA. Yes, certainly. I cannot differ from you there. [Yawns and lights a cigar.]
EPIKHODOV. That is perfectly natural. Abroad everything is in full complexity.
YASHA. That goes without saying.
EPIKHODOV. I’m an educated man, I read various remarkable books, but I cannot understand the direction I myself want to go—whether to live or to shoot myself, as it were. So, in case, I always carry a revolver about with me. Here it is. [Shows a revolver.]
CHARLOTTA. I’ve done. Now I’ll go. [Slings the rifle] You, Epikhodov, are a very clever man and very terrible; women must be madly in love with you. Brrr! [Going] These wise ones are all so stupid. I’ve nobody to talk to. I’m always alone, alone; I’ve nobody at all... and I don’t know who I am or why I live. [Exit slowly.]
EPIKHODOV. As a matter of fact, independently of everything else, I must express my feeling, among other things, that fate has been as pitiless in her dealings with me as a storm is to a small ship. Suppose, let us grant, I am wrong; then why did I wake up this morning, to give an example, and behold an enormous spider on my chest, like that. [Shows with both hands] And if I do drink some kvass, why is it that there is bound to be something of the most indelicate nature in it, such as a beetle? [Pause] Have you read Buckle? [Pause] I should like to trouble you, Avdotya Fedorovna, for two words.
DUNYASHA. Say on.
EPIKHODOV. I should prefer to be alone with you. [Sighs.]
DUNYASHA. [Shy] Very well, only first bring me my little cloak.... It’s by the cupboard. It’s a little damp here.
EPIKHODOV. Very well... I’ll bring it.... Now I know what to do with my revolver. [Takes guitar and exits, strumming.]