“We have loaves on the stoves,
We have porridge on the shelf.
So we'll live and be gay,
Making merry every day,
And when death comes,
Then we'll die!
We have loaves on the stoves,
We have porridge on the shelf …”
Enter Mítritch. He takes off his outdoor things and climbs on the oven.
MÍTRITCH. Seems the women have been fighting again! Tearing each other's hair. Oh Lord, gracious Nicholas!
AKÍM [sitting on the edge of the oven, takes his leg-bands and shoes and begins putting them on] Get in, get into the corner.
MÍTRITCH. Seems they can't settle matters between them. Oh Lord!
NIKÍTA. Get out the liquor, we'll have some with our tea.
NAN [to Akoulína] Sister, the samovár is just boiling over.
NIKÍTA. And where's your mother?
NAN. She's standing and crying out there in the passage.
NIKÍTA. Oh, that's it! Call her, and tell her to bring the samovár. And you, Akoulína, get the tea things.