Koch. Then go to the devil!
Pod. Very well, I will.
Koch. That’s the right end for you!
Pod. All right.
Koch. Be off with you! Be off! And I wish you may break your leg! With all my heart I wish a tipsy cabman would drive his shafts down your throat! You’re an old rag, not an official! I give you my word that everything’s over between us. Don’t you dare to show your face in my house again!
Pod. I shan’t. (Exit.)
Koch. (alone). Go to the devil—your old friend! (Opens door and bawls after him.) Fool! (Walks up and down in great agitation.) Now, did anybody in the world ever see such a man? The blockhead! Indeed, to speak the truth, I’m a precious fellow, too! Now just tell me, please—I appeal to you all—am I not an ass and a dolt? Why should I toil and moil for him and argue till my throat aches? What’s he to me, please? He’s no kin of mine! And what am I to him—nurse, maiden aunt, mother-in-law, sponsor? Why, why, why the devil should I take all this trouble and give myself no rest? And all for him—may the foul fiend carry him away! The deuce take it all! Sometimes there’s no making out what a man does a thing for! What a scoundrel! What a sneaking, miserable cad! Oh! you pig-headed brute, you! Wouldn’t I just like to punch your nose and box your ears, and knock out your teeth and——Ah! (Strikes at the air with his fist.) This is the provoking thing about it—he just goes off, and doesn’t care a rap; it all runs off him like water off a duck’s back; that’s what I can’t stand! He’ll just go home to his lodgings and lie on his back and smoke a pipe. Confounded sneak! There are plenty of ugly brutes to be seen, but such a hideous mug passes any man’s power to imagine; you couldn’t invent anything worse if you tried—you couldn’t, really! And he’s just mistaken. I’ll go and fetch him back on purpose, the scoundrel! I won’t let him give the slip like that; I’ll go and bring the sneak back! (Rushes away. Enter Agàfia.)
Agàfia. Really, my heart beats so, I can’t make it out! Whichever way I turn, Ivàn Kouzmìch seems to stand before me. It seems as if one couldn’t escape one’s fate. Just now I wanted to think of something altogether different, but it’s all the same whatever I take up. I’ve tried to wind off some silk and make a reticule, but Ivàn Kouzmìch keeps getting under my hand. (Silence.) And so now, at last, a change of condition awaits me! They will take me, lead me to the church. Then they will leave me alone with a man—oh! I shudder from head to foot when I think of it. Farewell, my maiden life! (Weeps.) All these years I have lived in peace. I have just gone on living, and now I must be married! And to think of all the cares of marriage: children, boys—they always quarrel and fight—and then there’ll be girls, and they’ll grow up, and one must get them married. And one is fortunate if they find good husbands. But supposing they marry drunkards, or people that may any day gamble away anything they have! (Gradually begins to sob again.) I haven’t had time to enjoy my girlhood; I haven’t lived even twenty-seven years unmarried. (Changing her tone.) I wonder why Ivàn Kouzmìch is so long coming! (Enter Podkolyòssin, Kochkaryòv’s hands are seen at the door, shoving him forcibly on to the stage.)
Pod. I have come, madam, to explain a certain matter—only I should wish to know beforehand whether you will not think it strange——
Agàfia (dropping her eyes). What is it?