The Three Seagulls

by Anton Checkon

(A Russian parlour. PIOTR ALEXEYEVICH and MARIANNA ANDREYOVNIKA sit there, bored out of their skulls. A tremendous thunderstorm is raging. It goes on and on. Eventually MA hobbles to a window and looks out)

MA:    It is going to rain, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      Rain, Marianna Andreyovnika? I have known rain in my youth.

MA:    In your youth, Piotr Alexeyevich?

PA:      Yes, Marianna Andreyovnika. In my youth it would rain every day, sweeping off the steppes in torrents and carrying away all the milk bottles. In my youth I was a young man. I was as strong as a box! Now I am old and bent. Such is life.

MA:    You are still a fine figure of a man, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      So are you, Marianna Andreyovnika.

MA:    Piotr Alexeyevich, you must not say such things.

PA:      Why not, Marianna Andreyovnika?

MA:    Because I am a mother, Piotr Andreyovnika. I have a son.

PA:      Yes, Marianna Andreyovnika, I too have a son. But that does not make me a mother.

MA:    You are very gay this evening, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      Yes, Marianna Andreyovnika. That is because I wish (he crashes painfully to one knee in front of her) to marry you.

MA:    It is too late, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      It is only ten past eight, Marianna Andreyovnika.

MA:    No, Piotr Alexeyevich, I mean it is too late in our lives. We have seen too much and done too little. We have danced too long and played too many games of whist. We are like two empty samovars in need of repair.

PA:      If a samovar needs repair, Marianna Andreyovnika, it is only because it has a crack in it.

MA:    But my crack is too wide and too deep, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      I should still like to try and fill it, Marianna Andreyovnika.

MA:    Piotr Alexeyevich, you speak very boldly for a man with such a small spigot.

PA:      It may be a small spigot now, Marianna Andreyovnika, but it would take only a single mighty tap from your firm hand to turn it into –

            (enter abruptly VASSILAYEV YOGURTSKI and KONSTANTIN NOKYABLOKOV)

VY:     Good day, Marianna Andreyovnika, Piotr Alexeyevich. May I present my friend, Konstantin Nokyablokov?

MA:    Good day, Vassilayev Yogurtski, Konstantin Nokyablokov. Konstantin Nokyablokov, this is my friend Piotr Alexeyevich. Piotr Alexeyevich, this is Konstantin Nokyablokov, a friend of my son Vassilayev Yogurtski.

PA:      I know your son Vassilayev Yogurtski, Marianna Andreyovnika, but I do not know his friend Konstantin Nokyablokov. Good day, Konstantin Nokyablokov.

KN:     Good day, Piotr Alexeyevich, Marianna Andreyovnika.

MA:    Will you not sit down by the hearth, Konstantin Nokyablokov, Vassilayev Yogurtski?

VY:     I am afraid, Marianna Andreyovnika, we cannot stay. Good day, Piotr Alexeyevich, Marianna Andreyovnika.

PA:      Good day, Vassilayev Yogurtski, Konstantin Nokyablokov.

KN:     Good day, Piotr Alexeyevich, Marianna Andreyovnika.

MA:    Good day, Konstantin Nokyablokov, Vassilayev Yogurtski.

            (exeunt Konstantin Nokyablokov and Vassilayev Yogurtski)

PA:      I envy your son Vassilayev Yogurtski, Marianna Andreyovnika. He is so transient.

MA:    He has youth, Piotr Alexeyevich, and talent.

PA:      Ah, talent. He should learn to play the violin. Or become a poet.

MA:    I gave him a violin once, Piotr Alexeyevich. He carved a poem on it with a knife.

PA:      An author then, perhaps. Marianna Andreyovnika, I must ask you a serious question. Do you think your son, Vassilayev Yogurtski, will commit suicide?

MA:    No! I will not have you talk this way in my house, Piotr Alexeyevich. My son, Vassilayev Yogurtski, is a strong man. He is too strong ever to wish to commit –

            (gunshot off. Enter KONSTANTIN NOKYABLOKOV)

KN:     Marianna Andreyovnika, your son, Konstantin Nokyablokov, has committed suicide.

PA:      Such is life.

MA:    Piotr Alexeyevich, how can you say that at a time like this?

PA:      Forgive me, Marianna Andreyovnika. Such is death.

MA:    Konstantin Nokyablokov, Piotr Alexeyevich, I have a confession to make. My son, Vassileyev Yogurtski, is not my son.

PA:      Marianna Andreyovnika, what do you mean your son, Vassileyev Yogurtski, your son, is not your son?

KN:     Surely, Marianna Andreyovnika, you mean your son, Vassileyev Yogurtski, was not your son?

MA:    No, Konstantin Nokyablokov. I mean my son, Vassileyev Yogurtski, my son, was really my daughter.

PA:      How long has this been the case, Marianna Andreyovnika?

MA:    Ever since his uncle, my sister-in-law, committed suicide.

PA:      I understand, Marianna Andreyovnika.

KN:     I do not. I refuse to stay a moment longer in a house which entertains such twisted morality as this. I am going to kill myself! (exits)

PA:      Ah, youth. So quick to die, so slow to forgive.

MA:    Piotr Alexeyevich, can you ever forgive me for deceiving you?

PA:      Yes, Marianna Andreyovnika. You see, I have a confession to make too.

MA:    What is that, Piotr Alexeyevich?

PA:      I was never married.

MA:    You mean – ?

PA:      Yes. My son, Ivan Awfulich, never had a mother.

MA:    I understand, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      That is more than the doctors did, Marianna Andreyovnika.

MA:    Such is life, Piotr Alexeyevich.

PA:      Yes, Marianna Andreyovnika. Such is – (gunshot off) – well, you know.