Man From the USSR & Other Plays by Vladimir Nabokov Page A

Don’t you dare come back to me. Don’t you dare write me. No, it doesn’t matter—I know you’ll write anyway, but I’ll tear up your letters.
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    MEGAPHONE OFFSTAGE
    Three!
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    KUZNETSOFF
    No, no, Marianna Sergeyevna, I have no intention of writing. Anyway, right now you’re only making me late. It’s time for me to go.
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    MARIANNA
    Do you realize that you’ll never see me again?
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    KUZNETSOFF
    Yes, of course—what’s the point of repeating yourself all the time? Say good-by.
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    MARIANNA
(turning away)

No.
(Kuznetsoff bows and unhurriedly goes off right. Stagehands walk toward him carrying banners, and a bundle of rifles. He slows, glancing at them with a fleeting smile, then leaves. Marianna is left standing by the scenery at the left.)
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    MEGAPHONE OFFSTAGE
    Back! Everybody back! It’s no good! People, I’m telling you for the last time—listen ... Group One—
CURTAIN

ACT FIVE
    The Oshivenskis’ room. On the left, a door to the entrance hall; in the rear wall, a smaller door to the adjoining room; on the right, a window onto the courtyard. Against the rear wall, to the left of the door, the bare metal frame of a double bed, its springs exposed; next to it a night table (propped against the wall, evidently because one leg has broken off) with its door wide open; by the bed a small rug lies askew, with one corner folded back. To the right of the door, several suitcases (one of them is open), a Russian wooden trunk with hasps, a hamper, a carton with a squashed top, and a large bundle. The floor around the suitcases is mottled with scraps of white and brown paper; the bare table has been moved over to the window, while the wastebasket remains where the table used to stand in the middle of the room and, lying on its side, disgorges various trash. The chairs stand helter-skelter; one of them has been moved up against the wardrobe (which is by the rear wall, to the right of the door), from whose top things have apparently been removed since a whole newspaper page hangs down on one side. The walls of the room are covered with suspicious water stains; and a monstrous chandelier, suspended from the ceiling (Bavarian workmanship: a Gretchen with a dolphin’s tale from which extend, curving upward, deer antlers crowned with light bulbs), gazes
reproachfully at the dust, at the absurd placement of the chairs, at the baggage of the departing tenants.
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    OSHIVENSKI
(as he finishes packing a suitcase)

Junk....
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    Another piece of string would be handy....
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    OSHIVENSKI
    There is no more string. Junk.
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    And where are we supposed to go now? Oh my dear God....
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    OSHIVENSKI
    We’ll move straight into the Kingdom of Heaven. At least there you don’t have to pay the rent in advance.
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    Shame on you, Vitya, for talking like that. A crying shame. Here, help me lock this trunk.
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    OSHIVENSKI
    What a miserable life....No—I’ve had enough!
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    Just be careful, Vitya ... when you start talking with him.... We can put the trunk over against the wall for now.
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    OSHIVENSKI
    Against the wall.... Against the wall.... Enough is enough. We’ve done our share of suffering. Anything would be better. Even the wall and the firing squad.
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    You stick mostly to questions—you know, what and where....
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    OSHIVENSKI
    Even one’s honor goes to the dogs. That’s enough. What are you bawling about?
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    You won’t find Vasya’s grave anyway. There is no grave. Even if you search all of Russia....
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    OSHIVENSKI
    You’d better get the parcel ready. Damn these newspapers—they keep rustling under one’s feet.... I’ll start bawling myself in a minute. Stop it, Zhenya....
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    MRS. OSHIVENSKI
    I don’t trust him. A man like that might filch it.
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    OSHIVENSKI