As
he approaches the clearing, he sees three figures in silhouette by the body, one kneeling beside
him. Without a word, CHUBUKOV takes off into the woods. As he runs into the woods his face
is depicted in a series of panels. At first furious, then determined. Eventually, he smiles.

CHUBUKOV
If I cannot count on you to wield a shovel, what I can I trust you to
do? Maintain a confidence? Lie? Obfuscate? Destroy evidence?
It is not an easy road that lies before me. The easy road is out
there. (Gestures to the woods.) We could run now. No one would
find us, no one would even look for us. They would take us for
dead, that being the greatest convenience for the associates of the
propertied. But my home is here, and I do not intend to lose it.
NATALYA opens her mouth to respond, but her head is crushed by CHUBUKOV’s pickaxe. He
hooks the axe through her skull and uses it to drag her body back toward LOMOV’s body.

Predictably, as she continues in this fashion, CHUBUKOV appears behind her, and slowly stalks
toward her. When he is close enough, he swing the shovel, with one arm, and hits NATALYA in
the head, knocking her down. He then tosses the shovel aside and stands over her with the
pickaxe. NATALYA is stunned and bleeding.
CHUBUKOV
You were right to run. I have to give you that. Three fit in a grave
as easily as two.
NATALYA
Whwhy?

Shift focus to NATALYA, who is sitting behind a tree with both hands over her mouth. She stares
forward in terror. Behind her, she can hear CHUBUKOV’s footsteps grow distant. She glances
around the tree and sees nothing. She glances around the other side. She sees nothing. She
removes her hands from her mouth and slowly stands. Cautiously, she moves from tree to tree,
keeping herself hidden from where she imagines CHUBUKOV to be.

He holds his breath and tries to listen. At first there is nothing, but then, from off to the side, a subtle,
distant wheeze. CHUBUKOV looks thoughtful, and then continues forward, past the sound of
the breathing.

NATALYA runs blindly into a thickly wooded area, and CHUBUKOV pursues
grimly, using his tools to knock plants and branches out of his way. CHUBUKOV loses sight of
NATALYA for a moment, and in a panic glances around the woods. He sees nothing.

CHUBUKOV, already holding the pickaxe, swings it into the dirt. He swiftly lifts and strikes, again
and again. When satisfied, he picks up the shovel, and begins to dig, tossing the dirt in a
wellformed
mound. NATALYA steps back, but keeps watching.
CHUBUKOV
Even freshly moved, the ground is thick with rocks and roots, but I
fear I lose more time by rotating tools than by breaking my back
with this one. Perhaps you could assist, at least until the black
work is to be done?
NATALYA
(disbelieving that things could get worse) Black work?
CHUBUKOV stops, pants, and leans on the shovel.
CHUBUKOV
Could you still be so ignorant? What I do now is the work of a
gopher, a rabbit, a mole, a worm. I am digging a hole. The hard
part comes when the coffin is struck, and we must remove the
nailsNATALYA
Stop! I won’t hear any more!
NATALYA, in tears, begins to run.
CHUBUKOV
Natalya! No! Wait!
NATALYA runs full sprint into the wilderness. CHUBUKOV pursues, carrying, oddly, the pickaxe
and the shovel.

She closes
her eyes and turns away, and sets the shovel to the earth. As she begins to use her foot to push
the shovel into the dirtCHUBUKOV
Not there, my dear. Here, where the soil is freshly turned.
A look of terror appears on NATALYA’s face.
NATALYA
You mean we are to bury himCHUBUKOV
In the grave of another, yes.
NATALYA
No, no, there is no need, no need to perform this foul deed.
CHUBUKOV
There will time enough to repent of foul deeds when we are done
with them, but we have no time to abhor them. You asked with
irony whether I meant to erect a marker over our friend’s grave. Of
course I do not. But do you know what a large plot of upturned
earth in this middle of this land would be? To those who till this
land, it would be as clear a sign as a granite obelisk that rose to
the moon.
NATALYA
I would sooner die myself than profane myself by molesting the
dead.
CHUBUKOV
There is no time to debate. If you cannot be useful, then do not be
a distraction.
CHUBUKOV, already holding the pickaxe, swings it into the dirt. He swiftly lifts and strikes, again
and again. When satisfied, he picks up the shovel, and begins to dig, tossing the dirt in a
wellformed
mound.

CHUBUKOV throws down a PICKAXE, a SHOVEL, a HAMMER, and a box of NAILS.
NATALYA
Hammer and nails? But what purpose could we possibly have for
such things? Surely you do not mean to erect a marker for the
grave.
CHUBUKOV
I fear you have misunderstood my intentions from the outset. We
are not the first open this earth. The world beneath us is teeming
with the remains of the dead, as though a battle were fought and
lost by all sides. Mark Lomov’s grave? Not here. To mark a grave
in this field would be blasphemy, for this is the abode of the
nameless, the cemetery of the unknown.
NATALYA
(Trembling) You have not answered me. For what purpose the
hammer? And for what purpose the nails?
CHUBUKOV
My forefather long held that it was bad luck, and poor form, to
forestall action in order to declare one’s intentions. If you truly
cannot follow the deed we must do, then you need follow no more
than my words. Now, take the shovel. (She does.) Dig.
NATALYA looks sadly at the covered corpse of LOMOV as she gingerly holds the shovel with
one hand, by the tip of the handle, as if it were a foul object she didn’t wish to touch.