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.