SAVVA

THE FIRST ACT


_The interior of a house in a monastic suburb. Two rooms, with a third
seen back of them. They are old, ramshackle, and filthy. The first one
is a sort of dining-room, large, with dirty, low ceiling and smeared
wall-paper that in places has come loose from the wall. There are
three little windows; the one giving on the yard reveals a shed, a
wagon, and some household utensils. Cheap wooden furniture; a large,
bare table. On the walls, which are dotted with flies, appear pictures
of monks and views of the monastery. The second room, a parlor, is
somewhat cleaner. It has window curtains of muslin, two flower-pots
with dried geraniums, a sofa, a round table covered with a tablecloth,
and shelves with dishes. The door to the left in the first room leads
to the tavern. When open, it admits the sound of a man's doleful,
monotonous singing.

It is noon of a hot and perfectly still summer's day. Now and then the
clucking of hens is heard under the windows. The clock in the belfry
of the monastery strikes every half-hour, a long, indistinct wheeze
preceding the first stroke.

Pelagueya, who is pregnant, is scrubbing the floor. Seized with
giddiness, she staggers to her feet and leans against the wall,
staring before her with a vacant gaze._