[_Everybody goes to the bed, Kleshtch looks at his wife ever the
others' shoulders._]
ZOB [_to the Tartar_] You think she'll smell? I don't think she
will--she dried up while she was still alive . . .
NATASHA. God! If they'd only a little pity . . . if only some one
would say a kindly word--oh, you . . .
LUKA. Don't be hurt, girl--never mind! Why and how should we pity the
dead? Come, dear! We don't pity the living--we can't even pity our own
selves--how can we?
BUBNOFF [_yawning_] And, besides, when you're dead, no word will help
you--when you're still alive, even sick, it may. . . .
THE TARTAR [_stepping aside_] The police must be notified . . .
ZOB. The police--must be done! Kleshtch! Did you notify the police?
KLESHTCH. No--she's got to be buried--and all I have is forty
kopecks--
ZOB. Well--you'll have to borrow then--otherwise we'll take up a
collection . . . one'll give five kopecks, others as much as they can.
But the police must be notified at once--or they'll think you killed
her or God knows what not . . .
[_Crosses to the Tartar's bunk and prepares to lie down by his side._]
NATASHA [_going to Bubnoff's bunk_] Now--I'll dream of her . . . I
always dream of the dead . . . I'm afraid to go out into the hall by
myself--it's dark there . . .
LUKA [_following her_] You better fear the living--I'm telling
you . . .
NATASHA. Take me across the hall, grandfather.