UNCLE VANYA

In a place cursed by both gout and beauty, the air is stifling, and the stomach burns—so much is felt, yet so little is spoken. Nights and days are reversed, and the people on the estate can no longer find rest. Instead, they wait. With empty hands and burning hearts, they wait by the pool, beneath the dining table, at the edge of the greenest forest, on the lawn. Perhaps they've forgotten what they’re waiting for, but still, they remain, holding on.