Lojzka. Give me a moment to rest. (Deposits the collar onto the table.) I plead for you not to send me to inquire.
Jerman. Do you come with news of success or error? I have readied myself for any, now do with the unpleasant first.
Lojzka. (Sits on the left of Jerman.) I don't have the mail. It seems as though I missed it. She was unsatisfied and thus spoke words of spite, not of heartiness.
Jerman. (Stands in front of them.) Tell me everything, every word of hers. Do not silence one message, misrender none. I will judge for myself, deriving those of red-faceness from those of intel. (Sits down and grabs one of her hands.)
Lojzka. (Stands up.) I cannot do this! A brief pause. As I have spoken, it cannot be told . . . Do you realize what I would have to tell?
Jerman. (Lets her hand go.) I knew as I commanded you to inquire. Such is an ill man, calling for the doctor to reaffirm their thoughts of death. It is the latent, shameful, undesired hope! (Closes onto her.) Yet I ask you to report. Out of intrigue. A human likes to open their wound and study it. Then they are disgusted and pain is suddenly lesser. Don't you worry . . . I have never wept and never will. (Sits back onto the sofa and buries their cheeks into their palms.) Report!
Lojzka. (Takes a seat, their look diverted from Jerman.) She was cheered through and through.
Jerman. Cheered?
42
