A voice: Who did they talk of?
Another voice: Of the priest, you moron!
Third voice: Let the priest be, coward!
Komar. (Shows up at the door.) Your cases are packed! Thus you have signed your leave a thousand times.
Jerman. The one to have voiced their anger is among them; among the worthless keepers, serving stupidity and licking its boots, to eat its bread! The one to have voiced their anger is not the only to have come – there are a thousand, there are seventy and seven more thousand of them – bowing their heads, preaching for pity! They sold their enlightenment, their sense, for a warm lunch – holiness exchanged for potatoes!
Anka. (Had been standing by the door; by now she has stepped to the chair by Komar; she leans on them.) Let me take a look . . . At the preacher! Hello, mister prophet!
Jerman. Nearly silently. I am saying . . . As I've told you . . .
Komar. What interruption broke your sentences apart, mister prophet?
Jerman. Listen – a human being nowadays lacks honesty to their closest relatives. One cannot trust their brother nor their friend; not even themselves. One cannot trust their knowledge, their nature . . . Who would trust such a people, who naively believes that their eyes see, what their ears hear? Think about it: it's been half a year since we sowed and now we harvest . . .
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