Geni. Onto a christian route.
Lojzka. (Goes to the workbench; grabbing some paper. Talks softly.) My dear, greetings! It is you, the farewell from the Under-earth! The tear has barely dried out . . .
Hvastja comes in from the back, holding a pack. Lojzka speaks to him, sitting.
Lojzka. Where do you come from, arriving in these hills of darkness?
Hvastja. (Comes closer, sets the pack onto the chair.) I came to think how those who roam may value a word of calm above any coins; thus I arrive.
Lojzka. To comfort . . . Do not resent, poor soul, for we have killed you!
Hvastja. Those who have a wife and a triplet of children never commit the sin of murder.
Lojzka. (Stands up.) Hence you have brought us a beating heart in the cloaked pack you carry?
Hvastja. (Sits down on the left.) It was so . . . I think . . . The heart and belief and such – that which suits the youth. Let the young party! I have since aged; I have married and I now have three children. For me, belief is like a cherry: where am I to put it when there is no cake?
Lojzka. It is thus better for one to refrain from the cherry – because of the cake.
Hvastja. Truly. At first it feels sinful, later questionable; finally, it becomes natural. When one is married and has three children, they are struck, erudite . . . Any wording, be it seemingly fancy and excellent, is always a metaphor for bread.
Lojzka. Truly, The Evangelism of Willful Servitude is bitter. Why live?
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