class="c8">Slowly.

No, mother, I did not get any credit. I am beginning to die, mother,—everybody feels hot, while I am very cold; and I am perspiring, but my perspiration is cold. I met Sonka—Ruzya died already.

SARAH.

You will live yet, Naum, you will live yet.

NAUM.

Slowly.

Yes, I will live yet. Why isn't father coming? It is time for him to be here.

SARAH.

Clean a herring, Rosa. This gentleman is waiting for David a long time already, and David isn't here.

NAUM.

What does he want?

SARAH.

I don't know, Naum. Since he came, I suppose it was necessary.

Silence.

NAUM.

Mother, I am not going for credit any more. I will go with father to the sea. The time has come when I must go and ask God about my fate.

SARAH.

Do not ask Him, Naum, do not ask.

NAUM.

I will ask Him.

SARAH.

Entreatingly.

Don't do it, Naum, don't ask.

ANATHEMA.

Why not, madam Leizer? Do you fear that God will give him a bad answer? You should have more faith, madam Leizer. If David heard you, he would not approve your words.

ORGAN-GRINDER.

Raising his head.

Is it you, young man, who wants to speak to God?

NAUM.

Yes, it is I. Every man can speak with God.

ORGAN-GRINDER.

Do you think so? Then ask for a new organ. Tell Him that this one is screeching.

ANATHEMA.

Compassionately.

He might add that the monkey was eaten up by the fleas—that he needs a new monkey.

He laughs. All look at him in perplexity; the organ-grinder rises and takes up his organ silently.

SARAH.

What do you want to do, musician?

ORGAN-GRINDER.

I want to play.

SARAH.

What for? We don't need any music.

ORGAN-GRINDER.

I must thank you for your kindness.

He plays something weird: the organ screeches, breaks off, wheezes. Anathema, with eyes lifted dreamily to the sky, keeps time with his hand, and whistles.

SARAH.

My God, how badly it sounds.

ANATHEMA.

This, madam Leizer (whistles),—this is called the world harmony.

The conversation dies away for some time: only the screeching of the organ and the whistling of Anathema are heard. The sun is still shining mercilessly.

ANATHEMA.

I have nothing to do, so I wander over the world.

He is carried away by the playing of the organ. Suddenly the organ breaks off with a screech, which rings in the ears for a long time, and Anathema remains as petrified with uplifted hand.

ANATHEMA.

Perplexedly.

Does it always end like this?

ORGAN-GRINDER.

Sometimes even worse. Good-by.

ANATHEMA.

Feeling his vest pocket.

No, no, you mustn't go away like that.... You have afforded us genuine pleasure, and I do not want you to hang yourself. Here is some change for you, and live on.

SARAH.

Pleasantly surprised.

Who could ever think, by looking at your face, that you are such a cheerful and kind-hearted man?

ANATHEMA.

Flattered.

Oh, do not embarrass me with your praise, madam Leizer. Why shouldn't I help a poor man who would otherwise hang himself! The life of man is a precious thing, madam Leizer,—and I always carry change with me.... But isn't that venerable man I see there David Leizer?

He looks in the direction where the road turns to the right.

SARAH.

Also looking at the road.

Yes, that is David.

All wait silently. On the dust-covered road appears David Leizer, walking slowly. He is tall, bony, with long, grey locks and a grey beard; on his head he wears a high, black cap; in his hand a staff with which he seems to measure the road. He looks down from under his heavy eyebrows; and thus, without lifting his eyes, he advances slowly and seriously to the people, and stops, leaning upon the staff with both hands.

SARAH.

Rising respectfully.

Where were you, David?

DAVID.

Not lifting his eyes.

I was by the sea.

SARAH.

What did you do there, David?

DAVID.

I looked at the waves, Sarah, and asked them whence they came and whither they were going. I was thinking of life, Sarah—whence it came and whither it is going....

SARAH.

What did the waves tell you, David?

DAVID.

They did not tell me anything, Sarah.... They come and go away again, and the man by the sea is waiting in vain for an answer from the sea.

SARAH.

With whom did you speak, David?

DAVID.

I spoke with God, Sarah. I asked Him about the fate of David Leizer, the poor Jew who is going to die soon.

SARAH.

With emotion.

And what did God tell you?

David is silent, his eyes lowered.

SARAH.

Our son Naum also wants to go with you to the sea and ask about his fate.

DAVID.

Lifting his eyes.

Is Naum going to die soon?

NAUM.

Yes, father,—I have already commenced to die.

ANATHEMA.

But, pardon me, gentlemen.... Why should you speak of death, since I have brought you life and happiness?

DAVID.

Turning his head to him.

Do you come from God? Sarah, who is he who dares to speak like this?

SARAH.

I don't know. He has been waiting for you a long time.

ANATHEMA.

Bustling about joyously.

Oh, ladies and gentlemen, smile. Attention for one minute and I will make you all laugh. Attention, gentlemen. Attention!

All look with tense attention at Anathema's mouth.

ANATHEMA.

Taking out a paper, solemnly.

Are you not David Leizer, the son of Abraham Leizer?

LEIZER.

Frightened.

Well, yes, I am. But there may be another David Leizer. I don't know—ask the people.

ANATHEMA.

Interrupting him with a gesture.

Didn't you have a brother, Moses Leizer, who fled to America thirty-five years ago on the Italian steamship Fortuna?

ALL.

Yes, he did.

DAVID.

But I did not