anathema A Tragedy in Seven Scenes 21
PURIKES.
Oh, I am afraid for David. He stands with his back toward them, and
does not see them. And they are coming like blind people.
SONKA.
They will soon crush him. David, David, turn around and look.
ANATHEMA.
It is too late, Sonka,--David can't hear you now.
PURIKES.
But who is that? I am afraid of them.
WANDERER.
These are our people! These are blind people from our land,--they have
come to David for their eyesight.
_Loudly._
Stop, stop! you have reached your destination. David is in your midst.
_The blind, almost crushing the frightened David,
pause and seek him with their fingers._
THE BLIND.
Where is David? Help us to find David. Where is David, who brings joy
to mankind? He is here. I feel him already with my fingers. Are you
David? Where is David? Where is David? Are you David?
DAVID.
_Frightened voices come out of the darkness._
It is I--I am David Leizer. What is it you wish of me?
SARAH.
_Weeping._
David! David!
I don't see you.
David, David, where are you?
THE BLIND.
_Closing in around him._
Here is David. Are you David?
CURTAIN.
ACT FOUR
_A large, high, somewhat dark room--David's study in the rich villa
where he spends his last days. Two large windows in the room: one
overlooking the road to the city; the other, on the left, overlooking
the garden. Near this window, a large writing-table, covered with
papers in disorder--sheets of paper of various sizes, and large
books. Under the table, and near it, paper torn into small bits. A
large Bible, bound in old leather, lies on the floor, open, with its
back upward, resembling the roof of a house which is falling apart.
Notwithstanding the heal, there is a fire in the fireplace. David
Leizer feels cold and feverish._
_It is growing dark. Through the lowered blinds, faint sunlight
comes in, but it is already dark in the room. Only the small lamp on
the table brings out into bold relief the white heads of David and
Anathema._
_David is sitting by the table. His hair and beard, unkempt for some
time, lend him a savage and terrible appearance; his face is emaciated,
his eyes are wide open; clasping his head with both hands, he stares
fixedly through his large spectacles, examines a paper, throws it
aside, takes up another paper, and nervously turns the leaves of a
heavy volume._
_Anathema stands near him, holding the back of his arm-chair. He is
motionless, thoughtful, and stern._
_The windows are closed, but through the dosed windows comes the
muffled noise of many voices. It increases slowly, wavering in force
and impassionateness. Those who had been called by David are now
besieging his house. Silence._
DAVID.
It has crumbled away into dust; Nullius! The mountain that reached the
sky has split into rocks, the rocks have turned into dust, and the
wind has carried the dust away. Where is the mountain, Nullius? Where
are the millions which you brought me? Here I have been looking for an
hour through my papers for one copeck, only one copeck, that I may give
it to him who asks for it, but I cannot find it. What is lying around
there?
ANATHEMA.
The Bible.
DAVID.
No, no, I mean there, among the papers. Let me have it. I think it is
an account I haven't examined yet. That would be good luck, Nullius!
_Stares intently._
No, it is all crossed out here. Look, Nullius, look! A hundred, then
fifty, then twenty,--and then one copeck. But I cannot take this copeck
away from him, can I?
ANATHEMA.
Six, eight, twenty,--correct.
DAVID.
No, no, Nullius,--one hundred, fifty--twenty,--one copeck. It has all
melted away, it slipped through my fingers like water. And the fingers
are dry already--and I feel cold, Nullius!
ANATHEMA.
It is warm here.
DAVID.
I say it is cold here, Nullius. Throw some logs of wood into the
fireplace.... No, wait. How much does a log cost? Oh, it costs a great
deal; put it away, Nullius,--this accursed fire is devouring wood
so quickly, as though it did not know that every log of wood is--a
life. Wait, Nullius.... You have a splendid memory, you never forget
anything, like a book--don't you remember how much I designated for
Abraham Khessin?
ANATHEMA.
At first, five hundred.
DAVID.
Yes, yes, Nullius, of course,--he is an old friend of mine; we used to
play together. And for a friend five hundred is not much at all. Of
course, he is an old friend of mine, and I must have pitied him and
left to him more than to the others in the end--for our friendship is
such a tender feeling, Nullius. But it is bad if a man wrongs strangers
and distant people on account of a friend--for they have no friends or
protection. And we will cut down Abraham Khessin's allowance, we will
cut it down just a little bit....
_With fear._
Tell me, how much have I now allowed for Abraham?
ANATHEMA.
One copeck.
DAVID.
Impossible! Tell me that you have made an error! Have pity on me, and
tell me that you have made an error, Nullius! It cannot be--Abraham
is my friend--we used to play together. Do you understand what it
means when children play together, and then they grow up and they have
grey beards, and they smile together at the past? You have also a grey
beard, Nullius.
ANATHEMA.
Yes, my beard is grey. You allowed one copeck for Khessin.
DAVID.
_Takes Anathema by the arm; in a whisper._
But she said that her child would die, Nullius,--that he is dying
already. Understand me, my old friend, I must have money. You are such
a fine man, you are (_pats his arm_) such a kind man, you remember
everything, like a book,--search a little more.
ANATHEMA.
Bethink yourself, David; your reason is betraying you. It is already
two days that you have been sitting here at this table, looking for
that which is no more. Go out to the people who are waiting for you,
tell them that you have nothing left, and dismiss them.
_Angrily._
DAVID.
But did I not go out ten times already to the people and did I not
tell them that I have nothing left? Did a single one of them go away?
They stand and wait there, and they are firm in their misery, like a
rock, obstinate like the child at the mother's breast. Does a child ask
whether there is milk in the mother's breast? When I speak, they are
silent and they listen to me like reasonable people; but when I become
silent, the spirit of despair and want seizes upon them and wails in a
thousand voices. Did I not give everything away to them, Nullius? Did
I not cry out all my tears? Did I not give them away all the blood of
my heart? What are they waiting for, Nullius? What do they want of the
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