Mother and Son
Moshele
For years it has been lying up in the garret. I wonder who took it down from there?
The Doctor
So! It is your little box? Your mother does not let it out of her sight even for a second. She carries it about with her everywhere. Even when she goes to bed, it must be…
Moshele
What! (He runs to it, unlocks it with trembling fingers and takes out two richly-bound volumes and a photograph of himself, handsomely framed. On the covers of the books in gold letters is printed “Moshe Kranz, Poems.”) My work! My photograph!
Moshele
My letters! All my letters! And I thought she did not even read them. She does love me! My mother loves me! (He snatches up one of the books and shows it to them.) See, the poems that only last week came from the press! To Vilna—where I live—she went! (He embraces Gitele impetuously.) I have a mother! She traveled specially to Vilna to get my books! You hear, Gitele? Gitele, my mother loves me! My dearest mother! (He attempts to go to her, but the doctor bars the way.)
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