In Jerman's room. It has barely any inventory. Entrance is in the back, entry into his mother's cabinet on the left, a window on the right and a desk by it. There are bookshelves by the bench; on its left another desk and some chairs. Behind it, we can see some settee and a tobacco bench.
Jerman stands at the door on the left, Kalander is sitting on the chair by the desk, his palms on his legs. Jerman opens the door to his mother's cabinet.
Jerman. Mother, bring us some coffee, and something to bite! (Jerman picks up a notebook, counts with his pencil grabbed.) Finally, Kalander, we are alone!
Kalander. It must be so, sir! Our lands have little fair men, even those are hardly present. In these lands, god first created women, cowards, then men.
Jerman. How many lowered their heads?
Kalander. Pretty much everyone. One says they are too old, they can no more take care of politics, they only think of death now. Last year it was not so yet. Another dismisses it, trusting us to do it without them; they are busy. That's all fine. I really hate those who concur with my stand but whisper how repealing struggle and fight is. I have less hatred for those who dismissed me on the go. They know no lie and no disassembly in their hearts. They told me fair and clear:
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