humpbacked, and do not yet have a squint. Your preaches are terribly plain, Sir!
Jerman. Do not sin! Was I not struck unresponsive by your laughter, was I not confined whenever our eyes met – I, so hungry for happiness? I'll clap and I will chant in satisfaction – as you like! But I'll do it swiftly so the preach won't be a long one.
Anka. Let it be a short one!
Jerman. The dance of a butterfly suits you well, though I am myself too awkward to contest it. My heart too is too heavy and pulls me to the floor. You did not once inquire why I do not giggle, and I did not, though I adore your laughter. You did not come to notice how noisy of a company I had been . . . Rest! I would rather ask you of hatred than of pity; I would rather swear than plead. I do not ask for comfort nor for pity, I simply wish for you to out a word of love.
Anka. What word? I have a dislike for plain wordings, plain thoughts. If love is such boredom, may god be with it! You truly are just another conservative farmer from the hills. One's smile runs out as they come across you. Life, youth, spring, love and everything to you is elitism and highness. Look, I do not blame you – not even, if you go to sleep with your farmer boots foot-worn. To you, farmer's boots and a straw bad, to me, heel shoes and a throne. You do not voice much laughter by me, I do not weep by you. Hand me your palms and let us shake a goodbye.
Jerman. (Grabs their palms, is happy.) Goodbye, Anka!
As Minka and Geni approach the two of them.
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