what his talent means to a man.
It is more than life. I thought perhaps that's the way it ought to be,
and I bore everything, bore everything with pride. But now I ask
you on my knees, in the dust, kissing the earth: "Give back my son's
life." I kiss your earth!

_[He rises. Someone called He listens indifferently to the father's
and mother's prayers._

WIFE

I'm afraid your prayer was not humble enough. There was a certain tone
of pride in it.

MAN

No, no, my wife, I spoke well to Him, the way a man should speak. He
cannot love cringing flatterers better than brave, proud men who speak
the truth. No, wife, you cannot understand. Now I believe also and
feel reassured--in fact, I am happy. I feel that I too still signify
something to my boy, and it makes me glad. Go and see if he's asleep.
He needs a lot of good, hard sleep.

_[The Wife goes out. Man, with a friendly look to the corner where
Someone in Gray stands, picks up the toy clown, plays with it, and
gives its red nose a quick kiss. At that instant his Wife enters and
Man speaks shamefacedly._

MAN

I was begging his pardon. I insulted this fool. Well, how is our dear
boy?

WIFE

He is so pale.

MAN

That's nothing. It'll pass away. He lost a lot of blood.

WIFE

It makes me so sad to look at his poor shorn head. He had such
beautiful golden curls.

MAN

They had to be cut so that the wound could be washed. Never mind,
wife, his hair will grow again and be still finer. Did you keep what
was cut off? Be sure to keep it. His precious, blood is on it.

WIFE

Yes, I put it away in the chest, the last one left of all our wealth.

MAN

Don't worry about wealth. Just wait until our son begins to work.
He'll restore all we've lost. I feel well again, wife, and I firmly
believe in our future. Do you remember our poor little rosy room? The
good neighbors scattered oak leaves in it, and you made a wreath of
them and put it on my head and said I was a genius.

WIFE

I say so still. Other people have ceased to appreciate you, but not I.

MAN

No, my dear little wife, you're wrong. What genius creates outlives
the old dirty bundle of rags known as the body, whereas I am still
living, and my productions--

WIFE

No, they're not dead and they never will die. Do you remember that
corner house you built ten years ago? Every evening at sunset you go
to look at it. Is there a more beautiful building in the whole city,
is there any with more