e the father. If a father is not to pray for his son,
who is? To whom are you leaving him? Can one person tell the same
things in the same way as the two of us together?

MAN

Very well. Maybe eternal justice will answer the prayers of an old man
who bends his old knees.

_[Both go down on their knees, their faces turned to the corner
where the Unknown stands motionless; their arms are folded over their
breasts while they pray._

THE MOTHER'S PRAYER

God, I beg you, let my son live. I can understand only one thing, I
can say only one thing, only one thing--God, let my son live. I
have no other words, all is dark around me, everything is falling.
I understand nothing, and there's such a terror in my heart, O Lord,
that I can say only this one thing--God, let my son live! Let him
live! Forgive me for praying so poorly. But I cannot pray in any other
way. You understand, O Lord, I can't. Look at me! Just look at me! Do
you see? Do you see how my head shakes, do you see how my hands shake?
But what are my hands, O Lord! Have pity on him. He is so young--he
has a birthmark on his right hand. Let him live, even if only a little
while, a little while. He is so young, such a mere foolish child--he's
still fond of sweets. I bought him grapes. Pity--have pity!

_[She weeps in a subdued way, covering her face with her hands. Man
speaks without looking at her._

THE FATHER'S PRAYER

Here I am praying, you see. I've bent my old knees. I've prostrated
myself in the dust before you. I'm kissing the ground, do you see?
Maybe I have sometimes offended you. If so, forgive me, forgive me. It
is true, I was haughty, arrogant. I demanded and did not beg. Often I
condemned--forgive me. And if you wish, if this be your will, punish
me, but spare my son. Spare him, I beg you. Not for mercy, not for
pity do I pray you. I pray for justice. You are old, and I am old too.
You will understand more easily than I. Bad people wanted to kill
him, people who insult you by their deeds and defile your earth--bad,
heartless people, who throw stones from behind corners. From
behind corners, the scoundrels! Do not then, I pray you, permit the
fulfilment of this evil deed. Stay the blood, give back the life--give
back the life to my noble son! You took everything away from me, but
did I ever ask you like a beggar: "Give me back my wealth, give me
back my friends, give me back my talent"? No, never. I did not even
ask you for my talent, and you know