ORGAN-GRINDER.

Do you think so? Then ask for a new organ. Tell Him that this one is screeching.

ANATHEMA.

CONTENTS

Compassionately.

He might add that the monkey was eaten up by the fleas—that he needs a new monkey.

CONTENTS

He laughs. All look at him in perplexity; the organ-grinder rises and takes up his organ silently.

SARAH.

What do you want to do, musician?

ORGAN-GRINDER.

I want to play.

SARAH.

What for? We don't need any music.

ORGAN-GRINDER.

I must thank you for your kindness.

CONTENTS

He plays something weird: the organ screeches, breaks off, wheezes. Anathema, with eyes lifted dreamily to the sky, keeps time with his hand, and whistles.

SARAH.

My God, how badly it sounds.

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