[DIEGO dies. The women keen while a rising wind sweeps the city.]
THE SECRETARY: Do not weep. The bosom of the earth is soft for those who have loved her greatly. [She goes away. Carrying DIEGO, VICTORIA and the women move to the side of the stage. Meanwhile the sounds in the background are becoming more distinct. There is a burst of music and NADA is heard shouting on the battlements.]
NADA: Here they are, the old gang! They all are coming back: the men of the past, the fossils, the dead-enders, the triflers, smooth-tongued, comfortable—the army of tradition, robust and flourishing, spick and span as ever. So now we can start all over again, and what a relief for everyone! From zero naturally. Here they come, the tailors of nonentity, you’ll have your new suits built to order. But there’s no need to worry, their method is the best. Instead of shutting the mouths of those who air their grievances, they shut their own ears. We were dumb, we are going to be deaf. [Trumpet calls.] Look! The writers of history are coming back and we shall soon be reading all about our heroes of the plague.
They will be kept nice and cool under the flagstones. But there’s nothing to complain of; the company above the flagstones is really too, too mixed! [In the background official ceremonies are taking place, in pantomime.] Look! Do you see what they’re up to? Conferring decorations on each other! The banquet halls of hatred are always open, and the soil is never so exhausted that the dead wood of the gallows fails to rise from it. The blood of those you call the just ones still glistens on the walls—and what are those fine fellows up to? Giving each other medals! Rejoice, my friends, you’re going to have your prize-day speeches. But before the platform is brought forward, I’d like to give you mine—a few well-chosen words. That young man, whom somehow I couldn’t help liking, died cheated. [The FISHERMAN makes a rush at NADA. The Guards arrest him.] As you see, fishermen and governments may come and go, the police are always with us. So, after all, justice does exist.
CHORUS: No, there is no justice—but there are limits. And those who stand for no rules at all, no less than those who want to impose a rule for everything, overstep the limit. Open the gates and let the salt wind scour the city.
[The gates are opened, the wind is growing stronger and stronger.]
NADA: Justice exists—the justice done to my disgust. Yes, you are going to start again; but henceforth it’s no concern of mine. And don’t count on me to supply you with the plaintive, perfect scapegoat; plaintiveness is not my line. So now, old world, it’s time for me to leave you, your executioners are tired, their hatred’s gone too cold. I know too many things; even scorn has had its day. So good-by, my worthy fellow citizens, one day you’ll find out for yourselves that man is nothing and God’s face is hideous!
[NADA rushes through the wind, which has now reached storm pitch, to the jetty, and flings himself into the sea. The FISHERMAN, who has run after him, stands gazing down.]
THE FISHERMAN: The sea has closed upon him. The great sea-horses are ravaging him, choking his breath out with their white manes. That lying mouth is filling up with salt; at last it will keep silent. See how the swirling waves are glowing, like anemones! Their anger is our anger, they are avenging us, calling on all the men of the sea to meet together, all the outcasts to make common cause. O mighty mother, whose bosom is the homeland of all rebels, behold thy people who will never yield! Soon a great tidal wave, nourished in the bitter dark of underseas, will sweep away our loathsome cities.
CURTAIN
The End
