Car. Who?
Laz. They. (Pointing to the cabinet.)
Car. Why?
Laz. Because I have not known how to explain to them what you are to me, and neither have you understood; and they believe that we shall console ourselves, that we shall grow resigned, that there is nothing more to be said than, “Lock up Lazarus, take away Carmen.” Do you consent?
Car. I? No, never; no, Lazarus, I am not resigned. I cannot do more than one thing: die. Well, I shall die. Can I do more?
Laz. No; that will do well; that’s enough.
Car. But you can defend me.
Laz. Defend you? How? Yes, I’ll defend you; but how?
Car. Why, who threatens us?
Laz. I don’t know. I can’t well explain. I am now as it were on the boundaries of a desert; a desert contains much sand, which never ends; much solitude which is never filled; much thirst which is never quenched, and a sky which becomes flattened in the centre as if it were about to fall, and which never falls. At least if it did sink down all would be at an end.