DAVID.
In despair.
What is it, Nullius? What else can there be, there yonder?...
ANATHEMA.
I do not know, David. But from the upper window, which was wide open, I heard something like the roaring of the ocean when the rocks tremble with pain from the beating of the breakers; it was as though the roaring of brass trumpets that I heard, David,—they are shouting to the sky and to you, and they are calling you.... Do you hear?
In the muffled noise and chaos of sounds, ring out the sounds: Da-vid! Da-vid! Da-vid!
DAVID.
I hear my name. Who is calling? What do they want?
ANATHEMA.
I don't know. Perhaps they want to crown you as their king.