KHORRE—Noni! Tell them to unfasten my hands and give me back my pipe.
“Don’t be in a hurry,” roars the priest. “Be bound awhile, drunkard! You had better be afraid of an untied rope—it may be formed into a noose.”
But obeying a certain swift movement or glance of Haggart, Mariet walks over to the sailor and opens the knots of the rope. And again all look in silence upon her bent, alarmed head. Then they turn their eyes upon Haggart. Just as they looked at the little ship before, so they now look at him. And he, too, has forgotten about the toy. As if aroused from sleep, he surveys the fishermen, and stares long at the dark curtain.
ABBOT—Haggart, I am asking you. Who carried Philipp’s body?
HAGGART—I. I brought it and put it near the door, his head against the door, his face against the sea. It was hard to set him that way, he was always falling down. But I did it.
ABBOT—Why did you do it?
HAGGART—I don’t know exactly. I heard that Philipp has a mother, an old woman, and I thought this might please them better—both him and his mother.
ABBOT—(With restraint.) You are laughing at us?
HAGGART—No. What makes you think I am laughing? I am just as serious as you are. Did he—did Philipp make this little ship?
No one answers. Mariet, rising and bending over to Haggart across the table, says: