Alas, he repels me, will leave me once more. What makes you so cold, so hard-hearted?
Jeremiah
A word burns between us like the sword of the angel of God.
The Mother
The curse, for which I have cursed myself a thousand times? Idle breath was it, and the wind has blown it away.
Jeremiah
Nay, Mother, the curse stands, and all the streets are filled with it. It rebounds from the wall of every house, attacks me from all men’s mouths. No longer am I your son, no longer living flesh, but the mock of the world, an outcast from my people, hated by the righteous, forgotten by God, loathed by myself. To myself leave me. Let me remain in the darkness, most accurst of all men.
The Mother
My child, were you indeed the rejected of all men, banned by the priests, outlawed by the people; had God himself thrust you away from the light of his countenance; still were you my son, blood of my blood for evermore. I will love you for their hatred, and bless you for their curse. If they have spit upon you, come that I may kiss you; if they have cast you out, come that I may take you in; home, come home to my heart. Sweet to me is the bitterness of your lips, sweet the salt of your tears; blessed is all that you do; if only you return to my mother’s heart.
Jeremiah