The being bowed slowly to the man. The mad eyes neared him like two darting flames. The mass began to speak; it said in a voice full of a horrible tenderness:
“Good evening, Joh Fredersen....”
And these words were more alluring than a half-open mouth.
“Good, my Pearl! Good, my Crown-jewel!” said the far-off voice, full of praise and pride.
But at the same moment the being lost its balance. It fell, tipping forward, towards Joh Fredersen. He stretched out his hands to catch it, feeling them, in the moment of contact, to be burnt by an unbearable coldness, the brutality of which brought up in him a feeling of anger and disgust.
He pushed the being away from him and towards Rotwang, who was standing near him as though fallen from the air. Rotwang took the being by the arm.
He shook his head. “Too violent,” he said. “Too violent. My beautiful parody, I fear your temperament will get you into much more trouble.”
“What is that?” asked Joh Fredersen, leaning his hands against the edge of the table-top, which he felt behind him.
Rotwang turned his face towards him, his glorious eyes glowing as watch fires glow when the wind lashes them with its cold lash.
“Who is it?” he replied. “Futura.... Parody ... whatever you like to call it. Also: delusion.... In short: it is a woman.... Every man-creator makes himself a woman. I do not believe that humbug about the first human being a man. If a male-god created the world (which is to be hoped, Joh Fredersen) then he certainly created woman first, lovingly and revelling in creative sport. You can test it, Joh Fredersen: it is faultless. A little cool—I admit, that comes of the material, which is my secret. But she is not yet completely finished. She is not yet discharged from the workshop of her creator. I cannot make up my mind to do it. You understand that? Completion means setting free. I do not want to set her free from me. That is why I have not yet given her a face. You must give her that, Joh Fredersen. For you were the one to order the new beings.”