Lojzka. (Joyfully.) In the name of all the saints and prophets! Your words and your looks out your past . . . How you kneeled at the altar . . . At the cleric!
Komar. (Jumps, filled with fury and fear.) Who kneeled? At whom?
Geni. (With a smile.) You kissed his palms as well.
Komar. Liar! I did not toss a kiss on his palms! (Remembers.) Had I kneeled in front of some random toll-collector and kissed his palms – who would blame such a Christian?
Geni. (Keeps smiling.) Do not blush! I as well have gotten myself a bible.
Principal. (To Lojzka.) I am sorry to have to remind you of the eternal principle to not enter schools as ideologues, especially not in a form to a common only permissible on Friday nights.
Lojzka. (Bows silent.)
Komar. (Steps forward and begins with a preaching tone.) Who is not with the people is against the people. How can a sinner be a guide to the youth? The people would dis-fellowship itself, had it had to have its children taught by a spiritless and faithless being. It would be . . . So to say . . . A cultural suicide.
Lojzka. You recite that well . . . I read it as so as well.
Geni. (To Lojzka.) Why force yourself, oh lost soul, wander into the rural of Athens?
Komar. Hvastja as well does so . . . One could not examine their inner self, not even with a dozen or more lenses of magnification.
Principal. They weigh their words and when met, always wear black.
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