Source Text: FATHER3.2Captain: Omphale! Omphale! Playing with the club while Hercules spins your wool!
Laura: Adolf -- look at me. Do you believe that I'm your enemy?
Captain: Yes, I do! I believe that you're all my enemies. My mother, who didn't want to bring me into the world because my birth would bring her pain, she was my enemy: she starved my unborn life of its nourishment, till I was nearly deformed. My sister was my enemy, when she taught me to be her vassal. The first woman I took in my arms was my enemy, for she gave me ten years' illness in return for the love I gave her. My daughter became my enemy, when she had to choose between me and you. And you, my wife, you were my mortal enemy, for you never let me be till you had me lying dead.
Laura: I don't know that the thoughts and motives that you're suggesting ever entered my head. It's possible that I was swayed by an obscure desire to be rid of you, as something that stood in my way; if you see some plan behind my actions -- well, there may have been one, but I knew nothing about it. I've never considered them, they've simply run on the lines that you yourself have laid down, and, before God and my conscience, I feel myself innocent even if I am not. You're existence has been like a stone on my heart, weighing and weighing it down till the heart struggled to throw off the burden that oppressed it. That is how it was, and if I have harmed you unintentionally, I ask you to forgive me.
Captain: All that sounds very plausible, but how does it help me? And who is to blame? A spiritual marriage, perhaps? In the old days, a man married a wife, now he enters into partnership with a business-woman, or sets up house with a friend. Then he debauches the partner, and violates the friend. What becomes of love -- healthy physical love? It dies in the process. And what is the issue of this love -- in bonds payable to bearer, without joint liability? Who is the bearer when the crash comes? Who is the physical father of the spiritual child?
Laura: As for your suspicions about the child, they're quite unfounded.
Captain: That is just what is so terrible. If there had been any foundation for them, that would at least be something to take hold of -- to cling to; as it is, there are only shadows, that hide in the bushes and poke their heads out to grin. It's like hitting the air, or a sham fight with blank cartridges. A mortal truth would have roused my resistance, and roused my mind and body to action -- but, as things are, my thoughts melt into thin air, and my brain grinds away at nothing, till it catches fire. Give me a pillow under my head. And put something over me, I'm cold -- terribly cold.
Laura: Give me your hand, my dear.
Captain: My hand? When you've tied it behind my back? Omphale! Omphale! But I can feel your soft shawl against my mouth, it's as warm and soft as your arm, and it smells of vanilla like your hair when you were young . . . When you were young, Laura, and we used to walk in the birchwoods among the primroses and the thrushes -- lovely -- lovely! Think how beautiful life was, and what it is now. You never wanted it to come to this, and nor did I; yet this has happened. Who orders our lives?
Laura: Only God . . .
Captain: The god of Strife, then -- or is it a goddess these days? Take away this cat that's lying on me -- take it away! Give me my tunic -- put that over me. Ah, my rough lion-skin that you tried to take away from me. Omphale! Omphale! You cunning woman -- who wanted peace and preached disarmament. Wake up, Hercules, or they'll take you club from you. You'd trick us out of our armour, too, making believe it was tinsel. No, it was iron, iron, before it became tinsel. In the olden days it was the smith who forged the coat of mail, now it's the sempstress. Omphale! Omphale! Rude strength is brought down by scheming weakness. Damn you, you she-devil, curse your whole sex! What sort of pillow have you given me, Margret? It's so hard and cold -- so cold. Come and sit beside me -- here, on the chair. That's it. Let me put my head on your lap. There! Ah, that's warmer. Lean over me, so that I can feel your breast. Oh, it's good to sleep on a woman's breast -- a mother's or a mistress's, but a mother's is best.
Laura: Do you want to see your child, Adolf? Do you?
Captain: My child? A man doesn't have children, it's only women who get children. That's why the future is theirs, and we die childless. "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look upon a little child -- "
Nurse: Listen, he's praying to God!
Captain: No, to you -- to put me to sleep. I'm tired -- so tired. Good night, Margret! And blessed be thou among women.
Laura: Help, Doctor, if it's not too late. Look, he's stopped breathing.
Doctor: It's a stroke.
Pastor: Is he dead?
Doctor: No, he may still recover consciousness -- but what sort of consciousness we don't know.
Pastor: First death, and after that the Judgement . . .
Doctor: No judgement. No indictment, even! You believe there's a god who rules man's destiny, you must refer this affair to Him.
Nurse: Pastor -- in his last moments he prayed to God.
Pastor: Is that true?
Laura: Quite true.
Doctor: In that case -- and I can no more judge of that, than I can of the cause of his illness -- then there's nothing more that my skill can do. It's up to you to try yours now, Pastor.
Laura: Is that all you have to say at this death-bed, Doctor?
Doctor: Yes, that's all I know. If anyone knows more, let him speak!
Bertha: Mama! Mama!
Laura: My child -- my own child!
Pastor: Amen.