Sin título 1.pdf
JONS remounts and overtakes his master. He takes a drink from his waterskin
and hands the bag to the knight.
Well, did he show you the way?
What did he say?
Was he a mute?
No, sir, I wouldn't say that. As a matter of
fact, he was quite eloquent.
He was eloquent, all right. The trouble is that
what he had to say was most depressing.
One moment you're bright and lively,
The next you're crawling with worms.
Fate is a terrible villain
And you, my friend, its poor victim.
Must you sing?
The KNIGHT hands his squire a piece of bread, which keeps him quiet for a
while. The sun burns down on them cruelly, and beads of perspiration trickle
down their faces. There is a cloud of dust around the horses' hooves. They
ride past an inlet and along verdant groves. In the shade of some large
stands a bulging wagon covered with a mottled canvas. A horse whinnies
and is answered by the KNIGHT'S horse. The two travelers do not stop to rest
under the shade of the trees but continue riding until they disappear at the
bend of the road.
In his sleep, JOF the juggler hears the neighing of his horse and the answer
from a distance. He tries to go on sleeping, but it is stifling inside the
wagon. The rays of the sun filtering through the canvas cast streaks of
across the face of JOF'S wife, MIA, and their one-year-old son, MIKAEL, who
are sleeping deeply and peacefully. Near them, JONAS SKAT, an older man,