– I’m telling you, take.
– Wait… I haven’t served the others.
– You’re always serving me last.
– That’s because you were born first.
– Mum, can I?
– After your father, my love
– Take, my little one.
– Why are you doing this?
– She’s hungry
– I know, but this is no reason.
– The need is reason.
– What will the others say if they see her like this?
– They will not say anything.
– But they will think about it.
– Eat.
– You disgraced me.
– We are nothing but potato eaters.
– They are tasty!
– I’m still waiting…
– No one is pressuring us.
– Except time.
– It might be cold, but we have heat.
– I decided that the little one will go to school.
– To do what?
– She’s our only treasure.
– And the house?
– It’s our debts.
– And our land?
– It’s our rent.
– Vincent is right.
– You old man deal with your…
– I’m still waiting for my coffee.
– It doesn’t matter. You don’t have anything else to do.
– The old man, as you say, is teaching the little one to read.
– That devil’s invention.
– You should be mean to our ignorance.
– I know how to read mum.
– Shut up you idiot.
– Are you afraid that our dead neighbours might hear us?
– Enough.
– That’s what we all say. The little one’s going to school, period.
– By what right?
– We are poor, we might be idiots, but we won’t die fools.
– In the church…
– Yes, I know. The pure ones.
– Exactly!
– I can’t bear any more of this nonsense. Our daughter will not become like us.
– I’m begging you. Enough.
– Why are you crying mum?
– Don’t worry.
– She will pee less.
– Aren’t you ashamed, you nasty old man?
– But why? I made her read Fyodor’s “Poor Folk”.
– Shut up all of you.
– You are all fishermen.
– I repeat it to you: we are nothing but potato eaters.
– One day men will speak of us.
– They can’t be women.
– Our daughter will teach them…