Читать книгу Northwood - Maryse Meijer - Страница 20

MOTHER

It’s Christmas.

I know.

You have something to cook on there?

Mom.

What are you going to eat?

I’ll go out.

Where? There’s nothing there, I looked.

Looked where?

Google maps.

You’re crazy.

Me?

Well I just can’t make it, I’m sorry.

(quiet) Are you drawing?

Yes.

That’s something, at least.

At least.

I don’t mean it that way.

It’s good for me.

(pause) Is there—

I’ve got to go. This thing cuts out all the time.

And I’m running out—

—a man?

—of minutes. No.

What are the people like?

Like people.

Do you need money?

Yes but don’t send it.

What do you mean don’t send it?

I don’t want anything.

You sound strange.

It’s the phone.

The phone?

Because I hate talking on it and then I say things.

Are you sure—

It’s work. I’m working.

You can tell me—

Mom.

You’ll starve.

(silence)

Are there bears?

(sigh)

Because honey I know you

you’d let one eat you right up—