"People say you poisoned Grandfather."

"People say… people say… Let them tell their tales."

"You didn't poison him?"

"Leave me alone, sons of a bitch! Nothing was proved! People will say anything."

We go on:

"We know you didn't like Grandfather. So why do you look after his grave?"

"For that very reason! Because of what people say. To stop them telling their tales! And how do you know I look after his grave, eh? You've been spying on me, sons of a bitch, you've been spying on me again! May the devil take you!"

Exercise in Cruelty

It's Sunday. We catch a chicken and cut its throat as we have seen Grandmother do. We bring the chicken into the kitchen and say:

"You must cook it, Grandmother."

She starts shouting:

"Who gave you permission? You have no right! I give the orders here, you little shits! I won't cook it! I'd rather croak first!"

We say:

"All right. We'll cook it ourselves."

We start to pluck the chicken, but Grandmother snatches it from our hands:

"You don't know how to do it! You filthy little bastards, you'll be the death of me, you're God's punishment on me, that's what you are!"

While the chicken is cooking, Grandmother cries:

"It was the most beautiful one. They took the most beautiful one on purpose. It was just ready for the Tuesday market."

As we eat the chicken, we say:

"It's very good, this chicken. We'll eat chicken every Sunday."

"Every Sunday? Are you crazy? Do you want to ruin me?"

"We shall eat a chicken every Sunday, whether you like it or not."

Grandmother starts crying again:

"But what have I done to them? Woe is me! They want to kill me. A poor old defenseless woman. I don't deserve this. And I've been so good to them!"

"Yes, Grandmother, you are good, very good. So it is out of goodness that you will cook a chicken for us every Sunday."