hi.
are those for mom?
what's wrong?
it's bleached.  and it isn't recycled.  you don't care.  you just buy junk.  she picks up a more friendly brand of kitchen towel from the shelf and throws it into the cart. hector has the sense to back down.
everything you buy is junk.  i don't eat steak.  and what's this.  she prods a packet of frozen hamburgers.
ugh! why don't you ask us what we like.  it'll save you money.  you buy junk, we won't eat it.  a trace of girlish common sense has crept into her voice. hector warms to her.
i do it every week anyway.
are you going to bring the flowers in?
get me the books.  all the books.  all of the books.  no, no, no.  not the pancakes.  not the pancakes.  no.  she changes in an instant from a bossy adolescent to a tearful, crumpled little girl. she sobs pitifully.
 not the pancakes.
how many have you got in there?
for a week, maybe.
not much.  why?
they don't mean a thing. why?
the last two.
they don't come over so much. the shellfish have gone.  that's what.
yes.  and it happens to be true.
the seats are wet. hector triumphs. he pulls a wad of kitchen roll from his pocket and starts to wipe the seats.
all right, if you want to.  hector looks to thomas. thomas vigorously nods his agreement. hector is happier. he looks down on the decrepit fairground.
what he means is why did you stay away?
sure she has.  but lots of people get divorced.  that doesn't mean they disappear.
it's forty minutes away on a slow bus.
thomas wanted to visit you in jail, but mom wouldn't let him. * hector looks at thomas.
that's what you do now?
how should i know? hector carries on with his story.
what about your girl friend?
nobody.
shut up, tom.
well, if people don't tell you things.
i have to ask you something else.
why did you leave just two days before my swimming test? hector is moved by the depth of her memory, her pain.
i know.  that's what i mean.  why did you leave just then? hector looks at betsy. she is beginning to cry silently. he puts a tentative arm around her shoulder.
it doesn't matter.
i passed. hector leaves his limp arm on her shoulder. it is too * soon for gestures of emotion. after a long moment she speaks.
i'm a life-saver now.
i'm allowed. somehow hector is touched by this.
who said i'd let you eat a steak? there is a silence. then hector speaks.
sure.
i'd have to take the morning off school.
no, that could be good.
what's she like? how did you meet her?
i think i'll paint the sunset tonight.
that's what it's like.  you should know that.
don't be so tough on yourself. you seem to want to be.  you don't have to.
no.  we can do that.
no, i mean it.  look out for yourself.  hector looks at her in wonderment. one of those moments when another human being stands before you and is an utter mystery.
you'll never know. future generations of women are going to be just as unknowable to our hectors as past ones were. betsy moves off briskly along the beach. hector trails after her, hooked.
i thought he was taller.
i suppose so. he's getting fat, too. i bet i could beat him at the breast-stroke now.
we're fine! hector tries to relax, but he doesn't have the confidence yet, or something. he is edgy.
why does it always go so fast? thomas is laughing at her. he has seen her attempt this before. hector has other concerns. he is trying to light his barbecue. match after match disappears into his elaborate stone structure, only to fizzle out.
i don't know. if it wasn't for us there'd be nobody around to see it all. hector stands to fetch another baked potato from the fire. we see the three of them in a wide shot, the evening sky now pulsing with more and more points of light. hector's voice and laughter carry to us.
wait a minute.  i know.  the whole universe is inside a speck of dust that's lying in a ball of fluff in the cuff of a pair of pants hanging over the back of a chair.
skimmed milk.
i've got a better one.  we're all inside a speck of pollen that's stuck to the wing of a bee while it sits on a flower.