Hollywood, Calif., Dec. 9, 1972

Later, later…

By Vladimir Huber

The boy was walking, thinking, talking…
– Mama, why do I have to suffer? Is it necessary?
– What?
– I mean, you yell at me, or you spank me, or anything like that.
– Well, I am sure other mothers do the same. You might not see it, but it has to be that way. I mean good, anyway. Somebody has to tell you what to do and what not to do.
– Really, why?
– Listen, Unky; why don’t you go to play outside and let me iron these shirts?
– ‘cause outside nobody will answer me what I am asking you! (sigh) Mama, are you listening to me?
– Yeah! I don’t have a choice.
– Well, then…?
– Well, what?
– Oh, Christ!
– Unky, I told you to stop talking like that!
– I didn’t know that to say the word Christ was bad.
– Unky, go to play outside, please!
– I heard you, ma’. I’ll go, I’ll go. There’s nobody I can talk to, that’s all. My friends just want to play, and you never have time for me. If it’s not shirts, it’s the dentist, or some of your friends. And papa is always busy. So, who can I talk to? If I talk to myself, people will think I’m going crazy.
– Unky, stop complicating things. Give me a break. I’ll get done and we will talk. Go to the street, play for a while, and supper will be ready.
– I’m not asking for food, ma’. You don’t understand; nobody does.
– You sound like an old man! You are only… don’t slam the door!
– An accident! Oh, no! Who could that be? Maybe…