want my respect!
BEATRICE: So I moved them out, what more do you want? You got your house now, you got your respect.
EDDIEâ he moves about biting his lip: I donât like the way you talk to me, Beatrice.
BEATRICE: Iâm just tellinâ you I done what you want!
EDDIE: I donât like it! The way you talk to me and the way you look at me. This is my house. And she is my niece and Iâm responsible for her.
BEATRICE: So thatâs why you done that to him?
EDDIE: I done what to him?
BEATRICE: What you done to him in front of her; you know what Iâm talkinâ about. She goes around shakinâ all the time, she canât go to sleep! Thatâs what you call responsible for her?
EDDIE, quietly: The guy ainât right, Beatrice. She is silent. Did you hear what I said?
BEATRICE: Look, Iâm finished with it. Thatâs all. She resumes her work.
EDDIE, helping her to pack the tinsel: Iâm gonna have it out with you one of these days, Beatrice.
BEATRICE: Nothinâ to have out with me, itâs all settled. Now we gonna be like it never happened, thatâs all.
EDDIE: I want my respect, Beatrice, and you know what Iâm talkinâ about.
BEATRICE: What?
Pause.
EDDIEâ finally his resolution hardens: What I feel like doinâ in the bed and what I donât feel like doinâ. I donât want noâ
BEATRICE: Whenâd I say anything about that?
EDDIE: You said, you said, I ainât deaf. I donât want no more conversations about that, Beatrice. I do what I feel like doinâ or what I donât feel like doinâ.
BEATRICE: Okay.
Pause.
EDDIE: You used to be different, Beatrice. You had a whole different way.
BEATRICE: Iâm no different.
EDDIE : You didnât used to jump me all the time about everything. The last year or two I come in the house I donât know whatâs gonna hit me. Itâs a shootinâ gallery in here and Iâm the pigeon.
BEATRICE: Okay, okay.
EDDIE: Donât tell me okay, okay, Iâm tellinâ you the truth. A wife is supposed to believe the husband. If I tell you that guy ainât right donât tell me he is right.
BEATRICE: But how do you know?
EDDIE: Because I know. I donât go around makinâ accusations. He give me the heeby-jeebies the first minute I seen him. And I donât like you sayinâ I donât want her marryinâ anybody. I broke my back payinâ her stenography lessons so she could go out and meet a better class of people. Would I do that if I didnât want her to get married? Sometimes you talk like I was a crazy man or sumpâm.
BEATRICE: But she likes him.
EDDIE: Beatrice, sheâs a baby, how is she gonna know what she likes?
BEATRICE: Well, you kept her a baby, you wouldnât let her go out. I told you a hundred times.
Pause.
EDDIE: All right. Let her go out, then.
BEATRICE: She donât wanna go out now. Itâs too late, Eddie.
Pause.
EDDIE: Suppose I told her to go out. Suppose Iâ
BEATRICE: Theyâre going to get married next week, Eddie.
EDDIEâ his head jerks around to her: She said that?
BEATRICE: Eddie, if you want my advice, go to her and tell her good luck. I think maybe now that you had it out you learned better.
EDDIE: Whatâs the hurry next week?
BEATRICE: Well, sheâs been worried about him beinâ picked up; this way he could start to be a citizen. She loves him, Eddie. He gets up, moves about uneasily, restlessly. Why donât you give her a good word? Because I still think she would like you to be a friend, yâknow? He is standing, looking at the floor. I mean like if you told her youâd go to the wedding.
EDDIE: She asked you that?
BEATRICE: I know she would like it. Iâd like to make a party here for her. I mean there oughta be some kinda send-off. Heh? I mean sheâll have trouble enough in her life, letâs start it off happy. What do you say?