Nightwatching Page #5

- Like tulips.

- Let's make a baby.

- Very well.

- Very well?

What's that mean?

- No more than it says.

- Get Geertje!

- Let me look!

- No, you don't want to look!

Geertje?!

- Let me draw you.

- No.

- Then let me stay.

- You must go!

This is a private time.

No drawing or painting!

Now, what the hell am I,

just an excuse

for a bloody drawing?!

- How can it be a private time?!

It's our child! We made it!

- I and my stretched

and bloodied private parts

are not just an excuse

for another bloody painting...

- There are chalk marks

all over the sheet!

...that ends up

in a dealer's window

for the whole world to see!

Oh!

My body reproduced

in a thousand prints

seen all over Holland!

- Holland?

How dare you!

You mean Europe?

- Oh, f*** you

and your painting!

- You are not needed.

Take you stuff and get out!

- Yes, yes!

- Get out!

- I think we married

to make babies,

and to make a fortune

for her cousin -

and for her, and for me.

- We did? Hmm.

We certainly needed

to make some money.

- Good at keeping the books.

She was very good with figures.

Geertje, please.

Look after her, will you?

- Bastard! Get out!

You smelly little runt!

(exclaiming in pain)

- Take my hand!

- Out!

- I pay you!!

- We really needed

to make some money.

- And creating a nice, snug,

and very Dutch comfortable

business.

She was a great companion.

Oh, f***.

F***. F***!

I cannot lose her,

and I'm not going to go down

and f***ing pray.

There's no goddamn

superstitious angels,

no visitations!

This sort of goddamn thing

is happening all over Amsterdam

at this moment.

God.

(women shouting in distance)

What... what are you doing?

You're not going to jump, are you?

- No.

I'm an angel.

Least they say so,

when I dance for them

in my angel's costume.

- Angel's costume?

- Like when I was born.

No clothes on.

Only I'm nine now.

Well...

nine going on 10.

Perhaps 11.

I could be 12.

Maybe even older.

Horatio says

that's what excites them.

Am I a woman,

or am I still a girl?

What do you think?

I don't think

I'm a woman yet anyway.

Least, I haven't bled yet.

They say

that as soon as you bleed,

you become a woman.

You are no longer a child

and you can go with men.

Sometimes,

they become impatient,

and they cut you

to make you bleed.

I'm nearly as old as my mother was

when she died.

She jumped off the roof

of the Westerkerk.

- What was she doing up there?

- Watching the night, I expect.

Like you.

(woman screaming in distance)

They will tell you

that babies are made up there,

the stars in the sky,

but it's not true.

Fathers make the babies.

They are out there,

doing it,

between their legs.

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