He blew his nose into a tissue paper and threw
it in a metal bin besides the piano. His mother was wiping dust off the wooden
body of the instrument. She stopped, leaned against the grand piano and looked
at her son, eyes narrowing slightly.
“What you request, I’m afraid, is impossible. This house is the only valuable asset we have. I mean, I have,” she said.
“That’s why I recommend that you sell it while it’s still valuable,” her son said. “It’s not true that houses don’t depreciate. They do!” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. Then, as if remembering the rules of the house, he snatched it off his mouth and back into the pocket. “I really think the nursing home will treat you better than this house. You are too old to be taking care of yourself and doing all these chores. You know precisely what the doctors said about your condition.”
“This has never been about my condition. It’s about yours.” The old woman sneered. “If you think you can fix your deteriorating marriage with my money, forget it.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say to me, mom.”
“It’s your gold digging wife who is behind this, isn’t it? Get yourself a job, my son. Or she’ll be leaving you because I’m not selling my house for you.”
“I’ll talk to the doctors again. You are not fit,” the young man lit the cigarette.
“What you request, I’m afraid, is impossible. This house is the only valuable asset we have. I mean, I have,” she said.
“That’s why I recommend that you sell it while it’s still valuable,” her son said. “It’s not true that houses don’t depreciate. They do!” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. Then, as if remembering the rules of the house, he snatched it off his mouth and back into the pocket. “I really think the nursing home will treat you better than this house. You are too old to be taking care of yourself and doing all these chores. You know precisely what the doctors said about your condition.”
“This has never been about my condition. It’s about yours.” The old woman sneered. “If you think you can fix your deteriorating marriage with my money, forget it.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say to me, mom.”
“It’s your gold digging wife who is behind this, isn’t it? Get yourself a job, my son. Or she’ll be leaving you because I’m not selling my house for you.”
“I’ll talk to the doctors again. You are not fit,” the young man lit the cigarette.
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