AMADEO. Give over, father. Give it a rest. Talk about getting out of your depth. You're fifteen feet under, mate, and your mouth's full of shit. You're talking a load of old cobblers. What clinics? What infirmaries? They don't get a sniff of coffee. So how can they sell it, if they haven't got none? You've got to face facts, mate. Who was it came round here the other day offering mother five kilos of coffee at seventy lire a kilo? You know perfectly well who it was. Some big, fat, bloated Fascist high-up. Course it was. And the only reason mother didn't buy it was because she didn't know who it was. For all she knew it could have been a trap100
a typical police fit-up. Course it could. We're talking about facts here. We're talking about the high-ups who should be setting a good example to poor, ignorant, starving scum like us. Good example my backside. All they are is a load of thieves and crooks. So you look at them in their smart suits and their swanky cars and you say to yourself-you know, mate, you've got the right idea. You're on top of the world, aren't you? You've got a wallet full of dosh and a great big, fat, groaning belly. And what about me? I'm dying of starvation. So what's the answer? Simple. What's good enough for you, is good enough for me. Right? Let's all steal. Right? What's yours is mine. Everyone for himself. Everyone steals. Right? [GENNARO (off). Oh no. Oh no, you don't my son. As long as you live in this house you do not steal. Understand me? You never ever steal. You don't even think of stealing. You don't even mention the word.] All right, all right, keep your wool on. I was only joking. God, can't we even crack a few measly jokes now? (The qua"el in the street has all but finished now. He shrugs his shoulders.) Ah, bugger the coffee. I'll get myself some breakfast.