posted by Esther on .
I am writing a dialogue between two characters in "Groom Service", I don't know if I am on the right track. I will appreciate it if you culd help me to read through this conversation nad make suggestions. I really appreciate our contributuion.
After Martha and Blanche finished conversing about their children courting, they head home to discuss their idea with their children. Bernard, a twenty-two year old with large teeth, dark eye, thick brows and long and broad hands; was drawing with charcoal on a piece of driftwood, when his mother returned home that afternoon. On hearing his mother foot step, he assumes a position of someone who is about to do something important. Martha realised her son sloth behaviour but made no comment. She threw the sketch in cooking fire without looking at it and start to talk to him about the conversation that transpire between her and his son future mother-in-law.
Martha: (announced) well, it’s arranged, I spent an endless morning with your future mother-in-law and before I left she had agreed to let you come to see Marie. Don’t thing it was easy.
Bernard: (Bernard’s eyes followed his mother’s movements as she crossed the floor and sat in exhaustion on the bed)
Martha: (She pushed off her boots, still caked with beach mud, and rubbed her feet together. She wore no socks)
Bernard: Marie? (He said at last). She’s too young. You should have asked me first.
Martha: (she’s glare clapped a hand over his mouth)
Bernard: (he tried again) I know they are good family. I know you want to do right for me. But you could… we could have discussed this. I mean, I think of her as a little girl, not a wife. (The word a stranger on Bernard’s tongue vibrated in the air.)
Martha: (lost patience) Stop Whining. Who do you think of as a wife? Doris?
(Bernard was not surprise that his mother knew about him and Doris. Doris was a widow whose name brought nervous laughs to teenage boys and smiles of disapproval to everyone else. She was a woman almost twice Bernard’s age with a missing front tooth and eyes that sparked in his memory, a woman who had summoned him for an errand six months ago and whom he now loved better than he would have thought possible.)
Martha: You should see yourself; keep that face and you won’t have to worry about marrying anyone. But don’t expect me to support you forever. (She noticed the driftwood, still on the floor, and nudged it with her toe to get a better view. Bernard had outlined the mountain across the bay from the village, and tucked a large sun behind its peak. When he drew it he thought it was his best work, but now its lines looked smudged and shaky. Martha leaned forward to pick it up and turn it over, as if expecting another illustration on the back. Finding none, she held it out for Bernard to take.) Give this to your Doris. It looks like her under the blanket where she spends her time.
Bernard: (didn’t move, but he watch the wood until his mother let it fall to the floor. He was angry at the shame he felt. He was angry that he knew it was just a matter of time until he would have to call on Marie. He was angry that his mother was right: his mountain did look like Doris, turned on her side.)
The following morning, Martha woke Bernard up very early and instructed him on what to do to win his future in-law favour.
Martha: This is what you do
Bernard: (Blew into a cup of hot tea as he listened)
Martha: You go hunting and you catch something good, I don’t care what. Something a little unusual. A beaver, or maybe, or a goose. Not something small and easy. Not a squirrel, not fish. You bring it home and I’ll help you clean it. You leave a portion for me as if that’s what you always do to help provide for your family, but you take the best part and you set yourself in front of Blanche’s door. You only speak if you’re spoken to. You wait for them to ask you. And if they don’t, which they won’t right away, you act unconcerned. Tou do this every day until they invite you in, and then I’ll tell you what to do next. This is your chance, so don’t ruin it. Now move.
Bernard stepped out into the chill morning grayness, thought briefly of visiting Doris before he went hunting, but then abandoned the idea. He had heard through his mother’s husband that Doris had made friends with a senventeen-year-old boy named James. The dew from high grass had soaked through to Bernard’s feet before he reached the edge of the woods. He realized his mother had forgotten to feed him breakfast, forgotten to make him lunch. He heard a duck call from the lake and paused, but then continues on. He could hear his mother in his mind, and she said a duck wouldn’t do.
This short story must still be under copyright. It's not available to be read online. Sorry.