FINEGAN and JOEY are still walking along with SUNDAY BEST as they approach his home. FINEGAN is still engaging SUNDAY BEST in conversation, having never encountered a mass delusion before.
toward the threesome as they walk along a path worn into the yard, which is no longer mowed. We can't hear what they are saying, but can see a conversation is going on.
JOEY has now caught the fascination too, and realizes what FINEGAN is trying to do with his polite questions. JOEY is walking along beside FINEGAN,
straining to hear every word and looking frequently at SUNDAY BEST's face.
The home where SUNDAY BEST and his MISSUS live has collapsed, the roof falling into the center of the home, the beams having broken during the quakes. But an entry into one wing has been arranged through a window, a piece of rug placed over the windowsill to soften the slide in and out. The porch of the small home is sloping but the roof is holding.
The MISSUS is wearing a cotton dress and slip-on shoes, sitting on a stool in the yard, plucking a chicken. She has her long hair piled on top of her head and pinned with hairpins, out of the way of her work. The MISSUS is gutting the chicken, pulling the entrails out into a bucket between her knees where she has also placed the feathers. She tosses the plucked chicken into a roasting pan to her side, and digs around in the entrails for the heart, liver, and kidneys of the chicken, also to be roasted. As the threesome approach, she looks up.
Another bargain, my dear! I'll just put these away with the rest of our treasure.
At this, SUNDAY BEST sprints for the padded window frame, and putting one leg inside he slips through to escape any questions from the MISSUS.
FINEGAN and JOEY are left to introduce themselves but no need as the MISSUS starts talking.
Oh Lord. More junk.
The MISSUS swings on the stool so she is facing the roasting pan and a pot with some dressing, and begins to stuff the dressing into the chicken. It's evident that
she does the work around the place while her husband dreams on about the recovery to come.
FINEGAN is in the midst of motioning toward the window where her husband disappeared, ready to speak and has his mouth open, but is interrupted again.
The MISSUS sits up straight, catching her breath, and brushes away a strand of hair that has escaped the pins.
At least it keeps them busy. We had some that just withered away, couldn't take the loss.
She nods in the direction of the padded window where her husband disappeared as she bends to finish stuffing her chicken.
He thinks he's got gains.