I Remember Mama Page #9

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- Katrin?

- Yes, Mama.

You are writing?

No, Mama.

That's all over.

That's what I want to talk

to you about.

It's all right, Mama. Really, it is.

I've been tearing up my stories.

Only, I couldn't find half of them.

Well, they're here.

Did you take them?

What for?

Katrin, I've been to see Ms. Moorhead.

Who's Ms...?

Florence Dana Moorhead?

You took her my stories?

She read five of them.

I was two hours with her.

We have glass of sherry.

We have two glass of sherry.

What did she say about them?

Well, she say they are not good.

Well, I knew that.

It was hardly worth going to the trouble.

But she say more.

Will you listen, Katrin?

Sure. I'll listen.

She say you write now only because

of what you have read in other books.

That for years, she write bad stories

about people in the olden times...

...until one day she remembers

something that happen...

...in her own town,

and she feels she must tell that.

And that is how she write

her first good story.

She say you must write

about things you know.

That's what my teacher always told me.

Yeah, well, maybe

your teacher was right.

But she say you are to go on writing...

...that you have the gift.

And that when you have written story

that is real and true...

...then you are to send it to her agent

and say she recommend you.

Here.

No. Is recipe for goulash

as her grandmother make it.

Here.

It helps, Katrin, what I have told you?

Yes, I guess it helps...

...some.

But I haven't been anywhere

or seen anything.

Well, could you write about

San Francisco, maybe?

Is fine city. Ms. Moorhead write

about her hometown.

Yes, I know, but you got to have

a central character or something.

She always writes about

her grandfather.

He was a wonderful man.

Well, could you maybe

write about Papa?

- Papa.

- Papa's a fine man. Is a wonderful man.

Yes, I know, but...

Well, I go fix supper.

Papa's working late.

I like you should write about Papa.

- Special delivery.

- Oh, dear.

Mama!

- I sold a story.

- A story?

Yes, here's the letter from the agent

with a check for $500.

Well, let me see.

Let me see what have here.

- Maybe I haven't read it right.

- What are you going to do with $500?

I don't know. I'll buy Mama

her warm coat, I know that.

- Coats don't cost $500.

- I know.

- We'll put the rest in the bank.

- Quick, before they stop the check.

Will you, Mama? Will you take it

to the bank downtown tomorrow?

What is it?

I do not know how.

Just give it to the man, tell him to put

it in your account, like you always do.

Mama.

I think you better tell them now.

Tell us what?

Is no bank account.

Never in my life have I been

inside a bank.

- But you always told...

- Mama, you always said...

Yeah, yeah, I know, but is not true.

- I tell a lie.

- But why, Mama?

Why did you pretend?

Is not good for little ones to be afraid...

...to not feel secure.

But now with $500, I think I can tell.

- Mama.

- Katrin, get the story.

- Now?

- Yeah, now.

- Dagmar.

- Yes, Mama?

- Come here.

- What is it?

Katrin write story for magazine.

They pay her $500 to print it.

No. You leave the rabbits.

Goodbye, Jo, Meg,

Amy, Beth, and Laurie.

Don't you do anything till I come back.

I want you be quiet and listen.

Katrin, read it to us.

You take Mr. Hyde's chair, Katrin.

"I shall read them at once

and place them as soon as possible.

Very truly yours, Bertha Stewart."

What is it called, the story?

It's called, "Mama and the Hospital."

- You... You write about Mama?

- Yes.

- Is good.

- I tell you write about Papa.

I tried it that way,

but it just didn't work.

- I tell you.

- Mama, I tried.

- Are you ready?

- Yes, we are ready.

"For as long as I could remember,

the house on the Larkin Street hill...

...had been home.

Papa and Mama had both been born

in Norway...

...but they came to San Francisco

because Mama's sisters were here.

All of us were born here.

Nels, the oldest and the only boy...

...my sister Christine...

...and the littlest sister, Dagmar."

Am I in the story?

"When I look back, 1910 seems

like only yesterday.

I remember that every Saturday night...

...Mama used to call the family together.

I remember Mr. Hyde, dear Aunt Trina...

...and my Uncle Chris.

But first and foremost,

I remember Mama.

I remember how

on every Saturday night...

...Mama would sit down

at the kitchen table...

...and count out the money that Papa

had brought home in the little envelope.

There would be various stacks.

'For the landlord, '

Mama would say...

...piling up the big silver pieces.

'For the grocer. '

Another group of coins.

At last, Papa would ask:

'Is all? '

Mama would look up then and smile.

'Is good, ' she'd murmur.

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