Nightwatching Page #4

- Stop it.

- Where's those rosy cheeks?

Hmm?

That kissable backside.

I'm fed up masturbating

into a paint-rag.

- Well, find yourself a whore, then!

I'm a leaky vessel.

My womb has never returned

to where it should've been.

- Let me be the judge.

- Stop.

- Saskia.

- Stop.

- Please, please, Saskia.

Oh, my God, Saskia!

Saskia!

Oh, God...

- Look what you've done!

Get Geertje!

Stop thinking about your prick

and get Geertje!

- Sorry.

- Saskia? I'm here!

What are you doing

on the floor?

You fool! Get out!

- F*** this painting!

F*** it! F***! F***! F***!

Bloody hell!

(baby crying)

What are you doing up here?

- I'm sorry.

I can only find you a girl baby.

(baby crying)

Look.

- For Christ's sake,

mind you don't fall.

- This one's really pretty,

don't you think?

- I once had two daughters.

Both called Cornelia.

But they died.

- I expect they're in heaven.

Maybe these will be soon.

Only half of girl babies survive,

and only one quarter

of boy babies.

My sister and I do our best,

but since we are not

fully women yet,

we can't feed them at the breast.

That's what they really want.

So since they don't have

proper mothers,

they tend to die.

- Where did you get them from?

- Downstairs.

- Where downstairs?

I live downstairs.

- In the basement.

Next door, really.

Well, three houses next door,

but the roofs are connected.

My sister normally helps me.

She looks after the boy babies,

and I look after the girl babies.

There's Horatio, too,

and Dirk, our friends.

They don't look after babies.

They want to be soldiers.

Horatio's certain to be a soldier.

He's learning to fire a musket.

(babies crying)

My sister, Marita,

is really in love with him.

She often kisses him,

and other things.

- You must come downstairs

to my house,

and I'll draw you

and your sister.

- No, I can't do that.

I'm to stay away from men.

Unless they are approved of

by my father.

Men are supposed to be

dangerous.

Especially at night.

- Oh, foul day!

Oh, desperate deed!

I will bestow on thee

the reward of thy treachery.

Thou wanton!

Blacker than

the vilest pit of Hell!

Thinks thou self an innocent?

Thinks thou self an innocent?

Thinks thou self chaste?!

I had rather proved thee

what I know thou art.

A whore!

(audience exclaiming)

Witness thus

the reward of dishonour.

(applause)

- I need them.

I need them out here.

I need them looking towards me.

I'm the painter of this painting,

I need them here!

- Everyone, turn this way.

- That's good,

but take it down, please,

because that's going to be

way out of the frame.

- That's Jorisz.

- Oh, f***, Jorisz. Never mind.

Listen. That's good, Pieter.

I can see Simon.

Jorisz, will you please

find the light?!

- Get them

to put their hands together,

as though in prayer.

- Are you sure, Kemp?

This is meant to be a tableau

full of martial spirit.

Is it an accident the fair-haired ones

are grouped on the left?

- Well, they can be

your little angels, Kemp.

- My God!

They don't look

like little angels.

- Expert on angels, Kemp?

Because they can come

in all shapes, sizes and ages.

They needn't all be girls, either.

Jan is a blacksmith.

- Joseph shovels sh*t,

when he's not

in the guardhouse,

or lounging around

on our doorstep.

- Jacob is a vagrant

of no fixed address.

- Emmett is...

What is Emmett?

- Uh, Emmett has been Sophocles

and Nebuchadnezzar,

if that helps.

And, uh, and...

who else he been?

Potiphar the, uh...

Potiphar the what's it called?

- Cuckold.

- Cuckold. Thank you.

- Potiphar was no cuckold.

- Oh, excuse me,

he certainly was!

I have spoken to a rabbi,

who told me that Potiphar

slept with young men

in order to avoid the temptation

of his wife

trying to screw Joseph.

- Jewish sophistry.

- Sophis... Really?

They got a down payment

on sophistry?

What about Reformists' sophistry?

What about Mary being a virgin

as a result

of a translation error

from the Hebrew?

Come on, Kemp, keep up, love.

Now, hands together, please,

clasped in prayer.

(all):
"Our Father

who art in Heaven..."

- Jan, please,

forgotten how to pray?

Thank you.

- There's bound to be trouble

with the liturgy.

- What are we praying for?

Rain?

- A visit from the Holy Ghost.

- Thank you.

- Permission to sh*t?

- Let's try a Frans Hals.

- No, no,

but isn't that plagiarism?

- No. He stole it from Veronese.

- Well, Frans, tables, chairs.

Geertje, Hans!

Come on!

Things for the table!

I'm not paying 100 guilders

to be in a rout.

- Oh, come now.

See it as good poor-box money.

You can take the leftovers

back to the orphanage.

We'll give you a bag.

Take the bread

back to your little angels,

your daughters.

- I have no daughters.

- Jorisz, will you please

stop looking

so f***ing miserable.

- My dog died.

- Oh, sorry, but get a new one.

Like this one who's always

trying to screw Jamie's b*tch.

- Oh, yes, that filthy whore

of a species is always on his,

aren't you Woolfi,

you dirty dog!

- I think we should memorialize

his efforts, actually,

but be careful, Jorisz,

'cause he's a biter!

He'll have your prick

or your ass, one of the two.

- Mind the glassesl

- All right! All right! Ha! Ha!

Everyone ready?

What this needs is Carl.

Carl, put Hendrickje on your lap,

but no fumbling.

She's far too young

and far too respectable.

- I'm almost a woman.

- He's almost a man;

that's what I am worried about.

We're out to salute

the daughter

of the King of England,

who's married

to the King of Holland!

- He's not a king, goddammit!

- As near as - goddammit!

- I'm a Republican!

- So you are.

- When you're drunk.

- Sit down, Jorisz. Finish your beer.

- I am not posing for a picture

supporting monarchy.

I hate the House of Orange.

- So do we all.

- It's a horrible colour, for a start!

(laughter)

- Oldenbarnevelt forever!

- Can I sing?

- Sing away, canary.

(singing in Dutch)

Kemp, come back!

They're singing your song!

Oh, Geertje,

I'd like to see you singing!

- Get your hands off me,

you dirty bastard!

- Whoa!

- Don't worry, you'll get paid!

You always do!

- Shut up!

(raucous laughter)

(sighing)

- Goddammit. I'll do it.

Stop your sulking.

- I'm not sulking. And do what?

- The goddamned painting

of the militia

pretending

to be mighty soldiers.

- Oh, that.

(coughing)

- What?

What do you mean, "Oh, that?"

I thought

that was what you wanted!

Goddammit!

It was your idea.

You put me up to this!

- Did I?

- And I know I'll live to regret it.

- Then don't do it.

Simply don't do it.

It doesn't matter.

- Well, now you're being petulant.

(coughing)

- You've lost

the commission anyway.

You've apparently upset

Rombout Kemp.

Uli's acting very nervous lately,

and he's drinking a lot

with the Banning Cocqs.

Do you know 100 guilders

is not so much.

You could get

at least 120 a throw,

painting 20 of them.

(coughing)

Then we can fix the foundations

so the house doesn't fall over.

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