—When they are born, they are so funny. Babies are very funny.
—And self-satisfied.
—And very exacting, I don't like them. They begin to cry at once and make demands, as if they expected everything to be ready for them. Even before looking, they know there is a breast and milk, and demand them. Then they demand to be put to sleep and rocked and dandled and patted on their red backs. I like them better when they die. Then they're less exacting. They stretch out of themselves and don't ask to be rocked.
—No, they are very funny. I like to wash them when they are born.
—I like to wash them when they are dead.
—Don't dispute. Don't dispute. Each will have her way. One will wash the child when it is born, another when it dies.
—But why do they think they have a right to make demands the moment they are born? I don't like it. They don't think they have. It's their stomachs that make the demands.
—They're forever demanding.
—But their demands are never granted.
[The Old Women laugh. The cries begin again.