"Grandpa, what do we do now?" After watching John leave, Mike realized that because of him, the village might soon be massacred by the Imperial Army. His face immediately fell, but then he seemed to think of something. His eyes lit up as he suggested:
"Grandpa, how about we eat the canned food now? At least it won't go to waste. I've never had canned meat before..."
"Eat, eat, eat! All you know is eating! Why don't you just choke to death, you little brat? You're exactly like your dumb mule of a father!"
Ernest's face immediately turned livid. He raised his cane, ready to give his good-for-nothing eldest grandson a vicious beating.
But when he saw how frightened Mike looked, he could not bring himself to hit him hard. He merely gave him a symbolic smack on the backside, then stared thoughtfully in the direction John had gone.
After a long while, as though he had made some kind of decision, he steeled himself and spoke to his eldest grandson, who had his back to him and was currently trying to pry open a can with his tongue so he could have a full meal before dying.
"Mike, go get your father. And make sure he brings your Uncle Pulida and the others too. Tell them I have something to instruct them on."
"Grandpa, we've only got two cans. That's not enough to share. Why don't you and I just eat one each?"
Mike looked utterly reluctant. His father was always calling him an idiot, and whenever he went poaching, he never took Mike along, always going off to feast alone.
He had no intention of sharing the canned food he had earned with his clever words today with that hateful father of his.
"I'm not asking them here