[They are Italian. He is not. Nobody speaks English by choice. They are the customers. He works at the shop. Everybody is tense.]
The Wife: You show us please where ricotta.
The Wife: Si, ricotta. Um…
[She turns to The Husband and gesticulates stereotypically. The Husband scrunches the very scrunched scrap of paper in his hand and murmurs in Italian.]
Him: [with relief] Yes! Cheese! Just here!
[It is a very small shop. They are stood in front of the cheese.]
Him: [tentatively] Is there anything else you need from me?
The Wife: Yes! Please also…
[The Wife’s eyes widen in bewilderment. The Wife and The Husband confer earnestly in Italian. The Husband scrunches the paper anxiously, while He looks on.]
The Husband: [optimistically] Um, erba cipollina?
[The Wife glares witheringly at The Husband. The Husband returns to silent paper scrunching.]
The Wife: It is an ‘ERB. ‘ERB!
[The husband nods.]
[He shrugs fearfully.]
The Wife: [gesticulating wildly] You can chop it!
The Wife: Like the grass… It is like the GRASS! But an ‘ERB.
[His relief is palpable. He stands taller and smiles proudly, having solved the puzzle.]
Him: Ah! Spring onions! Follow me…
[They head towards the vegetables, passing the chives on their way.]