: Aah—
(WELCH bites into the cookie himself and savors it, smiling broadly at EMMA. EMMA stares back as WELCH crunches.)
EMMA
: Did you, uh—come to see my husband or something? Who exactly are you?
WELCH
: Your husband. That’s him, down below in the barn, I take it. Mumbling to the cows. Riding around on the tractor like a little boy. A child of the plains.
EMMA
: Yes. That’s him. And he’s not a little boy. He’s a big man.
WELCH
: He looks pretty American, doesn’t he?
EMMA
: I beg your pardon?
WELCH
: I mean—descent—hereditary-wise. Authentic! He looks authentic, is what I’m driving at. He could fool somebody.
EMMA
: Fool?
WELCH
: Hard to tell from a distance, of course. Easy to make snap judgments. He could be one of those middle Europeans or something. Latvian maybe. Belarusian.
EMMA
: I think you must have the wrong house or something. I don’t know what in the world—
(WELCH suddenly moves very quickly across to the kitchen cupboards. EMMA just stands there, watching.)
WELCH
: Would you mind if I borrow a saucer? I don’t want to get crumbs all over your floor. I can see you run a very tight ship here.
(WELCH sets his case down on kitchen counter, opens cupboard, and takes out a white saucer. He places the cookie on it and notices the bacon on stove.)
Bacon’s burning.
EMMA
: Oh—
WELCH
: I’ve got it.
(He turns off burner under skillet.)
EMMA
: Thank you.
(EMMA stands still, in semishock. WELCH turns to her, still munching cookie. He surveys kitchen.)
WELCH
: This is Wisconsin, isn’t it? I’m not mistaken about that. I must have crossed the border by now. I’m sure of it.
EMMA
: Border?
WELCH
: Wisconsin. The Wisconsin-Minnesota border.
EMMA
: Oh—I thought you meant—
WELCH
: I’m traveling from west to east.
EMMA
: Oh—I see. Yes. This is.
WELCH
: What?
EMMA
: Wisconsin.