Francis: Who's this?
Ida: That is your grandfather when he was [hiccups] young man.
Francis: Euch! Tell me that eyebrow isn't genetic.
Ida: You and him. Both the same. Always had to have your own way. Nothing ever good enough. Always had to fight everything. Victor always had to be so independent. Left home when he was 11, lived on his own, got to work on farm, ploughin' the fields. Like a man. Worked 18 hours a day. Had to sleep with the pigs. But he never complained. [struggles to unlock drawer] He was strong. He made something of himself. Nobody like that anymore. Everybody's too soft.
Francis: Hey, Grandma, why don't you let me help you with that?
Ida: [slaps Francis's hand away] Your grandfather was tough! He didn't take anything from anybody. He was proud. A man of honor. He was a wonderful, wonderful man. [mumbles in Russian]
Francis: Grandma? Grandma?
[After Ida passes out with a cigarette in her mouth, Francis nudges her to check she's okay. The cigarette falls out of her mouth and onto her nightie.]
Francis: Oh! Oh, God!
[After the cigarette burns through the fabric, Francis bends down and sticks his hand between her legs to grab the cigarette. He groans and pours vodka over his hand]