Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Laura Sintija ČCerniauskaitėe

he said to Isabel. He behaved as though he was not two but ten years older than his brother. He would not complain to hismother when things began disappearing from the drawers of his desk – pencils and his tragi- comical everyday reflections – what he called the pieces of paper with his scribblings on them. Gailius was a little sad about his reflections disappearing, though he always memorised them; they were always bubbling away up there in his head, multiplying daily, begging to be scribbled down onto a sheet of paper. He decided to keep the newly written reflections in the drawers of his father ’s desk. Fortunately they didn’t disappear from there. Or, perhaps, as the spring matured, they matured too and were not blown away quite so easily. One morning as it grew warmer, Isabel nearly tripped over Ilya as she hurried into the veranda. He was sleeping on a straw mat, with a coiled blanket pulled from his bed. He looked so helpless; his neck was twisted and a transparent slick of saliva stretched like a cobweb from his parted lips. Damp hair stuck to his temples. Around him, lined up by his childish hand, his toys stood guarding him. Pressed against his chest were his new sport shoes, the ones Liudas had brought from town. From that day on the veranda was given to him. Liudas brought a folding armchair from the bedroom, removed the empty jars from the cupboard and put

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