Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Laura Sintija ČCerniauskaitėe

to these outings. The people would talk to him as if he were one of their own, because Isabel was one of their own and he was hers. But that secret gaze, when he thought she didn’t see him, when, hypnotised by her daily chores she was inattentive, would cause her to shudder and turn round quizzically, not even trying to pretend she hadn’t felt it. Ilya’s gaze would flash like a knife hidden in its sheath. What is he doing to me? She would ask herself, secretly watching him while he ate, or while he was drawing shapes on the windowpane with his finger, or when he would suddenly freeze while fastening his shoelaces as if sinking into the depths of himself. No, it ’s not his fault, it ’s me . . . But the next day, on her way to Kurpiskiai, she didn’t let him walk behind her. ‘Come on, you’re my friend.’ She slapped her thigh, inviting the child to come closer. Reluctantly Ilya caught up with her, but still he walked along the side of the road leaving her the middle. She tried to talk about it to Liudas, but he just placed his palm on Isabel’s forehead as if she had a fever and looked into her face silently. And then once again she smelled the fragrance which made her want to close her eyes and scream. The fragrance on his palm. _____

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