Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Katia Kapovich

Malcolm was the first to hear the news and tell us about it. But Malcolm, though you have to give him his due, is no Einstein. “We’ll climb up the fire escape,” says Malcolm, flailing away at the mosquitoes, “break the window and, when this so-called father runs out, push the wardrobe on top of him!” He’s looking at us expectedly and, as always, when he’s excited, his crooked teeth stick out from under his upper lip. “If we smash the window, the police will know that someone entered the house! And, by the way, how the hell do you know he’s got a wardrobe?” “Well, then come up with something better!” Malcolm answers, frustrated. He’s upset and not looking Luca in the face. But you have to give Malcolm credit, he gets his feelings under control pretty quickly, or at least that one feeling, he does. I don’t know. “Perhaps you’re right,” he says. “Then –– plan ‘B’! We find ourselves a three-year-old, put him behind the wheel, and get in the car next to him. When this father gets home, we’ll turn the corner and – boom, drive right over him! Then, we jump out of the car and – let them look all over for us – gone like the wind!” Malcolm scrunches up his nose, tickled to death that


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