Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet


is windy. Malcolm shows us how you have to light the matches under your jacket. They stand with their backs to me, Malcolm holds the flaps of his jacket open, and I too help block the wind, from the side. Luca is smoking his cigarette, spreading his fingers wide and blowing two streams of smoke through his nose. Malcolm looks over at him and also starts blowing smoke rings. He has no equals in this and is a great master at the skill, and that’s a good thing, because Malcolm’s life, as I’ve explained already, isn’t a bowl of cherries. His parents work in a laundry and, because they are immigrants, they aren’t paid very much. “Are we going to build a floor and a ceiling too?” Malcolm asks, inhaling so deep that tears start to stream from his eyes. “For sure,” I say. Because the idea to build the house was initially mine, my opinion is always reckoned with. But just now, my friends are pretty lame. I see this and I also become indifferent. Having finished the cigarettes, we again concentrate on planning our revenge. “Let’s think of something else?” Malcolm suggests. “We don’t have to kill the father!” I say suddenly. I myself didn’t expect I’d say such a thing, and now I have to get myself out of it. “Not kill him?” Malcolm says to me in indignation, and


Made with FlippingBook flipbook maker