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.’He sighed.‘I wish I knew what was wrong with you.Ever since – well, since the summer.And now.’‘Leave me alone, Martin.’And then, in spite of myself, I started to cry.It wasn’t him.It was the thought of Skizi, waiting for me – or worse, not waiting for me.It was two weeks since I’d come back from her hut, to find Mama waiting for me, furious; two weeks since I’d refused to say what I’d done with the food.I’d never seen Mama so angry – or Papa either.It frightened me.But I couldn’t have told them about Skizi.In a way, it made it easier, not to have the choice: like a high wall, blocking me in, telling me where to go.I kept my mind on that wall, and kept my mouth shut.And now I wasn’t allowed to leave the house.And if Skizi was waiting, and waiting.Her voice went round in my head: Tell me you love me.Martin shifted his weight, so the bed creaked, and I felt his fingers digging into my shoulder.‘Est.come on, Est.’I fought to stop crying, and after a while it worked.I stared at the leaflets – those laughing women in the sun – and blinked the last tears out of my eyes.I said, ‘I’m fine.’‘Course you are,’ Martin said, his voice resigned.‘So what was your good news?’ I said.‘School opening again? No more food rationing? Another parcel from Leon?’‘Better than that.’ Martin grinned.‘Remember Angel Corazon?’‘Of course I remember –’ I said, before I realised he was joking.‘Well, he’s coming to play here.The Party wanted to – well, Leon said they were sorry about what happened at your school, and they wanted to do something to make up for it, you know, a sort of celebration, and to mark the beginning of the pello season, and –’‘Propaganda,’ I said.‘Well.Yes.Exactly.’‘Nuns getting killed by guards isn’t good for the Party image.So they want to get everyone back on their side.’Martin winced.I clenched my teeth and refused to look at him.‘Yes,’ he said finally.‘I suppose that’s it.’There was a pause.I said, ‘In any case, Mama and Papa won’t let me go to a – a celebration.I’m in disgrace, remember?’‘Yes, they will.Everyone has to go.I mean.it’s not exactly compulsory, but.’ He trailed off.He scratched at the plaster, flaking it away from the wall with his thumb.I caught Martin’s eye.‘Oh.Not compulsory but,’ I said.‘I see.’‘Leon at his megalomaniac best.Aren’t you proud of him?’ Martin said, and laughed.A gust of cool air blew across my face, smelling of moisture and wet pavements.I felt my heart lift, a little.I took a deep breath.The winter had been hard, but now it was almost over, and then.‘Can I ask you something?’ Martin said.I shrugged.‘Are you in love with Angel Corazon?’ He was leaning forward, so earnest.I snorted, and then started to giggle.It was the first time I’d laughed for weeks, and it felt good.He smiled reluctantly, and said, ‘Are you, though?’‘Martin, you’re priceless.I’ve never even met Angel Corazon.’‘But you.’ Martin gazed at me, and turned away.He stood up again, and pressed his hands into the plaster as if he wanted to knock the wall down.‘Ever since we saw him play, against the Bull.you’ve been so strange.And after the King’s Cup final, when you ran away, and you said you were looking for Leon but I don’t believe you, and.’ He tailed off, and stared at the leaflets pinned above my head.‘I know it sounds stupid, but –’‘Martin.’ It wasn’t fair to laugh at him.He was right, in a way – although he was hopelessly wrong too.‘Tell me.Please.Esteya.’ His voice was quiet, almost blown away in the soft, cool air from the window.I leant back against the wall.It took me a second to realise I was shaking my head, rolling it from side to side in a slow, automatic refusal.Of course I couldn’t tell Martin.It was the brick wall again, rising straight up in front of me.Of course I couldn’t tell him.It was mad even to think about it.I wished I could, though.If anyone would understand, it would be Martin.I opened my mouth, not knowing what I was about to say.My heart was beating fast all of a sudden.But I’d left it too long; Martin stood up, shrugging his shoulders.‘All right, not to worry,’ he said.He grinned at me, just slightly too widely.‘Forget about it.You’re such a sweet, innocent little girl that you couldn’t possibly get up to anything anyway.’‘Little? I’m five minutes older than you,’ I said.I could feel the same expression on my face: a grin, or almost.‘Better go and help with lunch.Make yourself useful.That way Mama and Papa might forgive you sooner.’ Martin reached over and prodded me.I moved away, but he prodded me again.I pushed at his hand impatiently, but he kept on, and then we were struggling – scrapping, like we used to do – and I couldn’t stop giggling and neither could Martin [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]