B R Collins Love in Revolution (retail) (ep

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.I looked over my shoulder and saw the priest turn and walk away, the Ibarra girls swap a look, Mama’s hat dip and bob backwards like a turquoise horn.‘Phew,’ Martin said, not to anyone in particular.‘Don’t think I could’ve stood another second of that.Would’ve killed me.’The Bull had his family surrounding him now.They moved slowly away, past the tavern and down the street.The old women were talking too loudly, with too many pauses.The kids were subdued, kicking stones along the ground.The Bull was never going to play pello again.But we didn’t know that yet.TwoThe church clock chimed midday.It rang out across the square, resonating from wall to wall, and I thought I could see the vibration in the dust hanging in the air.The Zikindi girl’s grip on my wrist loosened, but she didn’t let go, and I didn’t pull away.The boy was still standing in the middle of the court, alone, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.Then one hand crept to his collar, fumbling, and he glanced down at his feet.‘What a player,’ Martin said, shaking his head slowly.‘Wow.Can you believe.? Just turned up out of nowhere and beat the Bull.’I didn’t answer.There wasn’t anything I could have said.I looked sideways, and saw that the Zikindi girl had the same expression on her face that must have been on mine: glowing, dazzled, full of something too pure to smile.Her eyes were pale green-blue, and she met my gaze without blinking.We stared at each other for a few seconds; then she let go of my wrist and glanced around, like someone waking up.The boy was crouching now, his head bowed, running one hand over the stones.He was still dripping sweat.He looked like a kid playing in the gutter.‘There’s Mama and Papa,’ Martin said.‘We’d better go and –’He stopped.I followed his gaze.Leon was walking towards us, with a patronising elder-brother smile; but when he passed in front of the boy he paused, and his face changed.His shadow fell across the boy’s hands.He said slowly, ‘What’s your name?’The boy looked up, and flinched.He scuffled backwards on his haunches, like an animal that didn’t want to be kicked.He said, ‘I’m only looking for my button.My collar button.Then I’ll go.’Leon frowned, and then crouched so that he could look the boy in the face.He stretched his hand out and patted his shoulder.‘It’s all right,’ he said.‘I just want to know your name.’The boy ducked swiftly away, out of Leon’s reach; but he licked his lips and finally said, ‘Angel.’‘That’s a nice name.’ The sunlight flashed off Leon’s glasses so I couldn’t see his eyes.‘Where do you live, Angel?’‘Angel Corazon.From Oldchurch Farm.Over there.’ The boy – the angel, Angel – pointed at the tavern, as if there was nothing in that direction but bare countryside and his farm.‘A peasant.I thought so.’Angel stared at him, and didn’t answer.‘You’re a strong, hard-working son of the earth,’ Leon said, leaning forward, his voice low and thrumming with drama, as if he was telling Angel a secret.‘A hero.A fighter.You’re the backbone of this country.Without men like you, we would be nothing.And yet – look at you.Covered in dust, dressed in rags –’‘My button,’ Angel said, in that blurred, scraping voice.‘It must’ve come off.’Leon grabbed him by the shoulders.The tendons in his hands stood out as if it was an effort not to shake him.‘No, forget the damn button! Listen to what I’m telling you.’I heard Martin sigh.He said, ‘Odds on him saying “comrade” in the next ten seconds? Wait for it.’‘Do you know what you’ve done today?’ Leon softened his voice.‘You’ve given us hope.All of us.You know what you are? You’re a symbol.’Angel gazed at him, his beautiful dark blue eyes wide and uncomprehending.‘The peasant,’ Leon said, so quietly I could hardly hear him, ‘rises up and defeats the bourgeoisie.Against all odds.He leaves the blood of the old order in the dust.He brings in the revolution.He vanquishes.’Angel blinked.‘If I go home without it, my father will be angry.The button.’Leon drew in a sharp breath, and then let it out slowly.The corners of his mouth softened.He said, in his normal voice, ‘All right.what about if someone gave you a new shirt?’‘I – a new shirt?’ It was as if he lived in a world where things like that didn’t happen.‘Well,’ Leon said, ‘not exactly new, but at least with all the buttons on.Not – well, not.’ He grimaced at Angel’s shirt, at a loss for adjectives.Then he took off his jacket and started to tug at his tie.‘Oh, God, no,’ Martin said.‘Please, no.Not with Mama and Papa just over there.’I glanced sideways.Martin was biting his lip, but the Zikindi girl had the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.Leon dropped his tie on the ground and unbuttoned his shirt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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