Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 19

§

Berrylicious.

‘I’m so sad,’ Paper Boy said to the tallest spindle tree. Rick and Serge’s lipstick letters left knuckle-sized bruises on his chest. After he slung the silk-lined suit coat on his bony shoulders, his bluish fingers picked buttons shut. Bits of dirt stuck to the fuzz on the back of his neck. Damp. His angry stomach told his hands to pick as many pink and red spindle berries as the pockets of his new jacket would hold. ‘I should wash these little berries,’ he said.

The river gobbled many little berries. He watched them bob along the silver edge of current and held on to as many of the pink and red berries as he could. Trickles of purple ran down his walking muscles as silk-lined pockets strained with their dripping cargo. Returning to his drinking tin, sharp enough to catch a lip on, Paper Boy spilled the spindle berries on the table. He picked at them like Robin Redbreast. With each berry he chewed and rolled in his mouth from sweet to sour, his tongue grew numb. So did his throat. So did his angry stomach. He missed his good straight tooth.