Читать книгу An Ice Cream For Henry - Emanuele Cerquiglini - Страница 20

H enry was relaxing between classes, and had quickly forgotten all about the math test, when suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of the ice cream truck drifting in through the window. Actually, it wasn’t the same tune as normal, but it was close enough. Henry looked out and saw that, indeed, it wasn’t the usual truck.

‘ Mr. Smith must have had to get rid of his old truck…’ the boy thought to himself, speculating that his favorite vendor must have fallen on hard times: in place of his usual huge white and pink truck with a giant plastic ice cream cone on the roof was an smaller old gray campervan with just some small modifications on one side. The vehicle looked like something out of those World War II books that Bet had bought from a flea market when she was pregnant and Henry’s dad kept on display in the bookcase in the living room.

‘ Yeah, it must be because of the rain… last summer, it rained for like a whole month, and Mr. Smith mustn’ t have sold enough ice creams so he’ s had to sell his truck and replace it with that heap of junk!’

“What are you thinking about, Henry?” asked Nicholas, poking Henry in the ribs.

“Oh, nothing. I was just looking out the window and thinking how I’d like an ice cream.”

“Why?” asked Nicholas, looking right at Henry.

“Because Mr. Smith drove by in a new truck!”

Nicholas shifted his gaze to the window, stepped forward and stuck his head out, looking left and right, before turning back to Henry and jamming both index fingers hard into his rib cage. Henry coughed and spluttered in pain and was left bent double. “You thought you could trick me, Henry Lewis, but who’s laughing now, eh?” chuckled the red-haired boy.

“Sit down, please,” came the voice of old Mr. Johnson as he shuffled into the classroom wearing his Yankees baseball cap and with a copy of The New York Times folded under his arm.

“Today, we’re going to be talking about President Kennedy, and I think you’re going to enjoy it!”

As Mr. Johnson put his newspaper and cap down and sat behind his desk, Henry - before sitting down himself and having recovered from Nicholas’s brutal attack - turned to look out of the window and check whether Mr. Smith’s ice cream truck was still there, but he couldn’t see it.

‘ He must have been in a hurry,’ thought Henry as he sat at his desk and watched Mr. Johnson unfold the newspaper to show it to the class.

Henry knew that the story of President Kennedy would not only banish all memories of Miss Anderson and her math test, but also suppress the strong desire for an ice cream that had come over him when he saw the truck outside.

KENNEDY IS KILLED BY SNIPER

screamed the headline in The New York Times. The pupils stared intently at the old newspaper, keen to find out more. Nicholas was so engrossed that he forgot to remove the pinkie he had put up his nostril to do some intense digging around his freckled nose.

“Stop picking your nose, Nicholas,” chided Mr. Johnson. You must always be respectful when people are talking about a President of the United States, dead or alive! Your boogers are not important! If you can’t blow your nose, you’ll just have to put up with it.”

For the other children, it was no laughing matter. Their teacher had a penetrating gaze and a deep measured tone to his voice that demanded respect.