Читать книгу Boys on the Brain - Jean Ure, Stephen Lee, Jean Ure - Страница 7

Harry the Hunk came round this evening and he and Mum went to the pub. Mum wanted to know what I was going to do. I said, “Oh, I’ll probably get on with my homework.”

Harry said, “Homework on a Friday? You’re keen!”

“Oh, she is,” said Mum. She said it kind of… wistfully.

“I’ve got simply stacks,” I said.

I haven’t, actually; it’s too early in the term. What it was, I’d had this thought about Carlito and I wanted to write it down to read to Pilch tomorrow. I have thoughts about Carlito almost every night! Sometimes I find it hard to remember that he is only a figment of my imagination and not a real person. I only hope I never have to have an anaesthetic as I dread to think what kind of stuff I might start splurging on about as I come round!!! How embarrassing! Some of the things that go on in my head…

This latest thought, I am glad to say, is perfectly respectable. It came to me in bed, as thoughts so often do. (Bed is a good place for having thoughts.) It started with the discovery that Carlito cannot read or write, and just went on from there. This whole scene unrolled itself in my head. Pilch is bound to shriek “What?” And then when she has got over her shock she will instantly demand to know “Why?” and I will have no answer for her. I have no idea why! It is just something that happened.

It is a bit weird, in a way, since I am sure that in real life I would find it extremely difficult to converse with someone that was unable to read or write. Whatever would we talk about??? I think what it is, I think it is the Heathcliff factor. Like last term when we were reading Wuthering Heights, Mrs Adey said that Heathcliff represented a “primitive force”. Carlito is a primitive force!

Boys like Brad Sullivan simply pale into insignificance. This is something Mum couldn’t even begin to understand. The power of the imagination!

What I pictured was this sultry scene in a Spanish night club, where Carlito has gone with a party of his friends. One of them, who is secretly jealous of Carlito’s smouldering good looks and the way he can have any girl he wants, tricks him into somehow revealing the fact that he cannot read. (Not yet sure how. I shall have to work this out!) The so-called friend, who is English and not very attractive, sneers in a superior way, thinking the rest of the party will also sneer and that the girls will no longer find him attractive, Carlito I mean, but of course they do.

Carlito himself is not in the least bit abashed. As Harry would say, in his coarse earthy way, “He doesn’t give a monkey’s!” This is on account of his wild gypsy blood, being very proud and fiery. He simply tosses his head and snarls -

I am not sure what he snarls! Something rude in Spanish. I wish I knew something rude in Spanish! All I can think of is “Tu madre!” which I read somewhere is swearing, though I don’t quite see how it can be since all it means is “your mother”. But it sounds good. In Spanish!

At any rate it will have to do for now. Perhaps later I will think of something better.