As she was wiping the blood off me, I spat a piece of tooth into the bowl.
That stoked the volcano. “Look what you’ve done, you lily-liver. When you want to fight, you get scared and go running to him for help.
Chicken! Nine years old and you still wet the bed. I’m going to show everyone your mattress and the wet pyjamas you hide in the drawer every morning.”
Then she sent everyone out of the room and locked the door.
She turned on the light because night had fallen. She took off my shirt and sat there mopping the blood and gashes on my body.
“Does it hurt, shrimp?” “It’s hurting a lot now.” “I’ll do it really softly, my sweet little rascal.
You’ll need to lie on your stomach for a while so it can dry, otherwise your clothes’ll stick to the cuts and it’ll hurt.”
But what really hurt was my face. It ached with pain and rage at so much unprovoked cruelty.
When things were a little better, she lay down beside me, stroking my head.
“You saw, Gló. I wasn’t doing anything. When I deserve it, I don’t mind being flogged. But I wasn’t doing anything.”
She gulped. “But the saddest part was my balloon. It was looking so beautiful. Just ask Luís.”
“I believe you. It was beautiful. But don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll go to Gran’s house and buy some tissue paper.
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