And soon she came with me. She examined the orange trees.
“Don’t you like that one? It’s a fine tree.” I didn’t like this one, or that one, or any of them.
They all had too many thorns. “I prefer the sweet-orange tree to those ugly things.”
“Where?” I took her to see it. “But what a lovely little orange tree!”
It doesn’t have a single thorn. It has so much personality that you can tell it’s a sweet-orange tree from far off.
“If I were your size, I wouldn’t want anything else.” “But I want a big tree.”
“Think about it, Zezé. This one’s still young. It’s going to grow big – you’ll grow together.”
“You’ll understand each other like brothers. Have you seen that branch?”
“It’s the only one, it’s true, but it looks a bit like a horse made just for you.”
I was feeling really hard done by. It reminded me of the Scotch bottle with angels on it that we’d seen once.
Lalá had said, “That one’s me.” Glória picked one for her and Totoca took one for himself.
But what about me? I ended up being the little head behind all the others, almost wingless.
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