Abruptly, the boy with the transistor looked up and said, “At least I get a lot more pocket money than I used to.”
“Sure you do,” sneered Paolo. “The grown-ups dish out money to get rid of us. They don't like us any more - they don't even like themselves.”
“If you ask me, they don't like anything any more.” “That's not true!” the newcomer exclaimed angrily.
“My parents like me a lot. It isn't their fault, not having any time to spare, it's just the way things are.”
“They gave me this transistor to keep me company, and it cost a lot. That proves they're fond of me, doesn't it?”
No one spoke, and suddenly the boy who'd been a spoilsport all afternoon began to cry.
He tried to smother his sobs and wiped his eyes with his grubby fists,
but the tears flowed fast, leaving pallid snail tracks in the patches of grime on his cheeks.
The other children gazed at him sympathetically or stared at the ground.
They understood him now. Deep down, all of them felt as he did: they felt abandoned.
“Yes,” old Beppo repeated after a while, “it's getting cold.”
“I may not be able to come here much longer,” said Paolo, the boy with glasses.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색