JК
Veronika decides to die :: Coelho Paulo
Страница: 98 из 115Oneday his mother asked him why he didn’t bring his friends to lunch or supper.
“I know every brand of sneakers and I know the names of all the girls who are easy to get into bed. After that there’s nothing left to talk to them about.”
Then the Brazilian girl appeared on the scene. The ambassador and his wife felt better when their son began going out on dates and coming home late. No one knew exactly where she had come from, but one night, Eduard invited her home to supper. She was a well-brought-up girl, and his parents felt content; the boy had finally started to develop his talent for relating to other people. Moreover, they both thought—though neither actually said anything—that the girl’s existence removed one great worry from their minds: Eduard clearly wasn’t homosexual.
They treated Maria (that was her name) with all the consideration of future in-laws, even though they knew that in two years’ time they would be transferred to another post, and they had not the slightest intention of letting their son marry someone from an exotic country. They had plans for him to meet a girl from a good family in France or Germany, who could be a dignified companion in the brilliant diplomatic career the ambassador was preparing for him.
Eduard, however, seemed more and more in love. Concerned, his mother went to talk to her husband.
“The art of diplomacy consists in keeping your opponent waiting,” said the ambassador. “While you may never get over a first love affair, it always ends.”
But Eduard seemed to have changed completely. He started bringing strange books home, he built a pyramid in his room, and, together with Maria, burned incense every night and spent hours staring at a strange design pinned to the wall. Eduard’s marks at school began to get worse.
The mother didn’t understand Portuguese, but she could see the book covers: crosses, bonfires, hanged witches, exotic symbols.
“Our son is reading some dangerous stuff.”
“Dangerous? What’s happening in the Balkans is dangerous,” said the ambassador. “There are rumors that Slovenia wants independence, and that could lead us into war.”
The mother, however, didn’t care about politics; she wanted to know what was happening to her son.
“What about this mania for burning incense?”
“It’s to disguise the smell of marijuana,” said the ambassador. “Our son has had an excellent education; he can’t possibly believe that those perfumed sticks draw down the spirits.
“I know every brand of sneakers and I know the names of all the girls who are easy to get into bed. After that there’s nothing left to talk to them about.”
Then the Brazilian girl appeared on the scene. The ambassador and his wife felt better when their son began going out on dates and coming home late. No one knew exactly where she had come from, but one night, Eduard invited her home to supper. She was a well-brought-up girl, and his parents felt content; the boy had finally started to develop his talent for relating to other people. Moreover, they both thought—though neither actually said anything—that the girl’s existence removed one great worry from their minds: Eduard clearly wasn’t homosexual.
They treated Maria (that was her name) with all the consideration of future in-laws, even though they knew that in two years’ time they would be transferred to another post, and they had not the slightest intention of letting their son marry someone from an exotic country. They had plans for him to meet a girl from a good family in France or Germany, who could be a dignified companion in the brilliant diplomatic career the ambassador was preparing for him.
Eduard, however, seemed more and more in love. Concerned, his mother went to talk to her husband.
“The art of diplomacy consists in keeping your opponent waiting,” said the ambassador. “While you may never get over a first love affair, it always ends.”
But Eduard seemed to have changed completely. He started bringing strange books home, he built a pyramid in his room, and, together with Maria, burned incense every night and spent hours staring at a strange design pinned to the wall. Eduard’s marks at school began to get worse.
The mother didn’t understand Portuguese, but she could see the book covers: crosses, bonfires, hanged witches, exotic symbols.
“Our son is reading some dangerous stuff.”
“Dangerous? What’s happening in the Balkans is dangerous,” said the ambassador. “There are rumors that Slovenia wants independence, and that could lead us into war.”
The mother, however, didn’t care about politics; she wanted to know what was happening to her son.
“What about this mania for burning incense?”
“It’s to disguise the smell of marijuana,” said the ambassador. “Our son has had an excellent education; he can’t possibly believe that those perfumed sticks draw down the spirits.