Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
ItwasWellswhohadshoulderedhimintothesquareditchthedaybeforebecausehewouldnotswophislittlesnuffboxforWells’sseasonedhackingchestnut,theconquerorofforty.Itwasameanthingtodo;allthefellowssaiditwas.Andhowcoldandslimythewaterhadbeen!Andafellowhadonceseenabigratjumpplopintothescum.
Thecoldslimeoftheditchcoveredhiswholebody;and,whenthebellrangforstudyandthelinesfiledoutoftheplayrooms,hefeltthecoldairofthecorridorandstaircaseinsidehisclothes.Hestilltriedtothinkwhatwastherightanswer.Wasitrighttokisshismotherorwrongtokisshismother?Whatdidthatmean,tokiss?Youputyourfaceuplikethattosaygoodnightandthenhismotherputherfacedown.Thatwastokiss.Hismotherputherlipsonhischeek;herlipsweresoftandtheywettedhischeek;andtheymadeatinylittlenoise:kiss.Whydidpeopledothatwiththeirtwofaces?
Sittinginthestudyhallheopenedthelidofhisdeskandchangedthenumberpastedupinsidefromseventy-seventoseventy-six.ButtheChristmasvacationwasveryfaraway:butonetimeitwouldcomebecausetheearthmovedroundalways.
Therewasapictureoftheearthonthefirstpageofhisgeography:abigballinthemiddleofclouds.Fleminghadaboxofcrayonsandonenightduringfreestudyhehadcolouredtheearthgreenandthecloudsmaroon.
