Читать книгу Crocodile Tears онлайн

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She listens. And trembles.

She turns her head. The kitchen door opens smoothly. The man stands in the doorway and looks at the girl.

“Ursula.”

“No, Daddy.”

Her fingers descend and rub sauce on her dress, her sleeve tries to wipe her mouth free of mayonnaise, of jam, of gravy, of dulce de leche; she closes the fridge door with her body and leans against it, wishing she could sink and disappear forever into its misty white cold interior.

“No, Daddy. I won’t ever do it again.”

20The man is tall and thin, wearing a dark suit and tie, his black shoes glinting fiercely. He holds a golden cigarette lighter in his right hand and has a steely gaze.

“Come here, Ursula.”

“I promise, Daddy.”

She looks at the man, blinks, closes her eyes, tries to hold back the tears that slide down between the grease, the gravy, the sugar. She is familiar with the ritual of punishment and her fear erupts again, takes her by storm, overwhelms her. She takes a step, avoids looking at him, bites her lips until they blanch. Her room, her bed; her head is spinning. The kitchen is a bright cheerful place, the sun bouncing off the big oak table, around which are six chairs with red-and-white-checked cushions that match the curtains. She looks at the squares, one red, one white, one red.