Hi my dear friends, today we are going to read "A short Story" by Rachel Roberts, "HOT CHOCOLATE". I hope you'll like it! Intriguing until the end! Nothing is what it looks like!
Hola mis queridos amigos, vamos vamos a leer "Un relato corto" de Rachel Roberts, "CHOCOLATE CALIENTE". ¡Espero que os guste! Intrigante hasta el final. ¡Nada es lo que parece!
From: Speak Up magazine. Photos: Freepng (2) / Illustoon.es
FICTION - HOT CHOCOLATE
He was back! I knew I'd seen him around turning a corner in the street, or a few rows behind me in the cinema.Once or twice I'd seen him in the street beneath my window. Another day I was sitting in the magazine section of the library and I looked up to see him, or someone very like him, disappearing behind a shelf. At first, I told myself I was mistaken, or that my imagination was playing tricks. I didn't want to even consider the possibility that he had come back. Whatever the reason it could only mean one thing: trouble.
Then, when he walked into the café one day and sat down at my table, there could no longer be any doubt. I knew by the expression on his face that he was going to torment me.
I stared at him. He smiled back. "Well," he asked, after a few minutes. "Surprised to see me?"
I was, of course, deeply chocked and yet at the same time a little satisfied: I had been right to think it was him. I raised my chin defiantly.
"Why have you come?" "To see how you are." He looked me up and down slowly. "Not too well, it seems." "I'm well enough." "You look a lot older,"
I opened my mouth to return the insult, but then, looking at him, I realised that he hadn't aged a day. That really wasn't fair. Didn't horrible people age badly? With a character like this, he should have looked awful, but there was, just the same as he had been 20 years ago. He smiled again and called to the waitress to bring us two hot chocolates. This was in very bad taste. Obviously he wanted me to feel uncomfortable. I decided to pay my bill and leave. I didn't know what game he was playing but I wasn't going to let him upset me.
I took the brake off my wheelchair and began to wheel it towards the counter , my wallet ready on my knees. With an almost imperceptible movement of his foot, he pushed one of the café chairs into the gap between two tables and blocked my exit.
Not so fast," he said softly. "You haven't had your hot chocolate. It's very good here, you know."
I was stuck. It was a rainy day and the café was busy; chairs, tables and shopping bags filled the room. The only other route was blocked by a pushchair in which a young child was sleeping deeply. I couldn't leave without making a scene.
"I can't drink hot chocolate," I said. "Diabetes."
Ah, so that's why you're in the wheelchair. Lost the circulation in your legs, eh? What was it? The drink?"
I glared at him. "Keep your voice down!"
How could he have known about my drink problem? Had he been keeping an eye on me, all these years? The thought terrified me.
"It was so easy to guess," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "You've got an alcoholic nose, red and swollen." "Charming as ever," I said bitterly.
"Come on, relax." He leaned back in his chair. "Aren't you curious about me?" Don't you want to ask me anything?" "No, I dont". I want to go home. It's time for my medicine. I..."
"Oh dear," he said. "You have to be careful with medicine. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen.
This was too much. "Bad!" I shouted, waking the sleeping child in the pushchair. "You were the one bad thing in my life!"
People were starting to stare. The mother of the sleeping child had pulled the pushchair closer to her. If I moved suddenly I might just make it to the counter, then I could pay and go. I'd leave the town and go to my sister's in Yorkshire. I'd been a fool to stay in the same area. He had found me too easily.
He leaned over and laid his hand firmly on my arm. "Think about it," he said gently. "There must be something you want to know, after all this time. What it was like for me, perhaps? You're not well; this could be a good time to ask me. You might not have much time left." He raised his eyebrows encouragingly.
I hesitated and then I couldn't help it. The question that had tormented me all that time, the persistent little voice that only a large whisky could silence, suddenly became too much for me. I asked him the thing I had desperately wanted to know for 20 years: "Will there...Will there be consequences? For me, I mean, for what I did?"
"Consequences?" "Yes. Will there be some kind of punishment, you know, later?"
He threw back his head and laughed until the tears rolled down his face.
"You should have thought of that before," he said, wiping his eyes. "Before you put that overdose in my bedtime drink!"
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VOCABULARY
ROW: fila / BENEATH: bajo / TO PLAY TRICK: jugar una mala pasada / TO STARE; mirar fijamente / AWFUL: horroroso / TO UPSET: molestar / BRAKE: freno / TO TAKE OFF: levantar / WHEELCHAIR: silla de ruedas / TO WHEEL: rodar / COUNTER: mostrador, barra / STUCK: bloqueado / PUSHCHAIR; cochecito de niño / TO GLARE: mirar enfadado / SWOLLEN: hinchado / BITTERLY: amargamente / TO LEAN OVER: inclinarse / EYEBROW: ceja / I COULDN'T HELP IT: no lo pude evitar / TO WIPE: secar.
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