Читать книгу Smoking Dead онлайн

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September 14. Mr. Juarez and I hadn't eaten in two days. The food stayed down in the attic. Luckily, we had the giant water can. But that wouldn't be enough. At night Mr. Mariachi sang. And Cantinflas spoke to us with that sweet voice of yesteryear. We couldn't go down. The attic was full of bad gentlemen who smoke. Mr. Juarez stroked my hair tenderly, like my father did. He picked me up sweetly with his hands and we approached the edge of the roof. Three plants separated us from the ground.

September 18th. I will never forget September 14, that day we were born again. In the distance, with helicopters flying through the air, we could see strange men. Mr. Juarez stood on the edge of the building not knowing what to do. Then a voice sounded from a megaphone, “We are the Mounted Police of Canada. Be still, sir. We come to save you. It was a giant helicopter, the bad guys who smoke started howling very loudly, the bad guys who smoke are really annoyed by the noises. Inside the helicopter some clowns with red noses held out a rope and told us to tie it under our arms. I was the first one to go up. In addition to the clowns and the Canadian Mounted Police, some men in brown skirts were looking at us. “We are Shaolin Monks, not small subjects,” that's what they told me. And then they picked up Mr. Juarez, who was crying a lot. I didn't cry anymore. At that moment I looked at those red noses of the clowns and I knew that the world would be a better place again.