Голодные игры
Chapter 4
Peetaholdsarollandlookssomewhatembarrassed.
"Sitdown!Sitdown!"saysHaymitch,wavingmeover.ThemomentIslideintomychairI’mservedanenormousplatteroffood.Eggs,ham,pilesoffriedpotatoes.Atureenoffruitsitsinicetokeepitchilled.Thebasketofrollstheysetbeforemewouldkeepmyfamilygoingforaweek.There’sanelegantglassoforangejuice.Atleast,Ithinkit’sorangejuice.I’veonlyeventastedanorangeonce,atNewYear’swhenmyfatherboughtoneasaspecialtreat.Acupofcoffee.Mymotheradorescoffee,whichwecouldalmostneverafford,butitonlytastesbitterandthintome.ArichbrowncupofsomethingI’veneverseen.
"Theycallithotchocolate,"saysPeeta."It’sgood."
Itakeasipofthehot,sweet,creamyliquidandashudderrunsthroughme.Eventhoughtherestofthemealbeckons,IignoreituntilI’vedrainedmycup.ThenIstuffdowneverymouthfulIcanhold,whichisasubstantialamount,beingcarefultonotoverdoitonthericheststuff.Onetime,mymothertoldmethatIalwayseatlikeI’llneverseefoodagain.AndIsaid,"Iwon’tunlessIbringithome."Thatshutherup.
Whenmystomachfeelslikeit’sabouttosplitopen,Ileanbackandtakeinmybreakfastcompanions.Peetaisstilleating,breakingoffbitsofrollanddippingtheminhotchocolate.Haymitchhasn’tpaidmuchattentiontohisplatter,buthe’sknockingbackaglassofredjuicethathekeepsthinningwithaclearliquidfromabottle.Judgingbythefumes,it’ssomekindofspirit.
