柔伊。純粹。文學 Zooey。Pure。Literature。

Billy: 'I love to boogie'

      I hate my brother. He's stupid but he has got some good music. I listen to his music when he's out at work with my dad. Well ­ they're not at work，not now.

  They're on strike. But they still go to the mine every day.

     Nan loves the music too. Tony and Dad leave in the morning, then the music goes on. I make breakfast for us and we both dance. I can hear her in her bedroom. She tries to dance but she can't walk very well now ­ well, she is eighty.

      This morning, I made the eggs and danced to her bedroom.

  'Hey, Nan! Breakfast!' I called. I opened the door with my foot and ... Oh no! Not again! Her bed was empty.

      I put the eggs on the kitchen table and ran out of the house. Where was she? She does this a lot. She forgets things ­ she forgets her name.

   I looked up the street. 'Nan! NAN!' Which way? Then I had an idea . I ran to the end of the street and up to some trees. There she was. She often goes there. Why? Who knows? Maybe she played there when she was little. She looked frightened.

 'Who are you?' she said.  

 'It's me, Nan. Billy!'

 She didn't look very happy. Then we both heard something. Behind us ... on the road ... we saw them ... lots of them. The police. Their clothes were black and they had batons.

Nan looked at me. 'What are they?' she asked.

'Police, Nan. It's the police.'

'Are they here for us?' she asked.

'No, Nan. Not us.' I said.

'Is it Jackie? Is it Tony?' she asked. I didn't answer. I didn't want to know the answer. I took my nan's arm and we walked slowly home.

   'I love to boogie / Jitterbug boogie ...' 'I'm trying to play 'Cosmic Boogie' on the piano and thinking about Mam. It was her piano. Mam's dead. She died two years ago. I think about her a lot.

   I've got a letter from her. She wrote it before she died.

'I'm still here, Billy,' she wrote. But she isn't here. She's dead.

   Mam was good at the piano. She played for all of us. I'd like piano lessons but they're too expensive. We haven't got money. My dad's always telling us that. We haven't got much. Not now that there's a strike.

'Billy! Stop that!'

It's Dad. He's going out again with Tony in a minute. Why do I have to stop ? He's not going to be here!

'Why ...?' Then I say the wrong thing. 'If it was Mam ...' Dad comes over. He closes the piano with a BANG!

'I'm not telling you again!

I go to my room. Back to Tony's music ...

Billy: Boys don't do ballet!

'Billy Elliot - this isn't a tea party - it's a boxing lesson! Hit him!

   It's Saturday morning and I'm at the boxing club at the Social. This morning, I'm against Greavesy and he's bigger than me. I have my own ideas about boxing. It's all about your feet. So, I run and turn and jump. I move quickly. Greavesy just stands there. George, the teacher, isn't happy.

'Hit him! Don't dance around! '

BANG! I'm on the floor. Greavesy's standing over me and he's smiling. I can hear George.

'Billy Elliot! Get up! You're going to do it right. You're not going home yet!

I get up. George pulls me to the punchbag. 'Hit it! Your poor father. He pays for boxing lessons. And this happens! ' And on ... and on... and on ...

I'm angry now. I hit the punchbag. I hate the punchbag.  

'Arms up. And one ­ and two and three and four. Feel the music. '

On the other side of the room, there's a ballet class. Someone's playing the piano. One and two and three and four. As the music plays, I hit the punchbag.

'One and two.' And bang and hit.' And three and four.' And hit and bang.'

'That's better,' George says. 'Stay here and get it right. See you next week.'

 And he goes out. All the other boys go too.

'Right, girls. And ... one and two. Debbie ­ don't look at me . Look in front of you! And three ... and four... '

 I go and watch. It's clever. They all dance together. Left and two, and down and two, and turn and two. I try it. I stretch out my leg. Yeah ­ easy!

'Why don't you try? '

 It's Debbie. She goes to my school.

'Nah,' I say. Boys don't do ballet!

'Legs up! '

They all stretch their legs. Mrs Wilkinson ­ she's the teacher - walks around and looks closely at each leg.

I try it. Debbie laughs at me. 'Your leg's moving!'

I look down. She's right. 'I'm wearing boxing shoes,' I tell her.

Mrs Wilkinson takes a cigarette from her pocket. She smokes a lot. 'OK, grils. And ...one and two and three and four'.

I want to do it too. I try but it's difficult. I start to listen to the music. It's easier then.

'Shoes off!' Miss is in front of me.

'Not me, Miss...' I start to say ­ but she's already walking down the room.

I take off my shoes and then she's back again ­ with ballet shoes.

'Here you are,' she says, ' You can't dance in boxing shoes.'

I don't know, but then I think 'Why not? '

── 內容摘錄自《Billy Elliot》一書；本文章之圖片轉載自網路；分享請註明出處

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