Зима тревоги нашей

           Icanexplainmydreameasilyenough,butthatdoesn’tmakeitanylessfrightening.

           AnordercamethroughfromDanny,Idon’tknowhow.Hewasgoingawaybyaircraftandhewantedcertainthingsofme,thingsIhadtomakemyself.HewantedacapforMary.Ithadtobeofdarkbrownsuededlambskinwiththewoolontheinside.Ithadtobeofskinlikeanoldpairofsheep-linedslippersIhave,hadtobelikeabaseballcapwithalongbeak.Alsohewantedawindgauge—notthelittlewhirlingmetalcupsbuthandmadefromthethin,stiffcardboardofgovernmentpostcards,mountedonstripsofbamboo.Andhecalledmetomeethimbeforehetookoff.IcarriedoldCap’n’snarwhalstickwithme.Itstandsintheelephant’s-footumbrellastandinourhall.

           Whenwegottheelephant’sfootasapresentIlookedatthebigivory-coloredtoenails.Itoldmychildren,"Thefirstkidwhoputsnailpolishonthosetoenailsgetsclobbered—understand?"Theyobeyedme,soIhadtopaintthemmyself—brightredfingernailenamelfromMary’sharemtable.

           IwenttomeetDannyinMarullo’sPontiacandtheairportwastheNewBaytownpostoffice.WhenIparkedIlaidthetwistedstickonthebackseatandtwomean-lookingcopsinasquadcardroveupandsaid,"Notontheseat."

           "Isitagainstthelaw?"

           "Soyouwanttobeawiseguy!"

           "No.Iwasjustasking."

           "Well,don’tputitontheseat."

           Dannywasinthebackofthepostoffice,sortingpackages.Hewaswearingthelambskincapandwhirlingthecardboardwindgauge.