Девять рассказов
De Daumier-Smith’s Blue Period
M.Yoshotothenofferedtoshowmetomyroom,which,heexplained(inFrench)hadrecentlybeenvacatedbyhisson,whohadgonetoBritishColumbiatoworkonafarm.(Afterhislongsilenceinthebus,Iwasgratefultohearhimspeakwithanycontinuity,andIlistenedrathervivaciously.)Hestartedtoapologizeforthefactthattherewerenochairsinhisson’sroom—onlyfloorcushions—butIquicklygavehimtobelievethatformethiswaslittleshortofagodsend.(Infact,IthinkIsaidIhatedchairs.Iwassonervousthatifhehadinformedmethathisson’sroomwasflooded,nightandday,withafootofwater,Iprobablywouldhaveletoutalittlecryofpleasure.IprobablywouldhavesaidIhadararefootdisease,onethatrequiredmykeepingmyfeetweteighthoursdaily.)Thenheledmeupacreakywoodenstaircasetomyroom.Itoldhimontheway,pointedlyenough,thatIwasastudentofBuddhism.IlaterfoundoutthatbothheandMme.YoshotowerePresbyterians.
Latethatnight,asIlayawakeinbed,withMme.Yoshoto’sJapanese-Malayandinnerstillenmasseandridingmysternumlikeanelevator,oneortheotheroftheYoshotosbegantomoaninhisorhersleep,justtheothersideofmywall.Itwasahigh,thin,brokenmoan,anditseemedtocomelessfromanadultthanfromeitheratragic,subnormalinfantorasmallmalformedanimal.(Itbecamearegularnightlyperformance.IneverdidfindoutwhichoftheYoshotositcamefrom,letalonewhy.)
