Девять рассказов
Down at the Dinghy
"Howlong’shebeendoin’it?"askedMrs.Snell."Imeanhowlong’shebeendoin’it?"
"Well,attheageoftwo-and-a-half,"BooBoosaidbiograph-ically,"hesoughtrefugeunderasinkinthebasementofourapartmenthouse.Downinthelaundry.Naomisomebody-aclosefriendofhis-toldhimshehadaworminherthermosbottle.Atleast,that’sallwecouldgetoutofhim."BooBoosighed,andcameawayfromthewindowwithalongashonhercigarette.Shestartedforthescreendoor."I’llhaveanothergoatit,"shesaid,bywayofgoodbyetobothwomen.
Theylaughed.
"Mildred,"Sandra,stilllaughing,addressedMrs.Snell,"you’regonnamissyourbusifyadon’tgelamoveon."
BooBooclosedthescreendoorbehindher.
Shestoodontheslightdowngradeofherfrontlawn,withthelow,glaring,lateafternoonsunatherback.Abouttwohundredyardsaheadofher,hersonLionelwassittinginthesternseatofhisfather’sdinghy.Tied,andstrippedofitsmainandjibsails,thedinghyfloatedataperfectrightangleawayfromthefarendofthepier.Fiftyfeetorsobeyondit,alostorabandonedwaterskifloatedbottomup,buttherewerenopleasureboatstobeseenonthelake;justasterne-endviewofthecountylaunchonitswayovertoLeech’sLanding.BooBoofounditqueerlydifficulttokeepLionelinsteadyfocus.Thesun,thoughnotespeciallyhot,wasnonethelesssobrilliantthatitmadeanyfairlydistantimage-aboy,aboat-seenalmostaswaveringandrefractionalasastickinwater.
