Девять рассказов
Down at the Dinghy
BooBootossedthepackagedowntohim.Itlandedsquarelyonhislap.
Helookedatitinhislap,pickeditoff,lookedatitinhishand,andflickedit-sidearm-intothelake.HethenimmediatelylookedupatBooBoo,hiseyesfillednotwithdefiancebuttears.Inanotherinstant,hismouthwasdistortedintoahorizontalfigure-8,andhewascryingmightily.
BooBoogottoherfeet,gingerly,likesomeonewhosefoothasgonetosleepintheatre,andloweredherselfintothedinghy.Inamoment,shewasinthesternseat,withthepilotonherlap,andshewasrockinghimandkissingthebackofhisneckandgivingoutcertaininformation:"Sailorsdon’tcry,baby.Sailorsnevercry.Onlywhentheirshipsgodown.Orwhenthey’reshipwrecked,onraftsandall,withnothingtodrinkexcept-"
"Sandra-toldMrs.Snell-thatDaddy’sabig-sloppy-kike."
Justperceptibly,BooBooflinched,butsheliftedtheboyoffherlapandstoodhiminfrontofherandpushedhishairfromhisforehead."Shedid,huh?"shesaid.
Lionelworkedhisheadupanddown,emphatically.Hecameincloser,stillcrying,tostandbetweenhismother’slegs.
"Well,thatisn’ttooterrible,"BooBoosaid,holdinghimbetweenthetwovisesofherarmsandlegs."Thatisn’ttheworstthatcouldhappen."Shegentlybittherimoftheboy’sear."Doyouknowwhatakikeis,baby?"
Lionelwaseitherunwillingorunabletospeakupatonce.Atanyrate,hewaitedtillthehiccuppingaftermathofhistearshadsubsidedalittle
