Повелитель мух

           Simonstayedwherehewas,asmallbrownimage,concealedbytheleaves.Evenifheshuthiseyesthesow’sheadstillremainedlikeanafter-image.Thehalf-shuteyesweredimwiththeinfinitecynicismofadultlife.TheyassuredSimonthateverythingwasabadbusiness.

           "Iknowthat."

           Simondiscoveredthathehadspokenaloud.Heopenedhiseyesquicklyandtherewastheheadgrinningamusedlyinthestrangedaylight,ignoringtheflies,thespilledguts,evenignoringtheindignityofbeingspikedonastick.

           Helookedaway,lickinghisdrylips.

           Agiftforthebeast.Mightnotthebeastcomeforit?Thehead,hethought,appearedtoagreewithhim.Runaway,saidtheheadsilently,gobacktotheothers.Itwasajokereally—whyshouldyoubother?Youwerejustwrong,that’sall.Alittleheadache,somethingyouate,perhaps.Goback,child,saidtheheadsilently.

           Simonlookedup,feelingtheweightofhiswethair,andgazedatthesky.Upthere,foronce,wereclouds,greatbulgingtowersthatsproutedawayovertheisland,greyandcreamandcopper-colored.Thecloudsweresittingontheland;theysqueezed,producedmomentbymomentthisclose,tormentingheat.Eventhebutterfliesdesertedtheopenspacewheretheobscenethinggrinnedanddripped.Simonloweredhishead,carefullykeepinghiseyesshut,thenshelteredthemwithhishand.Therewerenoshadowsunderthetreesbuteverywhereapearlystillness,sothatwhatwasrealseemedillusiveandwithoutdefinition.