Сумерки

           Theywelcomedmebackliketheprodigal.ItwasmorethanIdeserved."

           We’dcometoastopinfrontofthelastdoorinthehall.

           "Myroom,"heinformedme,openingitandpullingmethrough.

           Hisroomfacedsouth,withawall-sizedwindowlikethegreatroombelow.Thewholebacksideofthehousemustbeglass.HisviewlookeddownonthewindingSolDucRiver,acrosstheuntouchedforesttotheOlympicMountainrange.ThemountainsweremuchcloserthanIwouldhavebelieved.

           ThewesternwallwascompletelycoveredwithshelfaftershelfofCDs.Hisroomwasbetterstockedthanamusicstore.Inthecornerwasasophisticated-lookingsoundsystem,thekindIwasafraidtotouchbecauseI’dbesuretobreaksomething.Therewasnobed,onlyawideandinvitingblackleathersofa.Thefloorwascoveredwithathickgolden

           carpet,andthewallswerehungwithheavyfabricinaslightlydarkershade.

           "Goodacoustics?"Iguessed.

           Hechuckledandnodded.

           Hepickeduparemoteandturnedthestereoon.Itwasquiet,butthesoftjazznumbersoundedlikethebandwasintheroomwithus.Iwenttolookathismind-bogglingmusiccollection.

           "Howdoyouhavetheseorganized?"Iasked,unabletofindanyrhymeorreasontothetitles.

           Hewasn’tpayingattention.

           "Ummm,byyear,andthenbypersonalpreferencewithinthatframe,"hesaidabsently.

           Iturned,andhewaslookingatmewithapeculiarexpressioninhiseyes.

           "What?"

           "Iwaspreparedtofeel...relieved.Havingyouknowabouteverything,notneedingtokeepsecretsfromyou.