Мгла
The Coming of the Storm.
Thewater-cyclonehadeitherpassedusorbrokenupwhenitreachedtheshoreline,butIstillcouldn’tseetwentyyardsoutontothelake.Thewaterwasincompleteturmoil.Isawsomeone’sdock-theJassers’,maybe-hurrybywithitsmainsupportsalternatelyturneduptotheskyandburiedinthechurningwater.
Iwentdownstairs.Billyrantomeandclungtomylegs.Iliftedhimupandgavehimahug.ThenIlitthecandies.Wesatintheguestroomdownthehallfrommylittlestudioandlookedateachother’sfacesintheflickeringyellowglowandlistenedtothestormroarandbashatourhouse.Abouttwentyminuteslaterweheardaripping,rendingcrashasoneofthebigpineswentdownnearby.Thentherewasalull.
"Isitover?"Steffasked.
"Maybe,"Isaid."Maybeonlyforawhile.
Wewentupstairs,eachofuscarryingacandle,likemonksgoingtovespers.Billycarriedhisproudlyandcarefully.Carryingacandle,carryingthefire,wasaverybigdealforhim.Ithelpedhimforgetaboutbeingafraid.
Itwastoodarktoseewhatdamagehadbeendonearoundthehouse.ItwaspastBilly’sbedtime,butneitherofussuggestedputtinghimin.Wesatinthelivingroom,listenedtothewind,andlookedatthelightning.
Aboutanhourlateritbegantocrankupagain.Forthreeweeksthetemperaturehadbeenoverninety,andonsixofthosetwenty-onedaystheNationalWeatherServicestationatthePortlandJetporthadreportedtemperaturesofoveronehundreddegrees.Queerweather.
