Кладбище домашних животных

16

           Apparentlyhewasahard-headedrealist,eveninhisdreams.LouistwistedtheknobontheYalelock,liftedthelatch,andlethimselfintotheshed-garage.Pascowwasnotthere.LouiswonderedbrieflyifPascowhadjustceasedtoexist.Figuresindreamsoftendidjustthat.Sodidlocationsfirstyouwerestandingnudebyaswimmingpoolwitharaginghardon,discussingthepossibilitiesofwifeswappingwith,say,RogerandMissyDandridge;thenyoublinkedandyouwereclimbingthesideofaHawaiianvolcano.MaybehehadlostPascowbecausethiswasthebeginningofActII.

           ButwhenLouisemergedfromthegarage,hesawhimagain,standinginthefaintmoonlightatthebackofthelawnattheheadofthepath.

           Nowfearcame,enteringsoftly,siftingthroughthehollowplacesofhisbodyandfillingthemupwithdirtysmoke.Hedidn’twanttogoupthere.Hehalted.

           Pascowglancedbackoverhisshoulder,andinthemoonlighthiseyesweresilver.Louisfeltahopelesscrawlofhorrorinhisbelly.Thatjuttingbone,thosedriedclotsofblood.Butitwashopelesstoresistthoseeyes.Thiswasapparentlyadreamaboutbeinghypnotized,beingdominated...beingunabletochangethings,perhaps,thewayhehadbeenunabletochangethefactofPascow’sdeath.Youcouldgotoschoolfortwentyyearsandyoustillcouldn’tdoathingwhentheybroughtaguyinwhohadbeenrammedintoatreehardenoughtoopenawindowinhisskull.

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