Кладбище домашних животных

22

           Louisrattledthecat’sdish,theonethingabsolutelyguaranteedtobringChurchrunningifhewasinearshot,butnocatcamerunningthistime...andneverwouldagain,hewasafraid.

           Heputonhiscoatandhatandstartedforthedoor.Thenhecameback.Givingintowhathishearttoldhim,heopenedthecupboardunderthesinkandsquatteddown.Thereweretwokindsofplasticbagsintheresmallwhiteonesforthehouseholdtrashbasketsandbiggreengarbage-canliners.Louistookoneofthelatter.Churchhadputonweightsincehehadbeenfixed.

           Hepokedthebagintooneofthesidepocketsofhisjacket,notlikingtheslick,coolwaytheplasticfeltunderhisfingers.ThenhelethimselfoutthefrontdoorandcrossedthestreettoJud’shouse.

           Itwasaboutfive-thirty.Twilightwasending.Thelandscapehadadeadlook.Theremainderofsunsetwasastrangeorangelineonthehorizonacrosstheriver.ThewindbowledstraightdownRoute15,numbingLouis’scheeksandwhippingawaythewhiteplumeofhisbreath.Heshuddered,butnotfromthecold.Itwasafeelingofalonenessthatmadehimshudder.Itwasstrongandpersuasive.Thereseemednowaytoconcretizeitwithametaphor.Itwasfaceless.Hejustfeltbyhimself,untouchedanduntouching.

           HesawJudacrosstheroad,bundledupinhisbiggreendufflecoat,hisfacelostintheshadowcastbythefur-fringedhood.

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