Кладбище домашних животных

35

           Vinton’sfieldandLouisgotitupintotheblowylate-Marchskyfirstshot,althoughhehadnotflownakitesincehewas...what?Twelve?Nineteenyearsago?God,thatwashorrible.

           Mrs.VintonwasawomanofalmostJud’sagebutimmeasurablymorefrail.Shelivedinabrickhouseattheheadofherfield,butnowshecameoutonlyrarely.Behindthehouse,thefieldendedandthewoodsbeganthewoodsthatledfirsttothePetSemataryandthentotheMicmacburyinggroundbeyondit.

           "Kite’sflyne,Daddy!"Gagescreamed.

           "Yeah,lookatitgo!"Louisbellowedback,laughingandexcited.Hepayedoutkitetwinesofastthatthestringgrewhotandbrandedthinfireacrosshispalm."LookatthatVulture,Gage!She’sgointobeatshit!"

           "Beat-shit!"Gagecriedandlaughed,highandjoyously.Thesunsailedoutfrombehindafatgrayspringcloud,andthetemperatureseemedtogoupfivedegreesalmostatonce.Theystoodinthebright,unreliablewarmthofMarchstrainingtobeAprilinthehighdeadgrassofMrs.Vinton’sfield;abovethemtheVulturesoareduptowardtheblue,higher,itsplasticwingsspreadtautagainstthatsteadycurrentofair,stillhigher,andashehaddoneasachild,Louisfelthimselfgoinguptoit,goingintoit,staringdownastheworldtookonitsactualshape,theonecartographersmustseeintheirdreams;Mrs.

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