Кладбище домашних животных

37

           Itwasasillyimage,fulsomeandsilly,butoh,itdidn’tfeelsilly.No.

           Louiswenttothedooronfeethecouldnotfeelandliftedthelatchwithnervelessfingers.Andasheswungitopen,hethought:It’llbePascow.LiketheysaidaboutJimMorrison,backfromthedeadandbiggerthanever.Pascowstandingthereinhisjoggingshorts,bigaslifeandasmouldyasmonth-oldbread,Pascowwithhishorriblyruinedhead,Pascowbringingthewarningagain:Don’tgoupthere.WhatwasthatoldsongbytheAnimals?Babypleasedon’tgo,babyPLEASEdon’tgo,youknowIloveyouso,babypleasedon’tgo...

           Thedoorswungopenandstandingthereonhisfrontstepintheblowingdarkofthismidnight,betweenthedayofthefuneralparlorvisitationandthedayofhisson’sburial,wasJudCrandall.Histhinwhitehairblewrandomlyinthechillydark.

           Louistriedtolaugh.Timeseemedtohaveturnedcleverlybackonitself.ItwasThanksgivingagain.Soontheywouldputthestiff,unnaturallythickenedbodyofEllie’scatWinstonChurchillintoaplasticgarbagebagandstartoff.Oh,donotaskwhatisit;letusgoandmakeourvisit.

           "CanIcomein,Louis?"Judasked.HetookapackofChesterfieldsfromhisshirtpocketandpokedoneintohismouth.

           "Tellyouwhat,"Louissaid."It’slateandI’vebeendrinkingapileofbeer."

           "Ayuh,Icouldsmellit,"Judsaid.Hestruckamatch.Thewindsnuffedit

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