Кладбище домашних животных

42

           

           Thespiralwastheoldestsignofpowerintheworld,man’soldestsymbolofthattwistybridgewhichmayexistbetweentheworldandtheGulf.

           LouisreachedGage’sgraveatlast.Thepayloaderwasgone.TheAstroturfhadbeenremoved,rolledupbysomewhistlingworkmanwithhismindonanafter-workbeerattheFairmountLounge,storedinanequipmentshedsomewhere.WhereGagelaytherewasaneatrectangleofbare,rakedearth,perhapsfivefeetbythreefeet.Theheadstonehadnotbeensetupyet.

           Louiskneeled.Thewindblewthroughhishair,tumblingit.Theskywasalmostentirelydarknow.Itracedwithclouds.

           NoonehasshonealightinmyfaceandaskedmewhatI’mdoinghere.Nowatchdoghasbarked.Thegatewasunlocked.ThedaysoftheResurrectionMenarepast.IfIcameupherewithapickandashovel

           Hecamebacktohimselfwithajerk.HewasonlyplayingadangerousmindgamewithhimselfifhepretendedthatPleasantviewstoodunwatchedduringthenighthours.Supposehewasdiscoveredbelly-deepinhisson’snewgravebythecaretakerorthewatchman?Itmightnotgetintothepapers,butthenagainitmight.Hemightbechargedwithacrime.Whatcrime?Graverobbing?Unlikely.Maliciousmischieforvandalismwouldbemorelikely.Andinthepaperoroutofit,thewordwouldgetaround.

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