Сияние

Up On the Roof

           Hehadstuckhishandthroughsomerottedflashinginhighsummerandthathandandhiswholearmhadbeenconsumedinholy,righteousfire,destroyingconsciousthought,makingtheconceptofcivilizedbehaviorobsolete.Couldyoubeexpectedtobehaveasathinkinghumanbeingwhenyourhandwasbeingimpaledonred-hotdarningneedles?Couldyoubeexpectedtoliveintheloveofyournearestanddearestwhenthebrown,furiouscloudroseoutoftheholeinthefabricofthings(thefabricyouthoughtwassoinnocent)andarrowedstraightatyou?Couldyoubeheldresponsibleforyourownactionsasyourancrazilyaboutontheslopingroofseventyfeetabovetheground,notknowingwhereyouweregoing,notrememberingthatyourpanicky,stumblingfeetcouldleadyoucrashingandblunderingrightovertheraingutteranddowntoyourdeathontheconcreteseventyfeetbelow?Jackdidn’tthinkyoucould.Whenyouunwittinglystuckyourhandintothewasps’nest,youhadn’tmadeacovenantwiththedeviltogiveupyourcivilizedselfwithitstrappingsofloveandrespectandhonor.Itjusthappenedtoyou.Passively,withnosay,youceasedtobeacreatureofthemindandbecameacreatureofthenerveendings;fromcollege-educatedmantowailingapeinfiveeasyseconds.

           HethoughtaboutGeorgeHatfield.

           Tallandshaggilyblond,Georgehadbeenanalmostinsolentlybeautifulboy.

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