Сияние

Talking to Mr. Ullman

           Wendyturningonthelight,seeinghisclothesrippedandsmearedfromsomecloudyparking-lotscufflethathadoccurredatavaguelyrememberedhonky-tonkjustovertheNewHampshireborderhoursbefore,crustedbloodunderhisnose,nowlookingupathiswife,blinkingstupidlyinthelightlikeamoleinthesunshine,andWendysayingdully,Yousonofabitch,youwokeDannyup.Ifyoudon’tcareaboutyourself,can’tyoucarealittlebitaboutus?Oh,whydoIevenbothertalkingtoyou?

           Thetelephonerang,makinghimjump.Hesnatcheditoffthecradle,illogicallysureitmustbeeitherUllmanorAlShockley."What?"hebarked.

           "Yourovertime,sir.Threedollarsandfiftycents."

           "I’llhavetobreaksomeones,"hesaid."Waitaminute."

           Heputthephoneontheshelf,depositedhislastsixquarters,thenwentouttothecashiertogetmore.Heperformedthetransactionautomatically,hismindrunninginasingleclosedcirclelikeasquirrelonanexercisewheel.

           WhyhadhecalledUllman?

           BecauseUllmanhadembarrassedhim?Hehadbeenembarrassedbefore,andbyrealmasters-theGrandMaster,ofcourse,beinghimself.Simplytocrowattheman,exposehishypocrisy?Jackdidn’tthinkhewasthatpetty.Hismindtriedtoseizeonthescrapbookasavalidreason,butthatwouldn’tholdwatereither.ThechancesofUllmanknowingwhotheownerwaswerenomorethantwoinathousand.

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