Сияние

In the Playground

           

           Heturnedaroundquickly,frowning,embarrassed,wonderingifsomeonehadseenhimfoolingarounddownhereinkiddiecountry.Hiseyestickedofftheslides,theopposinganglesoftheseesaws,theswingsinwhichonlythewindsat.Beyondallthattothegateandthelowfencethatdividedtheplaygroundfromthelawnandthetopiary-thelionsgatheredprotectivelyaroundthepath,therabbitbentoverasiftocropgrass,thebuffaloreadytocharge,thecrouchingdog.Beyondthem,theputtinggreenandthehotelitself.FromherehecouldevenseetheraisedlipoftheroquecourtontheOverlook’swesternside.

           Everythingwasjustasithadbeen.Sowhyhadthefleshofhisfaceandhandsbeguntocreep,andwhybadthehairalongthebackofhisneckbeguntostandup,asifthefleshbacktherehadsuddenlytightened?

           Hesquintedupatthehotelagain,butthatwasnoanswer.Itsimplystoodthere,itswindowsdark,atinythreadofsmokecurlingfromthechimney,comingfromthebankedfireinthelobby.

           (Buster,youbettergetgoingorthey’regoingtocomebackandwonderifyouweredoinganythingallthewhile.)

           Sure,getgoing.Becausethesnowwascomingandhehadtogetthedamnhedgestrimmed.Itwaspartoftheagreement.

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