Сияние

“It Was Her!”

           Men

           andwomenincostume,hereaglitteringprincess,thereahigh-bootedcavalier,flashingjewelryandflashingwitevery

           where,dancing,liquorflowingfreely,firstwineandthencocktailsandthenperhapsboilermakersthelevelofconver

           sationgoingupandupandupuntilthejollycryrangoutfromthebandmaster’spodium,thecryof"Unmask!Unmask!"

           (AndtheRedDeathheldsway…)

           Hefoundhimselfstandingontheothersideofthediningroom,justoutsidethestylizedbatwingdoorsoftheColoradoLoungewhere,onthatnightin1945,alltheboozewouldhavebeenfree.

           (Bellyuptothebar,pardner,thedrinks’reonthehouse.)

           Hesteppedthroughthebatwingsandintothedeep,foldedshadowsofthebar.Andastrangethingoccurred.Hehadbeeninherebefore,oncetochecktheinventorysheetUllmanhadleft,andheknewtheplacehadbeenstrippedclean.Theshelvesweretotallybare.Butnow,litonlymurkilybythelightwhichfilteredthroughfromthediningroom(whichwasitselfonlydimlylitbecauseofthesnowblockingthewindows),hethoughthesawranksandranksofbottlestwinklingmutedlybehindthebar,andsyphons,andevenbeerdrippingfromthespigotsofallthreehighlypolishedtaps.Yes,hecouldevensmellbeer,thatdampandfermentedandyeastyodor,nodifferentfromthesmellthathadhungfinelymistedaroundhisfather’sfaceeverynightwhenhecamehomefromwork.

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