Сияние

The Snowmobile

           Helookedoutthewindowandsawthegustcarryingasheetofsparklingsnowcrystalstowardthedrifted-inrearofthehotel,whirlingthemhighintothehardbluesky.

           Thewinddroppedandbewentbacktolookingatthemachine.Itwasadisgustingthing,really.Youalmostexpectedtoseealong,limberstingerprotrudingfromtherearofit.Hehadalwaysdislikedthegoddamsnowmobiles.Theyshiveredthecathedralsilenceofwinterintoamillionrattlingfragments.Theystartledthewildlife.Theysentouthugeandpollutivecloudsofblueandbillowingoilsmokebehindthem-cough,cough,gag,gag,letmebreathe.Theywereperhapsthefinalgrotesquetoyoftheunwindingfossilfuelage,giventoten-year-oldsforChristmas.

           HerememberedanewspaperarticlehehadreadinStovington,astorydatelinedsomeplaceinMaine.Akidonasnowmobile,barrel-assinguparoadhe’dnevertraveledbeforeatbetterthanthirtymilesanhour.Night.Hisheadlightoff.TherehadbeenaheavychainstrungbetweentwopostswithaNOTRESPASSINGsignhungfromthemiddle.Theysaidthatinallprobabilitythekidneversawit.Themoonmighthavegonebehindacloud.Thechainhaddecapitatedhim.ReadingthestoryJackhadbeenalmostglad,andnow,lookingdownatthismachine,thefeelingrecurred.

           (Ifitwasn’tforDanny,Iwouldtakegreatpleasureingrabbingoneofthosemallets,openingthecowling,andjustpoundinguntil)

           Helethispent-upbreathescapehiminalongslowsigh.

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