Сияние

The Hedges

           Ashesetthemtorightsandtightenedthestrapsagain,henevertookhiseyesfromtheholeattheendoftheconcretering.Hewaitedtoseeifsomethingwouldcomeout.Nothingdid,andafterthreeorfourminutes,Danny’sbreathingbegantoslowdown.Whateveritwas,itcouldn’tstandthesunlight.Itwascoopedupdownthere,maybeonlyabletocomeoutwhenitwasdark…orwhenbothendsofitscircularprisonwerepluggedwithsnow.

           (buti’msafenowi’msafei’lljustgobackbecausenowi’m)

           Somethingthumpedsoftlybehindhim.

           Heturnedaround,towardthehotel,andlooked.Butevenbeforehelooked

           (CanyouseetheIndiansinthispicture?)

           heknewwhathewouldsee,becauseheknewwhatthatsoftthumpingsoundhadbeen.Itwasthesoundofalargeclumpofsnowfalling,thewayitsoundedwhenitslidofftheroofofthehotelandfelltotheground.

           (Canyousee-?)

           Yes.Hecould.Thesnowhadfallenoffthehedgedog.Whenhecamedownithadonlybeenaharmlesslumpofsnowoutsidetheplayground.Nowitstoodrevealed,anincongruoussplashofgreeninalltheeye-wateringwhiteness.Itwassittingup,asiftobegasweetorascrap.

           Butthistimehewouldn’tgocrazy,hewouldn’tblowhiscool.Becauseatleasthewasn’ttrappedinsomedarkoldhole.Hewasinthesunlight.Anditwasjustadog.It’sprettywarmouttoday,hethoughthopefully.

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