Сияние

The Ballroom

           Thatmadehimfeelsick.

           Amomentlaterandthingsbegantorunbackward.Theboywhirledbackovertheaxisbar.Heflippedthegirlintoanuprightposition.Theyseemedtonodknowinglyateachotherastheirhandsarchedbackovertheirheads.Theyretreatedthewaytheyhadcome,disappearingjustas"TheBlueDanube"finished.Theclockbegantostrikeacountofsilverchimes.

           (Midnight!Strokeofmidnight!)

           (Hoorayformasks!)

           Dannywhirledonthechair,almostfallingdown.Theballroomwasempty.Beyondthedoublecathedralwindowhecouldseefreshsnowbeginningtosiftdown.Thehugeballroomrug(rolledupfordancing,ofcourse),arichtangleofredandgoldembroidery,layundisturbedonthefloor.Spacedarounditweresmall,intimatetablesfortwo,thespiderychairsthatwentwitheachupendedwithlegspointingattheceiling.

           Thewholeplacewasempty.

           Butitwasn’treallyempty.BecausehereintheOverlookthingsjustwentonandon.HereintheOverlookalltimeswereone.TherewasanendlessnightinAugustof1945,withlaughteranddrinksandachosenshiningfewgoingupandcomingdownintheelevator,drinkingchampagneandpoppingpartyfavorsineachother’sfaces.Itwasanot-yet-lightmorninginJunesometwentyyearslaterandtheorganizationhittersendlesslypumpedshotgunshellsintothetornandbleedingbodiesofthreemenwhowentthroughtheiragonyendlessly.

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