Сияние

In the Basement

           Oneofhisolderbrothers-hecouldn’trememberwhichonenow-hadbeenstungwhileswingingintheoldtireDaddyhadhungfromoneofthetree’slowerbranches.Ithadbeenlatesummer,whenwaspstendtobeattheirugliest.

           Theirfather,justhomefromwork,dressedinhiswhites,thesmellofbeerhangingaroundhisfaceinafinemist,hadgatheredallthreeboys,Brett,Mike,andlittleJacky,andtoldthemhewasgoingtogetridofthewasps.

           "Nowwatch,"hehadsaid,smilingandstaggeringalittle(hehadn’tbeenusingthecanethen,thecollisionwiththemilktruckwasyearsinthefuture)."Maybeyou’lllearnsomething.Myfathershowedmethis."

           Hehadrakedabigpileofrain-dampenedleavesunderthebranchwherethewasps’nestrested,adeadlierfruitthantheshrunkenbuttastyapplestheirtreeusuallyproducedinlateSeptember,whichwasthenstillhalfamonthaway.Helittheleaves.Thedaywasclearandwindless.Theleavessmolderedbutdidn’treallyburn,andtheymadeasmell-afragrancethathadechoedbacktohimeachfallwhenmeninSaturdaypantsandlightWindbreakersrakedleavestogetherandburnedthem.Asweetsmellwithabitterundertone,richandevocative.Thesmolderingleavesproducedgreatraftsofsmokethatdrifteduptoobscurethenest.

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