Сияние

Hallorann, Going up the Country

           Infrontofhimtheroadwasgone…hewaslookingintoabottomlesschasmofswirlingsnowandvaguegreenish-graypinesfarawayandfarbelow.

           (I’mgoingholymotherofJesusI’mgoingoff)

           Andthatwaswherethecarstopped,cantingforwardatathirty-degreeangle,theleftfenderjammedagainstaguardrail,therearwheelsnearlyofftheground.WhenHalloranntriedreverse,thewheelsonlyspunhelplessly.HisheartwasdoingaGeneKrupadrumroll.

           Hegotout-verycarefullyhegotout-andwentaroundtotheBuick’sbackdeck.

           Hewasstandingthere,lookingatthebackwheelshelplessly,whenacheerfulvoicebehindhimsaid:"Hellothere.fella.Youmustbeshitrightoutofyourmind."

           Heturnedaroundandsawtheplowfortyyardsfurtherdowntheroad,obscuredintheblowingsnowexceptfortheraftereddarkbrownstreakofitsexhaustandtherevolvingbluelightsontop.Thedriverwasstandingjustbehindhim,dressedinalongsheepskincoatandaslickeroverit.Ablue-and-whitepinstripedengineer’scapwasperchedonhishead,andHalloranncouldhardlybelieveitwasstayingonintheteethofthewind.

           (Glue.Itsure-Godmustbeglue.)

           "Hi,"hesaid."Canyoupullmebackontotheroad?"

           "Oh,IguessIcould,"theplowdriversaid."Whatthehellyoudoingwayuphere,mister?Goodwaytokillyourass."

           "Urgentbusiness.

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