Сияние

Phonebooth

           Onenighthedrankawholesix-packofCokeandthenranintothebathroomandvomiteditup.Thelevelofthebottlesintheliquorcabinetdidnotgodown.AfterhisclasseshewentovertoAlShockley’s-shehatedAlShockleyworsethanshehadeverhatedanyone-andwhenhecamehomeshewouldswearshesmelledscotchorginonhisbreath,buthewouldtalklucidlytoherbeforesupper,drinkcoffee,playwithDannyaftersupper,sharingaCokewithhim,readhimabedtimestory,thensitandcorrectthemeswithcupaftercupofblackcoffeebyhishand,andshewouldhavetoadmittoherselfthatshehadbeenwrong.

           Weekspassedandtheunspokenwordretreatedfurtherfromthebackofherlips.Jacksenseditsretirementbutknewitwouldneverretirecompletely.Thingsbegantogetalittleeasier.ThenGeorgeHatfield.Hehadlosthistemperagain,thistimestonesober.

           "Sir,yourpartystilldoesn’t-"

           "Hello?"Al’svoice,outofbreath.

           "Goahead,"theoperatorsaiddourly.

           "Al,thisisJackTorrance."

           "Jacky-boy!"Genuinepleasure."Howareyou?"

           "Good.Ijustcalledtosaythanks.Igotthejob.It’sperfect.IfIcan’tfinishthatgoddamplaysnowedinallwinter,I’llneverfinishit."

           "You’llfinish."

           "Howarethings?"Jackaskedhesitantly.

           "Dry,"Alresponded."You?"

           "Asabone.

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