Вино из одуванчиков

           "Tomakeyouwell,notgetyouexcited."Shewheeledhischairacrosstheroom."Tobedwithyounow,youngman!"

           Frombedhelookedbackatthephoneandkeptlookingatit.

           "I’mgoingtothestoreforafewminutes,"thenursesaid."Justtobesureyoudon’tusethephoneagain,I’mhidingyourwheelchairinthehall."

           Shewheeledtheemptychairoutthedoor.Inthedownstairsentry,heheardherpauseanddialtheextensionphone.

           WasshephoningMexicoCity?hewondered.Shewouldn’tdare!

           Thefrontdoorshut.

           Hethoughtofthelastweekhere,alone,inhisroom,andthesecret,narcoticcallsacrosscontinents,anisthmus,wholejunglecountriesofrainforest,blue-orchidplateaus,lakesandhills...talking...talking...toBuenosAires...and...Lima...RiodeJaneiro...

           Heliftedhimselfinthecoolbed.Tomorrowthetelephonegone!Whatagreedyfoolhehadbeen!Heslippedhisbrittleivorylegsdownfromthebed,marvelingattheirdesiccation.Theyseemedtobethingswhichhadbeenfastenedtohisbodywhilehesleptonenight,whilehisyoungerlegsweretakenoffandburnedinthecellarfurnace.Overtheyears,theyhaddestroyedallofhim,removinghands,arms,andlegsandleavinghimwithsubstitutesasdelicateanduselessaschesspieces.Andnowtheyweretamperingwithsomethingmoreintangible—thememory;theyweretryingtocutthewireswhichledbackintoanotheryear.

           Hewasacrosstheroominastumblingrun.Graspingthephone,hetookitwithhimashesliddownthewalltosituponthefloor.