Вино из одуванчиков

           Hegotthelong-distanceoperator,hisheartexplodingwithinhim,fasterandfaster,ablacknessinhiseyes."Hurry,hurry!"

           Hewaited."Bueno?"

           "Jorge,wewerecutoff."

           "Youmustnotphoneagain,Senior,"saidthefarawayvoice."Yournursecalledme.Shesaysyouareveryill.Imusthangup."

           "No,Jorge!Please!"theoldmanpleaded."Onelasttime,listentome.They’retakingthephoneouttomorrow.Icannevercallyouagain.

           Jorgesaidnothing.

           Theoldmanwenton."FortheloveofGod,Jorge!Forfriendship,then,fortheolddays!Youdon’tknowwhatitmeans.You’remyage,butyoucanmove!Ihaven’tmovedanywhereintenyears."

           Hedroppedthephoneandhadtroublepickingitup,hischestwassothickwithpain."Jorge!Youarestillthere,aren’tyou?"

           "Thiswillbethelasttime?"saidJorge.

           "Ipromise!"

           Thephonewaslaidonadeskthousandsofmilesaway.Oncemore,withthatclearfamiliarity,thefootsteps,thepause,and,atlast,theraisingofthewindow.

           "Listen,"whisperedtheoldmantohimself.

           Andheheardathousandpeopleinanothersunlight,andthefaint,tinklingmusicofanorgangrinderplaying"LaMarimba"—oh,alovely,dancingtune.

           Witheyestight,theoldmanputuphishandasiftoclickpicturesofanoldcathedral,andhisbodywasheavierwithflesh,younger,andhefeltthehotpavementunderfoot.