Вино из одуванчиков

           WhatshallIdo?

           Herheartbeatsfaded.

           ShallIcalltheofficer—didhehearmescream?

           Shelistened.Nothing.Nothing.

           I’llgotherestoftheway.Thatsillystory.

           Shebeganagain,countingthesteps.

           "Thirty-five,thirty-six,careful,don’tfall.Oh,Iamafool.Thirty-sevensteps,thirty-eight,nineandforty,andtwomakesforty-two—almosthalfway."

           Shefrozeagain.

           Wait,shetoldherself.

           Shetookastep.Therewasanecho.

           Shetookanotherstep.

           Anotherecho.Anotherstep,justafractionofamomentlater.

           "Someone’sfollowingme,"shewhisperedtotheravine,totheblackcricketsanddark-greenhiddenfrogsandtheblackstream."Someone’sonthestepsbehindme.Idon’tdareturnaround."

           Anotherstep,anotherecho.

           "EverytimeItakeastep,theytakeone."

           Astepandanecho.

           Weaklysheaskedoftheravine,"OfficerKennedy,isthatyou?"

           Thecricketswerestill.

           Thecricketswerelistening.Thenightwaslisteningtoher.Forachange,allofthefarsummer-nightmeadowsandclosesummer-nighttreesweresuspendingmotion;leaf,shrub,star,andmeadowgrassceasedtheirparticulartremorsandwerelisteningtoLaviniaNebbs’sheart.Andperhapsathousandmilesaway,acrosslocomotive-lonelycountry,inanemptywaystation,asingletravelerreadingadimnewspaperunderasolitarynakedbulb,mightraiseuphishead,listen,andthink,What’sthat?anddecide,Onlyawoodchuck,surely,beatingonahollowlog.ButitwasLaviniaNebbs,itwasmostsurelytheheartofLaviniaNebbs.

           Silence.