Вино из одуванчиков

           Jonas,hewondered,forwhathe’sdone?HowdoIthankhim,howpayhimback?Noway,nowayatall.Youjustcan’tpayWhatthen?What?Passitonsomehow,hethought,passitontosomeoneelse.Keepthechainmoving.Lookaround,findsomeone,andpassiton.Thatwastheonlyway...

           "Cayenne,marjoram,cinnamon."

           Thenamesoflostandfabulouscitiesthroughwhichstormsofspicebloomedupanddustedaway.

           Hetossedtheclovesthathadtraveledfromsomedarkcontinentwhereoncetheyhadspilledonmilkmarble,jackstonesforchildrenwithlicoricehands.

           Andlookingatonesinglelabelonajar,hefelthimselfgoneroundthecalendartothatprivatedaythissummerwhenhehadlookedatthecirclingworldandfoundhimselfatitscenter.

           ThewordonthejarwasRELISH.

           Andhewasgladhehaddecidedtolive.

           RELISH!Whataspecialnameforthemincedpicklesweetlycrushedinitswhite-cappedjar.Themanwhohadnamedit,whatamanhemusthavebeen.Roaring,stampingaround,hemusthavetrompedthejoysoftheworldandjammedtheminthisjarandwritinabighand,shouting,RELISH!Foritsverysoundmeantrollinginsweetfieldswithroisteringchestnutmares,mouthsbeardedwithgrass,plungingyourheadfathomsdeepintroughwatersotheseapouredcavernouslythroughyourhead.RELISH!

           Heputouthishand.Andherewas—SAVORY.

           "What’sGrandmacookingfordinnertonight?"saidAuntRose’svoicefromtherealworldofafternoonintheparlor.