Вино из одуванчиков

           Hereandthere,backofffromwheretheywerewalking,faintsquaresoflightglowedwherepeoplewerestillup.Butmostofthehouses,darkened,weresleepingalready,andtherewereafewlightlessplaceswheretheoccupantsofadwellingsattalkinglownighttalkontheirfrontporches.Youheardaporchswingsqueakingasyouwalkedby.

           "Iwishyourfatherwashome,"saidMother.Herlargehandsqueezedaroundhissmallone."Justwait’llIgetthatboy.TheLonelyOne’saroundagain.Killingpeople.Noone’ssafeanymore.YouneverknowwhentheLonelyOne’llturnuporwhere.Sohelpme,whenDouggetshomeI’llspankhimwithinaninchofhislife."

           NowtheyhadwalkedanotherblockandwerestandingbytheholyblacksilhouetteoftheGermanBaptistChurchatthecornerofChapelStreetandGlenRock.Inbackofthechurch,ahundredyardsaway,theravinebegan.Hecouldsmellit.Ithadadark-sewer,rotten-foliage,thick-greenodor.Itwasawideravinethatcutandtwistedacrosstown—ajunglebyday,aplacetoletaloneatnight,Motheroftendeclared.

           HeshouldhavefeltencouragedbythenearnessoftheGermanBaptistChurchbuthewasnot,becausethebuildingwasnotillumined,wascoldanduselessasapileofruinsontheravineedge.

           Hewasonlytenyearsold.Heknewlittleofdeath,fear,ordread.DeathwasthewaxeneffigyinthecoffinwhenhewassixandGreat-grandfatherpassedaway,lookinglikeagreatfallenvultureinhiscasket,silent,withdrawn,nomoretotellhimhowtobeagoodboy,nomoretocommentsuccinctlyonpolitics.Deathwashislittlesisteronemorningwhenheawokeattheageofseven,lookedintohercrib,andsawherstaringupathimwithablind,blue,fixedandfrozenstareuntilthemencamewithasmallwickerbaskettotakeheraway.