Вино из одуванчиков

           "Youngman,you’regoingtogetalicking,"declaredMother.Sheputawayherfearinstantly.Tomknewshewouldnevertellanyoneofit,ever.Itwouldbeinherheart,though,foralltime,asitwasinhisheartforalltime.

           Theywalkedhometobedinthelatesummernight.HewasgladDouglaswasalive.Veryglad.Foramomenttherehehadthought—

           Faroffinthedimmoonlitcountry,overaviaductanddownavalley,atrainrushedalongwhistlinglikealostmetalthing,namelessandrunning.Tomwenttobedshivering,besidehisbrother,listeningtothattrainwhistle,andthinkingofacousinwholivedwayoutinthecountrywherethattrainrannow;acousinwhodiedofpneumonialateatnightyearsandyearsago—

           HesmelledthesweatofDougbesidehim.Itwasmagic.Tomstoppedtrembling.

           "OnlytwothingsIknowforsure,Doug,"hewhispered.

           "What?"

           "Nighttime’sawfuldark—isone."

           "What’stheother?"

           "Theravineatnightdon’tbelonginMr.Auffmann’sHappinessMachine,ifheeverbuildsit."

           Douglasconsideredthisawhile."Youcansaythatagain."

           Theystoppedtalking.Listening,suddenlytheyheardfootstepscomingdownthestreet,underthetrees,outsidethehousenow,onthesidewalk.FromherbedMothercalledquietly,"That’syourfather."Itwas.