Вино из одуванчиков

           LateatnightonthebentparchLeoAuffmannwrotealisthecouldnotseeinthedark,exclaiming,"Ah!"or,"That’sanother!"whenhehituponafinecomponent.Thenthefront-doorscreenmadeamothsound,tapping.

           "Lena?"hewhispered.

           Shesatdownnexttohimontheswing,inhernightgown,notslimthewaygirlsgetwhentheyarenotlovedatseventeen,notfatthewaywomengetwhentheyarenotlovedatfifty,butabsolutelyright,aroundness,afirmness,thewaywomenareatanyage,hethought,whenthereisnoquestion.

           Shewasmiraculous.Herbody,likehis,wasalwaysthinkingforher,butinadifferentway,shapingthechildren,ormovingaheadofhimintoanyroomtochangetheatmospheretheretofitanyparticularmoodhewasin.Thereseemednolongperiodsofthoughtforher;thinkinganddoingmovedfromherheadtoherhandandbackinanaturalandgentlecircuitinghecouldnotandcarednottoblueprint.

           "Thatmachine,"shesaidatlast,"...wedon’tneedit."

           "No,"hesaid,"butsometimesyougottobuildforothers.Ibeenfiguring,whattoputin.Motionpictures?Radios?Stereoscopicviewers?Allthoseinoneplacesoanymancanrunhishandoveritandsmileandsay,‘Yes,sir,that’shappiness.’

           Yes,hethought,tomakeacontraptionthatinspiteofwetfeet,sinustrouble,rumpledbeds,andthosethree-in-the-morninghourswhenmonstersateyoursoul,wouldmanufacturehappiness,likethatmagicsaltmillthat,thrownintheocean,madesaltforeverandturnedtheseatobrine.Whowouldn’tsweathissouloutthroughhisporestoinventamachinelikethat?heaskedtheworld,heaskedthetown,heaskedhiswife!