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- Стр. 362/529
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like
a
premonition
,
.
Death
?
For
a
moment
his
whole
life
seemed
to
flash
before
him
,
not
in
a
historical
sense
,
no
topography
of
the
ups
and
downs
that
Mrs
.
Hallorann
’
s
third
son
,
Dick
,
had
lived
through
,
but
his
life
as
it
was
now
.
Martin
Luther
King
had
told
them
not
long
before
the
bullet
took
him
down
to
his
martyr
’
s
grave
that
he
had
been
to
the
mountain
.
Dick
could
not
claim
that
.
No
mountain
,
but
he
had
reached
a
sunny
plateau
after
years
of
struggle
.
He
had
good
friends
.
He
had
all
the
references
he
would
ever
need
to
get
a
job
anywhere
.
When
he
wanted
fuck
,
why
,
he
could
find
a
friendly
one
with
no
questions
asked
and
no
big
shitty
struggle
about
what
it
all
meant
.
He
had
come
to
terms
with
his
blackness
-
happy
terms
.
He
was
up
past
sixty
and
thank
God
,
he
was
cruising
.
Was
he
going
to
chance
the
end
of
that
-
the
end
of
him
-
for
three
white
people
he
didn
’
t
even
know
?
But
that
was
a
lie
,
wasn
’
t
it
?
He
knew
the
boy
.
They
had
shared
each
other
the
way
good
friends
can
’
t
even
after
forty
years
of
it
.
He
knew
the
boy
and
the
boy
knew
him
,
because
they
each
had
a
kind
of
searchlight
in
their
heads
,
something
they
hadn
’
t
asked
for
,
something
that
had
just
been
given
.
(
Naw
,
you
got
a
flashlight
,
he
the
one
with
the
searchlight
.
)
And
sometimes
that
light
,
that
shine
,
seemed
like
a
pretty
nice
thing
.
You
could
pick
the
horses
,
or
like
the
boy
had
said
,
you
could
tell
your
daddy
where
his
trunk
was
when
it
turned
up
missing
.
But
that
was
only
dressing
,
the
sauce
on
the
salad
,
and
down
below
there
was
as
much
bitter
vetch
in
that
salad
as
there
was
cool
cucumber
.
You
could
taste
pain
and
death
and
tears
.
And
now
the
boy
was
stuck
in
that
place
,
and
he
would
go
.
For
the
boy
.
Because
,
speaking
to
the
boy
,
they
had
only
been
different
colors
when
they
used
their
mouths
.
So
he
would
go
.
He
would
do
what
he
could
,
because
if
he
didn
’
t
,
the
boy
was
going
to
die
right
inside
his
head
.
But
because
he
was
human
he
could
not
help
a
bitter
wish
that
the
cup
had
never
been
passed
his
way
.
*
*
*
(
She
had
started
to
get
out
and
come
after
him
.
