"Levy-NewHorizons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levy Robert J)

For his part, Huge grew more and more disconsolate, if that was possible. His
whyuughs seemed less heartfelt, and while he still tore the air apart with his
towering fly balls, there seemed to be something less intense in his mission. If
I had to guess, I'd say he was gradually giving up on finding whatever it was he
searched for in those doors in the sky.

I felt deeply sorry for him, even guilty, as though I were somehow personally
involved in his quest. I passionately wanted him to find whatever he was looking
for. Why? Maybe I felt he was, in his own peculiar way, a bit like me. I had
come to believe, without question, that it was not "home" he was looking for. I
had concluded that he was an explorer who had lost his way, who ardently sought
a return to his quest. It was the look in his eyes that had convinced me, as
though his point of focus were light years beyond this time and place. At least,
that's how it seemed to me.

And then, amazingly, it was the last week in August. School loomed like a
monster on the horizon. Mom had joined AA and was getting all squishy and
religious. Dad's girlfriend had dumped him, and now he wanted back. Mom was
always squeamishly asking what I thought about him coming home, which meant she
was eventually going to cave, and it didn't make a rat's ass of a difference if
I said no.

The night of the game to end all games I was walking alone to Burton. Mom had
just told me Dad would be moving back. I stomped out of the house, anticipating
the fights and hollering and, eventually, the inevitable rages and beatings.

I sat atop an old Volvo, staring down the street at nothings it felt like I was
gazing into my own future. This was it, wasn't it? I thought. This was the whole
shebang. I'd never do anything marvelous. I had spent my summer as a witness to
wonder, and now I was going back to being smacked after dinner by my dad for
lord knows what offense against his peace of mind.

I sat there for a good long while. The sun was pretty much down, but the air was
still thick as soup and noontime-hot with distant rumblings of heat lightning.
Street lights were coming on with their eerie, artificial glow.

No one was going to show. I could feel it in my bones. And no one did. It was
the first time nobody came, and it meant the Burton Street Games had officially
come to an end.

But then, as I sat there, from the distance, that gawky, ambling form came
lumbering down the street. He walked right up to me and nodded his goofy nod.

"No game tonight, Huge," I said. "No one's coming. It's over for the summer."

Huge turned to me and did something totally out of character: He smiled at me. I
saw something in those bizarre yellowy eyes of his, something like triumph. The
melancholy that had dogged him these last weeks seemed to have evaporated. What
was this about? He took the stickball bat from my hand and held it out to me, a