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48

cars, nothing more – even bashful bushes, roots

compressed, had grown dizzy from

višņovska

and said

goodbye unnoticed, not to return. Some of them sat on for

a time, and the boys tried to catch them unaware and whisk

them onto the tram. Having eaten cookies, the boys stroked

the furniture, that in the twilight took on the hardhearted

expression of mountains. Empty drawers and shelves stood

and were silent. Francis had a flashlight in his hands, he

and John crept together into the sideboard gnawed by

wood borers, shining their first step into the cave, from the

opening of which splintery fragments starred out. At the

end there was no going forward. There was no path farther.

Evening. And the boys lay down to nap, having their fists

out under their heads. First one has to have one’s sleep, and

then the explorations can continue.