Дні мрій
A Departure
Inmomentsofmentaldepression,nothingisquitesoconsolingasthehonestsmellofapaintedanimal;andmechanicallyIturnedtowardstheshelfthathadbeensolongtheAraratofourweather-beatenArk.Theshelfwasempty,theArkhadcastoffmooringsandsailedawaytoPoplar,andhadtakenwithititshauntingsmell,aswellasthatpleasantsenseofdisorderthatthebestconductedArkisalwaysabletoimpart.Theslidingroofhadrarelybeenknowntocloseentirely.Therewasalwaysapairofgiraffe-legsstickingout,oranelephant-trunk,takingfromthestiffnessofitsoutline,andremindingusthatourmotleycrowdoffriendsinsidewereuncomfortablycrampedforroomandonlytooreadytoleapinacascadeonthefloorandbrowseandgallop,flutterandbellowandneigh,andbetheirnaturalselvesagain.IthinkthatnoneofuseverreallythoughtverymuchofHamandShemandJaphet.Theywereonlytherebecausetheywereinthestory,butnobodyreallywantedthem.TheArkwasbuiltfortheanimals,ofcourse—animalswithtails,andtrunks,andhorns,andatleastthreelegsapiece,thoughsomeunfortunateshadbeenunabletoretaineventhatnumber.Andintheanimalswereofcourseincludedthebirds—thedove,forinstance,greywithblackwings,andthered-crestedwoodpecker—orwasitahoo-poe?—andtheinsects,fortherewasadearbeetle,aboutthesamesizeasthedove,thathelditsownwithanyofthemammalia.
