Читать книгу Dorian Gray - John Garavaglia - Страница 50

desperately wanted to cry—he really did—because he realized that tears were expected and, more important, much appreciated. So he bowed his head, but no tears would come. The thing inside him, the thing that filled his body, would not allow crying.

This surprised George. The boy seemed paralyzed by grief, as still and silent as one of the marble angels at a nearby plot.

First his father abandoned him, and now his mother is gone. George thought, trying to imagine what Dorian must be feeling. How is it possible he’s not bawling his eyes out? For a boy his age, he sure is brave on facing this.

Beside the grave the minister spoke again, but this time his remarks were brief and he recited his lines straight from the scriptures; by then Dorian was so set against the deaf old fool that he internally mocked the performance.

And then the words were done and the mourners each dropped a ritual handful of dirt onto the casket, and Lori had scattered roses atop it, and all that was left was the reality that Olivia was going into the ground.

Henry looked up to his father and asked, “Dad, why are they throwing dirt on Aunt Olivia’s casket?”

George took a moment to find the best way to answer. “It means we’re letting go to that one person from our lives.”

Henry looked at him funny, not understanding his father’s reply.

DORIAN GRAY

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