Читать книгу Jane - Мэгги Нельсон - Страница 12

She wakes up. Opens her eyes and sees peonies standing absolutely still. The window frames a solid blue mist; it is 5:30 A.M.

She sleeps next to a mirror, sits up and looks into it.

There is one slightly enlarged freckle which she cannot remember having seen before, smack in the middle of her forehead. She watches it, puts a finger to it.

Pale white skin covered with freckles, what’s one more? But the dream! What’s one more.

The air is unbearably wet with mist, and suddenly she thinks she can see the freckle growing—just as the flowers are surely growing; but slowly, slowly.

The freckle is turning purple, a miniature contusion. Then darker purple still, as the flowers begin to grow heavy with their petals. The leaves flop over the edge and begin to dangle to the floor as the spot begins to blacken.

Ever so slowly, the spot becomes a hole.