All Flesh is Grass

"

"I stood at the edge of the garden and looked around, as if I were seeing the place for the first time in my life. It wasn't really a garden. At one time it had been land on which we'd grown the stuff we sold, but when I quit the greenhouse business I'd simply let it go wild and the flowers had taken over. To one side stood the greenhouse, with its door hanging on the broken hinges and most of the panes gone from the windows. And at one corner of it stood the elm tree that had grown from seed—the one I'd been about to pull up when my father stopped me.

Я стоял на краю сада и озирался, будто видел его первый раз в жизни. В сущности, никакой это не сад. Когда-то на этом участке мы выращивали цветы и овощи на продажу, но потом я забросил теплицы, земля осталась без призора, и всю ее заполонили цветы. С одного бока эти заросли упираются в старые теплицы, двери криво повисли на ржавых петлях, почти все стекла выбиты. У одного угла высится вяз  — тот самый, что пророс когда-то из семечка, и я хотел тогда вырвать побег, да отец не позволил.

Tupper had talked wildly about flowers growing by the acre. All of them, he said, had been purple flowers and he had been most emphatic that my father should be told of them. The mystery voice, or one of the mystery voices on the phone had been well informed about my father's greenhouse and had asked if I still ran it. And there had been, less than an hour ago, a perfect storm of seeds.

Таппер что-то болтал про эти цветы  — как много их разрослось.

Он уверял, что все они  — те самые, лиловые, и непременно хотел рассказать про них моему отцу. Таинственный голос в телефонной трубке  — или по крайней мере один из тех таинственных голосов  — отлично знал о существовании отцовских теплиц и осведомлялся, занимаюсь ли я ими по-прежнему. И ко всему, часа не прошло с тех пор, как на нас обрушился ливень семян.

All the little purple flower-heads with their monkey faces seemed to be nodding at me as if at a secret joke and I jerked my gaze away from them to stare up at the sky.

Broken clouds still streamed across it, shutting out the sun. Although, once the clouds were gone, the day would be a scorcher. One could smell the heat in the very air.

I moved out into the garden, following Tupper's trail. At the end of the trail I stopped and told myself that it had been a witless thing—this belief of mine that I would find something in this flower patch that would make some sense.