Finally. The card did not lie. The first houses of a mountain village shrouded in rain. Well, the weather, anchor in the ass!

Rolling down the slope, Nash spat through the puddles of the only street Houho, a village lost in Appalachia. The rain roaring around, suddenly stopped as if it had been turned off, and Nash heard:

- How long is it and regret the dark hour,
His wild wild flower

He sang either female or childish voice. Nash even stopped.

Realizing that the singing comes from a passing bungalow, he slapped there. Top mist floated, opening the wooded belly of Mount St. Patrick. Under the bust of guitar voice repeated:

- ... His pale wildwood flower ...

It's funny, damn it, thought Nash. “The mountains, the downpour, the damned wilderness, full of rednecks, and the song. "The flower of the virgin forest ..."

Going to the bungalow, he saw the chick. And froze.

Damn it, he whispered to himself. The povunya was sitting on the veranda. She was wet and, judging by everything, completely naked. In any case, there was nothing on top of it, waist-deep, except for droplets of water and heavy hair wrapped around its back. Below her waist was a veranda fence.

The wet back in the red cocoon arched so seductively that Nash's body suddenly ached. Wildwood flower, damn it, he thought. The singer's face was in raindrops and freckles. Just on the slopes of St. Patrick Nash drew such as this face, the flowers - pale, spattered with dew and nectar. The naked singing girl sang quietly, as if to herself, and this was doubly good, and Nash was uncomfortable because he spied her conversation with the rain.

Suddenly the song broke off.

- What you need? Who are you? Got way, yes? Get out! ..

From fright she squeaked like a little.

- I did not wait for it. I'm just listening. You weren't hiding, ”Nash told her, smiling just in case.
- Why stand? Why watch? Get out! I do not know you.
- And if you knew - would you look?
- Get out!
- Listen, I will turn away now, and you will leave, will put on, and we ...
“Get out!” The girl squeezed her guitar in fright, and Nash walked away.

- You sing very well! He shouted without turning around. - I would listen and listen.

"Mountain shy animal," he thought, walking through the mud. “Nothing, I'll be back. It is curious: why did she not run away at once, but sit like glued? That would be to see her hips ... and draw ... and ... "

Nash was so inspired that he slipped past the bar for which he was pinned to Houho. Cursing happily, he turned and walked back.

***

“Eat, mister,” the old man gave Nash a steak noodle. - It is not often you will see a new face ... that is, physical ... that is ... who will you be? Hunter? Traveling salesman? Tramp?
- I am an artist.
- Ah. Tramp, mean. Well, not my business. My business is to give you food, your business is to pay money for it. You paid me the money, damn you, and I don’t have any ...
- So who is this girl?
- A girl. So girl. Eviline. Evie. Of course, you are about her, even though we have other girls. Yes, we have and ...
- Long-haired, red, damn beautiful, sings songs, plays gi ...
- I know myself! Do not teach me, Mr. tramp! I myself will teach you. Listen here. Two years have passed since then, two years and a quarter. Two years, as little Evie does not walk ...
- She is ill?
- Fill your mouth with food, Mr. tramp, and open your ears! So, as I said, two years, and even more. Carmichael came here about ten years ago, hiding from the Olsen. The devil knows when and why this vendetta began, and this is not my business.

For ten years they lived here - John and Judith Carmichael, their daughter Evie and son Tim. He was just a baby when they came here, and Evie was about three years old, not more. Two years ago, John and Judith went to inspect distant pastures. Evie sat at home with little Tim, and these three showed up to them. They demanded that Evie tell them where her parents were, otherwise they would slaughter little Tim. Evie did not say, and they slaughtered little Tim. Their smelly hands did not flinch to do it, Mr. tramp.But that was only the beginning. They hit Evie. The poor thing fell on the wall and kicked out a rotten beam, and that - imagine - fell on one of the Olsen and split his skull like a can of meat. Two terribly frightened and angry. They put their trunks on Evie's head and pulled the trigger. But there were no shots, Mr. Tramp, both Winchesters misfired. And then Olsen decided that it was witchcraft, and little Evie was a witch. They dragged her into the woods, hung her up to a tree and made a fire under her. Evie was burning alive, and no one heard her cry, and the Olsens ran to look for the Carmichael. They found them and shot them like dogs, and took their horses, Mr. tramp, every single one. Evie was then fifteen years old. A shower put out her bonfire, but Evie's feet burned. When people ran to her, she hung on a tree, wet as a frog, and coughed up from smoke. Instead of her feet, she had two piles of soaked ash, and above — a grilled steak on a bone, like what you are eating now, Mr. bum ... But-but-but-but! And who will clean? BUT? These men went, not that years of commercials ... Yes, what am I talking about? Evie. She was conscious, she saw and felt her legs burn to ashes. Dr. Sheppard took her to him and nursed for six months. She started gangrene, and he cut off her legs completely, right under her ass. The poor little Evie had only her torso, her arms and her head. Well, that these scum stripped her naked: the dress would have burned it entirely. In addition to the legs, nothing was hurt, and the late Dr. Sheppard even said that she could have children. Do you know what is most interesting, Mr. tramp?
- Oooooow ...
- But-but-but-but! You better listen. The most interesting thing is this. Evi, I tell you, she used to be a gallop. Bare little gallon. Boy, what you get from her? And now ... Now she is such that ... fuck your mother fuck an Indian in the ass, I'm sorry, of course. No one will take it. Who needs torso? Dr. Sheppard died, holy man, give him the God of good drink in paradise - and poor thing Evie left alone. Our women carry her food and firewood. So she lives - alms the whole village. He thanks us with songs, and we listen to her, let us cry, looking at her little face. You saw it yourself, mr ... Hey, where are you going? Mister!...

***

Five minutes later, Nash pounded on the bungalow:
- Evie! Miss Evie! Let me in, please!

No one answered, and Nash stood, listening for silence, and then pulled the door. The door opened unexpectedly easily, and he paused, stepping inside.

There he immediately saw the frightened silhouette of Evie. She sat in the dim hallway, squeezed into the wall, and looked at him.

“Evi ... uh ... mmmaaaa ...” Nash screeched, suddenly forgetting all he wanted to say. - Sorry, uh ... I walked in, you didn’t answer, and I walked in, this is the most ... But don't be afraid, I don’t, I just ...
“Go away,” Evie said.

Nash's eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and he was clearly aware of the strange flatness of the figure in the chair, as if Evi was made of snow and melted, sinking down.

- Wait, do not get angry ... Miss Evie, you know, I am an artist, and this is the same ... I really want to draw you, and ...
- Not!
“But ... but why?” You do not think, there is nothing immoral in this, even a monk posed for me ...
- Not! Get out!
- But listen! I ... you do not understand what is for an artist ... And I will, of course, pay as much as I can ...
- Not! - voice Evie broke on screech.
- Yes, listen to you! Take it easy. I will draw you only to the waist, and no one will see that you ...
- Get out!
- You do not know any other words, except for "leave"?
- Get out of here! - shouted Evie, twitching all over.

"Damn, it was impossible to remind her that she was crippled." Nash felt that resentment was boiling in him, and with all his strength he was drowning her in himself:

- Good. Okay Well, - he soothingly raised his hands. - I'll leave, you calm down, and tomorrow ...
- No tomorrow! Leave me alone! Leave me all alone! Do not touch me!

Nash hated ...