Chapter 3. "And I'm going straight to hell ..."

Dinner turned out to be painful, although Lewis tried his best. The turkey was excellent, the wine was moderately strong, the pizza was delicious, and the owner himself was talkative and cheerful. He eagerly retold the Betel gossip and talked about how life developed at Stuart’s classmates, what was new about the neighbors, and what were the future plans for the younger Betelians. But Stewart, it seemed, was not at all interested: he was silent all the time, only with some frenzy he cut pieces of meat, as if imagining in their place an invisible and distant New York magnate. Out of courtesy, Florence kept up the conversation, but it was obvious that he was not interested in her much more than Stewart. Even the wine could not lift both sentiment.

After dinner, the conversation turned to tomorrow's trip, and Stewart perked up a bit. Lewis turned on the TV and found a channel with a weather forecast. The news was disappointing: “El Nino” raged so that it rained with snow in Mexico, and the United States was hot. Tomorrow promised 105-125 degrees Fahrenheit.

“Not only Griffis is a hell of a place,” remarked Florence and expressively glanced at Stewart.

“Just take more water,” he shrugged. - And an awning for the car.

The festival was supposed to start at the same time as the legendary Woodstock - at 17:07, so all three of them argued for a long time when it was better to leave. Everyone understood that to drive in a closed car in the afternoon with such a heat is tantamount to suicide, but it was also not desirable for anyone to go too early. Finally, it was decided that Stuart and Florence would leave at ten in the morning — the sun should not have burned yet — they would stop at Albany — just at the peak of the heat — and at three o'clock in the afternoon they would go on again. To Rome, therefore, they had to get to half past four.

After passing Florence to the hotel, Stewart returned and immediately locked himself up. The heat of the day gradually subsided, but it was still stuffy in the room. He opened the window and stood beside him for a long time, looking into the darkness and occasionally puffing on a cigarette. It was necessary to sleep, but the dream did not go. It was necessary to rejoice that at last he was at home, away from the war and its consequences, but Stewart did not find this joy in the soul. On the contrary, it was strange for him that he did not have to wait for an order to “clean up” the next village, he didn’t have to look around, as if in a beggar Serbian market, waiting for random shots from all sides; Finally, it was strange to understand that today it is not necessary to go to the patrol. In his head, strange, incoherent thoughts roamed, more like sensations, interspersed with recent memories. "You just lost the habit of the world," Stewart said to himself in his mind. - You're just tired, buddy, from all this richness and abundance of impressions. Tired so that even the presence of a number of beautiful women is not touched and not hooked ... It is necessary to sleep, in general. Tomorrow everything will be different. ”

Thoughts lazily jumped on their father, but, as if ashamed of what they could come to, quickly carried away to Yasgur's field. Stewart himself did not expect that this sale story would touch him so much. He had been on the field several times - both with Lewis and alone - he wandered around him without any purpose, going as far as the pond itself, but never perceived it as something sacred. For a long time he couldn’t believe that there was a scene at that place, that there were kitchens there, Jerry Garcia was teaching there everyone who wanted to twist the "cant", and here, in the midst of the crowd of stoned youth mother. All this was perceived by Stuart as something read in a book or seen in a still unreleased movie, the hero of which he himself unexpectedly turned out to be. But what he heard today broke something in his soul.Let Stewart did not fully believe in his unwitting involvement in that very Woodstock, let him not perceive it as something out of the ordinary, but such a brazen intrusion from the side that he, like a medieval prince, considered his birthright. pissed him off. And, since the tycoon was out of reach, anger involuntarily splashed out on his father. The fact that Lewis had nothing to do, but nevertheless justified such an attitude, only inflamed Stewart more. Perhaps even indifference was easier for him to accept - after all, a man is famous for his indifference to everything that surrounds him - than such a frank excuse.

However, anger and sad thoughts did not find an outcome, and Stewart decided to go to bed. Whether he wanted to or not, he promised his help to Florence, and he needed to sleep before the trip.

A dream came to him, but not immediately ...

Still, he was assigned to the patrol. His, Patrick O'Garrien and Tim Foxley. They were hired by the very same Allen Jerry to guard the former Yasgur field on that night. He called him "the former." Stewart wanted to hit him, but Jerry's personal guard stopped him in the form of a plump envelope - the tycoon was paying in cash. Stewart did not need money - he was given quite good vacation pay - but he never had any extra money either. And he silently took them, only spitefully spat aside when their employer turned away.

They need to ensure that no one gets to swim at night in the pond, does not defile the memorial plate and did not climb over the fence in the forest plantation - have fun with a girlfriend in the lap of nature. Therefore, they were divided - Patrick stands near the slab, like a sentry near the Memorial to a dead warrior in Washington, Tim Foxley scampers among the oaks, posing as the spirit of these places, and Stewart got a pond.

He immediately notices the nude in the place where, according to the stories of his father, there was a boat dock. She stands on the very edge of a miraculously preserved walkway, either intending to jump into the water, or holding onto slippery and half-rotten boards. Stewart doesn’t know why the boards should have been slippery - the berth wasn’t used since that festival - but for some reason it seems to him that the footbridge is slippery and half-ruined and that the figure needs to be helped to hold on - and at the same time escort accidentally did not notice the rest. Why it should be noticed, it is not clear for Stewart: today is a new moon, and from the oaks, as well as from the road, it is impossible to consider what is happening near the pond. But the figure itself glows with an implicit light, as if someone highlights it from below, through the water column, and it not only absorbs it into itself, but also reflects, scatters and spreads it to everything around. Therefore, Stewart so clearly sees this fragile silhouette with barely protruding fervent tubercles of breasts and hair scattered over the shoulders. He sees - and it seems to him that everyone can see it.

Stewart speeds up the move, intending to quickly and silently, as if on the "sweep", to reach the girl. He almost succeeds in this - she has her back to him and cannot hear soft, quiet steps. Stewart stretches her hand, intending to take her by the shoulder, but the girl slips into the water at this time — she does not jump, but it slips off, silently, like a snake. “How did she do it?” - Stuart is amazed: people who have a material body cannot do it, and this girl - if she is only a man, not the Virgin of the Lake or the spirit of one of those who were bathing here thirty years ago - also I would not have been able to do so, even if she were an Olympic champion in swimming. But it happened, and he stands in bewilderment, realizing - and didn’t he push it by chance without noticing? But the palm does not remember touching the body, does not remember the warmth of the bare shoulder ...

She emerges about a meter from him and swims to the shore. Everything is in silence, Stuart does not even hear the splash. He hurries to intercept her, but the girl is already on the shore and lightly, weightlessly, runs towards the road, bending around the pursuer in a circle. Stewart collapses and runs parallel to her, simultaneously approaching.The girl really looks like a ghost - Stewart can swear that she does not touch the ground, and the light, who knows where it comes from, lights up more and more, so it seems that it’s not the girl who runs, but the moon. Stewart wants to call her, but can not. He fumbles with his belt and gropes his gun ...