Mr Heinrich Sits in His GardenIt was hot, Mr Heinrich admitted to himself, hotter than was comfortable for him, though he knew it was what most people called a beautiful day. He amused himself imagining the heat demanding his attention like a trout tugging a taut line, but actually it was more frightening, heat incinerating a meteor as it enters earth’s atmosphere. He moved his chair a few feet into the shade of the cedar. There were dozens of greens, a dizzying array: one fern the green of a library lamp shining on a book on evolution, another the green of the verbena soap he had once given his wife for her birthday. A boxwood was the green of currency in a toll collector’s dry hands, and the west hedge was the green of the bedroom blinds that had to be open for Mr Heinrich to be able to sleep. He adjusted his straw hat to shade his eyes, and watched the rays and rapiers of light make a mess of the Japanese maple, slicing it open like sashimi.
Mr Heinrich Is Tempted