Late that night, going home from the show with his mother and father and his brother Tom, Douglas saw the tennis shoes in the bright store window. He glanced quickly away, but his ankles were seized, his feet suspended, then rushed. The earth spun; the shop awnings slammed their canvas wings overhead with the thrust of his body running. His mother and father and brother walked quietly on both sides of him.
Douglas walked backward, watching the tennis shoes in the midnight window left behind.
“It was a nice movie,” said Mother.
Douglas murmured, “It was. . . .”
It was June and long past time for buying the special shoes that were quiet as a
summer rain falling on the walks. June and the earth full of raw power and everything everywhere in motion. The grass was still pouring in from the country, surrounding the sidewalks, stranding the houses. Any moment the town would capsize, go down and leave not a stir in the clover and weeds. And here Douglas stood, trapped on the dead cement and the red-brick streets, hardly able to move.
“Dad!” He blurted it out. “Back there in that window, those Cream-Sponge Para Litefoot Shoes . . .”
His father didn’t even turn. “Suppose you tell me why you need a new pair of sneakers. Can you do that?”
“Well . . .”
It was because they felt the way it feels every summer when you take off your shoes for the first time and run in the grass. They felt like it feels sticking your feet out of the hot covers in wintertime to let the cold wind from the open window blow on them suddenly and you let them stay out a long time until you pull them back in under the covers again to feel them, like packed snow. The tennis shoes felt like it always feels the first time every year wading in the slow waters of the creek and seeing your feet below, half an inch further downstream, with refraction than the real part of you above water.
“Dad,” said Douglas, “it’s hard to explain.”
Somehow the people who made tennis shoes knew what boys needed and wanted. They put marshmallows and coiled springs in the soles and they wove the rest out of grasses bleached and fired in the wilderness. Somewhere deep in the soft loam of the shoes the thin hard sinews of the buck deer were hidden. The people that made the shoes must have watched a lot of winds blow the trees and a lot of rivers going down to the lakes. Whatever it was, it was in the shoes, and it was summer.
Douglas tried to get all this in words.
“Yes,” said Father, “but what’s wrong with last year’s sneakers? Why can’t you dig them out of the closet?”
Well, he felt sorry for boys who lived in California where they wore tennis shoes all year and never knew what it was to get winter off your feet, peel off the iron leather shoes all full of snow and rain and run barefoot for a day and then lace on the first new tennis shoes of the season, which was better than barefoot. The magic was always in the new pair of shoes. The magic might die by the first of September, but now in late June there was still plenty of magic, and shoes like these could jump you over trees and rivers
กลางคืน กลับบ้านจากงานแม่พ่อ และน้องทอม ดักลาสเห็นรองเท้าเทนนิสในหน้าต่างร้านค้าที่สดใส เขา glanced ไปอย่างรวดเร็ว แต่เท้าของเขาถูก ยึด เท้าหยุดชั่วคราว แล้ววิ่ง โลกปั่น awnings ร้านถาโถมปีกของผืนผ้าใบค่าใช้จ่ายกับการกระตุกของร่างกายของเขาทำงาน มารดา และบิดา และพี่ชายเดินอย่างเงียบ ๆ ทั้งสองด้านของเขาดักลาสเดินย้อนหลัง ดูรองเท้าเทนนิสในหน้าต่างเที่ยงคืนที่ทิ้ง"มันเป็นภาพยนตร์ที่ดี กล่าวว่า แม่ดักลาส murmured, "ก็.. "ก็มิถุนายนและลองซื้อรองเท้าพิเศษที่เงียบสงบเป็นช่วงเวลาฝนฤดูร้อนที่อยู่ในการเดิน มิถุนายนและโลกที่เต็มไปด้วยพลังงานวัตถุดิบและทุกอย่างในทุกการเคลื่อนไหว หญ้ายังถูกเทในจากประเทศ รอบแยะ stranding บ้าน เมืองจะจมลง ขณะลงไป และปล่อยไม่กวนในโคลและวัชพืช และนี่ดักลาส ยืน ติดซีเมนต์ตายและถนนอิฐแดง ไม่สามารถเคลื่อนย้าย"พ่อ" เขาก็โพล่งออกมา "กลับมีอยู่ในหน้าต่างนั้น ที่ฟองน้ำครีมพารา Litefoot รองเท้า... "แม้ไม่ได้เปิดบิดา "สมมติว่าคุณบอกทำไมต้องรองเท้าคู่ใหม่ ว่าคุณสามารถทำได้อย่างไร""ดี... "It was because they felt the way it feels every summer when you take off your shoes for the first time and run in the grass. They felt like it feels sticking your feet out of the hot covers in wintertime to let the cold wind from the open window blow on them suddenly and you let them stay out a long time until you pull them back in under the covers again to feel them, like packed snow. The tennis shoes felt like it always feels the first time every year wading in the slow waters of the creek and seeing your feet below, half an inch further downstream, with refraction than the real part of you above water.“Dad,” said Douglas, “it’s hard to explain.”Somehow the people who made tennis shoes knew what boys needed and wanted. They put marshmallows and coiled springs in the soles and they wove the rest out of grasses bleached and fired in the wilderness. Somewhere deep in the soft loam of the shoes the thin hard sinews of the buck deer were hidden. The people that made the shoes must have watched a lot of winds blow the trees and a lot of rivers going down to the lakes. Whatever it was, it was in the shoes, and it was summer.Douglas tried to get all this in words.“Yes,” said Father, “but what’s wrong with last year’s sneakers? Why can’t you dig them out of the closet?”Well, he felt sorry for boys who lived in California where they wore tennis shoes all year and never knew what it was to get winter off your feet, peel off the iron leather shoes all full of snow and rain and run barefoot for a day and then lace on the first new tennis shoes of the season, which was better than barefoot. The magic was always in the new pair of shoes. The magic might die by the first of September, but now in late June there was still plenty of magic, and shoes like these could jump you over trees and rivers
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