sk.theshining-第38部分

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m　some　twentieth…　century　Medici　prince　。　。　。　no　portraits　of　my　family　with　their　warts　showing；　please；　or　back　to　the　rabble　you'll　go。　I　subsidize　no　pictures　but　pretty　pictures。　When　you　paint　the　daughter　of　my　good　friend　and　business　partner；　please　omit　birthmark　or　back　to　the　rabble　you'll　go。　Of　course　we're　friends　。
　　。　。　we　are　both　civilized　men　aren't　we？　We've　shared　bed　and　board　and　bottle。
　　We'll　always　be　friends；　and　the　dog　collar　I　have　on　you　will　always　be　ignored　by　mutual　consent；　and　I'll　take　good　and　benevolent　care　of　you。　All　I　ask　in　return　is　your　soul。　Small　item。　We　can　even　ignore　the　fact　that　you've　handed　it　over；　the　way　we　ignore　the　dog　collar。　Remember；　my　talented　friend；　there　are　Michelangelos　begging　everywhere　in　the　streets　of　Rome　。　。　。
　　〃Jack？　You　there？〃　He　made　a　strangled　noise　that　was　intended　to　be　the　word　yes。
　　Al's　voice　was　firm　and　very　sure　of　itself。　〃I　really　don't　think　I'm　asking　so　much；　Jack。　And　there　will　be　other　books。　You　just　can't　expect　me　to　subsidize　you　while　you　。　。　。〃
　　〃All　right；　agreed。〃
　　〃I　don't　want　you　to　think　I'm　trying　to　control　your　artistic　life；　Jack。　You　know　me　better　than　that。　It's　just　that…〃
　　〃What？〃
　　〃Is　Derwent　still　involved　with　the　Overlook？　Somehow？〃
　　〃I　don't　see　how　that　can　possibly　be　any　concern　of　yours；　Jack。〃
　　〃No；〃　he　said　distantly。　〃I　suppose　it　isn't。　Listen；　Al；　I　think　I　hear　Wendy　calling　me　for　something。　I'll　get　back　to　you。〃
　　〃Sure　thing；　Jacky…boy。　We'll　have　a　good　talk。　How　are　things？　Dry？〃　YOU'VE　GOT　YOUR　POUND　OF　FLESH　BLOOD　AND　ALL　NOW　CAN'T　YOU　LEAVE　ME　ALONE？）
　　〃As　a　bone。〃
　　〃Here　too。　I'm　actually　beginning　to　enjoy　sobriety。　If…〃
　　〃I'll　get　back；　Al。　Wendy…〃
　　〃Sure。　Okay。〃　And　so　he　had　hung　up　and　that　was　when　the　cramps　had　e；　hitting　him　like　lightning　bolts；　making　him　curl　up　in　front　of　the　telephone　like　a　penitent；　hands　over　his　belly；　head　throbbing　like　a　monstrous　bladder。
　　The　moving　wasp；　having　stung　moves　on　。　。　。
　　It　had　passed　a　little　when　Wendy　came　upstairs　and　asked　him　who　had　been　on　the　phone。
　　〃Al；〃　he　said。　〃He　called　to　ask　how　things　were　going。　I　said　they　were　fine。〃
　　〃Jack；　you　look　terrible。　Are　you　sick？〃
　　〃Headache's　back。　I'm　going　to　bed　early。　No　sense　trying　to　write。〃
　　〃Can　I　get　you　some　warm　milk？〃　He　smiled　wanly。　〃That　would　be　nice。〃　And　now　he　lay　beside　her；　feeling　her　warm　and　sleeping　thigh　against　his　own。　Thinking　of　the　conversation　with　Al；　how　he　had　groveled；　still　made　him　hot　and　cold　by　turns。　Someday　there　would　be　a　reckoning。　Someday　there　would　be　a　book；　not　the　soft　and　thoughtful　thing　he　had　first　considered；　but　a　gem…　hard　work　of　research；　photo　section　and　all；　and　he　would　pull　apart　the　entire　Overlook　history；　nasty；　incestuous　ownership　deals　and　all。　He　would　spread　it　all　out　for　the　reader　like　a　dissected　crayfish。　And　if　Al　Shockley　had　connections　with　the　Derwent　empire；　then　God　help　him。
　　Strung　up　like　piano　wire；　he　lay　staring　into　the　dark；　knowing　it　might　be　hours　yet　before　he　could　sleep。
　　
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　　Wendy　Torrance　lay　on　her　back；　eyes　closed；　listening　to　the　sound　of　her　husband's　slumber…the　long　inhale；　the　brief　hold；　the　slightly　guttural　exhale。　Where　did　he　go　when　he　slept；　she　wondered。　To　some　amusement　park；　a　Great　Barrington　of　dreams　where　all　the　rides　were　free　and　there　was　no　wife…　mother　along　to　tell　them　they'd　had　enough　hotdogs　or　that　they'd　better　be　going　if　they　wanted　to　get　home　by　dark？　Or　was　it　some　fathoms…deep　bar　where　the　drinking　never　stopped　and　the　batwings　were　always　propped　open　and　all　the　old　panions　were　gathered　around　the　electronic　hockey　game；　glasses　in　hand；　Al　Shockley　prominent　among　them　with　his　tie　loosened　and　the　top　button　of　his　shirt　undone？　A　place　where　both　she　and　Danny　were　excluded　and　the　boogie　went　on　endlessly？
　　Wendy　was　worried　about　him；　the　old；　helpless　worry　that　she　had　hoped　was　behind　her　forever　in　Vermont；　as　if　worry　could　somehow　not　cross　state　lines。
　　She　didn't　like　what　the　Overlook　seemed　to　be　doing　to　Jack　and　Danny。
　　The　most　frightening　thing；　vaporous　and　unmentioned；　perhaps　unmentionable；　was　that　all　of　Jack's　drinking　symptoms　had　e　back；　one　by　one　。　。　。　all　but　the　drink　itself。　The　constant　wiping　of　the　lips　with　hand　or　handkerchief；　as　if　to　rid　them　of　excess　moisture。　Long　pauses　at　the　typewriter；　more　balls　of　paper　in　the　wastebasket。　There　had　been　a　bottle　of　Excedrin　on　the　telephone　table　tonight　after　Al　had　called　him；　but　no　water　glass。　He　had　been　chewing　them　again。　He　got　irritated　over　little　things。　He　would　unconsciously　start　snapping　his　fingers　in　a　nervous　rhythm　when　things　got　too　quiet。　Increased　profanity。　She　had　begun　to　worry　about　his　temper；　too。　It　would　almost　e　as　a　relief　if　he　would　lose　it；　blow　off　steam；　in　much　the　same　way　that　he　went　down　to　the　basement　first　thing　in　the　morning　and　last　thing　at　night　to　dump　the　press　on　the　boiler。　It　would　almost　be　good　to　see　him　curse　and　kick　a　chair　across　the　room　or　slam　a　door。　But　those　things；　always　an　integral　part　of　his　temperament；　had　almost　wholly　ceased。　Yet　she　had　the　feeling　that　Jack　was　more　and　more　often　angry　with　her　or　Danny；　but　was　refusing　to　let　it　out。
　　The　boiler　had　a　pressure　gauge：　old；　cracked；　clotted　with　grease；　but　still　workable。　Jack　had　none。　She　had　never　been　able　to　read　him　very　well。　Danny　could；　but　Danny　wasn't　talking。
　　And　the　call　from　Al。　At　about　the　same　time　it　had　e；　Danny　had　lost　all　interest　in　the　story　they　had　been　reading。　He　left　her　to　sit　by　the　fire　and　crossed　to　the　main　desk　where　Jack　had　constructed　a　roadway　for　his　matchbox　cars　and　trucks。　The　Violent　Violet　Volkswagen　was　there　and　Danny　had　begun　to　push　it　rapidly　back　and　forth。　Pretending　to　read　her　own　book　but　actually　looking　at　Danny　over　the　top　of　it；　she　had　seen　an　odd　amalgam　of　the　ways　she　and　Jack　expressed　anxiety。　The　wiping　of　the　lips。　Running　both　hands　nervously　through　his　hair；　as　she　had　done　while　waiting　for　Jack　to　e　home　from　his　round　of　the　bars。　She　couldn't　believe　Al　had　called　just　to　〃ask　how　things　were　going。〃　If　you　wanted　to　shoot　the　bull；　you　called　Al。　When　Al　called　you；　that　was　business。
　　Later；　when　she　had　e　back　downstairs；　she　had　found　Danny　curled　up　by　the　fire　again；　reading　the　second…grade…primer　adventures　of　Joe　and　Rachel　at　the　circus　with　their　daddy　in　plete；　absorbed　attention。　The　fidgety　distraction　had　pletely　disappeared。　Watching　him；　she　had　been　struck　again　by　the　eerie　certainty　that　Danny　knew　more　and　understood　more　than　there　was　room　for　in　Dr。　（〃Just　call　me　Bill〃）　Edmonds's　philosophy。
　　〃Hey；　time　for　bed；　doc；〃　she'd　said。
　　〃Yeah；　okay。〃　He　marked　his　place　in　the　book　and　stood　up。
　　〃Wash　up　and　brush　your　teeth。〃
　　〃Okay。〃
　　〃Don't　forget　to　use　the　floss。〃
　　〃I　won't。〃　They　stood　side　by　side　for　a　moment；　watching　the　wax　and　wane　of　the　coals　of　the　fire。　Most　of　the　lobby　was　chilly　and　drafty；　but　this　circle　around　the　fireplace　was　magically　warm；　and　hard　to　leave。
　　〃It　was　Uncle　Al　on　the　phone；〃　she　said　casually。
　　〃Oh　yeah？〃　Totally　unsurprised。
　　〃I　wonder　if　Uncle　Al　was　mad　at　Daddy；〃　she　said；　still　casually。
　　〃Yeah；　he　sure　was；〃　Danny　said；　still　watching　the　fire。　〃He　didn't　want　Daddy　to　write　the　book。〃
　　〃What　book；　Danny？〃
　　〃About　the　hotel。〃　The　question　framed　on　her　lips　was　one　she　and　Jack　had　asked　Danny　a　thousand　times：　How　do　you　know　that？　She　hadn't　asked　him。　She　didn't　want　to　upset　him　before　bed；　or　make　him　aware　that　they　were　casually　discussing　his　knowledge　of　things　he　had　no　way　of　knowing　at　all。　And　he　did　know；　she　was　convinced　of　that。　Dr。　Edmonds's　patter　about　inductive　reasoning　and　subconscious　logic　was　just　that：　patter。　Her　sister　。　。　。　how　had　Danny　known　she　was　thinking　about　Aileen　in　the　waiting　room　that　day？　And　（I　dreamed　Daddy　had　an　accident。）　She　shook　her　head；　as　if　to　clear　it。　〃Go　wash　up；　doc。〃
　　〃Okay。〃　He　ran　up　the　stairs　toward　their　quarters。　Frowning；　she　had　gone　into　the　kitchen　to　warm　Jack's　milk　in　a　saucepan。
　　And　now；　lying　wakeful　in　her　bed　and　listening　to　her　husband's　breathing　and　the　wind　outside　（miraculously；　they'd　had　only　another　flurry　that　afternoon；　still　no　heavy　snow）；　she　let　her　mind　turn　fully　to　her　lovely；　troubling　son；　born　with　a　caul　over　his　face；　a　simple　tissue　of　membrane　that　doctors　saw　perhaps　once　in　every　seven　hundred　births；　a　tissue　that　the　old　wives'　tales　said　betokened　the　second　sight。
　　She　decided　that　it　was　time　to　talk　to　Danny　about　the　Overlook　。　。　。　and　high　time　she　tried　to　get　Danny　to　talk　to　her。　Tomorrow。　For　sure。　The　two　of　them　would　be　going　down　to　the　Sidewinder　Public　Library　to　see　if　they　could　get　him　some　second…grade…level　books　on　an　extended　loan　through　the　winter；　and　she　would　talk　to　him。　And　frankly。　With　that　thought　she　felt　a　little　easier；　and　at　last　began　to　drift　toward　sleep。
　　
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　　Danny　lay　awake　in　his　bedroom；　eyes　open；　left　arm　encircling　his　aged　and　slightly　worse…for…wear　Pooh　（Pooh　had　lost　one　shoe…button　eye　and　was　oozing　stuffing　from　half　a　dozen　sprung　seams）；　listening　to　his　parents　sleep　in　their　bedroom。　He　felt　as　if　he　were　standing　unwilling　guard　over　them。　The　nights　were　the　worst　of　all。　He　hated　the　nights　and　the　constant　howl　of　the　wind　around　the　west　side　of　the　hotel。
　　His　glider　floated　overhead　from　a　string。　On　his　bureau　the　VW　model；　brought　up　from　the　roadway　setup　downstairs；　glowed　a　dimly　fluorescent　purple。　His　books　were　in　the　bookcase；　his　coloring　books　on　the　desk。　A　place　for　everything　and　everything　in　its　place。　Mommy　said。　Then　you　know　where　it　is　when　you　want　it。　But　now　things　had　been　misplaced。　Things　were　missing。　Worse　still；　things　had　been　added；　things　you　couldn't　quite　see；　like　in　one　of　those　pictures　that　said　CAN　YOU　SEE　THE　INDIANS？　And　if　you　strained　and　squinted；　you　could　see　some　of　them…the　thing　you　had　taken　for　a　cactus　at　first　glance　was　really　a　brave　with　a　kni