sk.theshining-第43部分

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　himself　in　an　old　and　cobwebby　camp　chair　he　had　found。　He　was　leafing　through　the　old　records　and　papers；　constantly　wiping　his　mouth　with　his　handkerchief　as　he　did　so。　Confinement　had　leached　his　skin　of　its　autumn　tan；　and　as　he　sat　hunched　over　the　yellowed；　crackling　sheets；　his　reddish…blond　hair　tumbling　untidily　over　his　forehead；　he　looked　slightly　lunatic。　He　had　found　some　odd　things　tucked　in　among　the　invoices；　bills　of　lading；　receipts。　Disquieting　things。　A　bloody　strip　of　sheeting。　A　dismembered　teddy　bear　that　seemed　to　have　been　slashed　to　pieces。　A　crumpled　sheet　of　violet　ladies'　stationery；　a　ghost　of　perfume　still　clinging　to　it　beneath　the　musk　of　age；　a　note　begun　and　left　unfinished　in　faded　blue　ink：　〃Dearest　Tommy；　I　can't　think　so　well　up　here　as　I'd　hoped；　about　us　I　mean；　of　course；　who　else？　Ha。　Ha。　Things　keep　getting　in　the　way。　I've　had　strange　dreams　about　things　going　bump　in　the　night；　can　you　believe　that　and〃　That　was　all。　The　note　was　dated　June　27；　1934。　He　found　a　hand　puppet　that　seemed　to　be　either　a　witch　or　a　warlock　。　。　。　something　with　long　teeth　and　a　pointy　hat；　at　any　rate。　It　had　been　improbably　tucked　between　a　bundle　of　natural…gas　receipts　and　a　bundle　of　receipts　for　Vichy　water。　And　something　that　seemed　to　be　a　poem；　scribbled　on　the　back　of　a　menu　in　dark　pencil：
　　〃Medoc/are　you　here？/I've　been　sleepwalking　again；　my　dear。/The　plants　are　moving　under　the　rug。〃　No　date　on　the　menu；　and　no　name　on　the　poem；　if　it　was　a　poem。　Elusive；　but　fascinating。　It　seemed　to　him　that　these　things　were　like　pieces　in　a　jigsaw；　things　that　would　eventually　fit　together　if　he　could　find　the　right　linking　pieces。　And　so　he　kept　looking；　jumping　and　wiping　his　lips　every　time　the　furnace　roared　into　life　behind　him。
　　
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　　Danny　was　standing　outside　Room　217　again。
　　The　passkey　was　in　his　pocket。　He　was　staring　at　the　door　with　a　kind　of　drugged　avidity；　and　his　upper　body　seemed　to　twitch　and　jiggle　beneath　his　flannel　shirt。　He　was　humming　softly　and　tunelessly。
　　He　hadn't　wanted　to　e　here；　not　after　the　fire　hose。　He　was　scared　to　e　here。　He　was　scared　that　he　had　taken　the　passkey　again；　disobeying　his　father。
　　He　had　wanted　to　e　here。　Curiosity　（killed　the　cat；　satisfaction　brought　him　back）　was　like　a　constant　fishhook　in　his　brain；　a　kind　of　nagging　siren　song　that　would　not　be　appeased。　And　hadn't　Mr。　Hallorann　said；　〃I　don't　think　there's　anything　here　that　can　hurt　you〃？
　　（You　promised。）　（Promises　were　made　to　be　broken。）　He　jumped　at　that。　It　was　as　if　that　thought　had　e　from　outside；　insectile；　buzzing；　softly　cajoling。
　　（Promises　were　made　to　be　broken　my　dear　redrum；　to　be　broken。　splintered。
　　shattered。　hammered　apart。　FORE！）　His　nervous　humming　broke　into　low；　atonal　song：　〃Lou；　Lou；　skip　to　m'　Lou；　skip　to　m'　Lou　my　daaarlin。　。　。〃　Hadn't　Mr。　Hallorann　been　right？　Hadn't　that　been；　in　the　end；　the　reason　why　he　had　kept　silent　and　allowed　the　snow　to　close　them　in？
　　Just　close　your　eyes　and　it　will　be　gone。
　　What　he　had　seen　in　the　Presidential　Sweet　had　gone　away。　And　the　snake　had　only　been　a　fire　hose　that　had　fallen　onto　the　rug。　Yes；　even　the　blood　in　the　Presidential　Sweet　had　been　harmless；　something　old；　something　that　had　happened　long　before　he　was　born　or　even　thought　of；　something　that　was　done　with。　Like　a　movie　that　only　he　could　see。　There　was　nothing；　really　nothing；　in　this　hotel　that　could　hurt　him；　and　if　he　had　to　prove　that　to　himself　by　going　into　this　room；　shouldn't　he　do　so？
　　〃Lou；　Lou；　skip　to　m'Lou　。　。　。〃　（Curiosity　killed　the　cat　my　dear　redrum；　redrum　my　dear；　satisfaction　brought　him　back　safe　and　sound；　from　toes　to　crown；　from　head　to　ground　he　was　safe　and　sound。　He　knew　that　those　things）　（are　like　scary　pictures；　they　can't　hurt　you；　but　oh　my　god）　（what　big　teeth　you　have　grandma　and　is　that　a　wolf　in　a　BLUEBEARD　suit　or　a　BLUEBEARD　in　a　wolf　suit　and　i'm　so）　（glad　you　asked　because　curiosity　killed　that　cat　and　it　was　the　HOPE　of　satisfaction　that　brought　him）　up　the　hall；　treading　softly　over　the　blue　and　twisting　jungle　carpet。　He　had　stopped　by　the　fire　extinguisher；　had　put　the　brass　nozzle　back　in　the　frame；　and　then　had　poked　it　repeatedly　with　his　finger；　heart　thumping；　whispering：
　　〃e　on　and　hurt　me。　e　on　and　hurt　me；　you　cheap　prick。　Can't　do　it；　can　you？　Huh？　You're　nothing　but　a　cheap　fire　hose。　Can't　do　nothin　but　lie　there。
　　e　on；　e　on！〃　He　had　felt　insane　with　bravado。　And　nothing　had　happened。　It　was　only　a　hose　after　all；　only　canvas　and　brass；　you　could　hack　it　to　pieces　and　it　would　never　plain；　never　twist　and　jerk　and　bleed　green　slime　all　over　the　blue　carpet；　because　it　was　only　a　hose；　not　a　nose　and　not　a　rose；　not　glass　buttons　or　satin　bows；　not　a　snake　in　a　sleepy　doze　。　。　。　and　he　had　hurried　on；　had　hurried　on　because　he　was　（〃late；　I'm　late；〃　said　the　white　rabbit。）　the　white　rabbit。　Yes。　Now　there　was　a　white　rabbit　out　by　the　playground；　once　it　had　been　green　but　now　it　was　white；　as　if　something　had　shocked　it　repeatedly　on　the　snowy；　windy　nights　and　turned　it　old　。　。　。
　　Danny　took　the　passkey　from　his　pocket　and　slid　it　into　the　lock。
　　〃Lou；　Lou　。　。　。〃　（the　white　rabbit　had　been　on　its　way　to　a　croquet　party　to　the　Red　Queen's　croquet　party　storks　for　mallets　hedgehogs　for　halls）　He　touched　the　key；　let　his　fingers　wander　over　it。　His　head　felt　dry　and　sick。　He　turned　the　key　and　the　tumblers　thumped　back　smoothly。
　　（OFF　WITH　HIS　HEAD！　OFF　WITH　HIS　HEAD！　OFF　WITH　HIS　HEAD！）　（this　game　isn't　croquet　though　the　mallets　are　too　short　this　game　is）　（WHACK…BOOM！　Straight　through　the　wicket。）　（OFF　WITH　HIS　HEEEEEAAAAAAAD）　Danny　pushed　the　door　open。　It　swung　smoothly；　without　a　creak。　He　was　standing　just　outside　a　large　bination　bedsitting　room；　and　although　the　snow　had　not　reached　up　this　far…the　highest　drifts　were　still　a　foot　below　the　second…floor　windows…the　room　was　dark　because　Daddy　had　closed　all　the　shutters　on　the　western　exposure　two　weeks　ago。
　　He　stood　in　the　doorway；　fumbled　to　his　right；　and　found　the　switch　plate。　Two　bulbs　in　an　overhead　cut…glass　fixture　came　on。　Danny　stepped　further　in　and　looked　around。　The　rug　was　deep　and　soft；　a　quiet　rose　color。　Soothing。　A　double　bed　with　a　white　coverlet。　A　writing　desk　（Pray　tell　me：　Why　is　a　raven　like　a　writing　desk？）　by　the　large　shuttered　window。　During　the　season　the　Constant　Writer　（having　a　wonderful　time；　wish　you　were　fear）　would　have　a　pretty　view　of　the　mountains　to　describe　to　the　folks　back　home。
　　He　stepped　further　in。　Nothing　here；　nothing　at　all。　Only　an　empty　room；　cold　because　Daddy　was　heating　the　east　wing　today。　A　bureau。　A　closet；　its　door　open　to　reveal　a　clutch　of　hotel　hangers；　the　kind　you　can't　steal。　A　Gideon　Bible　on　an　endtable。　To　his　left　was　the　bathroom　door；　a　full…length　mirror　on　it　reflecting　his　own　white…faced　image。　That　door　was　ajar　and…　He　watched　his　double　nod　slowly。
　　Yes；　that's　where　it　was；　whatever　it　was。　In　there。　In　the　bathroom。　His　double　walked　forward；　as　if　to　escape　the　glass。　It　put　its　hand　out；　pressed　it　against　his　own。　Then　it　fell　away　at　an　angle　as　the　bathroom　door　swung　open。　He　looked　in。
　　A　long　room；　old…fashioned；　like　a　Pullman　car。　Tiny　white　hexagonal　tiles　on　the　floor。　At　the　far　end；　a　toilet　with　the　lid　up。　At　the　right；　a　washbasin　and　another　mirror　above　it；　the　kind　that　hides　a　medicine　cabinet。　To　the　left；　a　huge　white　tub　on　claw　feet；　the　shower　curtain　pulled　closed。　Danny　stepped　into　the　bathroom　and　walked　toward　the　tub　dreamily；　as　if　propelled　from　outside　himself；　as　if　this　whole　thing　were　one　of　the　dreams　Tony　had　brought　him；　that　he　would　perhaps　see　something　nice　when　he　pulled　the　shower　curtain　back；　something　Daddy　had　forgotten　or　Mommy　had　lost；　something　that　would　make　them　both　happy…　So　he　pulled　the　shower　curtain　back。
　　The　woman　in　the　tub　had　been　dead　for　a　long　time。　She　was　bloated　and　purple；　her　gas…filled　belly　rising　out　of　the　cold；　ice…rimmed　water　like　some　fleshy　island。　Her　eyes　were　fixed　on　Danny's；　glassy　and　huge；　like　marbles。
　　She　was　grinning；　her　purple　lips　pulled　back　in　a　grimace。　Her　breasts　lolled。
　　Her　pubic　hair　floated。　Her　hands　were　frozen　on　the　knurled　porcelain　sides　of　the　tub　like　crab　claws。
　　Danny　shrieked。　But　the　sound　never　escaped　his　lips；　turning　inward　and　inward；　it　fell　down　in　his　darkness　like　a　stone　in　a　well。　He　took　a　single　blundering　step　backward；　bearing　his　heels　clack　on　the　white　hexagonal　tiles；　and　at　the　same　moment　his　urine　broke；　spilling　effortlessly　out　of　him。
　　The　woman　was　sitting　up。
　　Still　grinning；　her　huge　marble　eyes　fixed　on　him；　she　was　sitting　up。　Her　dead　palms　made　squittering　noises　on　the　porcelain。　Her　breasts　swayed　like　ancient　cracked　punching　bags。　There　was　the　minute　sound　of　breaking　ice　shards。　She　was　not　breathing。　She　was　a　corpse；　and　dead　long　years。
　　Danny　turned　and　ran。　Bolting　through　the　bathroom　door；　his　eyes　starting　from　their　sockets；　his　hair　on　end　like　the　hair　of　a　hedgehog　about　to　be　turned　into　a　sacrificial　（croquet？　or　rogue？）　ball；　his　mouth　open　and　soundless。　He　ran　full…tilt　into　the　outside　door　of　217；　which　was　now　closed。　He　began　hammering　on　it；　far　beyond　realizing　that　it　was　unlocked；　and　he　had　only　to　turn　the　knob　to　let　himself　out。　His　mouth　pealed　forth　deafening　screams　that　were　beyond　human　auditory　range。　He　could　only　hammer　on　the　door　and　hear　the　dead　woman　ing　for　him；　bloated　belly；　dry　hair；　outstretched　hands…something　that　had　lain　slain　in　that　tub　for　perhaps　years；　embalmed　there　in　magic。
　　The　door　would　not　open；　would　not；　would　not；　would　not。
　　And　then　the　voice　of　Dick　Hallorann　came　to　him；　so　sudden　and　unexpected；　so　calm；　that　his　locked　vocal　cords　opened　and　he　began　to　cry　weakly…not　with　fear　but　with　blessed　relief。
　　（I　don't　think　they　can　hurt　you　。　。　。　they're　like　pictures　in　a　book　。　。　。
　　close　your　eyes　and　they'll　he　gone。）　His　eyelids　snapped　down。　His　hands　curled　into　balls。　His　shoulders　hunched　with　the　effort　of　his　concentration：　（Nothing　there　nothing　there　not　there　at　all　NOTHING　THERE　THERE　IS　NOTHING！）　Time　passed。