sk.theshining-第45部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


；　yes；　I'll　give　it　to　you；　just　you　move　a　little　bit　and　I'll　give　you　all　you　want　and　two　extra。　I'll　give　you　plenty。　Momma　getting　slowly　to　her　feet；　dazed；　her　face　already　puffed　and　swelling　like　an　old　tire　with　too　much　air　in　it；　bleeding　in　four　or　five　different　places；　and　she　had　said　a　terrible　thing；　perhaps　the　only　thing　Momma　had　ever　said　which　Jacky　could　recall　word　for　word：　〃Who's　got　the　newspaper？　Your　daddy　wants　the　funnies。　Is　it　raining　yet？〃　And　then　she　sank　to　her　knees　again；　her　hair　hanging　in　her　puffed　and　bleeding　face。　Mike　calling　the　doctor；　babbling　into　the　phone。　Could　he　e　right　away？　It　was　their　mother。　No；　he　couldn't　say　what　the　trouble　was；　not　over　the　phone；　not　over　a　party　line　he　couldn't。　Just　e。　The　doctor　came　and　took　Momma　away　to　the　hospital　where　Daddy　had　worked　all　of　his　adult　life。　Daddy；　sobered　up　some　（or　perhaps　only　with　the　stupid　cunning　of　any　hardpressed　animal）；　told　the　doctor　she　had　fallen　downstairs。　There　was　blood　on　the　tablecloth　because　he　had　tried　to　wipe　her　dear　face　with　it。　Had　her　glasses　flown　all　the　way　through　the　living　room　and　into　the　dining　room　to　land　in　her　mashed　potatoes　and　gravy？　the　doctor　asked　with　a　kind　of　horrid；　grinning　sarcasm。　Is　that　what　happened；　Mark？　I　have　heard　of　folks　who　can　get　a　radio　station　on　their　gold　fillings　and　I　have　seen　a　man　get　shot　between　the　eyes　and　live　to　tell　about　it；　but　that　is　a　new　one　on　me。　Daddy　had　merely　shook　his　head　and　said　he　didn't　know；　they　must　have　fallen　off　her　face　when　he　brought　her　through　the　dining　room。　The　four　children　had　been　stunned　to　silence　by　the　calm　stupendousness　of　the　lie。　Four　days　later　Brett　quit　his　job　in　the　mill　and　joined　the　Army。　Jack　had　always　felt　it　was　not　just　the　sudden　and　irrational　beating　his　father　had　administered　at　the　dinner　table　but　the　fact　that；　in　the　hospital；　their　mother　had　corroborated　their　father's　story　while　holding　the　hand　of　the　parish　priest。　Revolted；　Brett　had　left　them　to　whatever　might　e。　He　had　been　killed　in　Dong　Ho　province　in　1965；　the　year　when　Jack　Torrance；　undergraduate；　had　joined　the　active　college　agitation　to　end　the　war。
　　He　had　waved　his　brother's　bloody　shirt　at　rallies　that　were　increasingly　well　attended；　but　it　was　not　Brett's　face　that　hung　before　his　eyes　when　he　spoke…it　was　the　face　of　his　mother；　a　dazed；　unprehending　face；　his　mother　saying：
　　〃Who's　got　the　newspaper？〃　Mike　escaped　three　years　later　when　Jack　was　twelve…he　went　to　UNH　on　a　hefty　Merit　Scholarship。　A　year　after　that　their　father　died　of　a　sudden；　massive　stroke　which　occurred　while　he　was　prepping　a　patient　for　surgery。　He　had　collapsed　in　his　flapping　and　untucked　hospital　whites；　dead　possibly　even　before　he　hit　the　industrial　black…and…red　hospital　tiles；　and　three　days　later　the　man　who　had　dominated　Jacky's　life；　the　irrational　white　ghost…god；　was　under　ground。
　　The　stone　read　Mark　Anthony　Torrance；　Loving　Father。　To　that　Jack　would　have　added　one　line：　He　Knew　How　to　Play　Elevator。
　　There　had　been　a　great　lot　of　insurance　money。　There　are　people　who　collect　insurance　as　pulsively　as　others　collect　coins　and　stamps；　and　Mark　Torrance　had　been　that　type。　The　insurance　money　came　in　at　the　same　time　the　monthly　policy　payments　and　liquor　bills　stopped。　For　five　years　they　had　been　rich。
　　Nearly　rich　。　。　。
　　In　his　shallow；　uneasy　sleep　his　face　rose　before　him　as　if　in　a　glass；　his　face　but　not　his　face；　the　wide　eyes　and　innocent　bowed　mouth　of　a　boy　sitting　in　the　ball　with　his　trucks；　waiting　for　his　daddy；　waiting　for　the　white　ghost…　god；　waiting　for　the　elevator　to　rise　up　with　dizzying；　exhilarating　speed　through　the　salt…and…sawdust　mist　of　exhaled　taverns；　waiting　perhaps　for　it　to　go　crashing　down；　spilling　old　clocksprings　out　of　his　ears　while　his　daddy　roared　with　laughter；　and　it　（transformed　into　Danny's　face；　so　much　like　his　own　had　been；　his　eyes　had　been　light　blue　while　Danny's　were　cloudy　gray；　but　the　lips　still　made　a　bow　and　the　plexion　was　fair；　Danny　in　his　study；　wearing　training　pants；　all　his　papers　soggy　and　the　fine　misty　smell　of　beer　rising　。　。　。　a　dreadful　batter　all　in　ferment；　rising　on　the　wings　of　yeast；　the　breath　of　taverns　。　。　。　snap　of　bone　。　。　。　his　own　voice；　mewling　drunkenly　Danny；　you　okay　doc？　。　。　。　Oh　God　oh　God　your　poor　sweet　arm　。　。　。　and　that　face　transformed　into）　（momma's　dazed　face　rising　up　from　below　the　table；　punched　and　bleeding；　and　momma　was　saying）　（〃…from　your　father。　I　repeat；　an　enormously　important　announcement　from　your　father。　Please　stay　tuned　or　tune　immediately　to　the　Happy　Jack　frequency。
　　Repeat；　tune　immediately　to　the　Happy　Hour　frequency。　I　repeat…〃）　A　slow　dissolve。　Disembodied　voices　echoing　up　to　him　as　if　along　an　endless；　cloudy　hallway。
　　（Things　keep　getting　in　the　way；　dear　Tommy　。　。　。）　（Medoc；　are　you　here？　I've　been　sleepwalking　again；　my　dear。　It's　the　inhuman　monsters　that　I　fear　。　。　。）　（〃Excuse　me；　Mr。　Ullman；　but　isn't　this　the。　。　。〃）　。　。　。　office；　with　its　file　cabinets；　Ullman's　big　desk；　a　blank　reservations　book　for　next　year　already　in　place…never　misses　a　trick；　that　Ullman…all　the　keys　hanging　neatly　on　their　hooks　（except　for　one；　which　one；　which　key；　passkey…passkey；　passkey；　who's　got　the　passkey？　if　we　went　upstairs　perhaps　we'd　see）　and　the　big　two…way　radio　on　its　shelf。
　　He　snapped　it　on。　CB　transmissions　ing　in　short；　crackly　bursts。　He　switched　the　band　and　dialed　across　bursts　of　music；　news；　a　preacher　haranguing　a　softly　moaning　congregation；　a　weather　report。　And　another　voice　which　he　dialed　back　to。　It　was　his　father's　voice。
　　〃…kill　him。　You　have　to　kill　him；　Jacky；　and　her；　too。　Because　a　real　artist　must　suffer。　Because　each　man　kills　the　thing　he　loves。　Because　they'll　always　be　conspiring　against　you；　trying　to　hold　you　back　and　drag　you　down。　Right　this　minute　that　boy　of　yours　is　in　where　he　shouldn't　be。　Trespassing。　That's　what　he's　doing。　He's　a　goddam　little　pup。　Cane　him　for　it；　Jacky；　cane　him　within　an　inch　of　his　life。　Have　a　drink　Jacky　my　boy；　and　we'll　play　the　elevator　game。
　　Then　I'll　go　with　you　while　you　give　him　his　medicine。　I　know　you　can　do　it；　of　course　you　can。　You　must　kill　him。　You　have　to　kill　him；　Jacky；　and　her；　too。
　　Because　a　real　artist　must　suffer。　Because　each　man…〃　His　father's　voice；　going　up　higher　and　higher；　being　something　maddening；　not　human　at　all；　something　squealing　and　petulant　and　maddening；　the　voice　of　the　Ghost…God；　the　Pig…God；　ing　dead　at　him　out　of　the　radio　and
　　〃No！〃　he　screamed　back。　〃You're　dead；　you're　in　your　grave；　you're　not　in　me　at　all！〃　Because　he　had　cut　all　the　father　out　of　him　and　it　was　not　right　that　he　should　e　back　creeping　through　this　hotel　two　thousand　miles　from　the　New　England　town　where　his　father　had　lived　and　died。
　　He　raised　the　radio　up　and　brought　it　down；　and　it　smashed　on　the　floor　spilling　old　clocksprings　and　tubes　like　the　result　of　some　crazy　elevator　game　gone　awry；　making　his　father's　voice　gone；　leaving　only　his　voice；　Jack's　voice；　Jacky's　voice；　chanting　in　the　cold　reality　of　the　office：
　　〃…dead；　you're　dead；　you're　dead！〃　And　the　startled　sound　of　Wendy's　feet　hitting　the　floor　over　his　head；　and　Wendy's　startled；　frightened　voice：　〃Jack？　Jack！〃　He　stood；　blinking　down　at　the　shattered　radio。　Now　there　was　only　the　snowmobile　in　the　equipment　shed　to　link　them　to　the　outside　world。
　　He　put　his　hands　over　his　eyes　and　clutched　at　his　temples。　He　was　getting　a　headache。
　　　
　　　》
　　CATATONIC
　　
　　Wendy　ran　down　the　hall　in　her　stocking　feet　and　ran　down　the　main　stairs　to　the　lobby　two　at　a　time。　She　didn't　look　up　at　the　carpeted　flight　that　led　to　the　second　floor；　but　if　she　had；　she　would　have　seen　Danny　standing　at　the　top　of　them；　still　and　silent；　his　unfocused　eyes　directed　out　into　indifferent　space；　his　thumb　in　his　mouth；　the　collar　and　shoulders　of　his　shirt　damp。　There　were　puffy　bruises　on　his　neck　and　just　below　his　chin。
　　Jack's　cries　had　ceased；　but　that　did　nothing　to　ease　her　fear。　Ripped　out　of　her　sleep　by　his　voice；　raised　in　that　old　hectoring　pitch　she　remembered　so　well；　she　still　felt　that　she　was　dreaming…but　another　part　knew　she　was　awake；　and　that　terrified　her　more。　She　half…expected　to　burst　into　the　office　and　find　him　standing　over　Danny's　sprawled…out　body；　drunk　and　confused。
　　She　pushed　through　the　door　and　Jack　was　standing　there；　rubbing　at　his　temples　with　his　fingers。　His　face　was　ghostwhite。　The　two…way　CB　radio　lay　at　his　feet　in　a　sprinkling　of　broken　glass。
　　〃Wendy？〃　he　asked　uncertainly。　〃Wendy…？〃　The　bewilderment　seemed　to　grow　and　for　a　moment　she　saw　his　true　face；　the　one　he　ordinarily　kept　so　well　hidden；　and　it　was　a　face　of　desperate　unhappiness；　the　face　of　an　animal　caught　in　a　snare　beyond　its　ability　to　decipher　and　render　harmless。　Then　the　muscles　began　to　work；　began　to　writhe　under　the　skin；　the　mouth　began　to　tremble　infirmly；　the　Adam's　apple　began　to　rise　and　fall。
　　Her　own　bewilderment　and　surprise　were　overlaid　by　shock：　he　was　going　to　cry。
　　She　had　seen　him　cry　before；　but　never　since　he　stopped　drinking　。　。　。　and　never　in　those　days　unless　he　was　very　drunk　and　pathetically　remorseful。　He　was　a　tight　man；　drum…tight；　and　his　loss　of　control　frightened　her　all　over　again。
　　He　came　toward　her；　the　tears　brimming　over　his　lower　lids　now；　his　head　shaking　involuntarily　as　if　in　a　fruitless　effort　to　ward　off　this　emotional　storm；　and　his　chest　drew　in　a　convulsive　gasp　that　was　expelled　in　a　huge；　racking　sob。　His　feet；　clad　in　Hush　Puppies；　stumbled　over　the　wreck　of　the　radio　and　he　almost　fell　into　her　arms；　making　her　stagger　back　with　his　weight。
　　His　breath　blew　into　her　face　and　there　was　no　smell　of　liquor　on　it。　Of　course　not；　there　was　no　liquor　up　here。
　　〃What's　wrong？〃　She　held　him　as　best　she　could。　〃Jack；　what　is　it？〃　But　he　could　do　nothing　at　first　but　sob；　clinging　to　her；　almost　crushing　the　wind　from　her；　his　head　turning　on　her　shoulder　in　that　helpless；　shaking；　warding…off　gesture。　His　sobs　were　heavy　and　fierce。　He　was　shuddering　all　over；　his　muscles　jerking　beneath　his　plaid　shirt　and　jeans。
　　〃Jac