sk.theshining-第47部分

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　　〃Roll　me　over　In　the　clo…ho…ver；　Roll　me　over；　lay　me　down　and　do　it　again。〃
　　
　　She　was　frightened　even　more　by　the　sound　of　him　than　she　had　been　by　his　silence；　but　there　was　still　no　alternative。　She　started　down　the　stairs。
　　　
　　　》
　　〃IT　WAS　HER！〃
　　
　　Jack　had　stood　on　the　stairs；　listening　to　the　crooning；　forting　sounds　ing　muffled　through　the　locked　door；　and　slowly　his　confusion　had　given　way　to　anger。　Things　had　never　really　changed。　Not　to　Wendy。　He　could　be　off　the　juice　for　twenty　years　and　still　when　he　came　home　at　night　and　she　embraced　him　at　the　door；　he　would　see/　sense　that　little　flare　of　her　nostrils　as　she　tried　to　divine　scotch　or　gin　fumes　riding　the　outbound　train　of　his　exhalation。　She　was　always　going　to　assume　the　worst；　if　he　and　Danny　got　in　a　car　accident　with　a　drunken　blindman　who　。had　had　a　stroke　just　before　the　collision；　she　would　silently　blame　Danny's　injuries　on　him　and　turn　away。
　　Her　face　as　she　had　snatched　Danny　away…it　rose　up　before　him　and　he　suddenly　wanted　to　wipe　the　anger　that　had　been　on　it　out　with　his　fist。
　　She　had　no　goddam　right！
　　Yes；　maybe　at　first。　He　had　been　a　lush；　he　had　done　terrible　things。　Breaking　Danny's　arm　had　been　a　terrible　thing。　But　if　a　man　reforms；　doesn't　he　deserve　to　have　his　reformation　credited　sooner　or　later？　And　if　he　doesn't　get　it；　doesn't　he　deserve　the　game　to　go　with　the　name？　If　a　father　constantly　accuses　his　virginal　daughter　of　screwing　every　boy　in　junior　high；　must　she　not　at　last　grow　weary　（enough）　of　it　to　earn　her　scoldings？　And　if　a　wife　secretly…and　not　so　secretly…continues　to　believe　that　her　teetotaling　husband　is　a　drunk　。　。　。
　　He　got　up；　walked　slowly　down　to　the　first…floor　landing；　and　stood　there　for　a　moment。　He　took　his　handkerchief　from　his　back　pocket；　wiped　his　lips　with　it；　and　considered　going　down　and　pounding　on　the　bedroom　door；　demanding　to　be　let　in　so　he　could　see　his　son。　She　had　no　right　to　be　so　goddam　highhanded。
　　Well；　sooner　or　later　she'd　have　to　e　out；　unless　she　planned　a　radical　sort　of　diet　for　the　two　of　them。　A　rather　ugly　grin　touched　his　lips　at　the　thought。　Let　her　e　to　him。　She　would　in　time。
　　He　went　downstairs　to　the　ground　floor；　stood　aimlessly　by　the　lobby　desk　for　a　moment；　then　turned　right。　He　went　into　the　dining　room　and　stood　just　inside　the　door。　The　empty　tables；　their　white　linen　cloths　neatly　cleaned　and　pressed　beneath　their　clear　plastic　covers；　glimmered　up　at　him。　All　was　deserted　now　but
　　
　　（Dinner　Will　Be　Served　at　8　P。M。
　　Unm　asking　and　Dancing　At　Midnight）
　　
　　Jack　walked　among　the　tables；　momentarily　forgetting　his　wife　and　son　upstairs；　forgetting　the　dream；　the　smashed　radio；　the　bruises。　He　trailed　his　fingers　over　the　slick　plastic　dustcovers；　trying　to　imagine　how　it　must　have　been　on　that　hot　August　night　in　1945；　the　war　won；　the　future　stretching　ahead　so　various　and　new；　like　a　land　of　dreams。　The　bright　and　particolored　Japanese　lanterns　hung　the　whole　length　of　the　circular　drive；　the　golden…yellow　light　spilling　from　these　high　windows　that　were　now　drifted　over　with　snow。　Men　and　women　in　costume；　here　a　glittering　princess；　there　a　high…booted　cavalier；　flashing　jewelry　and　flashing　wit　every　where；　dancing；　liquor　flowing　freely；　first　wine　and　then　cocktails　and　then　perhaps　boilermakers　the　level　of　conver　sation　going　up　and　up　and　up　until　the　jolly　cry　rang　out　from　the　bandmaster's　podium；　the　cry　of　〃Unmask！　Unmask！〃　（And　the　Red　Death　held　sway　。　。　。）　He　found　himself　standing　on　the　other　side　of　the　dining　room；　just　outside　the　stylized　batwing　doors　of　the　Colorado　Lounge　where；　on　that　night　in　1945；　all　the　booze　would　have　been　free。
　　（Belly　up　to　the　bar；　pardner；　the　drinks're　on　the　house。）　He　stepped　through　the　batwings　and　into　the　deep；　folded　shadows　of　the　bar。
　　And　a　strange　thing　occurred。　He　had　been　in　here　before；　once　to　check　the　inventory　sheet　Ullman　had　left；　and　he　knew　the　place　had　been　stripped　clean。
　　The　shelves　were　totally　bare。　But　now；　lit　only　murkily　by　the　light　which　filtered　through　from　the　dining　room　（which　was　itself　only　dimly　lit　because　of　the　snow　blocking　the　windows）；　he　thought　he　saw　ranks　and　ranks　of　bottles　twinkling　mutedly　behind　the　bar；　and　syphons；　and　even　beer　dripping　from　the　spigots　of　all　three　highly　polished　taps。　Yes；　he　could　even　smell　beer；　that　damp　and　fermented　and　yeasty　odor；　no　different　from　the　smell　that　had　hung　finely　misted　around　his　father's　face　every　night　when　he　came　home　from　work。
　　Eyes　widening；　he　fumbled　for　the　wall　switch；　and　the　low；　intimate　bar…　lighting　came　on；　circles　of　twenty…watt　bulbs　emplanted　on　the　tops　of　the　three　wagon…wheel　chandeliers　overhead。
　　The　shelves　were　all　empty。　They　had　not　even　as　yet　gathered　a　good　coat　of　dust。　The　beer　taps　were　dry；　as　were　the　chrome　drains　beneath　them。　To　his　left　and　right；　the　velvet…upholstered　booths　stood　like　men　with　high　backs；　each　one　designed　to　give　a　maximum　of　privacy　to　the　couple　inside。　Straight　ahead；　across　the　red…carpeted　floor；　forty　barstools　stood　around　the　horseshoe…shaped　bar。　Each　stool　was　upholstered　in　leather　and　embossed　with　cattle　brands…Circle　H；　Bar　D　Bar　（that　was　fitting）；　Rocking　W；　Lazy　B。
　　He　approached　it；　giving　his　head　a　little　shake　of　bewilderment　as　he　did　so。
　　It　was　like　that　day　on　the　playground　when　。　。　。　but　there　was　no　sense　in　thinking　about　that。　Still　he　could　have　sworn　he　had　seen　those　bottles；　vaguely；　it　was　true；　the　way　you　see　the　darkened　shapes　of　furniture　in　a　room　where　the　curtains　have　been　drawn。　Mild　glints　on　glass。　The　only　thing　that　remained　was　that　smell　of　beer；　and　Jack　knew　that　was　a　smell　that　faded　into　the　woodwork　of　every　bar　in　the　world　after　a　certain　period　of　time；　not　to　be　eradicated　by　any　cleaner　invented。　Yet　the　smell　here　seemed　sharp　。　。　。　almost　fresh。
　　He　sat　down　on　one　of　the　stools　and　propped　his　elbows　on　the　bar's　leather…　cushioned　edge。　At　his　left　hand　was　a　bowl　for　peanuts…now　empty；　of　course。
　　The　first　bar　he'd　been　in　for　nineteen　months　and　the　damned　thing　was　dry…just　his　luck。　All　the　same；　a　bitterly　powerful　wave　of　nostalgia　swept　over　him；　and　the　physical　craving　for　a　drink　seemed　to　work　itself　up　from　his　belly　to　his　throat　to　his　mouth　and　nose；　shriveling　and　wrinkling　the　tissues　as　it　went；　making　them　cry　out　for　something　wet　and　long　and　cold。
　　He　glanced　at　the　shelves　again　in　wild；　irrational　hope　but　the　shelves　were　just　as　empty　as　before。　He　grinned　in　pain　and　frustration。　His　fists；　clenching　slowly；　made　minute　scratchings　on　the　bar's　leather…padded　edge。
　　〃Hi；　Lloyd；〃　he　said。　〃A　little　slow　tonight；　isn't　it？〃　Lloyd　said　it　was。　Lloyd　asked　him　what　it　would　be。
　　〃Now　I'm　really　glad　you　asked　me　that；〃　Jack　said；　〃really　glad。　Because　I　happen　to　have　two　twenties　and　two　tens　in　my　wallet　and　I　was　afraid　they'd　be　sitting　there　until　sometime　next　April。　There　isn't　a　Seven…Eleven　around　here；　would　you　believe　it？　And　I　thought　they　had　Seven…Elevens　on　the　fucking　moon。〃　Lloyd　sympathized。
　　〃So　here's　what；〃　Jack　said。　〃You　set　me　up　an　even　twenty　martinis。　An　even　twenty；　just　like　that；　kazang。　One　for　every　month　I've　been　on　the　wagon　and　one　to　grow　on。　You　can　do　that；　can't　you？　You　aren't　too　busy？〃　Lloyd　said　he　wasn't　busy　at　all。
　　〃Good　man。　You　line　those　martians　up　right　along　the　bar　and　I'm　going　to　take　them　down；　one　by　one。　White　man's　burden；　Lloyd　my　man。〃　Lloyd　turned　to　do　the　job。　Jack　reached　into　his　pocket　for　his　money　clip　and　came　out　with　an　Excedrin　bottle　instead。　His　money　clip　was　on　the　bedroom　bureau；　and　of　course　his　skinny…shanks　wife　had　locked　him　out　of　the　bedroom。
　　Nice　going；　Wendy。　You　bleeding　bitch。
　　〃I　seem　to　be　momentarily　light；〃　Jack　said。　〃How's　my　credit　in　this　joint；　anyhow？〃　Lloyd　said　his　credit　was　fine。
　　〃That's　super。　I　like　you；　Lloyd。　You　were　always　the　best　of　them。　Best　damned　barkeep　between　Barre　and　Portland；　Maine。　Portland；　Oregon；　for　that　matter。〃　Lloyd　thanked　him　for　saying　so。
　　Jack　thumped　the　cap　from　his　Excedrin　bottle；　shook　two　tablets　out；　and　flipped　them　into　his　mouth。　The　familiar　acid…pelling　taste　flooded　in。
　　He　had　a　sudden　sensation　that　people　were　watching　him；　curiously　and　with　some　contempt。　The　booths　behind　him　were　full…there　were　graying；　distinguished　men　and　beautiful　young　girls；　all　of　them　in　costume；　watching　this　sad　exercise　in　the　dramatic　arts　with　cold　amusement。
　　Jack　whirled　on　his　stool。
　　The　booths　were　all　empty；　stretching　away　from　the　lounge　door　to　the　left　and　right；　the　line　on　his　left　cornering　to　flank　the　bar's　horseshoe　curve　down　the　short　length　of　the　room。　Padded　leather　seats　and　backs。　Gleaming　dark　Formica　tables；　an　ashtray　on　each　one；　a　book　of　matches　in　each　ashtray；　the　words　Colorado　Lounge　stamped　on　each　in　gold　leaf　above　the　batwing…door　logo。
　　He　turned　back；　swallowing　the　rest　of　the　dissolving　Excedrin　with　a　grimace。
　　〃Lloyd；　you're　a　wonder；〃　he　said。　〃Set　up　already。　Your　speed　is　only　exceeded　by　the　soulful　beauty　of　your　Neapolitan　eyes。　Salud。〃　Jack　contemplated　the　twenty　imaginary　drinks；　the　martini　glasses　blushing　droplets　of　condensation；　each　with　a　swizzle　poked　through　a　plump　green　olive。
　　He　could　almost　smell　gin　on　the　air。
　　〃The　wagon；〃　he　said。　〃Have　you　ever　been　acquainted　with　a　gentleman　who　has　hopped　up　on　the　wagon？〃　Lloyd　allowed　as　how　he　had　met　such　men　from　time　to　time。
　　〃Have　you　ever　renewed　acquaintances　with　such　a　man　after　he　hopped　back　off？
　　〃　Lloyd　could　not；　in　all　honesty；　recall。
　　〃You　never　did；　then；〃　Jack　said。　He　curled　his　hand　around　the　first　drink；　carried　his　fist　to　his　mouth；　which　was　open；　and　turned　his　fist　up。　He　swallowed　and　then　tossed　the　imaginary　glass　over　his　shoulder。　The　people　were　back　again；　fresh　from　their　costume　ball；　studying　him；　laughing　behind　their　hands。　He　could　feel　them。　If　the　backbar　had　featured　a　mirror　instead　of　those　damn　stupid　empty　shelves；　he　could　have　seen　them。　Let　them　stare。　Fuck　them。
　　Let　anybody　stare