sk.theshining-第48部分

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ty　shelves；　he　could　have　seen　them。　Let　them　stare。　Fuck　them。
　　Let　anybody　stare　who　wanted　to　stare。
　　〃No；　you　never　did；〃　he　told　Lloyd。　〃Few　men　ever　return　from　the　fabled　Wagon；　but　those　who　do　e　with　a　fearful　tale　to　tell。　When　you　jump　on；　it　seems　like　the　brightest；　cleanest　Wagon　you　ever　saw；　with　ten…foot　wheels　to　keep　the　bed　of　it　high　out　of　the　gutter　where　all　the　drunks　are　laying　around　with　their　brown　bags　and　their　Thunderbird　and　their　Granddad　Flash's　Popskull　Bourbon。　You're　away　from　all　the　people　who　throw　you　nasty　looks　and　tell　you　to　clean　up　your　act　or　go　put　it　on　in　another　town。　From　the　gutter；　that's　the　finest…lookin　Wagon　you　ever　saw；　Lloyd　my　boy。　All　hung　with　bunting　and　a　brass　band　in　front　and　three　majorettes　to　each　side；　twirling　their　batons　and　flashing　their　panties　at　you。　Man；　you　got　to　get　on　that　Wagon　and　away　from　the　juicers　that　are　straining　canned　heat　and　smelling　their　own　puke　to　get　high　again　and　poking　along　the　gutter　for　butts　with　half　an　inch　left　below　the　filter。〃　He　drained　two　more　imaginary　drinks　and　tossed　the　glasses　back　over　his　shoulder。　He　could　almost　hear　them　smashing　on　the　floor。　And　goddam　if　he　wasn't　starting　to　feel　high。　It　was　the　Excedrin。
　　〃So　you　climb　up；〃　he　told　Lloyd。　〃and　ain't　you　glad　to　be　there。　My　God　yes；　that's　affirmative。　That　Wagon　is　the　biggest　and　best　float　in　the　whole　parade；　and　everybody　is　lining　the　streets　and　clapping　and　cheering　and　waving；　all　for　you。　Except　for　the　winos　passed　out　in　the　gutter。　Those　guys　used　to　be　your　friends；　but　that's　all　behind　you　now。〃　He　carried　his　empty　fist　to　his　mouth　and　sluiced　down　another…four　down；　sixteen　to　go。　Making　excellent　progress。　He　swayed　a　little　on　the　stool。　Let　em　stare；　if　that　was　how　they　got　off。　Take　a　picture；　folks；　it'll　last　longer。
　　〃Then　you　start　to　see　things；　Lloydy…my…boy。　Things　you　missed　from　the　gutter。　Like　how　the　floor　of　the　Wagon　is　nothing　but　straight　pine　boards；　so　fresh　they're　still　bleeding　sap；　and　if　you　took　your　shoes　off　you'd　be　sure　to　get　a　splinter。　Like　how　the　only　furniture　in　the　Wagon　is　these　long　benches　with　high　backs　and　no　cushions　to　sit　on；　and　in　fact　they　are　nothing　but　pews　with　a　songbook　every　five　feet　or　so。　Like　how　all　the　people　sitting　in　the　pews　on　the　Wagon　are　these　flatchested　el　birdos　in　long　dresses　with　a　little　lace　around　the　collar　and　their　hair　pulled　back　into　buns　until　it's　so　tight　you　can　almost　hear　it　screaming。　And　every　face　is　fiat　and　pale　and　shiny；　and　they're　all　singing　‘Shall　we　gather　at　the　riiiiver；　the　beautiful；　the　beautiful；　the　riiiiiver；'　and　up　front　there's　this　reekin　bitch　with　blond　hair　playing　the　organ　and　tellin　em　to　sing　louder；　sing　louder。　And　somebody　slams　a　songbook　into　your　hands　and　says；　‘Sing　it　out；　brother。　If　you　expect　to　stay　on　this　Wagon；　you　got　to　sing　morning；　noon；　and　night。　Especially　at　night。'　And　that's　when　you　realize　what　the　Wagon　really　is；　Lloyd。　It's　a　church　with　bars　on　the　windows；　a　church　for　women　and　a　prison　for　you。〃　He　stopped。　Lloyd　was　gone。　Worse　still；　he　had　never　been　there。　The　drinks　had　never　been　there。　Only　the　people　in　the　booths；　the　people　from　the　costume　party；　and　he　could　almost　hear　their　muffled　laughter　as　they　held　their　bands　to　their　mouths　and　pointed；　their　eyes　sparkling　with　cruel　pinpoints　of　light。
　　He　whirled　around　again。　〃Leave　me…〃　（alone？）　All　the　booths　were　empty。　The　sound　of　laughter　had　died　like　a　stir　of　autumn　leaves。　Jack　stared　at　the　empty　lounge　for　a　tick　of　time；　his　eyes　wide　and　dark。　A　pulse　beat　noticeably　in　the　center　of　his　forehead。　In　the　very　center　of　him　a　cold　certainty　was　forming　and　the　certainty　was　that　he　was　losing　his　mind。　He　felt　an　urge　to　pick　up　the　bar　stool　next　to　him；　reverse　it；　and　go　through　the　place　like　an　avenging　whirlwind。　Instead　he　whirled　back　around　to　the　bar　and　began　to　bellow：
　　
　　〃Roll　me　over　In　the　clo…ho…ver；　Roll　me　over；　lay　me　down　and　do　it　again。〃
　　
　　Danny's　face　rose　before　him；　not　Danny's　normal　face；　lively　and　alert；　the　eyes　sparkling　and　open；　but　the　catatonic；　zombielike　face　of　a　stranger；　the　eyes　dull　and　opaque；　the　mouth　pursed　babyishly　around　his　thumb。　What　was　he　doing；　sitting　here　and　talking　to　himself　like　a　sulky　teen…ager　when　his　son　was　upstairs；　someplace；　acting　like　something　that　belonged　in　a　padded　room；　acting　the　way　Wally　Hollis　said　Vic　Stenger　had　been　before　the　men　in　the　white　coats　had　to　e　and　take　him　away？
　　（But　1　never　put　a　hand　on　him！　Goddammit；　1　didn't！）
　　〃Jack？〃　The　voice　was　timid；　hesitant。
　　He　was　so　startled　he　almost　fell　off　the　stool　whirling　it　around。　Wendy　was　standing　just　inside　the　batwing　doors；　Danny　cradled　in　her　arms　like　some　waxen　horror　show　dummy。　The　three　of　them　made　a　tableau　that　Jack　felt　very　strongly；　it　was　just　before　the　curtain　of　Act　II　in　some　oldtime　temperance　play；　one　so　poorly　mounted　that　the　prop　man　had　forgotten　to　stock　the　shelves　of　the　Den　of　Iniquity。
　　〃I　never　touched　him；〃　Jack　said　thickly。　〃I　never　have　since　the　night　I　broke　his　arm。　Not　even　to　spank　him。〃
　　〃Jack；　that　doesn't　matter　now。　What　matters　is…〃
　　〃This　matters！〃　he　shouted。　He　brought　one　fist　crashing　down　on　the　bar；　hard　enough　to　make　the　empty　peanut　dishes　jump。　〃It　matters；　goddammit；　it　matters！
　　〃
　　〃Jack；　we　have　to　get　him　off　the　mountain。　He's…〃　Danny　began　to　stir　in　her　arms。　The　slack；　empty　expression　on　his　face　had　begun　to　break　up　like　a　thick　matte　of　ice　over　some　buried　surface。　His　lips　twisted；　as　if　at　some　weird　taste。　His　eyes　widened。　His　hands　came　up　as　if　to　cover　them　and　then　dropped　back。
　　Abruptly　he　stiffened　in　her　arms。　His　back　arched　into　a　bow；　making　Wendy　stagger。　And　he　suddenly　began　to　shriek；　mad　sounds　that　escaped　his　straining　throat　in　bolt　after　crazy；　echoing　bolt。　The　sound　seemed　to　fill　the　empty　downstairs　and　e　back　at　them　like　banshees。　There　might　have　been　a　hundred　Dannys；　all　screaming　at　once。
　　〃Jack！〃　she　cried　in　terror。　〃Oh　God　Jack　what's　wrong　with　him？〃　He　came　off　the　stool；　numb　from　the　waist　down；　more　frightened　than　he　had　ever　been　in　his　life。　What　hole　had　his　son　poked　through　and　into？　What　dark　nest？　And　what　had　been　in　there　to　sting　him？
　　〃Danny！〃　he　roared。　〃Danny！〃　Danny　saw　him。　He　broke　his　mother's　grip　with　a　sudden；　fierce　strength　that　gave　her　no　chance　to　hold　him。　She　stumbled　back　against　one　of　the　booths　and　nearly　fell　into　it。
　　〃Daddy！〃　he　screamed；　running　to　Jack；　his　eyes　hugs　and　affrighted。　〃Oh　Daddy　Daddy；　it　was　her！　Her！　Her！　Oh　Daaaaahdeee…〃　He　slammed　into　Jack's　arms　like　a　blunt　arrow；　making　Jack　rock　on　his　feet。
　　Danny　clutched　at　him　furiously；　at　first　seeming　to　pummel　him　like　a　fighter；　then　clutching　his　belt　and　sobbing　against　his　shirt。　Jack　could　feel　his　son's　face；　hot　and　working；　against　his　belly。
　　Daddy；　it　was　her。
　　Jack　looked　slowly　up　into　Wendy's　face。　His　eyes　were　like　small　silver　coins。
　　〃Wendy？〃　Voice　soft；　nearly　purring。　〃Wendy；　what　did　you　do　to　him？〃　Wendy　stared　back　at　him　in　stunned　disbelief；　her　face　pallid。　She　shook　her　head。
　　〃Oh　Jack；　you　must　know…〃　Outside　it　had　begun　to　snow　again。
　　　
　　　》
　　KITCHEN　TALK
　　
　　Jack　carried　Danny　into　the　kitchen。　The　boy　was　still　sobbing　wildly；　refusing　to　look　up　from　Jack's　chest。　In　the　kitchen　he　gave　Danny　back　to　Wendy；　who　still　seemed　stunned　and　disbelieving。
　　〃Jack；　I　don't　know　what　he's　talking　about。　Please；　you　must　believe　that。〃
　　〃I　do　believe　it；〃　he　said；　although　he　had　to　admit　to　himself　that　it　gave　him　a　certain　amount　of　pleasure　to　see　the　shoe　switched　to　the　other　foot　with　such　dazzling；　unexpected　speed：　But　his　anger　at　Wendy　had　been　only　a　passing　gut　twitch。　In　his　heart　he　knew　Wendy　would　pour　a　can　of　gasoline　over　herself　and　strike　a　match　before　harming　Danny。
　　The　large　tea　kettle　was　on　the　back　burner；　poking　along　on　low　heat。　Jack　dropped　a　teabag　into　his　own　large　ceramic　cup　and　poured　hot　water　halfway。
　　〃Got　cooking　sherry；　don't　you？〃　he　asked　Wendy。
　　〃What？　。　。　。　oh；　sure。　Two　or　three　bottles　of　it。〃
　　〃Which　cupboard？〃　She　pointed；　and　Jack　took　one　of　the　bottles　down。　He　poured　a　hefty　dollop　into　the　teacup；　put　the　sherry　back；　and　filled　the　last　quarter　of　the　cup　with　milk。　Then　he　added　three　tablespoons　of　sugar　and　stirred。　He　brought　it　to　Danny；　whose　sobs　had　tapered　off　to　snifflings　and　hitchings。　But　he　was　trembling　all　over；　and　his　eyes　were　wide　and　starey。
　　〃Want　you　to　drink　this；　doc；〃　Jack　said。　〃It's　going　to　taste　frigging　awful；　but　it'll　make　you　feel　better。　Can　you　drink　it　for　your　daddy？〃　Danny　nodded　that　he　could　and　took　the　cup。　He　drank　a　little；　grimaced；　and　looked　questioningly　at　Jack。　Jack　nodded　and　Danny　drank　again。　Wendy　felt　the　familiar　twist　of　jealousy　somewhere　in　her　middle；　knowing　the　boy　would　not　have　drunk　it　for　her。
　　On　the　heels　of　that　came　an　unfortable；　even　startling　thought：　Had　she　wanted　to　think　Jack　was　to　blame？　Was　she　that　jealous？　It　was　the　way　her　mother　would　have　thought；　that　was　the　really　horrible　thing。　She　could　remember　a　Sunday　when　her　Dad　had　taken　her　to　the　park　and　she　had　toppled　from　the　second　tier　of　the　jungle　gym；　cutting　both　knees。　When　her　father　brought　her　home；　her　mother　had　shrieked　at　him：　What　did　you　do？　Why　weren't　you　watching　her？　What　kind　of　a　father　are　you？
　　（She　had　hounded　him　to　his　grave；　by　the　time　he　divorced　her　it　was　too　late。）　She　had　never　even　given　Jack　the　benefit　of　the　doubt。　Not　the　smallest。
　　Wendy　felt　her　face　burn　yet　knew　with　a　kind　of　helpless　finality　that　if　the　whole　thing　were　to　be　played　over　again；　she　would　do　and　think　the　same　way。
　　She　carried　part　of　her　mother　with　her　always；　for　good　or　bad。
　　〃Jack…〃　she　began；　not　sure　if　she　meant　to　apologize　or　justify。　Either；　she　knew；　would　be　useless。
　　〃Not　now；〃　he　said。
　　It　took　Danny　fifteen　minutes　to　drink　half　of　the　big　cup's　contents；　and　by　that　time　he　had　calmed　visibly。　The　shakes　were　almost　gone。
　　Jac