sk.theshining-第50部分

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re　fighting　over　me　and　you　wanted　to　do　the　Bad　Thing　again；　Daddy。
　　Then　I　knew　it　wasn't　a　dream　at　all　。　。　。　and　I　was　awake　。　。　。　and　。　。　。　I　wet　my　pants。　I　wet　my　pants　like　a　baby。〃　His　head　fell　back　against　Wendy's　sweater　and　he　began　to　cry　with　horrible　weakness；　his　hands　lying　limp　and　spent　in　his　lap。
　　Jack　got　up。　〃Take　care　of　him。〃
　　〃What　are　you　going　to　do？〃　Her　face　was　full　of　dread。
　　〃I'm　going　up　to　that　room；　what　did　you　think　I　was　going　to　do？　Have　coffee？
　　〃
　　〃No！　Don't；　Jack；　please　don't！〃
　　〃Wendy；　if　there's　someone　else　in　the　hotel；　we　have　to　know。〃
　　〃Don't　you　dare　leave　us　alone！〃　she　shrieked　at　him。　Spittle　flew　from　her　lips　with　the　force　of　her　cry。
　　Jack　said：　〃Wendy；　that's　a　remarkable　imitation　of　your　mom。〃　She　burst　into　tears　then；　unable　to　cover　her　face　because　Danny　was　on　her　lap。
　　〃I'm　sorry；〃　Jack　said。　〃But　I　have　to；　you　know。　I'm　the　goddam　caretaker。
　　It's　what　I'm　paid　for。〃　She　only　cried　harder　and　he　left　her　that　way；　going　out　of　the　kitchen；　rubbing　his　mouth　with　his　handkerchief　as　the　door　swung　shut　behind　him。
　　〃Don't　worry；　mommy；〃　Danny　said。　〃He'll　be　all　right。　He　doesn't　shine。
　　Nothing　here　can　hurt　him。〃　Through　her　tears　she　said；　〃No；　I　don't　believe　that。〃
　　　
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　　217　REVISITED
　　
　　He　took　the　elevator　up　and　it　was　strange；　because　none　of　them　had　used　the　elevator　since　they　moved　in。　He　threw　the　brass　handle　over　and　it　wheezed　vibratoriously　up　the　shaft；　the　brass　grate　rattling　madly。　Wendy　had　a　true　claustrophobe's　horror　of　the　elevator；　he　knew。　She　envisioned　the　three　of　them　trapped　in　it　between　floors　while　the　winter　storms　raged　outside；　she　could　see　them　growing　thinner　and　weaker；　starving　to　death。　Or　perhaps　dining　on　each　other；　the　way　those　Rugby　players　had。　He　remembered　a　bumper　sticker　he　had　seen　in　Boulder；　RUGBY　PLAYERS　EAT　THEIR　OWN　DEAD。　He　could　think　of　others。　YOU　ARE　WHAT　YOU　EAT。　Or　menu　items。　Wele　to　the　Overlook　Dining　Room；　Pride　of　the　Rockies。　Eat　in　Splendor　at　the　Roof　of　the　World。　Human　Haunch　Broiled　Over　Matches　La　Specialite　de　la　Maison。　The　contemptuous　smile　flicked　over　his　features　again。　As　the　number　2　rose　on　the　shaft　wall；　he　threw　the　brass　handle　back　to　the　home　position　and　the　elevator　car　creaked　to　a　stop。　He　took　his　Excedrin　from　his　pocket；　shook　three　of　them　into　his　hand；　and　opened　the　elevator　door。　Nothing　in　the　Overlook　frightened　him。　He　felt　that　he　and　it　were　simpdtico。
　　He　walked　up　the　hall　flipping　his　Excedrin　into　his　mouth　and　chewing　them　one　by　one。　He　rounded　the　corner　into　the　short　corridor　off　the　main　hall。　The　door　to　Room　217　was　ajar；　and　the　passkey　hung　from　the　lock　on　its　white　paddle。
　　He　frowned；　feeling　a　wave　of　irritation　and　even　real　anger。　Whatever　had　e　of　it；　the　boy　had　been　trespassing。　He　had　been　told；　and　told　bluntly；　that　certain　areas　of　the　hotel　were　off　limits：　the　equipment　shed；　the　basement；　and　all　of　the　guest　rooms。　He　would　talk　to　Danny　about　that　just　as　soon　as　the　boy　was　over　his　fright。　He　would　talk　to　him　reasonably　but　sternly。　There　were　plenty　of　fathers　who　would　have　done　more　than　just　talk。
　　They　would　have　administered　a　good　shaking；　and　perhaps　that　was　what　Danny　needed。　If　the　boy　had　gotten　a　scare；　wasn't　that　at　least　his　just　deserts？
　　He　walked　down　to　the　door；　removed　the　passkey；　dropped　it　into　his　pocket；　and　stepped　inside。　The　overhead　light　was　on。　He　glanced　at　the　bed；　saw　it　was　not　rumpled；　and　then　walked　directly　across　to　the　bathroom　door。　A　curious　certainty　had　grown　in　him。　Although　Watson　had　mentioned　no　names　or　room　numbers；　Jack　felt　sure　that　this　was　the　room　the　lawyer's　wife　and　her　stud　had　shared；　that　this　was　the　bathroom　where　she　had　been　found　dead；　full　of　barbiturates　and　Colorado　Lounge　booze。
　　He　pushed　the　mirror…backed　bathroom　door　open　and　stepped　through。　The　light　in　here　was　off。　He　turned　it　on　and　observed　the　long；　Pullman…car　room；　furnished　in　the　distinctive　early　nineteen…hundreds…remodeled…in…the…twenties　style　that　seemed　mon　to　all　Overlook　bathrooms；　except　for　the　ones　on　the　third　floor…those　were　properly　Byzantine；　as　befitted　the　royalty；　politicians；　movie　stars；　and　capos　who　had　stayed　there　over　the　years。
　　The　shower　curtain；　a　pallid　pastel　pink；　was　drawn　protectively　around　the　long　claw…footed　tub。
　　（nevertheless　they　did　move）　And　for　the　first　time　he　felt　his　new　sense　of　sureness　（almost　cockiness）　that　had　e　over　him　when　Danny　ran　to　him　shouting　It　was　her！　It　was　her！
　　deserting　him。　A　chilled　finger　pressed　gently　against　the　base　of　his　spine；　cooling　him　off　ten　degrees。　It　was　joined　by　others　and　they　suddenly　rippled　all　the　way　up　his　back　to　his　medulla　oblongata；　playing　his　spine　like　a　jungle　instrument。
　　His　anger　at　Danny　evaporated；　and　as　he　stepped　forward　and　pushed　the　shower　curtain　back　his　mouth　was　dry　and　he　felt　only　sympathy　for　his　son　and　terror　for　himself。
　　The　tub　was　dry　and　empty。
　　Relief　and　irritation　vented　in　a　sudden　〃Pahl〃　sound　that　escaped　his　pressed　lips　like　a　very　small　explosive。　The　tub　had　been　scrubbed　clean　at　the　end　of　the　season；　except　for　the　rust　stain　under　the　twin　faucets；　it　sparkled。　There　was　a　faint　but　definable　smell　of　cleanser；　the　kind　that　can　irritate　your　nose　with　the　smell　of　its　own　righteousness　for　weeks；　even　months；　after　it　has　been　used。
　　He　bent　down　and　ran　his　fingertips　along　the　bottom　of　the　tub。　Dry　as　a　bone。　Not　even　a　hint　of　moisture。　The　boy　had　been　either　hallucinating　or　outright　lying。　He　felt　angry　again。　That　was　when　the　bathmat　on　the　floor　caught　his　attention。　He　frowned　down　at　it。　What　was　a　bathmat　doing　in　here？
　　It　should　be　down　in　the　linen　cupboard　at　the　end　of　the　wing　with　the　rest　of　the　sheets　and　towels　and　pillow　slips。　All　the　linen　was　supposed　to　be　there。
　　Not　even　the　beds　were　really　made　up　in　these　guest　rooms；　the　mattresses　had　been　zipped　into　clear　plastic　and　then　covered　with　bedspreads。　He　supposed　Danny　might　have　gone　down　and　gotten　it…the　passkey　would　open　the　linen　cupboard…but　why？　He　brushed　the　tips　of　his　fingers　back　and　forth　across　it。
　　The　bathmat　was　bone　dry。
　　He　went　back　to　the　bathroom　door　and　stood　in　it。　Everything　was　all　right。
　　The　boy　had　been　dreaming。　There　was　not　a　thing　out　of　place。　It　was　a　little　puzzling　about　the　bathmat；　granted；　but　the　logical　explanation　was　that　some　chambermaid；　hurrying　like　mad　on　the　last　day　of　the　season；　had　just　forgotten　to　pick　it　up。　Other　than　that；　everything　was…　His　nostrils　flared　a　little。　Disinfectant；　that　self…righteous　smell；　cleaner…than…thou。　And…　Soap？
　　Surely　not。　But　once　the　smell　had　been　identified；　it　was　too　clear　to　dismiss。　Soap。　And　not　one　of　those　postcard…size　bars　of　Ivory　they　provide　you　with　in　hotels　and　motels；　either。　This　scent　was　light　and　perfumed；　a　lady's　soap。　It　had　a　pink　sort　of　smell。　Camay　or　Lowila；　the　brand　that　Wendy　had　always　used　in　Stovington。
　　（It's　nothing。　It's　your　imagination。）　（yes　like　the　hedges　nevertheless　they　did　move）　（They　did　not　move！）　He　crossed　jerkily　to　the　door　which　gave　on　the　hall；　feeling　the　irregular　thump　of　a　headache　beginning　at　his　temples。　Too　much　had　happened　today；　too　much　by　far。　He　wouldn't　spank　the　boy　or　shake　him；　just　talk　to　him；　but　by　God；　he　wasn't　going　to　add　Room　217　to　his　problems。　Not　on　the　basis　of　a　dry　bathmat　and　a　faint　smell　of　Lowila　soap。　He…　There　was　a　sudden　rattling；　metallic　sound　behind　him。　It　came　just　as　his　hand　closed　around　the　doorknob；　and　an　observer　might　have　thought　the　brushed　steel　of　the　knob　carried　an　electric　charge。　He　jerked　convulsively；　eyes　widening；　other　facial　features　drawing　in；　grimacing。
　　Then　he　had　control　of　himself；　a　little；　anyway；　and　he　let　90　of　the　doorknob　and　turned　carefully　around。　His　joints　creaked。　He　began　to　walk　back　to　the　bathroom　door；　step　by　leaden　step。
　　The　shower　curtain；　which　he　had　pushed　back　to　look　into　the　tub；　was　now　drawn。　The　metallic　rattle；　which　had　sounded　to　him　like　a　stir　of　bones　in　a　crypt；　had　been　the　curtain　rings　on　the　overhead　bar。　Jack　stared　at　the　curtain。　His　face　felt　as　if　it　had　been　heavily　waxed；　all　dead　skin　on　the　outside；　live；　hot　rivulets　of　fear　on　the　inside。　The　way　he　had　felt　on　the　playground。
　　There　was　something　behind　the　pink　plastic　shower　curtain。　There　was　something　in　the　tub。
　　He　could　see　it；　ill　defined　and　obscure　through　the　plastic；　a　nearly　amorphous　shape。　It　could　have　been　anything。　A　trick　of　the　light。　The　shadow　of　the　shower　attachment。　A　woman　long　dead　and　reclining　in　her　bath；　a　bar　of　Lowila　in　one　stiffening　hand　as　she　waited　patiently　for　whatever　lover　might　e。
　　Jack　told　himself　to　step　forward　boldly　and　rake　the　shower　curtain　back。　To　expose　whatever　might　be　there。　Instead　he　turned　with　jerky；　marionette　strides；　his　heart　whamming　frightfully　in　his　chest；　and　went　back　into　the　bed/sitting　room。
　　The　door　to　the　hall　was　shut。
　　He　stared　at　it　for　a　long；　immobile　second。　He　could　taste　his　terror　now。　It　was　in　the　back　of　his　throat　like　a　taste　of　gone…over　cherries。
　　He　walked　to　the　door　with　that　same　jerky　stride　and　forced　his　fingers　to　curl　around　the　knob。
　　（It　won't　open。）　But　it　did。
　　He　turned　off　the　light　with　a　fumbling　gesture；　stepped　out　into　the　hall；　and　pulled　the　door　shut　without　looking　back。　From　inside；　he　seemed　to　hear　an　odd　wet　thumping　sound；　far　off；　dim；　as　if　something　had　just　scrambled　belatedly　out　of　the　tub；　as　if　to　greet　a　caller；　as　if　it　had　realized　the　caller　was　leaving　before　the　social　amenities　had　been　pleted　and　so　it　was　now　rushing　to　the　door；　all　purple　and　grinning；　to　invite　the　caller　back　inside。　Perhaps　forever。
　　Footsteps　approaching　the　door　or　only　the　heartbeat　in　his　ears？
　　He　fumbled　at　the　passkey。　It　seemed　sludgy；　unwilling　to　turn　in　the　lock。　He　attacked　the　passkey。　The　tumblers　suddenly　fell　and　he　stepped　back　against　the　corridor's　far　wall；　a　little　groan　of　relief　escaping　him。　He　closed　his　eyes