sk.theshining-第53部分

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　probably　functions　of　the　subconscious　mind。　Freud　said　that　the　subconscious　never　speaks　to　us　in　literal　language。　Only　in　symbols。　If　you　dream　about　being　in　a　bakery　where　no　one　speaks　English；　you　may　be　worried　about　your　ability　to　support　your　family。　Or　maybe　just　that　no　one　understands　you。　I've　read　that　the　falling　dream　is　a　standard　outlet　for　feelings　of　insecurity。　Games；　little　games。　Conscious　on　one　side　of　the　net；　subconscious　on　the　other；　serving　some　cockamamie　image　back　and　forth。　Same　with　mental　illness；　with　hunches；　all　of　that。　Why　should　precognition　be　any　different？　Maybe　Danny　really　did　see　blood　all　over　the　walls　of　the　Presidential　Suite。　To　a　kid　his　age；　the　image　of　blood　and　the　concept　of　death　are　nearly　interchangeable。　To　kids；　the　image　is　always　more　accessible　than　the　concept；　anyway。　William　Carlos　Williams　knew　that；　he　was　a　pediatrician。　When　we　grow　up；　concepts　gradually　get　easier　and　we　leave　the　images　to　the　poets　。　。　。　and　I'm　just　rambling　on。〃
　　〃I　like　to　hear　you　ramble。〃
　　〃She　said　it；　folks。　She　said　it。　You　all　heard　it。〃
　　〃The　marks　on　his　neck；　Jack。　Those　are　real。〃
　　〃Yes。〃　There　was　nothing　else　for　a　long　time。　She　had　begun　to　think　he　must　have　gone　to　sleep　and　she　was　slipping　into　a　drowse　herself　when　he　said：
　　〃I　can　think　of　two　explanations　for　those。　And　neither　of　them　involves　a　fourth　party　in　the　hotel。〃
　　〃What？〃　She　came　up　on　one　elbow。
　　〃Stigmata；　maybe；〃　he　said。
　　〃Stigmata？　Isn't　that　when　people　bleed　on　Good　Friday　or　something？〃
　　〃Yes。　Sometimes　people　who　believe　deeply　in　Christ's　divinity　exhibit　bleeding　marks　on　their　hands　and　feet　during　the　Holy　Week。　It　was　more　mon　in　the　Middle　Ages　than　now。　In　those　days　such　people　were　considered　blessed　by　God。　I　don't　think　the　Catholic　Church　proclaimed　any　of　it　as　out…and…out　miracles；　which　was　pretty　smart　of　them。　Stigmata　isn't　much　different　from　some　of　the　things　the　yogis　can　do。　It's　better　understood　now；　that's　all。　The　people　who　understand　the　interaction　between　the　mind　and　the　body…study　it；　I　mean；　no　one　understands　it…believe　we　have　a　lot　more　control　over　our　involuntary　functions　than　they　used　to　think。　You　can　slow　your　heartbeat　if　you　think　about　it　enough。　Speed　up　your　own　metabolism。　Make　yourself　sweat　more。　Or　make　yourself　bleed。〃
　　〃You　think　Danny　thought　those　bruises　onto　his　neck？　Jack；　I　just　can't　believe　that。〃
　　〃I　can　believe　it's　possible；　although　it　seems　unlikely　to　me；　too。　What's　more　likely　is　that　he　did　it　to　himself。〃
　　〃To　himself？〃
　　〃He's　gone　into　these　'trances'　and　hurt　himself　in　the　past。　Do　you　remember　the　time　at　the　supper　table？　About　two　years　ago；　I　think。　We　were　super…pissed　at　each　other。　Nobody　talking　very　much。　Then；　all　at　once；　his　eyes　rolled　up　in　his　head　and　he　went　face…first　into　his　dinner。　Then　onto　the　floor。
　　Remember？〃
　　〃Yes；〃　she　said。　〃I　sure　do。　I　thought　he　was　having　a　convulsion。〃
　　〃Another　time　we　were　in　the　park；〃　he　said。　〃Just　Danny　and　I。　Saturday　afternoon。　He　was　sitting　on　a　swing；　coasting　back　and　forth。　He　collapsed　onto　the　ground。　It　was　like　he'd　been　shot。　I　ran　over　and　picked　him　up　and　all　of　a　sudden　he　just　came　around。　He　sort　of　blinked　at　me　and　said；　‘I　hurt　my　tummy。　Tell　Mommy　to　close　the　bedroom　windows　if　it　rains。'　And　that　night　it　rained　like　hell。〃
　　〃Yes；　but…〃
　　〃And　he's　always　ing　in　with　cuts　and　scraped　elbows。　His　shins　look　like　a　battlefield　in　distress。　And　when　you　ask　him　how　he　got　this　one　or　that　one；　he　just　says　‘Oh；　I　was　playing；'　and　that's　the　end　of　it。〃
　　〃Jack；　all　kids　get　bumped　and　bruised　up。　With　little　boys　it's　almost　constant　from　the　time　they　learn　to　walk　until　they're　twelve　or　thirteen。〃
　　〃And　I'm　sure　Danny　gets　his　share；〃　Jack　responded。　〃He's　an　active　kid。　But　I　remember　that　day　in　the　park　and　that　night　at　the　supper　table。　And　I　wonder　if　some　of　our　kid's　bumps　and　bruises　e　from　just　keeling　over。　That　Dr。
　　Edmonds　said　Danny　did　it　right　in　his　office；　for　Christ's　sake！〃
　　〃All　right。　But　those　bruises　were　fingers。　I'd　swear　to　it。　He　didn't　get　them　falling　down。〃
　　〃He　goes　into　a　trance；〃　Jack　said。　〃Maybe　he　sees　something　that　happened　in　that　room。　An　argument。　Maybe　a　suicide。　Violent　emotions。　It　isn't　like　watching　a　movie；　he's　in　a　highly　suggestible　state。　He's　right　in　the　damn　thing。　His　subconscious　is　maybe　visualizing　whatever　happened　in　a　symbolic　way　。　。　。　as　a　dead　woman　who's　alive　again；　zombie；　undead；　ghoul；　you　pick　your　term。〃
　　〃You're　giving　me　goose…bumps；〃　she　said　thickly。
　　〃I'm　giving　myself　a　few。　I'm　no　psychiatrist；　but　it　seems　to　fit　so　well。
　　The　walking　dead　woman　as　a　symbol　for　dead　emotions；　dead　lives；　that　just　won't　give　up　and　go　away　。　。　。　but　because　she's　a　subconscious　figure；　she's　also　him。　In　the　trance　state；　the　conscious　Danny　is　submerged。　The　subconscious　figure　is　pulling　the　strings。　So　Danny　put　his　hands　around　his　own　neck　and…〃
　　〃Stop；〃　she　said。　〃I　get　the　picture。　I　think　that's　more　frightening　than　having　a　stranger　creeping　around　the　halls；　Jack。　You　can　move　away　from　a　stranger。　You　can't　move　away　from　yourself。　You're　talking　about　schizophrenia。〃
　　〃Of　a　very　limited　type；〃　he　said；　but　a　trifle　uneasily。　〃And　of　a　very　special　nature。　Because　he　does　seem　able　to　read　thoughts；　and　he　really　does　seem　to　have　precognitive　flashes　from　time　to　time。　I　can't　think　of　that　as　mental　illness　no　matter　how　hard　I　try。　We　all　have　schizo　deposits　in　us　anyway。　I　think　as　Danny　gets　older；　he'll　get　this　under　control。〃
　　〃If　you're　right；　then　it's　imperative　that　we　get　him　out。　Whatever　he　has；　this　hotel　is　making　it　worse。〃
　　〃I　wouldn't　say　that；〃　he　objected。　〃If　he'd　done　as　he　was　told；　he　never　would　have　gone　up　to　that　room　in　the　first　place。　It　never　would　have　happened。〃
　　〃My　God；　Jack！　Are　you　implying　that　being　half…strangled　was　a　。　。　。　a　fitting　punishment　for　being　off　limits？〃
　　〃No　。　。　。　no。　Of　course　not。　But…〃
　　〃No　buts；〃　she　said；　shaking　her　head　violently。　〃The　truth　is；　we're　guessing。　We　don't　have　any　idea　when　he　might　turn　a　corner　and　run　into　one　of　those　。　。　。　air　pockets；　one…reel　horror　movies；　whatever　they　are。　We　have　to　get　him　away。〃　She　laughed　a　little　in　the　darkness。　〃Next　thing　we'll　be　seeing　things。〃
　　〃Don't　talk　nonsense；〃　he　said；　and　in　the　darkness　of　the　room　he　saw　the　hedge　lions　bunching　around　the　path；　no　longer　flanking　it　but　guarding　it；　hungry　November　lions。　Cold　sweat　sprang　out　on　his　brow。
　　〃You　didn't　really　see　anything；　did　you？〃　she　was　asking。　〃I　mean；　when　you　went　up　to　that　room。　You　didn't　see　anything？〃　The　lions　were　gone。　Now　he　saw　a　pink　pastel　shower　curtain　with　a　dark　shape　lounging　behind　it。　The　closed　door。　That　muffled；　hurried　thump；　and　sounds　after　it　that　might　have　been　running　footsteps。　The　horrible；　lurching　beat　of　his　own　heart　as　he　struggled　with　the　passkey。
　　〃Nothing；〃　he　said；　and　that　was　true。　He　had　been　strung　tip；　not　sure　of　what　was　happening。　He　hadn't　had　a　chance　to　sift　through　his　thoughts　for　a　reasonable　explanation　concerning　the　bruises　on　his　son's　neck。　He　had　been　pretty　damn　suggestible　himself。　Hallucinations　could　sometimes　be　catching。
　　〃And　you　haven't　changed　your　mind？　About　the　snowmobile；　I　mean？〃　His　hands　clamped　into　sudden　tight　fists　（Stop　nagging　me！　）　by　his　sides。　〃I　said　I　would；　didn't　I？　I　will。　Now　go　to　sleep。　It's　been　a　long　hard　day。〃
　　〃And　how；〃　she　said。　There　was　a　rustle　of　bedclothes　as　she　turned　toward　him　and　kissed　his　shoulder。　〃I　love　you；　Jack。〃
　　〃I　love　you　too；〃　he　said；　but　he　was　only　mouthing　the　words。　His　hands　were　still　clenched　into　fists。　They　felt　like　rocks　on　the　ends　of　his　arms。　The　pulse　beat　prominently　in　his　forehead。　She　hadn't　said　a　word　about　what　was　going　to　happen　to　them　after　they　got　down；　when　the　party　was　over。　Not　one　word。　It　had　been　Danny　this　and　Danny　that　and　Jack　I'm　so　scared。　Oh　yes；　she　was　scared　of　a　lot　of　closet　boogeymen　and　jumping　shadows；　plenty　scared。　But　there　was　no　lack　of　real　ones；　either。　When　they　got　down　to　Sidewinder　they　would　arrive　with　sixty　dollars　and　the　clothes　they　stood　up　in。　Not　even　a　car。　Even　if　Sidewinder　bad　a　pawnshop；　which　it　didn't；　they　had　nothing　to　hock　but　Wendy's　ninety…dollar　diamond　engagement　ring　and　the　Sony　AM/FM　radio。
　　A　pawnbroker　might　give　them　twenty　bucks。　A　kind　pawnbroker。　There　would　be　no　job；　not　even　part…time　or　seasonal；　except　maybe　shoveling　out　driveways　for　three　dollars　a　shot。　The　picture　of　John　Torrance；　thirty　years　old；　who　had　once　published　in　Esquire　and　who　had　harbored　dreams…not　at　all　unreasonable　dreams；　he　feltof　being　a　major　American　writer　during　the　next　decade；　with　a　shovel　from　the　Sidewinder　Western　Auto　on　his　shoulder；　ringing　doorbells　。　。
　　。　that　picture　suddenly　came　to　him　much　more　clearly　than　the　hedge　lions　and　he　clenched　his　fists　tighter　still；　feeling　the　fingernails　sink　into　his　palms　and　draw　blood　in　mystic　quarter…moon　shapes。　John　Tor_　rance；　standing　in　line　to　change　his　sixty　dollars　into　food　stamps；　standing　in　line　again　at　the　Sidewinder　Methodist　Church　to　get　donated　modities　and　dirty　looks　from　the　locals。　John　Torrance　explaining　to　Al　that　they'd　just　had　to　leave；　had　to　shut　down　the　boiler；　had　to　leave　the　Overlook　and　all　it　contained　open　to　vandals　or　thieves　on　snow　machines　because；　you　see；　Al；　attendez…vous；　Al；　there　are　ghosts　up　there　and　they　have　it　in　for　my　boy。　Good…by；　Al。　Thoughts　of　Chapter　Four；　Spring　es　for　John　Torrance。　What　then？　Whatever　then？　They　might　be　able　to　get　to　the　West　Coast　in　the　VW；　he　supposed。　A　new　fuel　pump　would　do　it。　Fifty　miles　west　of　here　and　it　was　all　downhill；　you　could　damn　near　put　the　bug　in　neutral　and　coast　to　Utah。　On　to　sunny　California；　land　of　oranges　and　opportunity。　A　man　with　his　sterling　record　of　alcoholism；　student…　beating；　and　ghost…chasing　would　undoubtedly　be　able　to　write　his　own　ticket。
　　Anything　you　like。　Custodial　engineer…swamping　out　Greyhound　buses。　The　automotive　business…washing　cars　in　a