sk.theshining-第71部分

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e　to　look　away　from　the　clock…its　hands　had　e　together　and　pointed　straight　up。
　　〃Unmask！　Unmask！〃　the　chant　went　up。
　　The　clock　began　to　chime　delicately。　Along　the　steel　runner　below　the　clockface；　from　the　left　and　right；　two　figures　advanced。　Jack　watched；　fascinated；　the　unmasking　forgotten。　Clockwork　whirred。　Cogs　turned　and　meshed；　brass　warmly　glowing。　The　balance　wheel　rocked　back　and　forth　precisely。
　　One　of　the　figures　was　a　man　standing　on　tiptoe；　with　what　looked　like　a　tiny　club　clasped　in　his　hands。　The　other　was　a　small　boy　wearing　a　dunce　cap。　The　clockwork　figures　glittered；　fantastically　precise。　Across　the　front　of　the　boy's　dunce　cap　he　could　read　the　engraved　word　FOOLE。
　　The　two　figures　slipped　onto　the　opposing　ends　of　a　steel　axis　bar。　Somewhere；　tinkling　on　and　on；　were　the　strains　of　a　Strauss　waltz。　An　insane　mercial　jingle　began　to　run　through　his　mind　to　the　tune：　Buy　dog　food；　rowf…rowf；　rowf…　rowf；　buy　dog　food　。　。　。
　　The　steel　mallet　in　the　clockwork　daddy's　hands　came　down　on　the　boy's　head。
　　The　clockwork　son　crumpled　forward。　The　mallet　rose　and　fell；　rose　and　fell。　The　boy's　upstretched；　protesting　hands　began　to　falter。　The　boy　sagged　from　his　crouch　to　a　prone　position。　And　still　the　hammer　rose　and　fell　to　the　light；　tinkling　air　of　the　Strauss　melody；　and　it　seemed　that　he　could　see　the　man's　face；　working　and　knotting　and　constricting；　could　see　the　clockwork　daddy's　mouth　opening　and　closing　as　he　berated　the　unconscious；　bludgeoned　figure　of　the　son。
　　A　spot　of　red　flew　up　against　the　inside　of　the　glass　dome。
　　Another　followed。　Two　more　splattered　beside　it。
　　Now　the　red　liquid　was　spraying　up　like　an　obscene　rain　shower；　striking　the　glass　sides　of　the　dome　and　running；　obscuring　what　was　going　on　inside；　and　flecked　through　the　scarlet　were　tiny　gray　ribbons　of　tissue；　fragments　of　bone　and　brain。　And　still　he　could　see　the　hammer　rising　and　falling　as　the　clockwork　continued　to　turn　and　the　cogs　continued　to　mesh　the　gears　and　teeth　of　this　cunningly　made　machine。
　　〃Unmask！　Unmask！〃　Derwent　was　shrieking　behind　him；　and　somewhere　a　dog　was　howling　in　human　tones。
　　（But　clockwork　can't　bleed　clockwork　can't　bleed）　The　entire　dome　was　splashed　with　blood；　he　could　see　clotted　bits　of　hair　but　nothing　else　thank　God　he　could　see　nothing　else；　and　still　he　thought　he　would　be　sick　because　he　could　hear　the　hammerblows　still　falling；　could　hear　them　through　the　glass　just　as　he　could　hear　the　phrases　of　〃The　Blue　Danube。〃　But　the　sounds　were　no　longer　the　mechanical　tink…tink…tink　noises　of　a　mechanical　hammer　striking　a　mechanical　head；　but　the　soft　and　squashy　thudding　sounds　of　a　real　hammer　slicing　down　and　whacking　into　a　spongy；　muddy　ruin。　A　ruin　that　once　had　been…
　　〃UNMASK！〃　（…the　Red　Death　held　sway　over　all！）　With　a　miserable；　rising　scream；　he　turned　away　from　the　clock；　his　hands　outstretched；　his　feet　stumbling　against　one　another　like　wooden　blocks　as　he　begged　them　to　stop；　to　take　him；　Danny；　Wendy；　to　take　the　whole　world　if　they　wanted　it；　but　only　to　stop　and　leave　him　a　little　sanity；　a　little　light。
　　The　ballroom　was　empty。
　　The　chairs　with　their　spindly　legs　were　upended　on　tables　covered　with　plastic　dust　drops。　The　red　rug　with　its　golden　tracings　was　back　on　the　dance　floor；　protecting　the　polished　hardwood　surface。　The　bandstand　was　deserted　except　for　a　disassembled　microphone　stand　and　a　dusty　guitar　leaning　stringless　against　the　wall。　Cold　morning　light；　winterlight；　fell　languidly　through　the　high　windows。
　　His　head　was　still　reeling；　he　still　felt　drunk；　but　when　he　turned　back　to　the　mantelpiece；　his　drink　was　gone。　There　were　only　the　ivory　elephants　。　。　。
　　and　the　clock。
　　He　stumbled　back　across　the　cold；　shadowy　lobby　and　through　the　dining　room。
　　His　foot　hooked　around　a　table　leg　and　he　fell　full…length；　upsetting　the　table　with　a　clatter。　He　struck　his　nose　hard　on　the　floor　and　it　began　to　bleed。　He　got　up；　snufing　back　blood　and　wiping　his　nose　with　the　back　of　his　hand。　He　crossed　to　the　Colorado　Lounge　and　shoved　through　the　batwing　doors；　making　them　fly　back　and　bang　into　the　walls。
　　The　place　was　empty　。　。　。　but　the　bar　was　fully　stocked：。　God　be　praised！
　　Glass　and　the　silver　edging　on　labels　glowed　warmly　in　the　dark。
　　Once；　he　remembered；　a　very　long　time　ago；　he　had　been　angry　that　there　was　no　backbar　mirror。　Now　he　was　glad。　Looking　into　it　he　would　have　seen　just　another　drunk　fresh　off　the　wagon：　bloody　nose；　untucked　shirt；　hair　rumpled；　cheeks　stubbly。
　　（This　is　what　it's　like　to　stick　your　whole　hand　into　the　nest。）　Loneliness　surged　over　him　suddenly　and　pletely。　He　cried　out　with　sudden　wretchedness　and　honestly　wished　he　were　dead。　His　wife　and　son　were　upstairs　with　the　door　locked　against　him。　The　others　bad　all　left。　The　party　was　over。
　　He　lurched　forward　again；　reaching　the　bar。
　　〃Lloyd；　where　the　fuck　are　you？〃　he　screamed。
　　There　was　no　answer。　In　this　well…padded　（cell）　room；　his　words　did　not　even　echo　back　to　give　the　illusion　of　pany。
　　〃Grady！〃　No　answer。　Only　the　bottles；　standing　stiffly　at　attention。
　　（Roll　over。　Play　dead。　Fetch。　Play　dead。　Sit　up。　Play　dead。）
　　〃Never　mind；　I'll　do　it　myself；　goddammit。〃　Halfway　over　the　bar　he　lost　his　balance　and　pitched　forward；　hitting　his　head　a　muffled　blow　on　the　floor。　He　got　up　on　his　hands　and　knees；　his　eyeballs　moving　disjointed　from　side　to　side；　fuzzy　muttering　sounds　ing　from　his　mouth。　Then　he　collapsed；　his　face　turned　to　one　side；　breathing　in　harsh　snores。
　　Outside；　the　wind　whooped　louder；　driving　the　thickening　snow　before　it。　It　was　8：30　A。M。
　　　
　　　》
　　STAPLETON　AIRPORT；　DENVER
　　
　　At　8：31　A。M。；　MST；　a　woman　on　TWA's　Flight　196　burst　into　tears　and　began　to　bugle　her　own　opinion；　which　was　perhaps　not　unshared　among　some　of　the　other　passengers　（or　even　the　crew；　for　that　matter）；　that　the　plane　was　going　to　crash。
　　The　sharp…faced　woman　next　to　Hallorann　looked　up　from　her　book　and　offered　a　brief　character　analysis：　〃Ninny；〃　and　went　back　to　her　book。　She　had　downed　two　screwdrivers　during　the　flight；　but　they　seemed　not　to　have　thawed　her　at　all。
　　〃It's　going　to　crash！〃　the　woman　was　crying　out　shrilly。　〃Oh；　I　just　know　it　is！〃　A　stewardess　hurried　to　her　seat　and　squatted　beside　her。　Hallorann　thought　to　himself　that　only　stewardesses　and　very　young　housewives　seemed　able　to　squat　with　any　degree　of　grace；　it　was　a　rare　and　wonderful　talent。　He　thought　about　this　while　the　stewardess　talked　softly　and　soothingly　to　the　woman；　quieting　her　bit　by　bit。
　　Hallorann　didn't　know　about　anyone　else　on　196；　but　he　personally　was　almost　scared　enough　to　shit　peachpits。　Outside　the　window　there　was　nothing　to　be　seen　but　a　buffeting　curtain　of　white。　The　plane　rocked　sickeningly　from　side　to　side　with　gusts　that　seemed　to　e　from　everywhere。　The　engines　were　cranked　up　to　provide　partial　pensation　and　as　a　result　the　floor　was　vibrating　under　their　feet。　There　were　several　people　moaning　in　Tourist　behind　them；　one　stew　had　gone　back　with　a　handful　of　fresh　airsick　bags；　and　a　man　three　rows　in　front　of　Hallorann　had　whoopsed　into　his　National　Observer　and　had　grinned　apologetically　at　the　stewardess　who　came　to　help　him　clean　up。　〃That's　all　right；〃　she　forted　him；　〃that's　how　I　feel　about　the　Reader's　Digest。〃　Hallorann　had　flown　enough　to　be　able　to　surmise　what　had　happened。　They　had　been　flying　against　bad　headwinds　most　of　the　way；　the　weather　over　Denver　had　worsened　suddenly　and　unexpectedly；　and　now　it　was　just　a　little　late　to　divert　for　someplace　where　the　weather　was　better。　Feets　don't　fail　me　now。
　　（Buddy…boy；　this　is　some　fucked…up　cavalry　charge。）　The　stewardess　seemed　to　have　succeeded　in　curbing　the　worst　of　the　woman's　hysterics。　She　was　snuffling　and　honking　into　a　lace　handkerchief；　but　had　ceased　broadcasting　her　opinions　about　the　flight's　possible　conclusion　to　the　cabin　at　large。　The　stew　gave　her　a　final　pat　on　the　shoulder　and　stood　up　just　as　the　747　gave　its　worst　lurch　yet。　The　stewardess　stumbled　backward　and　landed　in　the　lap　of　the　man　who　had　whoopsed　into　his　paper；　exposing　a　lovely　length　of　nyloned　thigh。　The　man　blinked　and　then　patted　her　kindly　on　the　shoulder。
　　She　smiled　back；　but　Hallorann　thought　the　strain　was　showing。　It　had　been　one　hell　of　a　hard　flight　this　morning。
　　There　was　a　little　ping　as　the　No　SMOKING　light　reappeared。
　　〃This　is　the　captain　speaking；〃　a　soft；　slightly　southern　voice　informed　them。
　　〃We're　ready　to　begin　our　descent　to　Stapleton　International　Airport。　It's　been　a　rough　flight；　for　which　I　apologize。　The　landing　may　be　a　bit　rough　also；　but　we　anticipate　no　real　difficulty。　Please　observe　the　FASTEN　SEAT　BELTS　and　NO　SMOKING　signs；　and　we　hope　you　enjoy　your　stay　in　the　Denver　metro　area。　And　we　also　hope…〃　Another　hard　bump　rocked　the　plane　and　then　dropped　her　with　a　sickening　elevator　plunge。　Hallorann's　stomach　did　a　queasy　hornpipe。　Several　people…not　all　women　by　any　means…screamed。
　　〃…that　we'll　see　you　again　on　another　TWA　flight　real　soon。〃
　　〃Not　bloody　likely；〃　someone　behind　Hallorann　said。
　　〃So　silly；〃　the　sharp…faced　woman　next　to　Hallorann　remarked；　putting　a　matchbook　cover　into　her　book　and　shutting　it　as　the　plane　began　to　descend。
　　〃When　one　has　seen　the　horrors　of　a　dirty　little　war　。　。　。　as　you　have　。　。　。　or　sensed　the　degrading　immorality　of　CIA　dollar…diplomacy　intervention　。　。　。　as　I　have　。　。　。　a　rough　landing　pales　into　insignificance。　Am　I　right；　Mr。　Hallorann？
　　〃
　　〃As　rain；　ma'am；〃　he　said；　and　looked　bleakly　out　into　the　wildly　blowing　snow。
　　〃How　is　your　steel　plate　reacting　to　all　of　this；　if　I　might　inquire？〃
　　〃Oh；　my　head's　fine；〃　Hallorann　said。　〃It's　just　my　stomach　that's　a　mite　queasy。〃
　　〃A　shame。〃　She　reopened　her　book。
　　As　they　descended　through　the　impenetrable　clouds　of　snow；　Hallorann　thought　of　a　crash　that　had　occurred　at　Boston's　Logan　Airport　a　few　years　ago。　The　conditions　had　been　similar；　only　fog　instead　of　snow　had　reduced　visibility　to　zero。　The　plane　had　caught　its　undercarriage　on　a　retaining　wall　near　the　end　of　the　landing　strip。　What　had　been　left　of