sk.theshining-第9部分

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　radio　turned　up；　and　some　disco　group　chanted　over　and　over　again；　talismanic　in　the　house　before　dawn：　Do　it　anyway　。　。　。　you　wanta　do　it　。
　　。　。　do　it　anyway　you　want　。　。　。　No　matter　how　loud　he　heard　the　squealing　tires；　the　crash。　When　he　blinked　his　eyes　shut；　he　saw　that　single　crushed　wheel　with　its　broken　spokes　pointing　at　the　sky。
　　When　he　got　in；　Wendy　was　asleep　on　the　couch。　He　looked　in　Danny's　room　and　Danny　was　in　his　crib　on　his　back；　sleeping　deeply；　his　arm　still　buried　in　the　cast。　In　the　softly　filtered　glow　from　the　streetlight　outside　he　could　see　the　dark　lines　on　its　plastered　whiteness　where　all　the　doctors　and　nurses　in　pediatrics　had　signed　it。
　　It　was　an　accident。　He　fell　down　the　stairs。
　　（o　you　dirty　liar）　It　was　an　accident。　l　lost　my　temper。
　　（you　fucking　drunken　waste　god　wiped　snot　out　of　his　nose　and　that　was　you）　Listen；　hey；　e　on；　please；　just　an　accident…　But　the　last　plea　was　driven　away　by　the　image　of　that　bobbing　flashlight　as　they　hunted　through　the　dry　late　November　weeds；　looking　for　the　sprawled　body　that　by　all　good　rights　should　have　been　there；　waiting　for　the　police。　It　didn't　matter　that　Al　had　been　driving。　There　had　been　other　nights　when　he　had　been　driving。
　　He　pulled　the　covers　up　over　Danny；　went　into　their　bedroom；　and　took　the　Spanish　Llama　。38　down　from　the　top　shelf　of　the　closet。　It　was　in　a　shoe　box。
　　He　sat　on　the　bed　with　it　for　nearly　an　hour；　looking　at　it；　fascinated　by　its　deadly　shine。
　　It　was　dawn　when　he　put　it　back　in　the　box　and　put　the　box　back　in　the　closet。
　　That　morning　he　had　called　Bruckner；　the　department　head；　and　told　him　to　please　post　his　classes。　He　had　the　flu。　Bruckner　agreed；　with　less　good　grace　than　was　mon。　Jack　Torrance　had　been　extremely　susceptible　to　the　flu　in　the　last　year。
　　Wendy　made　him　scrambled　eggs　and　coffee。　They　ate　in　silence。　The　only　sound　came　from　the　back　yard；　where　Danny　was　gleefully　running　his　trucks　across　the　sand　pile　with　his　good　hand。
　　She　went　to　do　the　dishes。　Her　back　to　him；　she　said：　〃Jack。　I've　been　thinking。〃
　　〃Have　you？〃　He　lit　a　cigarette　with　trembling　hands。　No　hangover　this　morning；　oddly　enough。　Only　the　shakes。　He　blinked。　In　the　instant's　darkness　the　bike　flew　up　against　the　windshield；　starring　the　glass。　The　tires　shrieked。　The　flashlight　bobbed。
　　〃I　want　to　talk　to　you　about　。　。　。　about　what's　best　for　me　and　Danny。　For　you　too；　maybe。　I　don't　know。　We　should　have　talked　about　it　before；　I　guess。〃
　　〃Would　you　do　something　for　me？〃　he　asked；　looking　at　the　wavering　tip　of　his　cigarette。　〃Would　you　do　me　a　favor？〃
　　〃What？〃　Her　voice　was　dull　and　neutral。　He　looked　at　her　back。
　　〃Let's　talk　about　it　a　week　from　today。　If　you　still　want　to。。；　Now　she　turned　to　him；　her　hands　lacy　with　suds；　her　pretty　face　pale　and　disillusioned。　〃Jack；　promises　don't　work　with　you。　You　just　go　right　on　with…〃　She　stopped；　looking　in　his　eyes；　fascinated；　suddenly　uncertain。
　　〃In　a　week；〃　he　said。　His　voice　had　lost　all　its　strength　and　dropped　to　a　whisper。　〃Please。　I'm　not　promising　anything。　If　you　still　want　to　talk　then；　we'll　talk。　About　anything　you　want。〃　They　looked　across　the　sunny　kitchen　at　each　other　for　a　long　time；　and　when　she　turned　back　to　the　dishes　without　saying　anything　more；　he　began　to　shudder。
　　God；　he　needed　a　drink。　Just　a　little　pick…me…up　to　put　things　in　their　true　perspective…
　　〃Danny　said　he　dreamed　you　had　a　car　accident；〃　she　said　abruptly。　〃He　has　funny　dreams　sometimes。　He　said　it　this　morning；　when　I　got　him　dressed。　Did　you；　Jack？　Did　you　have　an　accident？〃
　　〃No。〃　By　noon　the　craving　for　a　drink　had　bee　a　low…grade　fever。　He　went　to　Al's。
　　〃You　dry？〃　Al　asked　before　letting　him　in。　Al　looked　horrible。
　　〃Bone　dry。　You　look　like　Lon　Chaney　in　Phantom　of　the　Opera。〃
　　〃e　on　in。〃　They　played　two…handed　whist　all　afternoon。　They　didn't　drink。
　　A　week　passed。　He　and　Wendy　didn't　speak　much。　But　he　knew　she　was　watching；　not　believing。　He　drank　coffee　black　and　endless　cans　of　Coca…Cola。　One　night　he　drank　a　whole　six…pack　of　Coke　and　then　ran　into　the　bathroom　and　vomited　it　up。
　　The　level　of　the　bottles　in　the　liquor　cabinet　did　not　go　down。　After　his　classes　he　went　over　to　Al　Shockley's…she　hated　Al　Shockley　worse　than　she　had　ever　hated　anyone…and　when　he　came　home　she　would　swear　she　smelled　scotch　or　gin　on　his　breath；　but　he　would　talk　lucidly　to　her　before　supper；　drink　coffee；　play　with　Danny　after　supper；　sharing　a　Coke　with　him；　read　him　a　bedtime　story；　then　sit　and　correct　themes　with　cup　after　cup　of　black　coffee　by　his　hand；　and　she　would　have　to　admit　to　herself　that　she　had　been　wrong。
　　Weeks　passed　and　the　unspoken　word　retreated　further　from　the　back　of　her　lips。　Jack　sensed　its　retirement　but　knew　it　would　never　retire　pletely。
　　Things　began　to　get　a　little　easier。　Then　George　Hatfield。　He　had　lost　his　temper　again；　this　time　stone　sober。
　　〃Sir；　your　party　still　doesn't…〃
　　〃Hello？〃　Al's　voice；　out　of　breath。
　　〃Go　ahead；〃　the　operator　said　dourly。
　　〃Al；　this　is　Jack　Torrance。〃
　　〃Jacky…boy！〃　Genuine　pleasure。　〃How　are　you？〃
　　〃Good。　I　just　called　to　say　thanks。　I　got　the　job。　It's　perfect。　If　I　can't　finish　that　goddam　play　snowed　in　all　winter；　I'll　never　finish　it。〃
　　〃You'll　finish。〃
　　〃How　are　things？〃　Jack　asked　hesitantly。
　　〃Dry；〃　Al　responded。　〃You？〃
　　〃As　a　bone。〃
　　〃Miss　it　much？〃
　　〃Every　day。〃　Al　laughed。　〃I　know　that　scene。　But　I　don't　know　how　you　stayed　dry　after　that　Hatfield　thing；　Jack。　That　was　above　and　beyond。〃
　　〃I　really　bitched　things　up　for　myself；〃　he　said　evenly。
　　〃Oh；　hell。　I'll　have　the　Board　around　by　spring。　Effinger's　already　saying　they　might　have　been　too　hasty。　And　if　that　play　es　to　something…〃
　　〃Yes。　Listen；　my　boy's　out　in　the　car；　Al。　He　looks　like　he　might　be　getting　restless…〃
　　〃Sure。　Understand。　You　have　a　good　winter　up　there；　Jack。　Glad　to　help。〃
　　〃Thanks　again；　Al。〃　He　hung　up；　closed　his　eyes　in　the　hot　booth；　and　again　saw　the　crashing　bike；　the　bobbing　flashlight。　There　had　been　a　squib　in　the　paper　the　next　day；　no　more　than　a　space…filler　really；　but　the　owner　had　not　been　named。　Why　it　had　been　out　there　in　the　night　would　always　be　a　mystery　to　them；　and　perhaps　that　was　as　it　should　be。
　　He　went　back　out　to　the　car　and　gave　Danny　his　slightly　melted　Baby　Ruth。
　　〃Daddy？〃
　　〃What；　doc？〃　Danny　hesitated；　looking　at　his　father's　abstracted　face。
　　〃When　I　was　waiting　for　you　to　e　back　from　that　hotel；　I　had　a　bad　dream。
　　Do　you　remember？　When　I　fell　asleep？〃
　　〃Um…hm。〃　But　it　was　no　good。　Daddy's　mind　was　someplace　else；　not　with　him。　Thinking　about　the　Bad　Thing　again。
　　（I　dreamed　that　you　hurt　me；　Daddy）
　　〃What　was　the　dream；　doc？〃
　　〃Nothing；〃　Danny　said　as　they　pulled　out　into　the　parking　lot。　He　put　the　maps　back　into　the　glove　partment。
　　〃You　sure？〃
　　〃Yes。〃　Jack　gave　his　son　a　faint；　troubled　glance；　and　then　his　mind　turned　to　his　play。
　　　
　　　》
　　NIGHT　THOUGHTS
　　
　　Love　was　over；　and　her　man　was　sleeping　beside　her。
　　Her　man。
　　She　smiled　a　little　in　the　darkness；　his　seed　still　trickling　with　slow　warmth　from　between　her　slightly　parted　thighs；　and　her　smile　was　both　rueful　and　pleased；　because　the　phrase　her　man　summoned　up　a　hundred　feelings。　Each　feeling　examined　alone　was　a　bewilderment。　Together；　in　this　darkness　floating　to　sleep；　they　were　like　a　distant　blues　tune　heard　in　an　almost　deserted　night　club；　melancholy　but　pleasing。
　　
　　Lovin'　you　baby；　is　just　like　rollin'　off　a　log；　But　if　I　can't　be　your　woman；　I　sure　ain't　goin'　to　be　your　dog。
　　
　　Had　that　been　Billie　Holiday？　Or　someone　more　prosaic　like　Peggy　Lee？　Didn't　matter。　It　was　low　and　torchy；　and　in　the　silence　of　her　head　it　played　mellowly；　as　if　issuing　from　one　of　those　old…fashioned　jukeboxes；　a　Wurlitzer；　perhaps；　half　an　hour　before　closing。
　　Now；　moving　away　from　her　consciousness；　she　wondered　how　many　beds　she　had　slept　in　with　this　man　beside　her。　They　had　met　in　college　and　had　first　made　love　in　his　apartment　。　。　。　that　had　been　less　than　three　months　after　her　mother　drove　her　from　the　house；　told　her　never　to　e　back；　that　if　she　wanted　to　go　somewhere　she　could　go　to　her　father　since　she　had　been　responsible　for　the　divorce。　That　bad　been　in　1970。　So　long　ago？　A　semester　later　they　had　moved　in　together；　had　found　jobs　for　the　summer；　and　had　kept　the　apartment　when　their　senior　year　began。　She　remembered　that　bed　the　most　clearly；　a　big　double　that　sagged　in　the　middle。　When　they　made　love；　the　rusty　box　spring　had　counted　the　beats。　That　fall　she　had　finally　managed　to　break　from　her　mother。　Jack　had　helped　her。　She　wants　to　keep　beating　you；　Jack　had　said。　The　more　times　you　phone　her；　the　more　times　you　crawl　back　begging　forgiveness；　the　more　she　can　beat　you　with　your　father。　It's　good　for　her；　Wendy；　because　she　can　go　on　making　believe　it　was　your　fault。　But　it's　not　good　for　you。　They　had　talked　it　over　again　and　again　in　that　bed；　that　year。
　　（Jack　sitting　up　with　the　covers　pooled　around　his　waist；　a　cigarette　burning　between　his　fingers；　looking　her　in　the　eye…he　had　a　half…humorous；　half…　scowling　way　of　doing　that…telling　her：　She　told　you　never　to　e　back；　right？
　　Never　to　darken　her　door　again；　right？　Then　why　doesn't　she　hang　up　the　phone　when　she　knows　it's　you？　Why　does　she　only　tell　you　that　you　can't　e　in　if　I'm　with　you？　Because　she　thinks　I　might　cramp　her　style　a　little　bit。　She　wants　to　keep　putting　the　thumbscrews　right　to　you；　baby。　You're　a　fool　if　you　keep　letting　her　do　it。　She　told　you　never　to　e　back；　so　why　don't　you　take　her　at　her　word？　Give　it　a　rest。　And　at　last　she'd　seen　it　his　way。）　It　had　been　Jack's　idea　to　separate　for　a　while…to　get　perspective　on　the　relationship；　he　said。　She　had　been　afraid　he　had　bee　interested　in　someone　else。　Later　she　found　it　wasn't　so。　They　were　together　again　in　the　spring　and　he　asked　her　if　she　had　been　to　see　her　father。　She　had　jumped　as　if　he'd　struck　her　with　a　quirt。
　　How　did　you　know　that？
　　The　Shadow　knows。
　　Have　you　been　spying　on　me？
　　And　his　impatient　laughter；　which　had　always　made