thunter.fearloathinglasvegas-第9部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


d　thinking；　this　time；　that　he　would　finally　get　over　the　top。　His　eyes　were　gripped　shut　and　only　his　head　and　both　kneecaps　poked　up　through　the　oily　green　water。
　　I　let　the　song　build　while　I　sorted　through　the　pile　of　fat　ripe　grapefruit　next　to　the　basin。　The　biggest　one　of　the　lot　weighed　almost　two　pounds。　I　got　a　good　Vida　Blue　faitball　grip　on　the　fucker…and　just　as　〃Whit。　Rabbit〃　peaked　Ilashed　it　into　the　tub　like　a　cannonball。
　　My　attorney　screamed　crazily；　thrashing　around　in　the　tub　like　a　shark　after　meat；　churning　water　all　over　the　floor　as　he　struggled　to　get　hold　of　something。
　　I　jerked　the　AC　cord　out　of　the　tape/radio　and　moved　out　of　the　bathroom　very　quickly。。。the　machine　kept　on　playing；　but　now　it　was　back　on　its　own　harmless　battery　power。　I　could　hear　the　beat　cooling　down　as　I　moved　across　the　room　to　my　kitbag　and　fetched　up　the　Mace　can。。。just　as　my　attorney　ripped　the　bathroom　door　open　and　started　out。　His　eyes　were　still　unfocused；　but　he　was　waving　the　blade　out　in　front　of　him　like　a　man　who　meant　to　cut　something。
　　〃Mace！〃　I　shouted。　〃You　want　this？〃　I　waved　the　Mace　bomb　in　front　of　his　watery　eyes。
　　He　stopped；　〃You　bastard！〃　he　hissed。　〃You'd　do　that；　wouldn't　you？〃　I　laughed；　still　waving　the　bomb　at　him。　〃Why　worry？　You'll　like　it。　Shit；　there's　nothing　in　the　world　like　a　Mace　high…forty…five　minutes　on　your　knees　with　the　dry　heaves；　gasping　for　breath。　It'll　calm　you　right　down。〃　He　stared　in　my　general　direction；　trying　to　focus。　〃You　cheap　honky　sonofabitch；〃　he　muttered。　〃You'd　do　it；　wouldn't　you？〃
　　〃Why　not？〃　I　said。　〃Hell；　just　a　minute　ago　you　were　asking　me　to　kilt　you！　And　now　you　want　to　kill　me！　What　I　should　do；　goddamn　it；　is　call　the　police！〃　He　sagged。　〃The　cops？〃　I　nodded。　〃Yeah；　there's　no　choice。　I　wouldn't　dare　go　to　sleep　with　you　wandering　around　in　this　condition…with　a　head　full　of　acid　and　wanting　to　slice　me　up　with　that　god…damn　knife。〃　He　rolled　his　eyes　for　a　moment；　then　tried　to　smile。　〃Who　said　anything　about　slicing　you　up？〃　he　mumbled。　I　just　wanted　to　carve　a　little　Z　on　your　forehead…nothing　serious。〃　He　shrugged　and　reached　for　a　cigarette　of　the　TV　set；　I　menaced　him　again　with　the　Mace　can。　〃Get　back　in　that　tub；〃　I　said。　〃Eat　some　reds　and　try　to　calm　down。　Smoke　some　grass；　shoot　some　smack…shit；　dowhatever　you　have　to　do；　but　let　me　get　some　rest。〃　He　shrugged　and　smiled　distractedly；　as　if　everything　I'd　said　made　perfect　sense。
　　〃Hell　yes；〃　he　said　very　earnestly。　〃You　really　need　some　sleep。　You　have　towork　tomorrow。〃　He　shook　his　head　sadly　and　turned　back　toward　the　bathroom。　〃God　damn！　What　a　bummer。〃　He　waved　me　off。　〃Try　to　rest；〃　he　said。〃Don't　let　me　keep　you　up。〃　I　nodded；　and　watched　him　shuffle　back　into　the　bathroom…still　holding　the　blade；　but　now　he　seemed　unaware　of　it。　The　acid　had　shifted　gears　on　him；　the　next　phase　would　probably　be　one　of　those　hellishly　intense　introspection　night　mares。　Four　hours　or　so　of　catatonic　despair；　but　nothing　physical；　nothing　dangerous。　I　watched　the　door　close　behind　him；　then　I　quietly　slid　a　heavy；　sharp…angled　chair　up　in　front　of　the　bathroom　knob　and　put　the　Mace　can　beside　the　alarm　clock。
　　The　room　was　very　quiet。　I　walked　over　to　the　TV　set　and　turned　it　on　to　a　dead　channel…white　noise　at　maximum　decibels；　a　fine　sound　for　sleeping；　a　powerful　continuous　hiss　to　drown　out　everything　strange。
　　
　　　8。　〃Genius　'Round　the　Wand　Stands　Hand　in　Hand；　and　One　Shock　of　Recognition　Runs　the　Whole　Circle　'Round〃　…　Art　LinkIetter
　　
　　I　live　in　a　quiet　place；　where　any　sound　at　night　means　some　thing　is　about　to　happen：　You　e　awake　fast…thinking；　what　does　that　mean？
　　Usually　nothing。　But　sometimes。。。it's　hard　to　adjust　to　a　city　gig　where　the　night　is　full　of　sounds；　all　of　them　fortably　routine。　Cars；　horns；　footsteps　。。。　no　way　to　relax；　so　drown　it　all　out　with　the　fine　white　drone　of　a　cross　…　eyed　TV　set。　Jam　the　bugger　between　channels　and　doze　off　nicely。
　　
　　Ignore　that　nightmare　in　the　bathroom。　Just　another　ugly　refugee　from　the　Love　Generation；　some　doom…struck　gimp　who　couldn't　handle　the　pressure。　My　attorney　has　never　been　able　to　accept　the　notion…often　espoused　by　reformed　drug　abusers　and　especially　popular　among　those　on　probation…that　you　can　get　a　lot　higher　without　drugs　than　with　them。
　　And　neither　have　I；　for　that　matter。　But　I　once　lived　down　the　hill　from　Dr。…on　…Road；　Names　deleted　at　insistence　of　publisher's　lawyer）　a　former　acid　guru　who　later　claimed　to　have　made　that　long　jump　from　chemical　frenzy　to　preternatural　consciousness。　One　fine　afternoon　in　the　first　rising　curl　of　what　would　soon　bee　the　Great　San　Francisco　Acid　Wave　I　stopped　by　the　Good　Doctor's　house　with　the　idea　of　asking　him　（since　he　was　even　then　a　known　drug　authority）　what　sort　of　advice　he　might　have　for　a　neighbor　with　a　healthy　curiosity　about　LSD。
　　I　parked　on　the　road　and　lumbered　up　his　gravel　driveway；　pausing　enroute　to　wave　pleasantly　at　his　wife；　who　was　working　out　in　the　graden。。。pruning　carrots；　or　whatever。。。humming　while　she　works；　some　tune　I　fail　to　recognize。
　　Humming。　Yes。。。but　it　would　be　nearly　ten　years　before　I　would　recognize　that　sound　for　what　it　was：　like　Ginsberg　far　gone　in　the　Om；…was　trying　to　humm　me　off。　That　was　no　old　lady　out　there　in　that　garden；　it　was　the　good　doctor　himself…and　his　humming　was　a　frantic　attempt　to　block　me　out　of　his　higher　consciousness。
　　I　made　several　attempts　to　make　myself　clear：　Just　a　neighbor　e　to　call　and　ask　the　doctor's　advice　about　gobbling　some　LSD　in　my　shack　just　down　the　hill　from　his　house。　I　did；　after　all；　have　weapons。　And　I　liked　to　shoot　them…especially　at　night；　when　the　great　blue　flame　would　leap　out；　along　with　all　that　noise。。。and；　yes；　the　bullets；　too。　We　couldn't　ignore　that。　Big　balls　of　lead/alloy　flying　around　the　valley　at　speeds　up　to　3700　feet　per　second。
　　But　I　always　fired　into　the　nearest　hill　or；　failing　that；　into　blackness。　I　meant　no　harm；　I　just　liked　the　explosions。　And　I　was　careful　never　to　kill　more　than　I　could　eat。
　　〃Kill？〃　I　realized　I　could　never　properly　explain　that　word　to　this　creature　toiling　here　in　its　garden。　Had　it　ever　eaten　meat？　Could　it　conjugate　the　verb　〃hunt？〃　Did　it　understand　hunger？　Or　grasp　the　awful　fact　that　my　ine　averaged　around　32　a　week　that　year？
　　No。。。no　hope　of　munication　in　this　place。　I　recognized　that…but　not　soon　enough　to　keep　the　drug　doctor　from　humming　me　all　the　way　down　his　driveway　and　into　my　car　and　down　the　mountain　road。　Forget　LSD；　I　thought。　Look　what　it's　done　to　that　poor　bastard。
　　So　I　stuck　with　hash　and　rum　for　another　six　months　or　so；　until　I　moved　into　San　Francisco　and　found　myself　one　night；　in　a　place　called　〃The　Fillmore　Auditorium。〃　And　that　was　that。　One　grey　lump　of　sugar；　and　BOOM。　In　my　mind　I　was　right　back　there　in　the　doctor's　garden。　Not　on　the　surface；　but　underneath　…　poking　up　through　that　finely　cultivated　earth　like　some　kind　of　mutant　mushroom。　A　victim　of　the　Drug　Explosion。　A　natural　street　freak；　just　eating　whatever　came　by。　I　recall　one　night；　in　the　Matrix；　when　a　road…person　came　in　with　a　big　pack　on　his　back；　shouting：　〃Anybody　want　some　L。。。S。。。D。。。？　I　got　all　the　makin's　right　here。　All　I　need　is　a　place　to　cook。〃　The　manager　was　on　him　at　once；　mumbling；　〃Cool　it；　cool　it；　e　on　back　to　the　office。〃　I　never　saw　him　after　that　night；　but　before　he　was　taken　away；　the　road…person　distributed　his　samples。　Huge　white　spansules。　I　went　into　the　men's　room　to　eat　mine。　But　only　half　at　first；　I　thought。　Good　thinking；　but　a　hard　thing　to　acplish　under　the　circumstances。　I　ate　the　first　half；　but　spilled　the　rest　on　the　sleeve　of　my　red　Pendleton　shirt。。。And　then；　wondering　what　to　do　with　it；　I　saw　one　of　the　musicians　e　in。　〃What's　the　trouble；〃　he　said。
　　〃Well；〃　I　said。　〃All　this　white　stuff　on　my　sleeve　is　LSD。〃　He　said　nothing：　Merely　grabbed　my　arm　and　began　sucking　on　it。　A　very　gross　tableau。　I　wondered　what　would　happen　if　some　Kingston　Trio/young　stockbroker　type　might　wander　in　and　catch　us　in　the　act。　Fuck　him；　I　thought。　With　a　bit　of　luck；　it'll　ruin　his　life…forever　thinking　that　just　be…hind　some　narrow　door　in　all　his　favorite　bars；　men　in　red　Pendleton　shirts　are　getting　incredible　kicks　from　things　he'll　never　know。　Would　he　dare　to　suck　a　sleeve？　Probably　not。　Play　it　safe。　Pretend　you　never　saw　it。
　　
　　Strange　memories　on　this　nervous　night　in　Las　Vegas。　Five　years　later？　Six？　It　seems　like　a　lifetime；　or　at　least　a　Main　Era…the　kind　of　peak　that　never　es　again。　San　Francisco　in　the　middle　sixties　was　a　very　special　time　and　place　to　be　a　part　of。　Maybe　it　meant　something。　Maybe　not；　in　the　long　run　。　。　。　but　no　explanation；　no　mix　of　words　or　music　or　memories　can　touch　that　sense　of　knowing　that　you　were　here　and　alive　in　that　corner　of　time　and　the　world。　Whatever　it　meant。。。。
　　History　is　hard　to　know；　because　of　all　the　hired　bullshit；　but　even　without　being　sure　of　〃history〃　it　seems　entirely　reasonable　to　think　that　every　now　and　then　the　energy　of　a　whole　generation　es　to　a　head　in　a　long　fine　flash；　for　reasons　that　nobody　really　understands　at　the　time…and　which　never　explain；　in　retrospect；　what　actually　happened。My　central　memory　of　that　time　seems　to　hang　on　one　or　five　or　maybe　forty　nights…or　very　early　mornings…when　I　left　the　Fillmore　half…crazy　and；　instead　of　going　home；　aimed　the　big　650　Lightning　across　the　Bay　Bridge　at　a　hundred　miles　an　hour　wearing　L。　L。　Bean　shorts　and　a　Butte　sheepherder's　jacket。。。booming　through　the　Treasure　Island　tunnel　at　the　lights　of　Oakland　and　Berkeley　and　Richmond；　not　quite　sure　which　turn…off　to　take　when　I　got　to　the　other　end　（always　stalling　at　the　toll…gate；　too　twisted　to　find　neutral　while　I　fumbled　for　change）。。。but　being　absolutely　certain　that　no　matter　which　way　I　went　I　would　e　to　a　place　where　people　were　just　as　high　and　wild　as　I　was：　No　doubt　at　all　about　that。　。There　was　madness　in　any　direction；　at　any　hour。　If　not　across　the　Bay；　then　up　the　Golden　Gate　or　down　101　to　Los　Altos　or　La　Honda。。。。You　could　strike　sparks　anywhere。　There　was　a　fantastic　universal　sense　that　whatever　we　were　doing　was　right；　that　we　were　winning。And　that；