th.red dragon-第47部分

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gas；　and　it　did。　The　man　beside　the　van　skipped　backward　to　save　his　feet。
　Dolarhyde　pulled　into　the　parking　lot　of　a　big　motel　near　the　U。S。　270　interchange。　A　school　bus　was　parked　in　the　lot；　the　bell　of　a　tuba　leaning　against　its　back　window。
　Dolarhyde　wondered　if　he　was　supposed　to　get　on　the　bus　with　the　old　people。
　No；　that　wasn't　it；　He　looked　around　for　his　mother's　Packard。
　〃Get　in。　Don't　put　your　feet　on　the　seat；〃　his　mother　said。
　That　wasn't　it　either。
　He　was　in　a　motel　parking　lot　on　the　west　side　of　St。　Louis　and　he　wanted　to　be　able　to　Choose　and　he　couldn't。
　In　six　days；　if　he　could　wait　that　long；　he　would　kill　Reba　McClane。　He　made　a　sudden　high　sound　through　his　nose。
　Maybe　the　Dragon　would　be　willing　to　take　the　Shermans　first　and　wait　another　moon。
　No。　He　wouldn't。
　Reba　McClane　didn't　know　about　the　Dragon。　She　thought　she　was　with　Francis　Dolarhyde。　She　wanted　to　put　her　body　on　Francis　Dolarhyde。　She　weled　Francis　Dolarhyde　in　Grandmother's　bed。
　〃I've　had　a　really　terrific　time；　D。；〃　Reba　McClane　said　in　the　yard。
　Maybe　she　liked　Francis　Dolarhyde。　That　was　a　perverted；　despicable　thing　for　a　woman　to　do。　He　understood　that　he　should　despise　her　for　it；　but　oh　God　it　was　good。
　Reba　McClane　was　guilty　of　liking　Francis　Dolarhyde。　Demonstrably　guilty。
　If　it　weren't　for　the　power　of　his　Being；　if　it　weren't　for　the　Dragon；　he　could　never　have　taken　her　to　his　house。　He　would　not　have　been　capable　of　sex。　Or　would　he？
　〃My　God；　man。　That's　so　sweeeet。〃
　That's　what　she　said。　She　said　〃man。〃
　The　breakfast　crowd　was　ing　out　of　the　motel；　passing　his　van。　Their　idle　glances　walked　on　him　with　many　tiny　feet。
　He　needed　to　think。　He　couldn't　go　home。　He　checked　into　the　motel；　called　his　office　and　reported　himself　sick。　The　room　he　got　was　bland　and　quiet。　The　only　decorations　were　bad　steamboat　prints。　Nothing　glowed　from　the　walls。
　Dolarhyde　lay　down　in　his　clothes。　The　ceiling　had　sparkling　flecks　in　the　plaster。　Every　few　minutes　he　had　to　get　up　and　urinate。　He　shivered；　then　he　sweated。　An　hour　passed。
　He　did　not　want　to　give　Reba　McClane　to　the　Dragon。　He　thought　about　what　the　Dragon　would　do　to　him　if　he　didn't　serve　her　up。
　Intense　fear　es　in　waves；　the　body　can't　stand　it　for　long　at　a　time。　In　the　heavy　calm　between　the　waves；　Dolarhyde　could　think。　How　could　he　keep　from　giving　her　to　the　Dragon？　One　way　kept　nudging　him。　He　got　up。　The　light　switch　clacked　loud　in　the　tiled　bathroom。　Dolarhyde　looked　at　the　shower…curtain　rod；　a　solid　piece　of　one…inch　pipe　bolted　to　the　bathroom　walls。　He　took　down　the　shower　curtain　and　hung　it　over　the　mirror。
　Grasping　the　pipe；　he　chinned　himself　with　one　arm；　his　toes　dragging　up　the　side　of　the　bathtub。　It　was　stout　enough。　His　belt　was　stout　enough　too。　He　could　make　himself　do　it。　He　wasn't　afraid　of　that。
　He　tied　the　end　of　his　belt　around　the　pipe　in　a　bowline　knot。　The　buckle　end　formed　a　noose。　The　thick　belt　didn't　swing；　it　hung　down　in　a　stiff　noose。
　He　sat　on　the　toilet　lid　and　looked　at　it。　He　wouldn't　get　any　drop；　but　he　could　stand　it。　He　could　keep　his　hands　off　the　noose　until　he　was　too　weak　to　raise　his　arms。
　But　how　could　he　be　positive　that　his　death　would　affect　the　Dragon；　now　that　he　and　the　Dragon　were　Two？　Maybe　it　wouldn't。　How　could　he　be　sure　the　Dragon　then　would　leave　her　alone？
　It　might　be　days　before　they　found　his　body。　She　would　wonder　where　he　was。　In　that　time　would　she　go　to　his　house　and　feel　around　for　him？　Go　upstairs　and　feel　around　for　him　and　get　a　surprise？
　The　Great　Red　Dragon　would　take　an　hour　spitting　her　down　the　stairs。
　Should　he　call　her　and　warn　her？　What　could　she　do　against　Him；　even　warned？　Nothing。　She　could　hope　to　die　quickly；　hope　that　in　His　rage　He　would　quickly　bite　deep　enough。
　Upstairs　in　Dolarhyde's　house；　the　Dragon　waited　in　pictures　he　had　framed　with　his　own　hands。　The　Dragon　waited　in　art　books　and　magazines　beyond　number；　rebom　every　time　a　photographer　。　。　。　did　what？　
　Dolarhyde　could　hear　in　his　mind　the　Dragon's　powerful　voice　cursing　Reba。　He　would　curse　her　first；　before　he　bit。　He　would　curse　Dolarhyde　too　…　tell　her　he　was　nothing。
　〃Don't　do　that。　Don't　。　。　。　do　that；〃　Dolarhyde　said　to　the　echoing　tile。　He　listened　to　his　voice；　the　voice　of　Francis　Dolarhyde；　the　voice　that　Reba　McClane　understood　easily；　his　own　voice。　He　had　been　ashamed　of　it　all　his　life；　had　said　bitter　and　vicious　things　to　others　with　it。
　But　he　had　never　heard　the　voice　of　Francis　Dolarhyde　curse　him。
　〃Don't　do　that。〃
　The　voice　he　heard　now　had　never；　ever　cursed　him。　It　had　repeated　the　Dragon's　abuse。　The　memory　shamed　him。
　He　probably　was　not　much　of　a　man；　he　thought。　It　occurred　to　him　that　he　had　never　really　found　out　about　that；　and　now　he　was　curious。
　He　had　one　rag　of　pride　that　Reba　McClane　had　given　him。　It　told　him　dying　in　a　bathroom　was　a　sorry　end。
　What　else？　What　other　way　was　there？
　There　was　a　way　and　when　it　came　to　him　it　was　blasphemy；　he　knew。　But　it　was　a　way。
　He　paced　the　motel　room；　paced　between　the　beds　and　from　the　door　to　the　windows。　As　he　walked　he　practiced　speaking。　The　words　came　out　all　right　if　he　breathed　deep　between　the　sentences　and　didn't　hurry。
　He　could　talk　very　well　between　the　rushes　of　fear。　Now　he　had　a　bad　one；　he　had　one　that　made　him　retch。　A　calm　was　ing　after。　He　waited　for　it　and　when　it　came　he　hurried　to　the　telephone　and　placed　a　call　to　Brooklyn。
　
　#　#　#
　
　A　junior　high　school　band　was　getting　on　the　bus　in　the　motel　parking　lot。　The　children　saw　Dolarhyde　ing。　He　had　to　go　through　them　to　get　to　his　van。
　A　fat；　round…faced　boy　with　his　Sam　Browne　belt　all　crooked　put　on　a　scowl；　puffed　up　his　chest　and　flexed　his　biceps　after　Dolarhyde　passed。　Two　girls　giggled。　The　tuba　blatted　out　the　bus　window　as　Dolarhyde　went　by；　and　he　never　heard　the　laughter　behind　him。
　In　twenty　minutes　he　stopped　the　van　in　the　lane　three　hundred　yards　from　Grandmother's　house。
　He　mopped　his　face；　inhaled　deeply　three　or　four　times。　He　gripped　his　house　key　in　his　left　hand；　the　steering　wheel　with　his　right。
　A　high　keening　sounded　through　his　nose。　And　again；　louder。　Louder；　louder　again。　Go。
　Gravel　showered　behind　the　van　as　it　shot　forward；　the　house　bouncing　bigger　in　the　windshield。　The　van　slid　sideways　into　the　yard　and　Dolarhyde　was　out　of　it；　running。
　Inside；　not　looking　left　or　right；　pounding　down　the　basement　stairs；　fumbling　at　the　padlocked　trunk　in　the　basement；　looking　at　his　keys。
　The　trunk　keys　were　upstairs。　He　didn't　give　himself　time　to　think。　A　high　humming　through　his　nose　as　loud　as　he　could　to　numb　thought；　drown　out　voices　as　he　climbed　the　stairs　at　a　run。
　At　the　bureau　now；　fumbling　in　the　drawer　for　the　keys；　not　looking　at　the　picture　of　the　Dragon　at　the　foot　of　the　bed。
　〃WHAT　ARE　YOU　DOING？〃
　Where　were　the　keys；　where　were　the　keys？
　〃WHAT　ARE　YOU　DOING？　STOP。　I'VE　NEVER　SEEN　A　CHILD　AS　DISGUSTING　AND　DIRTY　AS　YOU。　STOP。〃
　His　searching　hands　slowed。
　〃LOOK　。　。　。　LOOK　AT　ME。〃
　He　gripped　the　edge　of　the　bureau　…　tried　not　to　turn　to　the　wall。　He　cut　his　eyes　painfully　away　as　his　head　turned　in　spite　of　him。
　〃WHAT　ARE　YOU　DOING？〃
　〃nothing。〃
　The　telephone　was　ringing；　telephone　ringing；　telephone　ringing。　He　picked　it　up；　his　back　to　the　picture。
　〃Hey；　D。；　how　are　you　feeling？〃　Reba　MeClane's　voice。　
　He　cleared　his　throat。　〃Okay〃　…　hardly　a　whisper。　
　〃I　tried　to　call　you　down　here。　Your　office　said　you　were　sick　…　you　sound　terrible。〃
　〃Talk　to　me。〃
　〃Of　course　I'll　talk　to　you。　What　do　you　think　I　called　you　for？　What's　wrong？〃
　〃Flu；〃　he　said。
　〃Are　you　going　to　the　doctor？　。　。　。　Hello？　I　said；　are　you　going　to　the　doctor？〃
　〃Talk　loud。〃　He　scrabbled　in　the　drawer；　tried　the　drawer　next　to　it。
　〃Have　we　got　a　bad　connection？　D。；　you　shouldn't　be　there　sick　by　yourself。〃
　〃TELL　HER　TO　E　OVER　TONIGHT　AND　TAKE　CARE　OF　YOU。〃
　Dolarhyde　almost　got　his　hand　over　the　mouthpiece　in　time。
　〃My　God；　what　was　that？　Is　somebody　with　you？〃
　〃The　radio；　I　grabbed　the　wrong　knob。〃
　〃Hey；　D。；　do　you　want　me　to　send　somebody？　You　don't　sound　so　hot。　I'll　e　myself。　I'll　get　Marcia　to　bring　me　at　lunch。〃
　〃No。〃　The　keys　were　under　a　belt　coiled　in　the　drawer。　He　had　them　now。　He　backed　into　the　hall；　carrying　the　telephone。　〃I'm　okay。　I'll　see　you　soon。〃　The　/s/s　nearly　foundered　him。　He　ran　down　the　stairs。　The　phone　cord　jerked　out　of　the　wall　and　the　telephone　tumbled　down　the　stafrs　behind　him。
　A　scream　of　savage　rage。　〃E　HERE　CUNT　FACE。〃
　Down　to　the　basement。　In　the　trunk　beside　his　case　of　dynamite　was　a　small　valise　packed　with　cash；　credit　cards　and　driver's　licenses　in　various　names；　his　pistol；　knife；　and　blackjack。
　He　grabbed　the　valise　and　ran　up　to　the　ground　floor；　quickly　past　the　stairs；　ready　to　fight　if　the　Dragon　came　down　them。　Into　the　van　and　driving　hard；　fishtailing　in　the　gravel　lane。
　He　slowed　on　the　highway　and　pulled　over　to　the　shoulder　to　heave　yellow　bile。　Some　of　the　fear　went　away。
　Proceeding　at　legal　speed；　using　his　flashers　well　ahead　of　turns；　carefully　he　drove　to　the　airport。
　
　
　CHAPTER　39
　
　Dolarhyde　paid　his　taxi　fare　in　front　of　an　apartment　house　on　Eastern　Parkway　two　blocks　from　the　Brooklyn　Museum。　He　walked　the　rest　of　the　way。　Joggers　passed　him；　heading　for　Prospect　Park。　Standing　on　the　traffic　island　near　the　IRT　subway　station；　he　got　a　good　view　of　the　Greek　Revival　building。　He　had　never　seen　the　Brooklyn　Museum　before；　though　he　had　read　its　guidebook　…　he　had　ordered　the　book　when　he　first　saw　〃Brooklyn　Museum〃　in　tiny　letters　beneath　photographs　of　The　Great　Red　Dragon　and　the　Woman　Clothed　with　the　Sun。
　The　names　of　the　great　thinkers　from　Confucius　to　Demosthenes　were　carved　in　stone　above　the　entrance。　It　was　an　imposing　building　with　botanical　gardens　beside　it；　a　fitting　house　for　the　Dragon。
　The　subway　rumbled　beneath　the　street；　tingling　the　soles　of　his　feet。　Stale　air　puffed　from　the　gratings　and　mixed　with　the　smell　of　the　dye　in　his　mustache。
　Only　an　hour　left　before　closing　time。　He　crossed　the　street　and　went　inside。　The　checkroom　attendant　took　his　valise。
　〃W