sk.thegunslinger-第15部分

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peasants。　Their　bodies　were　flat　and　black　against　the　pure　dawnlight　of　the　sky。
For　the　first　time　Roland　felt　the　enormity　of　his　responsibility　in　the　matter；　this　wood　was　not　noble；　not　part　of　the　awesome　machine　of　Civilization；　but　merely　warped　pine　covered　with　splattered　white　bird　droppings。　It　was　splashed　everywhere　　stairs；　railing；　platform　　and　it　stank。
The　boy　turned　to　Cuthbert　with　startled；　terrified　eyes　and　saw　Cuthbert　looking　back　at　him　with　the　same　expression。
〃I　can't；〃　Cuthbert　whispered。　〃I　can't　watch　it。〃
Roland　shook　his　head　slowly。　There　was　a　lesson　here；　he　realized；　not　a　shining　thing　but　something　that　was　old　and　rusty　and　misshapen。　It　was　why　their　fathers　had　let　them　e。　And　with　his　usual　stubborn　and　inarticulate　doggedness；　Roland　laid　mental　hands　on　whatever　it　was。
〃You　can；　Bert。〃
〃I　won't　sleep　tonight〃
〃Then　you　won't；〃　Roland　said；　not　seeing　what　that　had　to　do　with　it
Cuthbert　suddenly　seized　Roland's　hand　and　looked　at　him　with　such　mute　agony　that　Roland's　own　doubt　came　back；　and　he　wished　sickly　that　they　had　never　gone　to　the　west　kitchen　that　night　His　father　had　been　right　Better　every　man；　woman；　and　child　in　Farson　than　this。
But　whatever　the　lesson　was；　rusty；　half…buried　thing；　he　would　not　let　it　go　or　give　up　his　grip　on　it
〃Let's　not　go　up；〃　Cuthbert　said。　〃We've　seen　everything。〃
And　Roland　nodded　reluctantly；　feeling　his　grip　on　that　thing　　whatever　it　was　　weaken。　Cort；　he　knew；　would　have　knocked　them　both　sprawling　and　then　forced　them　up　to　the　platform　step　by　cursing　step　。　。　。　and　sniffing　fresh　blood　back　up　their　noses　as　they　went　Cort　would　probably　have　looped　new　hemp　over　the　yardarm　itself　and　put　the　noose　around　each　of　their　necks　in　turn；　would　have　made　them　stand　on　the　trap　to　feel　it；　and　Cort　would　have　been　ready　to　strike　them　again　if　either　wept　or　lost　control　of　his　bladder。　And　Cort；　of　course；　would　have　been　right　For　the　first　time　in　his　life；　Roland　found　himself　hating　his　own　childhood。　He　wished　for　the　size　and　calluses　and　sureness　of　age。
He　deliberately　pried　a　splinter　from　the　railing　and　placed　it　in　his　breast　pocket　before　turning　away。
〃Why　did　you　do　that？〃　Cuthbert　asked。
He　wished　to　answer　something　swaggering：　Oh；　the　luck　of　the　gallows　。　。　。　but　he　only　looked　at　Cuthbert　and　shook　his　head。　〃Just　so　I'll　have　it；〃　he　said。　〃Always　have　it〃
They　walked　away　from　the　gallows；　sat　down；　and　waited。　In　an　hour　or　so　the　first　of　them　began　to　gather；　mostly　families　who　had　e　in　broken…down　wagons　and　shays；　carrying　their　breakfasts　with　them　　hampers　of　cold　pancakes　folded　over　fillings　of　wild　strawberry　jam。　Roland　felt　his　stomach　growl　hungrily　and　wondered　again；　with　despair；　where　the　honor　and　the　nobility　of　it　was。　It　seemed　to　him　that　Hax　in　his　dirty　whites；　walk…king　around　and　around　his　steaming；　subterranean　kitchen；　had　more　honor　than　this。　He　fingered　the　splinter　from　the　gallows　tree　with　sick　bewilderment　Cuthbert　lay　beside　him　with　his　face　made　impassive。
In　the　end　it　was　not　so　much；　and　Roland　was　glad。　Hax　was　carried　in　an　open　cart；　but　only　his　huge　girth　gave　him　away；　he　had　been　blindfolded　with　a　wide　black　cloth　that　hung　down　over　his　face。　A　few　threw　stones；　but　most　merely　continued　with　their　breakfasts。
A　gunslinger　whom　the　boy　did　not　know　（he　was　glad　his　father　had　not　drawn　the　lot）　led　the　fat　cook　carefully　up　the　steps。　Two　Guards　of　the　Watch　had　gone　ahead　and　stood　on　either　side　of　the　trap。　When　Hax　and　the　gunslinger　reached　the　top；　the　gunslinger　threw　the　noosed　rope　over　the　crosstree　and　then　put　it　over　the　cook's　head；　dropping　the　knot　until　it　lay　just　below　the　left　ear。　The　birds　had　all　flown；　but　Roland　knew　they　were　waiting。
〃Do　you　wish　to　make　confession？〃　the　gunslinger　asked。
〃I　have　nothing　to　confess；〃　Hax　said。　His　words　carried　well；　and　his　voice　was　oddly　dignified　in　spite　of　the　muffle　of　cloth　which　hung　over　his　lips。　The　cloth　ruffled　slightly　in　the　faint；　pleasant　breeze　that　had　blown　up。　〃I　have　not　forgotten　my　father's　face；　it　has　been　with　me　through　all。〃
Roland　glanced　sharply　at　the　crowd　and　was　disturbed　by　what　he　saw　there　　a　sense　of　sympathy？　Perhaps　admiration？　He　would　ask　his　father。　When　traitors　are　called　heroes　（or　heroes　traitors；　he　supposed　in　his　frowning　way）；　dark　times　must　have　fallen。　He　wished　he　understood　better。　His　mind　flashed　to　Cort　and　the　bread　Cort　had　given　them。　He　felt　contempt；　the　day　was　ing　when　Cort　would　serve　him。　Perhaps　not　Cuthbert；　perhaps　Cuthbert　would　buckle　under　Cort's　steady　fire　and　remain　a　page　or　a　horseboy　（or　infinitely　worse；　a　perfumed　diplomat；　dallying　in　receiving　chambers　or　looking　into　bogus　crystal　balls　with　doddering　kings　and　princes）；　but　he　would　not。　He　knew　it。
〃Roland？〃
〃I'm　here。〃　He　took　Cuthbert's　hand；　and　their　fingers　locked　together　like　iron。
The　trap　dropped。　Hax　plummeted　through。　And　in　the　sudden　stillness；　there　was　a　sound：　that　sound　an　exploding　pineknot　makes　on　the　hearth　during　a　cold　winter　night。
But　it　was　not　so　much。　The　cook's　legs　kicked　out　once　in　a　wide　Y；　the　crowd　made　a　satisfied　whistling　noise；　the　Guards　of　the　Watch　dropped　their　military　pose　and　began　to　gather　things　up　negligently。　The　gunslinger　walked　back　down　the　steps　slowly；　mounted　his　horse；　and　rode　off；　cutting　roughly　through　one　gaggle　of　picnickers；　making　them　scurry。
The　crowd　dispersed　rapidly　after　that；　and　in　forty　minutes　the　two　boys　were　left　alone　on　the　small　hill　they　had　chosen。　The　birds　were　returning　to　examine　their　new　prize。　One　lit　on　Hax's　shoulder　and　sat　there　chummily；　darting　its　beak　at　the　bright　and　shiny　hoop　Hax　had　always　worn　in　his　right　ear。
〃It　doesn't　look　like　him　at　all；〃　Cuthbert　said。
〃Oh；　yes；　it　does；〃　Roland　said　confidently　as　they　walked　toward　the　gallows；　the　bread　in　their　hands。　Cuthbert　looked　abashed。
They　paused　beneath　the　crosstree；　looking　up　at　the　dangling；　twisting　body。　Cuthbert　reached　up　and　touched　one　hairy　ankle；　defiantly。　The　body　started　on　a　new；　twisting　arc。
Then；　rapidly；　they　broke　the　bread　and　spread　the　crumbs　beneath　the　dangling　feet。　Roland　looked　back　just　once　as　they　rode　away。　Now　there　were　thousands　of　birds。　The　bread　　he　grasped　this　only　dimly　　was　symbolic；　then。
〃It　was　good；〃　Cuthbert　said　suddenly。　〃It　。　。　。　I　。　。　。　I　liked　it。　I　did。〃
Roland　was　not　shocked　by　this；　although　he　had　not　particularly　cared　for　the　scene。　But　he　thought　he　could　perhaps　understand　it。
〃I　don't　know　about　that；〃　he　said；　〃but　it　was　something。　It　surely　was。〃
The　land　did　not　fall　to　the　good　man　for　another　ten　years；　and　by　that　time　he　was　a　gunslinger；　his　father　was　dead；　he　himself　had　bee　a　matricide　　and　the　world　had　moved　on。
　
III
　
〃Look；　〃　Jake　said；　pointing　upward。
The　gunslinger　looked　up　and　felt　an　obscure　joint　in　his　back　pop。　They　had　been　in　the　foothills　two　days　now；　and　although　the　waterskins　were　almost　empty　again；　it　didn't　matter　now。　There　would　soon　be　all　the　water　they　could　drink。
He　followed　the　vector　of　Jake's　finger　upward；　past　the　rise　of　the　green　plain　to　the　naked　and　flashing　cliffs　and　gorges　above　it　。　。　。　and　on　up　toward　the　snowcap　itself。
Faint　and　far；　nothing　but　a　tiny　dot　（it　might　have　been　one　of　those　motes　that　dance　perpetually　in　front　of　the　eyes；　except　for　its　constancy）；　the　gunslinger　beheld　the　man　in　black；　moving　up　the　slopes　with　deadly　progress；　a　minuscule　fly　on　a　huge　granite　wall。
〃Is　that　him？〃　Jake　asked。
The　gunslinger　looked　at　the　depersonalized　mote　doing　its　faraway　acrobatics；　feeling　nothing　but　a　premonition　of　sorrow。
〃That's　him；　Jake。〃
〃Do　you　think　we'll　catch　him？〃
〃Not　on　this　side。　On　the　other。　And　not　if　we　stand　here　talking　about　it。〃
〃They're　so　high；〃　Jake　said。　〃What's　on　the　other　side？〃
〃I　don't　know；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃I　don't　think　anybody　does。　Maybe　they　did　once。　e　on；　boy。〃
They　began　to　move　upward　again；　sending　small　runnels　of　pebbles　and　sand　down　toward　the　desert　that　washed　away　behind　them　in　a　flat　bake…sheet　that　seemed　to　never　end。　Above　them；　far　above；　the　man　in　black　moved　up　and　up　and　up。　It　was　impossible　to　see　if　he　looked　back。　He　seemed　to　leap　across　impossible　gulfs；　to　scale　sheer　faces。　Once　or　twice　he　disappeared；　but　always　they　saw　him　again；　until　the　violet　curtain　of　dusk　shut　him　out　of　their　view。　When　they　made　their　camp　for　the　evening；　the　boy　spoke　little；　and　the　gunslinger　wondered　if　the　boy　knew　what　he　had　already　intuited。　He　thought　of　Cuthbert's　face；　hot；　dismayed；　excited。　He　thought　of　the　crumbs。　He　thought　of　the　birds。　It　ends　this　way；　he　thought。　Again　and　again　it　ends　this　way。　There　are　quests　and　roads　that　lead　ever　onward；　and　all　of　them　end　in　the　same　place　　upon　the　killing　ground。
Except；　perhaps；　the　road　to　the　Tower。
The　boy；　the　sacrifice；　his　face　innocent　and　very　young　in　the　light　of　their　tiny　fire；　had　fallen　asleep　over　his　beans。　The　gunslinger　covered　him　with　the　horse　blanket　and　then　curled　up　to　sleep　himself。
　
THE　ORACLE　AND　THE　MOUNTAINS
I
The　boy　found　the　oracle　and　it　almost　destroyed　him。
Some　thin　instinct　brought　the　gunslinger　up　from　sleep　to　the　velvet　darkness；　which　had　fallen　on　them　at　dusk　like　a　shroud　of　well　water。　That　had　been　when　he　and　Jake　reached　the　grassy；　nearly　level　oasis　above　the　first　rise　of　tumbled　foothills。　Even　on　the　hardscrabble　below；　where　they　had　toiled　and　fought　for　every　foot　in　the　killer　sun；　they　had　been　able　to　hear　the　sound　of　crickets　rubbing　their　legs　seductively　together　in　the　perpetual　green　of　willow　groves　above　them。　The　gunslinger　remained　calm　in　his　mind；　and　the　boy　had　kept　up　at　least　the　pretense　of　a　facade；　and　that　had　made　the　gunslinger　proud。　But　Jake　hadn't　been　able　to　hide　the　wildness　in　his　eyes；　which　were　white　and　starey；　the　eyes　of　a　horse　scenting　water　and　held　back　from　bolting　only　by　the　tenuous　chain　of　its　master's　mind；　like　a　horse　at　the　point　where　only　understanding；　not　the　spur；　could　hold　it　steady。　The　gunslinger　could　gauge　the　need　in　Jake　by　the　madness　the　sounds　of　the　crickets　bred　in　him。
The　sun　trampled　down　on