sk.thegunslinger-第17部分

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〃I　want　you　to　stay　right　here　while　I'm　gone。　And　if　you　feel　strange　　funny　in　any　way　　you　pick　up　this　bone　and　hold　it　in　your　hands。〃
Hate　and　disgust　crossed　Jake's　face；　mixed　with　bewilderment。　〃I　couldn't。　I　。　。　。　I　just　couldn't〃
〃You　can。　You　may　have　to。　Especially　after　midday。　It's　important。　Dig？〃
〃Why　do　you　have　to　go　away？〃　Jake　burst　out。
〃I　just　do。〃
The　gunslinger　caught　another　fascinating　glimpse　of　the　steel　that　lay　under　the　boy's　surface；　as　enigmatic　as　the　story　he　had　told　about　ing　from　a　city　where　the　buildings　were　so　tall　they　actually　scraped　the　sky。
〃All　right；〃　Jake　said。
The　gunslinger　laid　the　jawbone　carefully　on　the　ground　next　to　the　ruins　of　the　fire；　where　it　grinned　up　through　the　grass　like　some　eroded　fossil　that　has　seen　the　light　of　day　after　a　night　of　five　thousand　years。　Jake　would　not　look　at　it　His　face　was　pale　and　miserable。　The　gunslinger　wondered　if　it　would　profit　them　for　him　to　put　the　boy　to　sleep　and　question　him；　but　he　decided　there　would　be　little　gain。　He　knew　well　enough　that　the　spirit　of　the　stone　circle　was　surely　a　demon；　and　very　likely　an　oracle　as　well。　A　demon　with　no　shape；　only　a　kind　of　unformed　sexual　glare　with　the　eye　of　prophecy。　He　wondered　sardonically　if　it　might　not　be　the　soul　of　Sylvia　Pittston；　the　giant　woman　whose　religious　huckstering　had　led　to　the　final　showdown　in　Tull。。。　but　knew　it　was　not。　The　stones　in　the　circle　had　been　ancient；　this　particular　demon's　territory　staked　out　long　before　the　earliest　shade　of　pre…history。　But　the　gunslinger　knew　the　forms　of　speaking　quite　well　and　did　not　think　the　boy　would　h
The　gunslinger　opened　his　tobacco　poke　and　pawed　through　it；　pushing　the　dry　strands　of　leaf　aside　until　he　came　to　a　minuscule　object　wrapped　in　a　fragment　of　white　paper。　He　hefted　it　in　his　hand；　looking　absently　up　at　the　sky。　Then　he　unwrapped　it　and　held　the　contents　　a　tiny　white　pill　with　edges　that　had　been　much　worn　with　traveling　　in　his　hand。
Jake　looked　at　it　curiously。　〃What's　that？〃
The　gunslinger　uttered　a　short　laugh。　〃The　philosopher's　stone；〃　he　said。　〃The　story　that　Cort　used　to　tell　us　was　that　the　Old　Gods　pissed　over　the　desert　and　made　mescaline。〃
Jake　only　looked　puzzled。
〃A　drug；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃But　not　one　that　puts　you　to　sleep。　One　that　wakes　you　up　all　the　way　for　a　little　while。〃
〃Like　LSD；〃　the　boy　agreed　instantly　and　then　looked　puzzled。
〃What's　that？〃
〃I　don't　know；〃　Jake　said。　〃It　just　popped　out　I　think　it　came　from。。。　you　know；　before。〃
The　gunslinger　nodded；　but　he　was　doubtful。　He　had　never　heard　of　mescaline　referred　to　as　LSD；　not　even　in　Marten's　old　books。
〃Will　it　hurt　you？〃　Jake　asked。
〃It　never　has；〃　the　gunslinger　said；　conscious　of　the　evasion。
〃I　don't　like　it〃
〃Never　mind。〃
The　gunslinger　squatted　in　front　of　the　waterskin；　took　a　mouthful；　and　swallowed　the　pill。　As　always；　he　felt　an　immediate　reaction　in　his　mouth；　it　seemed　overloaded　with　saliva。　He　sat　down　before　the　dead　fire。
〃When　does　something　happen　to　you？〃　Jake　asked。
〃Not　for　a　little　while。　Be　quiet。〃
So　Jake　was　quiet；　watching　with　open　suspicion　as　the　gunslinger　went　calmly　about　the　ritual　of　cleaning　his　guns。
He　reholstered　them　and　said；　〃Your　shirt；　Jake。　Take　it　off　and　give　it　to　me。〃
Jake　pulled　his　faded　shirt　reluctantly　over　his　head　and　gave　it　to　the　gunslinger。
The　gunslinger　produced　a　needle　that　had　been　threaded　into　the　side…seam　of　his　jeans；　and　thread　from　an　empty　cartridge…loop　in　his　gunbelt　He　began　to　sew　up　a　long　rip　in　one　of　the　sleeves　of　the　boy's　shirt。　As　he　finished　and　handed　the　shirt　back；　he　felt　the　mesc　beginning　to　take　hold　　there　was　a　tightening　in　his　stomach　and　a　feeling　that　all　the　muscles　in　his　body　were　being　cranked　up　a　notch。
〃I　have　to　go；〃　he　said；　getting　up。
The　boy　half　rose；　his　face　a　shadow　of　concern；　and　then　he　settled　back。　〃Be　careful；〃　he　said。　〃Please。〃
〃Remember　the　jawbone；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　He　put　his　hand　on　Jake's　head　as　he　went　by　and　touseled　the　corn…colored　hair。　The　gesture　startled　him　into　a　short　laugh。　Jake　watched　after　him　with　a　troubled　smile　until　he　was　gone　into　the　willow　jungle。
The　gunslinger　walked　deliberately　toward　the　circle　of　stones；　pausing　once　to　get　a　cool　drink　from　the　spring。　He　could　see　his　own　reflection　in　a　tiny　pool　edged　with　moss　and　lilypads；　and　he　looked　at　himself　for　a　moment；　as　fascinated　as　Narcissus。　The　mind…reaction　was　beginning　to　settle　in；　slowing　down　his　chain　of　thought　by　seeming　to　increase　the　connotations　of　every　idea　and　every　bit　of　sensory　input。　Things　began　to　take　on　weight　and　thickness　that　had　been　heretofore　invisible。　He　paused；　getting　to　his　feet　again；　and　looked　through　the　tangled　snarl　of　willows。　Sunlight　slanted　through　in　a　golden；　dusty　bar；　and　he　watched　the　interplay　of　motes　and　tiny　flying　things　for　a　moment　before　going　on。
The　drug　often　had　disturbed　him：　his　ego　was　too　strong　（or　perhaps　just　too　simple）　to　enjoy　being　eclipsed　and　peeled　back；　made　a　target　for　more　sensitive　emotions
　they　tickled　at　him　like　a　cat's　whiskers。　But　this　time　he　felt　fairly　calm。　That　was　good。
He　stepped　into　the　clearing　and　walked　straight　into　the　circle。　He　stood；　letting　his　mind　run　free。　Yes；　it　was　ing　harder　now；　faster。　The　grass　screamed　green　at　him；　it　seemed　that　if　he　bent　over　and　rubbed　his　hands　in　it　he　would　stand　up　with　green　paint　all　over　his　fingers　and　palms。　He　resisted　a　puckish　urge　to　try　the　experiment
But　there　was　no　voice　from　the　oracle。　No　sexual　stirring。
He　went　to　the　altar；　stood　beside　it　for　a　moment　coherent　thought　was　now　almost　impossible。　His　teeth　felt　strange　in　his　head。　The　world　held　too　much　light。　He　climbed　up　on　the　altar　and　lay　back。　His　mind　was　being　a　jungle　full　of　strange　thought…plants　that　he　had　never　seen　or　suspected　before；　a　willow…jungle　that　had　grown　up　around　a　mescaline　spring。　The　sky　was　water　and　he　hung　suspended　over　it　The　thought　gave　him　a　vertigo　that　seemed　faraway　and　unimportant。
A　line　of　old　poetry　occurred　to　him；　not　a　nursery　verse　now；　no；　his　mother　had　feared　the　drugs　and　the　necessity　of　them　（as　she　had　feared　Cort　and　the　necessity　for　this　beater　of　boys）；　this　verse　came　from　one　of　the　Dens　to　the　north　of　the　desert；　where　men　still　lived　among　the　machines　that　usually　didn't　work。。。　and　which　sometimes　ate　the　men　when　they　did。　The　lines　played　again　and　again；　reminding　him　（in　an　unconnected　way　that　was　typical　of　the　mescaline　rush）　of　snow　falling　in　a　globe　he　had　owned　as　a　child；　mystic　and　half　fantastical：
Beyond　the　reach　of　human　range
A　drop　of　hell；　a　touch　of　strange。。。
The　trees　which　overhung　the　altar　contained　faces。　He　watched　them　with　abstracted　fascination：　Here　was　a　dragon；　green　and　twitching。　Here　a　wood…nymph　with　beckoning　branch　arms。　Here　a　living　skull　overgrown　with　slime。　Faces。　Faces。
The　grasses　of　the　clearing　suddenly　whipped　and　bent
I　e。
I　e。
Vague　stirrings　within　his　flesh。　How　far　I　have　e；　he　thought　From　couching　with　Susan　in　sweet　hay　to　this。　She　pressed　over　him；　a　body　made　of　the　wind；　a　breast　of　sudden　fragrant　jasmine；　rose；　and　honeysuckle。
〃Make　your　prophecy；〃　he　said。　His　mouth　felt　full　of　metal。
A　sigh。　A　faint　sound　of　weeping。　The　gunslinger's　genitals　felt　drawn　and　hard。　Over　him　and　beyond　the　faces　in　the　leaves；　he　could　see　the　mountains　　hard　and　brutal　and　full　of　teeth。
The　body　moved　against　him；　struggled　with　him。　He　felt　his　hands　curl　into　fists。　She　had　sent　him　a　vision　of　Susan。　It　was　Susan　above　him；　lovely　Susan　at　the　window；　waiting　for　him　with　her　hair　spilled　down　her　back　and　over　her　shoulders。　He　tossed　his　head；　but　her　face　followed。
Jasmine；　rose；　honeysuckle；　old　hay。。；　the　smell　of　love。　Love　me。
〃Speak　prophecy；〃　he　said。
Please；　the　oracle　wept。　Don't　be　cold。　It　is　always　so　cold　here　Hands　slipping　over　his　flesh；　manipulating；　lighting　him　on　fire。　Pulling　him。　Drawing。　A　black　crevice。　The　ultimate　wanton。　Wet　and　warm　No。　Dry。　Cold。　Sterile。
Have　a　touch　of　mercy；　gunslinger。　Ah；　please；　I　beg　your　favor！　Mercy！
Would　you　have　mercy　on　the　boy？
What　boy？　I　know　no　boy。　It's　not　boys　I　need。　O　please。　Jasmine；　rose；　honeysuckle。　Dry　hay　with　its　ghost　of　summer　clover。　Oil　decanted　from　ancient　urns。　A　riot　for　flesh。
〃After；〃　he　said。
Now。　Please。　Now。
He　let　his　mind　coil　out　at　her；　the　antithesis　of　emotion。　The　body　that　hung　over　him　froze　and　seemed　to　scream。
There　was　a　brief；　vicious　tug…of…war　between　his　temples　　his　mind　was　the　rope；　gray　and　fibrous。　For　long　moments　there　was　no　sound　but　the　quiet　hush　of　his　breathing　and　the　faint　breeze　which　made　the　green　faces　in　the　trees　shift；　wink；　and　grimace。　No　bird　sang。
Her　hold　loosened。　Again　there　was　the　sound　of　sobbing。　It　would　have　to　be　quick；　or　she　would　leave　him。　To　stay　now　meant　attenuation；　perhaps　her　own　kind　of　death。　Already　he　felt　her　drawing　away　to　leave　the　circle　of　stones。　Wind　rippled　the　grass　in　tortured　patterns。
〃Prophecy；〃　he　said　　a　bleak　noun。
A　weeping；　tired　sigh。　He　could　almost　have　granted　the　mercy　she　begged；　but　　there　was　Jake。　He　would　have　found　Jake　dead　or　insane　if　he　had　been　any　later　last　night
Sleep；　then。
〃No。〃
Then　half…sleep。
The　gunslinger　turned　his　eyes　up　to　the　faces　in　the　leaves。　A　play　was　being　enacted　there　for　his　amusement　Worlds　rose　and　fell　before　him。　Empires　were　built　across　shining　sands　where　forever　machines　toiled　in　abstract　electronic　frenzies。　Empires　declined　and　fell。　Wheels　that　had　spun　like　silent　liquid　moved　more　slowly；　began　to　squeak；　began　to　scream；　stopped。　Sand　choked　the　stainless　steel　gutters　of　concentric　streets　below　dark　skies　full　of　stars　like　beds　of　cold　jewels。　And　through　it　all；　a　dying　wind　of　change　blew；　bringing　with　it　the　cinnamon　smell　of　late　October。　The　gunslinger　watched　as　the　world　moved　on。
And　half…slept
Three。　This　is　the　number　of　your　fate。
Three？
Yes；　three　is　mystic。　Three　stands　at　the　heart　of　the　mantra。
Which　three？
'We　see　in　part；　and　thus　is　the　mirror　of　prophecy　darkened。'
Tell　me　what　you　can。
The　first　is　young；　dark…haired。　He　stands　on　the　brink　of　robbery　and　murder。　A　d