sk.thegunslinger-第31部分

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etter　time　to　study　romantic　poetry　than　in　one's　sophomore　year？）。　Most　of　the　other　poems　had　fallen　out　of　my　consciousness　in　the　period　between；　but　that　one；　gorgeous　and　rich　and　inexplicable；　remained。。；　and　it　remains　still。　That　poem　was　〃Childe　Roland；〃　by　Robert　Browning。
I　had　played　with　the　idea　of　trying　a　long　romantic　novel　embodying　the　feel；　if　not　the　exact　sense；　of　the　Browning　poem。　Play　was　as　far　as　things　had　gone　because　I　had　too　many　other　things　to　write　　poems　of　my　own；　short　stories；　newspaper　columns；　God　knows　what。
But　during　that　spring　semester；　a　sort　of　hush　fell　over　my　previously　busy　creative　life　not　a　writer's　block；　but　a　sense　that　it　was　time　to　stop　goofing　around　with　a　pick　and　shovel　and　get　behind　the　controls　of　one　big　great　God　a'　mighty　steam　shovel；　a　sense　that　it　was　time　to　try　and　dig　something　big　out　of　the　sand；　even　if　the　effort　turned　out　to　be　an　abysmal　failure。
And　so；　one　night　in　March　of　1970；　I　found　myself　sitting　at　my　old　office…model　Underwood　with　the　chipped　'm'　and　the　flying　capital　'O'　and　writing　the　words　that　begin　this　story：　The　man　in　black/led　across　the　desert　and　the　gun…slinger　followed。
In　the　years　since　I　typed　that　sentence；　with　Johnny　Winter　on　the　stereo　not　quite　masking　the　sound　of　melting　snow　running　downhill　outside；　I　have　started　to　go　gray；　I　have　begotten　children；　I　have　buried　my　mother；　I　have　gone　on　drugs　and　gone　off　them；　and　I've　learned　a　few　things　about　myself　　some　of　them　rueful；　some　of　them　unpleasant；　most　of　them　just　plain　funny。　As　the　gunslinger　himself　would　probably　point　out；　the　world　has　moved　on。
But　I've　never　pletely　left　the　gunslinger's　world　in　all　that　time。　The　thick　green　paper　got　lost　somewhere　along　the　way；　but　I　still　have　the　original　forty　or　so　pages　of　typescript；　prising　the　sections　titled　〃The　Gunslinger〃　and　〃The　Way　Station。〃　It　was　replaced　by　a　more　legitimate…looking　paper；　but　I　remember　those　funny　green　sheets　with　more　affection　than　I　could　ever　convey　in　words。　I　came　back　to　the　gunslinger's　world　when　Salem's　Lot　was　going　badly　（〃The　Oracle　and　the　Mountains〃）　and　wrote　of　the　boy　Jake's　sad　ending　not　long　after　I　had　seen　another　boy；　Danny　Torrance；　escape　another　bad　place　in　The　Shining　In　fact；　the　only　time　when　my　thoughts　did　not　turn　at　least　occasionally　to　the　gunslinger's　dry　and　yet　somehow　gorgeous　world　（at　least　it　has　always　seemed　gorgeous　to　me）　was　when　I　was　inhabiting　another　that　seemed　every　bit　as　real　　the　post…apocalypse　world　of　The　Stand。　The　final　segment　presented　here；　〃The　Gunslinger　and　the　Man　in　Black；〃　was　written　less　than　eighteen　months　ago；　in　western　Maine。
I　believe　that　I　probably　owe　readers　who　have　e　this　far　with　me　some　sort　of　synopsis　（〃the　argument；〃　those　great　old　romantic　poets　would　have　called　it）　of　what　is　to　e；　since　I'll　almost　surely　die　before　pleting　the　entire　novel。。；　or　epic。。。　or　whatever　you'd　call　it。　The　sad　fact　is　that　I　can't　really　do　that。　People　who　know　me　understand　that　I　am　not　an　intellectual　ball　of　fire；　and　people　who　have　read　my　work　with　some　critical　approval　（there　are　a　few；　I　bribe　them）　would　probably　agree　that　the　best　of　my　stuff　has　e　more　from　the　heart　than　from　the　head。。。　or　from　the　gut；　which　is　the　place　from　which　the　strongest　emotional　writing　originates。
All　of　which　is　just　a　way　of　saying　that　I'm　never　pletely　sure　where　I'm　going；　and　in　this　story　that　is　even　more　true　than　usual。　I　know　from　Roland's　vision　near　the　end　that　his　world　is　indeed　moving　on　because　Roland's　universe　exists　within　a　single　molecule　of　a　weed　dying　in　some　cosmic　vacant　lot　（I　think　I　probably　got　this　idea　from　Clifford　D。　Simak's　Ring　Around　the　Sun；　please　don't　sue　me；　Cliff！）；　and　I　know　that　the　drawing　involves　calling　three　people　from　our　own　world　（as　Jake　himself　was　called　by　the　man　in　black）　who　will　join　Roland　in　his　quest　for　the　Dark　Tower　I　know　that　because　segments　of　the　second　cycle　of　stories　（called　〃The　Drawing　of　the　Three〃）　have　already　been　written。
But　what　of　the　gunslinger's　murky　past？　God；　I　know　so　little。　The　revolution　that　topples　the　gunslinger's　〃world　of　light〃？　I　don't　know。　Roland's　final　confrontation　with　Marten；　who　seduces　his　mother　and　kills　his　father？　Don't　know。　The　deaths　of　Roland's　patriots；　Cuthbert　and　Jamie；　or　his　adventures　during　the　years　between　his　ing　of　age　and　his　first　appearance　to　us　in　the　desert？
I　don't　know　that；　either。　And　there's　this　girl；　Susan。　Who　is　she？　Don't　know。
Except　somewhere　inside；　I　do。　Somewhere　inside　I　know　all　of　those　things；　and　there　is　no　need　of　an　argument；　or　a　synopsis；　or　an　outline　（outlines　are　the　last　resource　of　bad　fiction　writers　who　wish　to　God　they　were　writing　masters'　theses）。　When　it's　time；　those　things　and　their　relevance　to　the　gunslinger's　questwill　roll　out　as　naturally　as　tears　or　laughter。　And　if　they　never　get　around　to　rolling　out；　well；　as　Confucius　once　said；　five　hundred　million　Red　Chinese　don't　give　a　shit。
I　do　know　this：　at　some　point；　at　some　magic　time；　there　will　be　a　purple　evening　（an　evening　made　for　romance！）　when　Roland　will　e　to　his　dark　tower；　and　approach　it；　winding　his　horn。。；　and　if　I　should　ever　get　there；　you'll　be　the　first　to　know。
Stephen　King
Bangor；　Maine



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