sk.theplant-第34部分

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　　11：33　A。　M。
　　
　　Iron…Guts　can't　see；　but　he　knows　when　his　enemy　dies…he　feels　the　passage　of　the　son　of　a　bitch's　soul；　and　good　goddam　riddance。　He　staggers　in　the　doorway；　lost　in　a　world　of　black　space　and　streaming　white　dots　like　galaxies。
　　〃Now　what？〃　he　croaks。
　　The　first　thing　is　to　get　away　from　the　gas　the　Designated　Spic　shot　into　his　face。　Hecksler　backs　into　the　hall；　breathing　as　shallowly　as　possible；　and　then　a　voice　speaks　to　him。
　　This　way；　Tony；　it　says　calmly。　Turn　portside。　I'm　going　to　lead　you　out。
　　〃Doug？〃　Hecksler　croaks。
　　Yep。　It's　me；　General　MacArthur　says。　You're　not　exactly　looking　squared　away；　Tony；　but　you're　still　standing　at　the　end　of　the　fight；　and　that's　the　important　thing。　Turn　portside；　now。　Walk　forty　paces；　and　that's　gonna　take　you　to　the　elevator。
　　Iron…Guts　has　lost　his　usually　formidable　sense　of　direction；　but　with　that　voice　to　guide　him；　he　doesn't　need　it。　He　turns　portside；　which　happens　to　be　directly　away　from　the　reception　area　and　the　elevator。　Blind；　now　facing　toward　the　ivy…choked　far　end　of　the　hallway；　he　begins　to　walk；　trailing　one　hand　along　the　wall。　At　first　he　thinks　the　soft　touch　slithering　around　his　shoulders　are　Dougout　Doug's　guiding　hands。　。　。　but　how　can　they　be　so　thin？　How　can　there　be　so　many　fingers？　And　what　is　that　bitter　smell？
　　Then　Zenith　is　winding　itself　around　his　neck；　shutting　off　his　air；　yanking　him　forward　into　its　cannibal　embrace。　Hecksler　tries　to　scream。　Leaf…decked　branches；　slender　but　horribly　strong；　leap　eagerly　into　his　mouth。　One　wraps　around　the　leathery　meat　of　his　tongue　and　yanks　it　out。　Others　thrust　their　way　down　his　elderly　gullet；　anxious　to　sample　the　digestive　stew　of　the　General's　last　meal　（two　doughnuts；　a　cup　of　black　coffee；　and　half　a　roll　of　antacids）。　Zenith　loops　bracelets　of　ivy　around　his　arms　and　thighs。　It　fashions　a　new　belt　around　his　waist。　It　picks　his　pockets；　spilling　out　a　mostly　nonsensical　strew　of　litter：　receipts；　memoranda　to　himself；　a　guitar　pick；　twenty　or　thirty　dollars　in　assorted　change　and　currency；　one　of　the　S&H　stamp…books　in　which　he　wrote　his　dispatches。
　　Anthony　〃Iron…Guts〃　Hecksler　is　pulled　briskly　into　the　jungle　which　now　infests　the　rear　of　the　fifth　floor　with　his　clothes　shredding　and　his　pockets　turned　out；　feeding　the　plant　the　blood　of　insanity；　bringing　it　to　full　life　and　consciousness；　and　here　he　passes　out　of　our　tale　forever。
　　
　　From　John　Kenton's　diary
　　
　　April　4；　1981
　　
　　It's　10：45　P。　M。；　and　I'm　sitting　here　waiting　for　the　phone　to　ring。　I　remember；　not　so　long　ago；　sitting　in　this　same　chair　and　waiting　for　Ruth　to　call；　thinking　that　nothing　could　be　worse　than　being　a　man　in　love　sending　thought…waves　at　the　telephone；　trying　to　make　it　ring。
　　But　this　is　worse。
　　This　is　much　worse。
　　Because　when　the　phone　finally　rings；　what　if　it's　not　Bill　or　Riddley　on　the　other　end　of　the　line？　What　if　it's　some　New　Jersey　cop　who　wants　to　know…
　　No。　I　refuse　to　let　my　mind　run　in　that　direction。　It'll　ring　and　it　will　be　one　of　them。　Or　maybe　Roger；　if　they　call　him　first　and　leave　it　to　him　to　call　me。　But　everything　is　going　to　be　fine。
　　Because　now　we　have　protection。
　　Let　me　go　back　to　when　I　yanked　the　frypan　right　off　the　stove　（which　turned　out　to　be　something　of　a　blessing；　when　I　got　back　to　the　apartment　some　hours　later；　I　discovered　I'd　left　the　burner　on）。　I　grabbed　the　kitchen　table　and　kept　on　my　feet；　and　then　that　goddamned　siren　went　off　in　the　middle　of　my　head。
　　I　don't　know　how　long　it　went　on；　pain　really　does　negate　the　whole　concept　of　time。　Fortunately；　the　reverse　also　seems　to　be　true：　given　time；　even　the　most　horrible　pain　loses　its　immediacy；　and　you　can　no　longer　remember　exactly　how　it　felt。　This　was　bad；　I　know　that　much…like　having　the　most　delicate　tissues　of　your　body　repeatedly　raked　by　some　sharp；　barbed　object。
　　When　it　finally　did　stop；　I　was　cringing　against　the　wall　between　the　kitchen　and　my　bination　living　room/study；　shaking　and　sobbing；　my　cheeks　wet　with　tears　and　my　upper　lip　lathered　with　snot。
　　The　pain　was　gone；　but　the　sense　of　urgency　wasn't。　I　needed　to　get　to　the　office；　and　just　as　fast　as　I　could。　I　was　almost　down　to　the　lobby　of　my　building　when　I　checked　to　see　if　I'd　put　anything　on　my　feet。　As　it　happened；　I'd　found　an　old　pair　of　moccasins。　I　must　have　gotten　them　out　of　the　closet　by　the　TV；　although　I'll　be　damned　if　I　can　remember　that　part。　If　my　feet　had　been　bare；　I'm　not　sure　I　could　have　forced　myself　to　go　back　up　to　the　ninth　floor。　That's　how　strong　that　sense　of　urgency　was。
　　Of　course　I　knew　what　the　siren　in　my　head　had　been；　even　though　I'd　never　been　given　an　actual　demonstration　of　Sandra's　Rainy　Day　Friend；　and　I　suppose　I　knew　what　was　calling　me；　as　well：　our　new　mascot。
　　I　caught　a　taxi　with　no　trouble…thank　God　for　Saturdays…and　the　run　from　my　place　to　Zenith　House　was　a　quick　one。　Bill　Gelb　was　standing　out　in　front；　pacing　back　and　forth　with　one　side　of　his　shirt　untucked　and　hanging　down　over　his　belt；　running　his　hands　back　and　forth　through　his　hair；　which　was　standing　up　in　spikes　and　quills。　He　looked　as　nutty　as　the　old　lady　in　front　of　Smiler's；　and
　　Funny　thought　to　have。　Because　there　was　no　lady　in　front　of　Smiler's；　not　really。　We　know　that　now。
　　I'm　getting　ahead　of　myself　again；　but　it's　hard　to　write　scintillating　prose　when　you　can't　stop　looking　at　the　phone；　willing　the　damned　thing　to　go　off　and　put　an　end　to　the　suspense；　one　way　or　the　other。　But　I'll　try。　I　think　I　must　try。
　　Bill　saw　me　and　raced　over　to　the　cab。　He　started　grabbing　at　my　arm　while　I　was　still　trying　to　pay　the　driver；　pulling　me　onto　the　curb　as　if　I'd　fallen　into　a　shark…infested　pool。　I　dropped　some　coins　and　started　to　bend　over。
　　〃Leave　em；　for　Christ　sake；　leave　em！〃　he　barked。　〃Have　you　got　your　office　keys？　I　left　mine　on　the　bureau　at　home。　I　was　out　for　a。　。　。〃　Out　for　a　walk　was　what　he　meant　to　say；　but　instead　of　finishing　he　gave　a　kind　of　out…of…breath；　screamy　laugh。　A　woman　passing　us　gave　him　a　hard　look　and　hurried　on　a　little　faster。　〃Oh　shit；　you　know　what　I　was　doing。〃
　　Indeed　I　did。　He'd　been　shooting　craps　in　Central　Park；　but　he'd　left　the　majority　of　his　cash　on　his　bureau　（along　with　his　office　keyring）　because　he　had　other　plans　for　it。　I　could　have　gotten　the　other　plans；　too；　if　I'd　wanted　to　look；　but　I　didn't。　One　thing　was　obvious：　the　telepathic　range　of　the　plant　has　gotten　stronger。　A　lot。
　　We　started　for　the　door；　and　just　then　another　cab　pulled　up。　Herb　Porter　got　out；　redder　in　the　face　than　I'd　ever　seen　him。　The　man　looked　like　a　stroke　waiting　to　happen。　I'd　never　seen　him　in　bluejeans；　either；　or　with　his　shirt　misbuttoned　so　it　bloused　out　on　one　side。　Also；　it　was　sticking　to　his　body　and　his　hair　（what　little　of　it　there　is；　he　keeps　it　cropped　short）　was　wet。
　　〃I　was　in　the　goddam　shower；　okay？〃　he　said。　〃e　on。〃
　　We　went　to　the　door　and　I　managed　to　get　my　key　in　the　slot　after　three　pokes。　My　hand　was　shaking　so　badly　I　had　to　grasp　my　wrist　with　the　other　one　to　hold　it　steady。　At　least　there　was　no　weekend　security　guy　in　the　lobby　to　worry　about。　I　suppose　that　particular　paranoid　virus　will　work　its　way　down　Park　Avenue　South　eventually；　but　for　the　time　being；　building　management　still　assumes　that　if　you've　got　the　right　set　of　keys；　you　must　be　in　the　right　place。
　　We　got　in　through　the　door　and　then　Herb　stopped；　holding　my　upper　arm　with　one　hand　and　Bill's　with　the　other。　A　daffy；　goony　smile　was　surfacing　on　his　face；　where　his　plexion　had　begun　to　subside　to　a　more　normal　pink。
　　〃He's　dead；　you　guys。　He　wasn't　before；　but　he　is　now。　Ding…dong；　the　General's　dead！〃　And　to　my　total　amazement；　Herb　Porter；　the　Barry　Goldwater　of　490　Park　Avenue　South；　actually　raised　his　hands；　began　snapping　his　fingers；　and　did　a　little　Mexican　hat…dance　step。
　　〃You're　sick；　Herb；〃　Bill　said。
　　〃He's　also　right；〃　I　said。　〃The　General's　dead　and　so's…〃
　　There　came　a　clattery；　disorganized　knocking　on　the　street　door。　It　made　us　all　jump　and　clutch　each　other。　We　must　have　looked　like　Dorothy　and　her　friends　on　the　Yellow　Brick　Road；　faced　with　some　new　danger。
　　〃Let　go　of　me；　both　of　you；〃　Bill　said。　〃It's　just　the　boss。〃
　　It　was　indeed　Roger；　hammering　on　the　door　and　peering　in　at　us；　with　the　tip　of　his　nose　squished　into　a　little　white　dime　against　the　glass。　Bill　let　him　in。　Roger　joined　us。　He　also　looked　as　if　someone　had　lit　him　on　fire　and　then　blown　him　out；　but　at　least　he　was　dressed；　socks　and　all。　Probably　he　was　on　his　way　out；　anyway。
　　〃Where's　Sandra？〃　was　the　first　thing　he　asked。
　　〃She　was　going　to　Cony　Island；〃　Herb　said。　His　color　was　ing　back；　and　I　realized　he　was　blushing。　It　was　sort　of　cute；　in　a　ponderous　way。　〃She　might　well　turn　up；　though。〃　He　paused。　〃If　it　carried　that　far。　The　telepathy　thing；　I　mean。〃　He　looked　almost　timid；　an　expression　I　never　expected　to　see　on　Herb's　face。　〃What　do　you　guys　think？〃
　　〃I　think　it　might　have；〃　Roger　said。　〃That　was　her　gadget　that　went　off　in　our　heads；　wasn't　it？　The　Dark　and　Stormy　Night　whatsit。〃　I　nodded。　So　did　Bill　and　Herb。
　　Roger　took　a　deep　breath；　held　it；　then　let　it　out。　〃e　on；　let's　see　what　kind　of　a　mess　we're　in。〃　He　paused。　〃And　whether　or　not　we　can　get　out　of　it。〃
　　The　elevator　seemed　to　take　forever。　None　of　us　said　anything；　not　out　loud；　anyway；　and　when　I　discovered　I　could　turn　off　the　run　of　their　thoughts；　I　did　so。　Hearing　all　those　muttering　voices　twined　together　in　the　middle　of　your　head　is　distressing。　I　suppose　that　now　I　know　how　schizophrenics　must　feel。
　　When　the　door　opened　on　the　fifth　floor　and　the　smell　hit　us；　we　all　winced。　Not　in　distaste；　but　in　surprise。　〃Oh　man；〃　Herb　said。　〃All　the　way　out　here　in　the　fucking　hall。　Do　you　suppose　anyone　else　could　smell　it？　I　mean；　anyone　else　but　us？〃
　　Roger　shook　his　head　and　started　toward　the　Zenith　offices；　walking　with　his　hands　rolled　into　fists。　He　stopped　outside　the　office　door。　〃Which　of　you　has　the　key？　Because　I　left　mine　at　home。〃
　　I　was　rummaging　for　them　in　my　pocket　when　Bill　stepped　forward　and