js&cs.thebridge-第33部分

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　　〃And　hold　my　hand？〃
　　You　bet。
　　〃Okay。〃　The　word　was　a　whisper。
　　She　closed　her　eyes。
　　Breathing　first；　he　said；　and　she　immediately　applied　the　technique：　slow；　deep；　and　thorough　breaths；　massaging　oxygen　into　tension…constricted　tissue。
　　Identify　the　points　of　stress；　he　continued。　Don't　proceed　until　you've　worked　them　through。　She　felt　herself　nod；　though　her　body　was　still。　Felt　herself　from　the　inside。
　　In　full　body　awareness。
　　First；　the　head：　exploring　the　streamers　of　agitation　draped　across　her　brow；　strung　taut　from　temple　to　temple　and　around　the　backs　of　her　eyes。　She　could　visualize　the　musculature　embracing　the　skull；　pinpoint　in　minutiae　the　fault　lines　of　distress。　Some　of　them　were　shifting；　less　than　temporal：　neurotic　phantom　twinges；　playing　mischievous；　humorless　pranks。
　　But　then　there　were　other；　more　persuasive　pains：　sometimes　encroaching；　sometimes　receding；　but　ever…persistent　and　consistent　enough　to　convince　her　of　their　genuine　existence。　Like　the　dull　Chiclet…sized　whum　of　pain　in　her　temple；　for　example。　She'd　never　figured　out　what　it　meant；　but　she'd　felt　it　enough　to　believe　in　it。
　　That's　right；　he　told　her。　Listen　to　your　body。　It　will　lie　and　confuse　you　as　much　as　it　can；　but　its　job　is　to　tell　you　the　truth。　If　you　probe　each　response；　without　backing　away；　you　will　find　yourself　there。
　　At　the　essence。
　　Spreading　out　over　and　in　through　the　body；　reaching　through　feet　and　hands。　Reading　the　knots　in　her　shoulders　and　back；　like　exotic　coral　reef　formations。　Isolating　not　only　the　stress　points；　but　also　the　vast　expanses　of　hard…won　healthiness　within　her。
　　Quietly；　methodically；　Micki　circled　in。
　　On　the　source　of　both　her　life　。。。
　　。。。　and　her　pain　。。。
　　　a　vision　deep　at　the　womancore　root　of　her　being　a　fertile　fecund　tropical　rainforest　of　spirit　lush　with　diversity　poly…　and　pantheistic　multifaceted　vision　of　a　pagan　wonderland　in　which　all　things　might　grow　reinforcing　encouraging　enabling　life　abiding　all　things　except　there　was　a　problem　and　it　was　the　seed
　　
　　Micki　breathed　deeply；　unconsciously　pausing。　She　always　did　at　this　point；　her　awareness　teetering　as　if　at　the　tip　of　the　continental　shelf。　She　was　up　at　the　invisible　line　of　demarcation　that　marked　the　darker　side　of　her　soul。
　　It　was　time　to　go　over　the　edge。
　　　and　it　was　the　seed　that　lay　dormant　inside　her　dormant　but　waiting　buried　but　never　forgotten　no　way　to　forget　the　black　undying　gem　nestled　in　her　belly　like　a　watermelon　seed　a　hard　flat　cutting　wedge　held　at　bay　by　therapy　and　sheerest　force　of　will　driving　it　back　refusing　it　purchase　pressing　its　essence　in　self…defense　no　possible　promise　with　the　killing　thing　that　knows　no　bounds　no　possible　deal　with　the　one　life　form　that　knows　not　how　to　coexist　corrupting　health　debasing　shape　overwhelming　and　devouring　the　garden　no　deal　with　the　cancer　that　poisons　the　well　no　path　but　resistance　containment　benign　transmutation　eternal　vigilance　unshakeable　love　affirmation　of　life　plete　and　mitted　to　healing　no　other　choice　but　death　and　worse　no　other　choice　at　all
　　
　　The　double　doors　whammed　open；　slapping　Micki　out　of　her　trance。　She　looked　up；　stunned；　at　the　entourage。
　　As　they　hustled　the　blue…faced　woman　in。
　　She　was　on　a　gurney；　moving　fast；　and　the　orderly　that　pushed　it　looked　utterly　wired。　He　had　the　kind　of　face　that　looked　like　it　didn't　wire　easy；　and　that　just　made　it　worse。
　　But　not　as　bad　as　the　man　beside　them：　the　wet…faced；　dead…eyed；　blubbering　man　that　kept　pace　with　the　gurney。　He　was；　Micki　guessed；　the　woman's　husband；　and　he　looked　like　he'd　just　been　served　up　a　plate　of　his　own　intestines。
　　Because　the　woman　on　the　gurney　was　death…rattling　foam；　glazed　eyes　sightless　in　her　cyanotic　face。　She　twitched　once；　twice　as　she　passed　before　Micki。　Involuntary　spasms。
　　And　her　belly　was　huge。
　　〃Oh；　God；〃　Micki　whispered　as　they　rumbled　past；　near…colliding　with　Melissa　at　the　nurse's　station。　〃Oh；　God；〃　as　a　pair　of　nurses…now　wired　as　well…led　the　charge　to　the　nearest　room。　〃Please　don't　let　Gwen　hear　about　this。〃
　　As　the　door　slammed　shut　behind　them。
　　
　　The　woman's　name　was　Pat　Holtzaple。　She　was　thirty…two　years　old。　Her　due　date　was　the　same　as　her　birthday：　November　25th。　The　day　after　tomorrow。
　　The　first　contraction　had　hit　not　more　than　three　minutes　into　the　Eagles　game。　Tim　had　invited　a　bunch　of　the　guys　over。　Lucky；　lucky。　Instant　baby…sitters；　for　the　price　of　a　case　of　Old　Milwaukee　and　a　couple　of　pepperoni　pizzas。　As　with　her　last　four　deliveries；　the　contractions　came　on　sudden　and　straight　to　the　point。　They　were　of　to　the　hospital　at　once。
　　It　was　warm　outside；　and　Pat　needed　the　air；　so　she　cracked　her　window　and　moaned　into　the　slipstream。　Tim　was　doing　sixty　in　a　residential　zone。
　　They　were　on　Rathton　Road；　less　than　an　eighth　of　a　mile　from　Labor　Hall；　when　the　wasp　blew　in　the　window　crack　and　stung　her　in　the　shoulder。
　　Admissions　had　been　insane。　A　lot　of　people　were　there　with　bizarro　plaints：　their　bushes　attacked　them；　or　their　three…headed　cat。　Pat's　condition；　on　the　other　hand；　was　clear。　Even　though　she　was　utterly；　uncharacteristically　spaced；　that　could　have　been　explained　any　number　of　ways。
　　And　she　swore　up　and　down　she　wasn't　allergic　to　wasps。
　　Anaphylactic　shock　didn't　strike　until　they　were　in　the　elevator。　Her　skin　went　red　and　itchy　and　hot　in　the　space　of　a　single　contraction。　By　the　time　the　doors　opened　on　Four；　she　was　violently　coughing；　her　heart　rate　going　triple…time。
　　By　the　time　they　hit　Maternity；　she　was　barely　breathing　at　all。
　　The　RN's　went　into　Code　Blue　at　once：　calling　her　doctor　while　they　jammed　tubes　up　her　nose　and　injected　her　with　atropine。　No　go。　Her　final　contraction　had　far　less　to　do　with　birth　than　death。
　　Tim　had　to　leave　the　room　when　they　cut　her　open　to　rescue　the　baby。　He　didn't　miss　much。　Just　a　little　more　heartbreak。
　　The　baby　was　also　blue。
　　
　　〃Goddamm　it！〃　Micki　spat；　slamming　the　receiver　down。　For　the　eighty…seventh　time；　the　'PAL　line　was　busy。　The　little　she　knew　about　Pat　Holtzaple　was　enough　to　make　her　nerves　tripwire。
　　Relax；　Bob…Ramtha　said。
　　〃Yeah；　right；〃　she　hissed。　〃Relax；　my　ass。〃
　　The　situation　is　not　yours　to　control。
　　〃And　that's　supposed　to　make　me　feel　better？　Christ；　Bobba　。。。　！〃
　　Wait；　he　said；　and　turned　her　around。　Melissa　motioned　her　hither；　from　Gwen's　doorway。　The　nurse's　face　was　calculatedly　neutral。
　　The　clock　said　ten　after　two。
　　
　　
　　　Twenty…Nine
　　　
　　The　Mt。　Rose　Amoco　Shop　'N'　Go　got　its　first　real　whiff　of　hell　at　eleven　after　two。
　　It　came　in　the　form　of　a　tan　Arrow　van；　with　a　bumper　sticker　that　read　CAUTION：　IN　CASE　OF　RAPTURE；　THIS　VEHICLE　WILL　VACATE　WITHOUT　WARNING。　Jennie　Quirez　wouldn't　even　have　noticed　it　pulling　into　the　lot；　were　it　not　for　the　way　it　wavered　on　its　way　to　the　gas　island：　wobbly　as　a　newborn　colt；　unsteady　on　its　balding　whitewall　tires。
　　Drunk　driver　was　her　first　guess；　though　the　bumper　sticker　would　have　seemed　to　belie　that　charge。　（Like　you　couldn't　be　a　drunk　who　believed　in　the　Rapture。　Like；　for　example；　her　papa　had　been。）　Her　second　guess　was　senior　citizen。　Neither　one　was　on　the　mark。
　　Sunday　afternoons　at　the　Shop　'N'　Go　were　notoriously　slow；　low…key　affairs；　but　today　was　a　notable　exception。　A　near…continuous　dribble　of　customers　had　graced　her　presence　all　day　long；　and　she'd　had　to　face　the　fact　that；　barring　a　surprise　visit　from　Mr。　Truck；　they'd　be　out　of　the　eighty…seven　octane　within　the　hour。
　　In　fact；　she　was　just　writing　up　the　little　OUT　OF　SERVICE　signs　when　the　van　pulled　up　at　the　number　two　pump；　lurched　abruptly　to　a　halt。　Its　cargo　area　was　packed　to　overflowing；　as　if　it　had　been　packed　for　an　extremely　long　vacation。　If　so；　it　was　certainly　off　to　a　wonderful　start。
　　From　her　seat　at　the　register；　Jennie　had　an　unobstructed　view　of　the　screaming　family　within：　three　little　towheads；　crying　in　the　back；　pretty　young　Mom　in　the　shotgun　seat；　clutching　a　baby…sized　bundle　to　her　breast　and　crying；　too。
　　Last；　of　course；　was　dear　old　Dad：　huge；　stoop…shouldered　and　hollering　from　his　place　behind　the　wheel。　The　sight　pushed　all　of　her　damaged；　dysfunctional　family　buttons　at　once。　The　contents　of　his　dissertation　were　hidden；　but　the　dynamics　were　unmistakable。　What　an　asshole；　she　thought；　her　contempt　instantaneous。
　　Then　he　threw　open　the　door；　staggered　rapidly　for　the　pump。
　　And　her　first　impression　radically　changed。
　　Jesus　God。　Suddenly　alarmed。　What　happened　to　you？　Even　from　fifteen　yards　away；　the　unhealthy　sheen　of　his　overwhite　plexion　was　impossible　to　miss。　He　moved　painfully；　like　he　might　keel　over　at　any　second；　from　the　hurried；　hitching　gait　of　his　bearlike　body　to　the　unnatural　pallor　of　his　face；　everything　about　him　looked　terribly　wrong。
　　He　wasn't　even　dressed　like　a　man　on　vacation。　He　was　dressed　like　a　guy　who'd　been　puttering　around　the　house：　dirty　jeans；　an　oil…stained　work　shirt。　His　pants　were　soggy　and　stained；　as　if　he'd　fallen　into　something　vile。
　　Jennie　thought　instantly　of　calling　911；　mentally　calculated　how　long　it　might　take　an　ambulance　to　get　here。　If　he　was　having　a　heart　attack　or　something；　she　didn't　know　what　she'd　do。　Her　repertoire　of　therapeutic　moves　was　ridiculously　small。　The　Heimlich　maneuver。　A　really　great　back　rub。
　　At　the　same　time；　she　told　herself；　he's　still　walking　around。　It　might　be　just　a　little　bit　premature　to　call。
　　Which；　of　course；　forced　her　to　respond　to　herself　with　a　reminder　of　how　badly　he'd　been　driving。　Which；　of　course；　set　her　off　on　a　prehensive　point/counterpoint　volley　inside　her　head。　By　the　time　she　got　done　weighing　the　options；　he　had　his　gas　cap　off　and　was　ready　to　go。
　　She　decided　to　give　it　a　minute；　keep　a　watchful　eye　on　him；　hope　for　the　best；　and　prepare　herself；　should　the　worst　transpire。　As　it　so　often　did。
　　The　thought　made　her　glance　nervously　at　the　clock。
　　And；　for　some　strange　reason；　worry　about　her　man。
　　Because　Austin　seemed　to　picture　her　as　some　kind　of　unflappable　love…angel…the　patron　saint　o