sk.thetalisman-第34部分

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　the　drunk　hit　a　parking…meter　hard　enough　to　pop　the　red　VIOLATION　flag　up。
　　'e　on；　Jack；'　Smokey　called　impatiently　from　the　bar；　'it　missed　you；　didn't　it？　Clean　that　mess　up！'
　　Smokey　sent　him　into　the　men's　can　half　an　hour　later。　A　middle…aged　man　with　a　Joe　Pyne　haircut　was　standing　woozily　at　one　of　the　two　ice…choked　urinals；　one　hand　braced　against　the　wall；　the　other　brandishing　a　huge　uncircumcised　penis。　A　puddle　of　puke　steamed　between　his　spraddled　work…boots。
　　'Clean　her　up；　kid；'　the　man　said；　weaving　his　way　back　toward　the　door　and　clapping　Jack　on　the　back　almost　hard　enough　to　knock　him　over。　'Man's　gotta　make　room　any　way　he　can；　right？'
　　Jack　was　able　to　wait　until　the　door　closed；　and　then　he　could　control　his　gorge　no　longer。
　　He　managed　to　make　it　into　the　Tap's　only　stall；　where　he　was　faced　with　the　unflushed　and　sickeningly　fragrant　spoor　of　the　last　customer。　Jack　vomited　up　whatever　remained　of　his　dinner；　took　a　couple　of　hitching　breaths；　and　then　vomited　again。　He　groped　for　the　flush　with　a　shaking　hand　and　pushed　it。　Waylon　and　Willie　thudded　dully　through　the　walls；　singing　about　Luckenbach；　Texas。
　　Suddenly　his　mother's　face　was　before　him；　more　beautiful　than　it　had　ever　been　on　any　movie　screen；　her　eyes　large　and　dark　and　sorrowing。　He　saw　her　alone　in　their　rooms　at　the　Alhambra；　a　cigarette　smouldering　forgotten　in　the　ashtray　beside　her。　She　was　crying。　Crying　for　him。　His　heart　seemed　to　hurt　so　badly　that　he　thought　he　would　die　from　love　for　her　and　want　of　her…for　a　life　where　there　were　no　things　in　tunnels；　no　women　who　somehow　wanted　to　be　slapped　and　made　to　cry；　no　men　who　vomited　between　their　own　feet　while　taking　a　piss。　He　wanted　to　be　with　her　and　hated　Speedy　Parker　with　a　black　pleteness　for　ever　having　set　his　feet　on　this　awful　road　west。
　　In　that　moment　whatever　might　have　remained　of　his　self…confidence　was　demolished…it　was　demolished　utterly　and　forever。　Conscious　thought　was　overmastered　by　a　deep；　elemental；　wailing；　childish　cry：　I　want　my　mother　please　God　I　want　my　MOTHER…
　　He　trembled　his　way　out　of　the　stall　on　watery　legs；　thinking　Okay　that's　it　everybody　out　of　the　pool　fuck　you　Speedy　this　kid's　going　home。　Or　whatever　you　want　to　call　it。　In　that　moment　he　didn't　care　if　his　mother　might　be　dying。　In　that　moment　of　inarticulate　pain　he　became　totally　Jack's　Jack；　as　unconsciously　self…serving　as　an　animal　on　which　any　carnivore　may　prey：　deer；　rabbit；　squirrel；　chipmunk。　In　that　moment　he　would　have　been　perfectly　willing　to　let　her　die　of　the　cancer　metastasizing　wildly　outward　from　her　lungs　if　only　she　would　hold　him　and　then　kiss　him　goodnight　and　tell　him　not　to　play　his　goddam　transistor　in　bed　or　read　with　a　flash…light　under　the　covers　for　half　the　night。
　　He　put　his　hand　against　the　wall　and　little　by　little　managed　to　get　hold　of　himself。　This　taking…hold　was　no　conscious　thing　but　a　simple　tightening　of　the　mind；　something　that　was　very　much　Phil　Sawyer　and　Lily　Cavanaugh。　He'd　made　a　mistake；　yeah；　but　he　wasn't　going　back。　The　Territories　were　real　and　so　the　Talisman　might　also　be　real；　he　was　not　going　to　murder　his　mother　with　faintheartedness。
　　Jack　filled　his　mop…bucket　with　hot　water　from　the　spigot　in　the　storeroom　and　cleaned　up　the　mess。
　　When　he　came　out　again；　it　was　half　past　ten　and　the　crowd　in　the　Tap　began　to　thin　out…Oatley　was　a　working　town；　and　its　working　drinkers　went　home　early　on　week…nights。
　　Lori　said；　'You　look　as　pale　as　pastry；　Jack。　You　okay？'
　　'Do　you　think　I　could　have　a　gingerale？'　he　asked。　
　　She　brought　him　one　and　Jack　drank　it　while　he　finished　waxing　the　dancefloor。　At　quarter　to　twelve　Smokey　ordered　him　back　to　the　storeroom　to　'run　out　a　keg。'　Jack　managed　the　keg…barely。　At　quarter　to　one　Smokey　started　bawling　for　people　to　finish　up。　Lori　unplugged　the　juke…Dick　Cur…less　died　with　a　long；　unwinding　groan…to　a　few　halfhearted　cries　of　protest。　Gloria　unplugged　the　games；　donned　her　sweater　（it　was　as　pink　as　the　Canada　Mints　Smokey　ate　regularly；　as　pink　as　the　false　gums　of　his　dentures）；　and　left。　Smokey　began　to　turn　out　the　lights　and　to　urge　the　last　four　or　five　drinkers　out　the　door。
　　'Okay；　Jack；'　he　said　when　they　were　gone。　'You　did　good。　There's　room　for　improvement；　but　you　got　a　start；　anyway。　You　can　doss　down　in　the　storeroom。'　
　　Instead　of　asking　for　his　pay　（which　Smokey　did　not　offer　anyway）；　Jack　stumbled　off　toward　the　storeroom；　so　tired　that　he　looked　like　a　slightly　smaller　version　of　the　drunks　so　lately　ushered　out。
　　In　the　storeroom　he　saw　Lori　squatting　down　in　one　corner…the　squat　caused　her　basketball　shorts　to　ride　up　to　a　point　that　was　nearly　alarming…and　for　a　moment　Jack　thought　with　dull　alarm　that　she　was　going　through　his　knapsack。　Then　he　saw　that　she　had　spread　a　couple　of　blankets　on　a　layer　of　burlap　apple…sacks。　Lori　had　also　put　down　a　small　satin　pillow　which　said　NEW　YORK　WORLD'S　FAIR　on　one　side。
　　'Thought　I'd　make　you　a　little　nest；　kid；'　she　said。
　　'Thanks；'　he　said。　It　was　a　simple；　almost　offhand　act　of　kindness；　but　Jack　found　himself　having　to　struggle　from　bursting　into　tears。　He　managed　a　smile　instead。　'Thanks　a　lot；　Lori。'
　　'No　problem。　You'll　be　all　right　here；　Jack。　Smokey　ain't　so　bad。　Once　you　get　to　know　him；　he　ain't　half　bad。'　She　said　this　with　an　unconscious　wistfulness；　as　if　wishing　it　were　so。
　　'Probably　not；'　Jack　said；　and　then　he　added　impulsively；　'but　I'm　moving　on　tomorrow。　Oatley's　just　not　for　me；　I　guess。'　She　said：　
　　'Maybe　you'll　go；　Jack　。　。　。　and　maybe　you'll　decide　to　stay　awhile。　Why　don't　you　sleep　on　it？'　There　was　something　forced　and　unnatural　about　this　little　speech…it　had　none　of　the　genuineness　of　her　grin　when　she'd　said　Thought　I'd　make　you　a　little　nest。　Jack　noticed　it；　but　was　too　tired　to　do　more　than　that。
　　'Well；　we'll　see；'　he　said。
　　'Sure　we　will；'　Lori　agreed；　going　to　the　door。　She　blew　a　kiss　toward　him　from　the　palm　of　one　dirty　hand。　'Good　night；　Jack。'
　　'Good　night。'　
　　He　started　to　pull　off　his　shirt　。　。　。　and　then　left　it　on；　deciding　he　would　just　take　off　his　sneakers。　The　storeroom　was　cold　and　chilly。　He　sat　down　on　the　apple…sacks；　pulled　the　knots；　pushed　off　first　one　and　then　the　other。　He　was　about　to　lie　back　on　Lori's　New　York　World's　Fair　souvenir…and　he　might　well　have　been　sound　asleep　before　his　head　ever　touched　it…when　the　telephone　began　to　ring　out　in　the　bar；　shrilling　into　the　silence；　drilling　into　it；　making　him　think　of　wavering；　pasty…gray　roots　and　bullwhips　and　two…headed　ponies。
　　Ring；　ring；　ring；　into　the　silence；　into　the　dead　silence。　
　　Ring；　ring；　ring；　long　after　the　kids　who　call　up　to　ask　about　Prince　Albert　in　a　can　have　gone　to　bed。　Ring；　ring；　ring；　Hello；　Jacky　it's　Morgan　and　I　felt　you　in　my　woods；　you　smart　little　shit　I　SMELLED　you　in　my　woods；　and　how　did　you　ever　get　the　idea　that　you　were　safe　in　your　world？　My　woods　are　there；　too。　Last　chance；　Jacky。　Get　home　or　we　send　out　the　troops。　You　won't　have　a　chance。　You　won't…
　　Jack　got　up　and　ran　across　the　storeroom　floor　in　his　stocking　feet。　A　light　sweat　that　felt　freezing　cold；　seemed　to　cover　his　entire　body。
　　He　opened　the　door　a　crack。　
　　Ring；　ring；　ring；　ring。
　　Then　finally：　'Hello；　Oatley　Tap。　And　this　better　be　good。'　Smokey's　voice。　A　pause。　'Hello？'　Another　pause。　'Fuck　off！'　Smokey　hung　up　with　a　bang；　and　Jack　heard　him　recross　the　floor　and　then　start　up　the　stairs　to　the　small　overhead　apartment　he　and　Lori　shared。
　　　
　　　7
　　
　　Jack　looked　unbelievingly　from　the　green　slip　of　paper　in　his　left　hand　to　the　small　pile　of　bills…all　ones…and　change　by　his　right。　It　was　eleven　o'clock　the　next　morning。　Thursday　morning；　and　he　had　asked　for　his　pay。
　　'What　is　this？'　he　asked；　still　unable　to　believe　it。
　　'You　can　read；'　Smokey　said；　'and　you　can　count。　You　don't　move　as　fast　as　I'd　like；　Jack…at　least　not　yet…but　you're　bright　enough。'　
　　Now　he　sat　with　the　green　slip　in　one　hand　and　the　money　by　the　other。　Dull　anger　began　to　pulse　in　the　middle　of　his　forehead　like　a　vein。　GUEST　CHECK；　the　green　slip　was　headed。　It　was　the　exact　same　form　Mrs。　Banberry　had　used　in　the　Golden　Spoon。　It　read：　
　　
　　1　hmbrg 1。35
　　1　hmbrg 1。35
　　1　lrg　mk 　　　　。55
　　1　gin…ale 　　　　。55
　　Tx 　　　　。30
　　
　　At　the　bottom　the　figure　4。10　was　written　in　large　numbers　and　circled。　Jack　had　made　nine　dollars　for　his　four…to…one　stint。　Smokey　had　charged　off　nearly　half　of　it；　what　he　had　left　by　his　right　hand　was　four　dollars　and　ninety　cents。
　　He　looked　up；　furious…first　at　Lori；　who　looked　away　as　if　vaguely　embarrassed；　and　then　at　Smokey；　who　simply　looked　back。
　　'This　is　a　cheat；'　he　said　thinly。
　　'Jack；　that's　not　true。　Look　at　the　menu　prices…'
　　'That's　not　what　I　mean　and　you　know　it！'
　　Lori　flinched　a　little；　as　if　expecting　Smokey　to　clout　him　one　。　。　。　but　Smokey　only　looked　at　Jack　with　a　kind　of　terrible　patience。
　　'I　didn't　charge　you　for　your　bed；　did　I？'
　　'Bed！'　Jack　shouted；　feeling　the　hot　blood　boil　up　into　his　cheeks。　'Some　bed！　Cut…open　burlap　bags　on　a　concrete　floor！　Some　bed！　I'd　like　to　see　you　try　to　charge　me　for　it；　you　dirty　cheat！'
　　Lori　made　a　scared　sound　and　shot　a　look　at　Smokey　。　。　。　but　Smokey　only　sat　across　from　Jack　in　the　booth；　the　thick　blue　smoke　of　a　Cheroot　curling　up　between　them。　A　fresh　paper　fry…cook's　hat　was　cocked　forward　on　Smokey's　narrow　head。
　　'We　talked　about　you　dossing　down　back　there；'　Smokey　said。　'You　asked　if　it　came　with　the　job。　I　said　it　did。　No　mention　was　made　of　your　meals。　If　it　had　been　brought　up；　maybe　something　could　have　been　done。　Maybe　not。　Point　is；　you　never　brought　it　up；　so　now　you　got　to　deal　with　that。'
　　Jack　sat　shaking；　tears　of　anger　standing　in　his　eyes。　He　tried　to　talk　and　nothing　came　out　but　a　small　strangled　groan。　He　was　literally　too　furious　to　speak。
　　'Of　course；　if　you　wanted　to　discuss　an　employees'　discount　on　your　meals　now…'
　　'Go　to　hell！'　Jack　managed　finally；　snatching　up　the　four　singles　and　the　little　strew　of　change。　'Teach　the　next　kid　who　es　in　here　how　to　look　out　for　number　one！　I'm　going！'　
　　He　c