dk.intensity-第45部分

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　a　couple　of　chapters　in　a　romance　novel　by　RobertJames　Waller；　and　skimmed　an　issue　of　People　to　remind　himself　of　those　things　that　the　desperate　ruck　of　humanity　uses　to　anesthetize　itself　against　the　awareness　of　its　true　animal　nature　and　the　inevitability　of　death。　He　might　have　stood　before　a　mirror　for　a　while；　practicing　his　smile；　studying　his　eyes。
　Nevertheless；　by　the　time　he　reaches　the　silvered…cedar　barn；　he　is　confident　that　he　will　slide　back　into　his　second　life　without　a　ripple　and　that　all　those　who　look　into　his　pond　will　be　forted　to　see　their　own　faces　reflected。　Most　people　have　expended　so　much　effort　and　time　in　the　denial　of　their　predatory　nature　that　they　cannot　easily　recognize　it　in　others。
　He　opens　the　man…size　door　beside　the　larger　roll…up；　pauses；　and　glances　toward　the　back　of　the　house。　He　left　the　woman　in　the　dark；　so　he　can't　even　vaguely　discern　her　form　through　the　distant　window。
　The　sunless；　somber　twilight　is　still　bright　enough；　however；　for　Ms。　Shepherd；　the　eminent　psychologist；　to　have　seen　him　as　he　walked　to　the　barn。　She　could　be　watching　now。
　Mr。　Vess　wonders　what　she　thinks　of　him　in　this　surprising　new　guise。　She　must　be　shocked。　More　illusions　shattered。　Seeing　him　on　his　way　to　his　second　life；　realizing　that　indeed　he　passes　for　a　standup　citizen；　she　must　be　plunged　into　a　despair　deeper　than　any　she　has　yet　known。
　He　has　such　a　way　with　women。
　After　Vess　turned　off　the　lights　and　left　the　kifchen；　Chyna　leaned　back　in　the　pine　captain's　chair；　away　from　the　table；　because　the　smell　of　the　ham　sandwich　sickened　her。　It　wasn't　spoiled；　it　smelled　like　a　ham　sandwich　ought　to　smell。　But　the　very　idea　of　food　made　her　gag。
　About　twenty…one　hours　had　passed　since　she'd　finished　her　most　recent　full　meal；　dinner　at　the　Templeton　house。　The　few　bites　of　cheese　omelet　that　she'd　had　at　breakfast　weren't　enough　to　sustain　her；　especially　considering　all　of　the　physical　activity　of　the　previous　night；　she　should　have　been　famished。
　Eating　was　an　admission　of　hope；　however；　and　she　didn't　want　to　hope　any　more。　She　had　spent　her　life　hoping；　a　fool　intoxicated　with　optimistic　expectations。　But　every　hope　proved　to　be　as　empty　as　a　bubble。　Every　dream　was　glass　waiting　to　be　shattered。
　Until　last　night；　she　had　thought　that　she'd　climbed　far　out　of　childhood　misery；　up　a　greased　ladder　toward　phenomenal　heights　of　understanding；　and　she　had　been　quietly　proud　of　herself　and　of　her　acplishments。　Now　it　seemed　that　she　had　not　been　climbing　after　all；　that　her　ascent　had　been　an　illusion；　and　that　for　years　her　feet　had　been　slipping　over　the　same　two　well…lubricated　rungs；　as　if　she'd　been　on　one　of　those　exercise　machines；　a　StairMaster；　expending　enormous　energy…but　not　one　inch　higher　when　she　stopped　than　she　had　been　when　she'd　started。　The　long　years　of　waitressing；　the　sore　legs　and　the　stubborn　pain　in　the　small　of　her　back　from　being　on　her　feet　for　hours；　taking　the　toughest　classes　she　could　find　at　the　University　of　California；　studying　late　into　the　night　after　she　returned　home　from　work；　the　countless　sacrifices；　the　loneliness；　the　ceaseless　striving；　striving…all　of　that　had　led　here；　to　this　dismal　place；　to　these　chains；　into　this　deepening　twilight。
　She　had　hoped　one　day　to　understand　her　mother；　to　find　good　reason　to　forgive。　She　had　even；　God　help　her；　secretly　hoped　that　they　might　reach　a　truce。　They　could　never　have　a　healthy　motherdaughter　relationship；　and　they　could　never　be　friends；　but　it　had　seemed　possible；　at　least；　that　she　and　Anne　might　one　day　have　lunch　together　at　any　caf6　with　a　view　of　the　sea；　alfresco　on　the　patio　under　a　huge　umbrella；　where　they　would　never　speak　of　the　past　but　would　make　pleasant　small　talk　about　movies；　the　weather；　the　way　the　sea…9　：；　…　ulls　wheeled　across　the　sapphire　sky；　perhaps　with　no　healing　affec…tion　but　without　any　hatred　between　them。　Now　she　knew　that　even　if　by　some　miracle　she　escaped　untouched　and　alive　from　this　imprisonment；　she　would　never　reach　that　dreamed…of　degree　of　understanding；　rapprochement　between　her　and　her　mother　could　not　be　achieved。
　Human　cruelty　and　treachery　surpassed　all　understanding。　There　were　no　answers。　Only　excuses。
　Chyna　felt　lost。　She　was　in　a　stranger　place　than　Edgler　Vess's　kitchen　and　in　a　more　forbidding　darkness。
　In　all　her　years；　she　had　never　before　felt　lost；　not　truly　lost。　Frightened；　yes。　Sometimes　confused　and　bleak。　But　always　she　had　held　a　map　in　her　mind；　with　a　route　marked　if　only　vaguely；　and　she　had　believed　that　in　her　heart　was　a　pass　that　couldn't　fail　her。　She　had　been　in　the　wrong　place　many　times；　but　she'd　always　been　sure　that　there　was　a　way　out…just　as　in　any　fun…house　mirror　maze　there　is　always　a　safe　path　through　the　infinite　images　of　oneself；　through　more　fearful　reflections；　and　through　all　of　the　enigmatic　silver　shadows。
　No　map　this　time。　No　pass。　Life　itself　was　the　ultimate　fun…house　mirror　maze；　and　she　was　lost　in　its　nautilus　chambers；　with　no　one　to　turn　to　for　fort；　no　hand　to　hold。
　Finally　admitting　that　she　had　been　essentially　motherless　since　birth　and　always　would　be　motherless；　and　with　her　only　close　friend　lying　dead　in　Edgler　Vess's　motor　home；　Chyna　wished　that　she　knew　her　father's　name；　that　she　had　at　least　once　seen　his　face。　Her　mother's　maiden　name　was　Shepherd；　she　had　never　been　married。　〃Be　glad　you're　illegitimate；　baby；〃　Anne　had　said；　〃because　that　means　you'refiree。　Little　bastard　children　don't　have　as　many　relatives　clinging　like　psychic　leeches　and　sucking　away　their　souls。〃　Over　the　years；　when　Chyna　had　asked　about　her　father；　Anne　had　said　only　T…nar　ne　was　ueaa；　and　she　had　been　able　to　say　it　dry…eyed；　even　lightheartedly。　She　wouldn't　provide　details　of　his　appearance；　discuss　what　work　he'd　done；　reveal　where　he'd　lived；　or　acknowledge　that　he'd　had　a　name。　〃By　the　time　I　was　pregnant　with　you；〃　Anne　once　said；　〃I　wasn't　seeing　him　any　more。　He　was　history。　I　never　told　him　about　you。　He　never　knew。〃
　Chyna　liked　to　daydream　about　him　sometimes：　She　imagined　that　her　mother　had　lied　about　this；　as　about　so　many　things；　and　that　her　dad　was　alive。　He　would　be　a　lot　like　Gregory　Peck　in　ToAall　a　Mockingbird；　a　big　man　with　gentle　eyes；　soft…spoken；　kind；　quietly　humorous；　with　a　keen　sense　of　justice；　certain　of　who　he　was　and　of　what　he　believed。　He　would　be　a　man　who　was　admired　and　respected　by　other　people　but　who　thought　himself　no　more　special　than　anyone　else。　He　would　love　her。
　If　she　had　known　his　name；　either　first　or　last；　she　would　have　spoken　it　now；　aloud。　The　mere　sound　of　her　father's　name　would　have　forted　her。
　She　was　crying。　Through　the　many　hours　since　she　had　e　under　Vess's　thrall；　she　had　felt　tears　welling　more　than　once；　and　she　had　repressed　them。　But　she　couldn't　dam　this　hot　flood。　She　despised　herself　for　crying…but　only　briefly。　These　bitter　tears　were　a　wele　admission　that　there　was　no　hope　for　her。　They　washed　her　free　of　hope；　and　that　was　what　she　wanted　now；　because　hope　led　only　to　disappointment　and　pain。　All　her　troubled　life；　since　at　least　her　eighth　birthday；　she　had　refused　to　weep　freely；　really　let　loose　with　tears。　Being　tough　and　dryeyed　was　the　only　way　to　get　respect　from　those　people　who；　on　seeing　the　smallest　weakness　in　another；　got　a　fearful　muddy　fight　in　their　eyes　and　closed　in　like　jackals　around　a　gazelle　with　a　broken　leg。　But　withholding　tears　wouldn't　fend　off　the　jackal　who　had　promised　to　be　back　after　midnight；　and　a　lifetime　of　grief　and　hurt　burst　from　her。　Great　wet　sobs　shook　Chyna　so　hard　that　her　chest　began　to　ache　worse　than　her　neck　or　her　sprained　finger。　Her　throat　soon　felt　hot　and　raw。　She　sagged　in　her　clinking　chains；　in　her　imprisoning　chair；　face　clenched　and　streaming　and　hot；　stomach　clenched　and　cold；　the　taste　of　salt　in　her　mouth；　gasping；　groaning　in　despair；　choking　on　the　smothering　awareness　of　her　terrible　solitude。　She　shuddered　uncontrollably；　and　her　hands　spasmed　into　frail　fists　but　then　opened　and　grasped　at　the　air　around　her　head　as　if　her　anguish　were　a　cowl　that　might　be　torn　off　and　cast　aside。　Profoundly　alone；　unloved　and　lost；　she　spiraled　down　into　a　mental　mirror　maze　without　even　her　father's　name　for　fort。
　After　a　while；　an　engine　roared。　She　heard　the　brassy　toot　of　a　horn：　two　short　blasts　and　then　two　more。
　Chyna　lifted　her　head；　looked　through　the　nearby　window；　and　saw　the　headlights　of　a　car　leaving　the　barn。　Her　vision　was　blurred　by　tears。　She　couldn't　see　the　car　itself　as　it　sped　past　the　house　in　the　gray　dusk；　but　it　must　be　driven　by　Vess；　of　course。　Then　it　was　gone。
　The　jaunty　toot　of　the　horn　mocked　her；　but　that　mockery　wasn't　enough　to　rekindle　her　anger。
　She　stared　out　at　the　gloaming　and　didn't　care　that　it　might　be　the　last　twilight　she　ever　saw。　She　cared　only　that　she　had　spent　too　much　of　her　twenty…six　years　alone；　with　no　one　at　her　side　to　share　the　sunsets；　the　starry　skies；　the　turbulent　beauty　of　storm　clouds。　She　wished　that　she　had　reached　out　to　people　more；　instead　of　retreating　inward；　wished　that　she　had　not　made　her　heart　into　a　sheltering　closet。　Now；　when　nothing　mattered　any　more；　when　the　insight　couldn't　do　her　any　damn　good　at　all；　she　realized　that　there　was　less　hope　of　survival　alone　than　with　others。　She'd　been　acutely　aware　that　terror；　betrayal；　and　cruelty　had　a　human　face；　but　she　had　not　sufficiently　appreciated　that　courage；　kindness；　and　love　had　a　human　face　as　well。　Hope　wasn't　a　cottage　industry；　it　was　neither　a　product　that　she　could　man…ufacture　like　needlepoint　samplers　nor　a　substance　she　could　secrete；　in　her　cautious　solitude；　like　a　maple　tree　producing　the　essence　of　syrup。　Hope　was　to　be　found　in　other　people；　by　reaching　out；　by　taking　risks；　by　opening　her　fortress　heart。
　This　insight　seemed　so　obvious；　the　simplest　of　wisdom；　yet　she　had　not　been　able　to　arrive　at　it　until　in　extremis。
　And　the　chance　had　long　ago　passed　to　act　upon　it。　She　would　die　as　she　had　lived…alone。　This　further　realization　might　have　wrung　greater　rivers　of　tears　from　her　but；　instead；　drove　her　into　a　bleaker　place　than　she'd　been　before；　an　interior　garden　of　stone　and　ashes。
　Then；　as　sh