osc.am1.seventhson-第42部分

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through　by　the　questions　of　an　ignorant　boy。　〃He　stole　my　faith；〃　said　Thrower。　〃I　went　into　his　room　a　man　of　God；　and　came　out　as　a　doubter。〃
　　〃Indeed；〃　said　a　voice　behind　him。　A　voice　he　knew。
　　A　voice　that　now；　in　his　moment　of　failure；　he　both　feared　and　longed　for。　Oh；　forgive　me；　fort　me；　my　Visitor；　my　friend！　Yet　do　not　fail　also　to　chastise　me　with　the　terrible　wrath　of　a　jealous　God。
　　〃Chastise　you？〃　asked　the　Visitor。　〃How　could　I　chastise　you；　such　a　glorious　specimen　of　humanity？〃
　　〃I　am　not　glorious；〃　said　Thrower　miserably。
　　〃You're　barely　human；　for　that　matter；〃　said　the　Visitor。　〃In　whose　image　were　you　made？　I　sent　you　to　bring　my　word　into　that　house；　and　instead　they　have　nearly　converted　you。　What　do　I　call　you　now？　A　heretic？　Or　merely　a　skeptic？〃
　　〃A　Christian！〃　cried　Thrower。　〃Forgive　me　and　call　me　once　again　a　Christian。〃
　　〃You　had　the　knife　in　your　hand；　but　you　set　it　down。〃
　　〃I　didn't　mean　to！〃
　　〃Weak；　weak；　weak；　weak；　weak。〃　Each　time　the　Visitor　repeated　the　word；　he　stretched　it　longer　and　longer；　until　each　repetition　became　a　song　in　itself。　As　he　sang；　he　began　to　walk　around　the　church。　He　did　not　run；　but　he　walked　quickly；　far　faster　than　any　man　could　walk。　〃Weak；　weak。。。〃　He　was　moving　so　fast　that　Thrower　had　to　turn　constantly　just　to　keep　him　in　sight。　The　Visitor　was　no　longer　walking　on　the　floor。　He　was　skittering　along　the　walls；　as　smooth　and　fast　in　his　motion　as　a　cockroach；　then　even　faster；　until　he　became　a　blur；　and　Thrower　could　not　keep　up　with　him　by　turning。　Thrower　leaned　on　the　altar；　facing　the　empty　pews；　watching　the　Visitor　race　by　again　and　again　and　again。
　　Gradually　Thrower　realized　that　the　Visitor　had　changed　shape；　that　he　had　stretched　himself；　like　a　long　slender　beast；　a　lizard；　an　alligator；　bright…scaled　and　shining；　longer　and　longer；　until　finally　the　Visitor's　body　was　so　long　that　it　circled　the　room；　a　vast　worm　that　gripped　its　own　tail　between　its　teeth。
　　And　in　his　mind　Thrower　realized　how　very　small　and　worthless　he　was；　pared　to　this　glorious　being　that　sparkled　with　a　thousand　different　colors；　that　glowed　with　inner　fire；　that　breathed　in　darkness　and　exhaled　light。　I　worship　thee！　he　shouted　inside　himself。　Thou　art　all　that　I　desire！　Kiss　me　with　your　love；　so　I　may　taste　your　glory！
　　Suddenly　the　Visitor　stopped；　and　the　great　jaws　came　toward　him。　Not　to　devour；　for　Thrower　knew　he　was　unworthy　even　to　be　consumed。　He　saw　now　the　terrible　predicament　of　man：　he　saw　that　he　dangled　over　the　pit　of　hell　like　a　spider　on　a　slender　thread；　and　the　only　reason　God　did　not　let　him　fall　was　because　he　was　not　even　worthy　of　destruction。　God　did　not　hate　him。　He　was　so　vile　that　God　disdained　him。
　　Thrower　looked　into　the　Visitor's　eyes　and　despaired。　For　there　was　neither　love；　nor　forgiveness；　nor　anger；　nor　contempt。　The　eyes　were　utterly　empty。　The　scales　dazzled；　scattering　the　light　of　an　inner　fire。　But　that　fire　did　not　shine　through　the　eyes。　They　were　not　even　black。　They　simply　were　not　there　at　all；　a　terrible　emptiness　that　trembled；　that　would　not　hold　still；　and　Thrower　knew　that　this　was　his　own　reflection；　that　he　was　nothing；　that　for　him　to　continue　to　exist　was　a　cruel　waste　of　precious　space；　that　the　only　choice　left　to　him　was　to　be　annihilated；　uncreated；　to　restore　the　world　to　the　greater　glory　it　would　have　had　if　Philadelphia　Thrower　had　never　been　born。
　　
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　　It　was　Thrower's　praying　that　woke　Armor　up。　He　was　curled　up　by　the　Franklin　stove。　Maybe　he　stoked　that　stove　a　mite　too　hot；　but　that's　what　it　took　to　beat　back　the　cold。　Why；　by　the　time　he　got　to　the　church　his　shirt　was　solid　ice。　He'd　get　more　charcoal　to　pay　back　the　parson。
　　Armor　meant　to　speak　right　up　and　let　Thrower　know　he　was　there；　but　when　he　heard　the　words　that　Thrower　was　praying；　he　couldn't　find　no　words　to　say。　Thrower　was　talking　about　knives　and　arteries；　and　how　he　should've　cut　up　the　enemies　of　God。　After　a　minute　it　came　clear：　Thrower　hadn't　gone　up　there　to　save　that　boy；　he'd　gone　up　to　kill　him！　What's　wrong　around　here；　thought　Armor；　when　a　Christian　man　beats　his　wife；　and　a　Christian　wife　witches　her　husband；　and　a　Christian　minister　plots　murder　and　prays　for　forgiveness　cause　he　failed　to　mit　the　crime！
　　All　of　a　sudden；　though；　Thrower　stopped　praying。　He　was　so　hoarse　and　his　face　so　red　that　Armor　thought　he　might　have　had　the　apoplexy。　But　no。　Thrower　lifted　his　head　like　he　was　listening　to　somebody。　Armor　listened；　too；　and　he　could　hear　something；　like　people　talking　in　a　windstorm；　so　you　couldn't　never　hear　what　they　were　saying。
　　I　know　what　this　is；　thought　Armor。　Reverend　Thrower's　having　himself　a　vision。
　　Sure　enough；　Thrower　talked；　and　the　faint　voice　answered；　and　pretty　soon　Thrower　started　turning　around　and　around；　faster　and　faster；　like　he　was　watching　something　on　the　walls。　Armor　tried　to　see　what　it　was　he　was　watching；　but　he　couldn't　never　make　it　out。　It　was　like　a　shadow　passing　across　the　sun　　you　couldn't　see　it　ing　and　you　couldn't　see　it　go；　but　for　a　second　it　was　darker　and　colder。　That's　what　Armor　saw。
　　Then　it　stopped。　Armor　saw　a　shimmering　in　the　air；　a　dazzle　here　and　there　like　when　a　pane　of　glass　catches　the　sunlight。　Was　Thrower　seeing　the　glory　of　God；　like　Moses　saw？　Not　likely；　looking　at　the　parson's　face。　Armor　never　did　see　such　a　face　as　that　before。　Like　a　man's　face　might　look　if　he　had　to　watch　his　own　baby　being　killed。
　　The　shimmering　and　dazzle　went　away。　The　church　was　quiet。　Armor　wanted　to　run　to　Thrower　and　ask　him；　What　did　you　see！　What　was　your　vision！　Was　it　a　prophecy？
　　But　Thrower　didn't　look　much　like　he　wanted　to　answer　questions。　That　look　of　wishing　to　die　was　still　on　his　face。　The　preacher　walked　real　slow　away　from　the　altar。　He　wandered　around　among　the　pews；　bumping　into　them　sometimes；　not　watching　or　caring　where　his　body　went。　Finally　he　ended　up　by　the　window；　facing　the　glass；　but　Armor　knew　he　didn't　see　nothing；　he　was　just　standing　there；　his　eyes　wide　open；　looking　like　death。
　　Reverend　Thrower　lifted　up　his　right　hand；　the　fingers　spread；　and　he　laid　his　palm　on　a　pane　of　glass。　He　pressed。　He　pressed　and　pushed　so　hard　that　Armor　could　see　the　glass　bowing　outward。　〃Stop　it！〃　shouted　Armor。　〃You'll　cut　yourself！〃
　　Thrower　didn't　even　make　a　sign　that　he　heard。　Just　kept　pressing。　Armor　started　walking　toward　him。　Got　to　make　that　man　stop　before　he　breaks　the　glass　and　cuts　up　his　arm。
　　With　a　crash　the　glass　shattered。　Thrower's　arm　went　right　through；　up　to　the　shoulder。　The　preacher　smiled。　He　pulled　his　arm　partway　back　into　the　church。　Then　he　began　to　slide　his　arm　around　the　frame；　jamming　it　right　into　the　shards　of　glass　that　hung　there　in　the　putty。
　　Armor　tried　to　pull　Thrower　away　from　the　window；　but　the　man　had　a　strength　on　him　like　Armor　never　seen　before。　Finally　Armor　had　to　take　a　run　at　him　and　knock　him　right　down　to　the　floor。　Blood　was　spattered　everywhere。　Armor　grabbed　at　Thrower's　arm；　which　was　dripping　all　over　with　blood。　Thrower　tried　to　roll　away　from　him。　Armor　didn't　have　no　choice。　For　the　first　time　since　he　became　a　Christian　man　he　made　his　hand　into　a　fist　and　popped　Thrower　right　on　the　chin。　It　slammed　the　preacher's　head　back　into　the　floor　and　knocked　him　silly。
　　Got　to　stop　the　bleeding；　Armor　thought。　But　first　he　had　to　get　the　glass　out。　Some　of　the　big　pieces　were　only　stuck　in　a　little　way；　and　he　could　brush　them　right　off。　But　other　pieces；　some　of　the　little　pieces；　were　in　deep；　only　a　bit　of　their　top　showing；　and　that　was　slimy　with　blood　so　he　couldn't　get　much　of　a　grip　on　it。　Finally；　though；　he　got　all　the　glass　he　could　find。　Lucky　enough　there　wasn't　a　single　cut　a…pumping　blood；　which　told　Armor　that　the　big　veins　hadn't　been　cut。　He　stripped　off　his　shirt；　which　left　him　naked　to　the　waist　with　that　cold　draft　ing　in　from　the　broken　window；　but　he　didn't　hardly　notice。　He　just　ripped　up　the　shirt　and　made　bandages。　He　bound　up　the　wounds　and　stopped　the　bleeding。　Then　he　sat　there　and　waited　for　Thrower　to　wake　up。
　　
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　　Thrower　was　surprised　to　find　he　wasn't　dead。　He　was　lying　on　his　back　on　a　hard　floor；　covered　up　with　heavy　cloth。　His　head　hurt。　His　arm　hurt　worse。　He　remembered　trying　to　cut　up　that　arm；　and　he　knew　he　ought　to　try　again；　but　he　just　couldn't　work　up　the　same　wish　for　death　that　he　had　felt　before。　Even　remembering　the　Visitor　in　the　form　of　a　great　lizard；　even　remembering　those　empty　eyes；　Thrower　just　couldn't　remember　how　it　felt。　He　only　knew　that　it　was　the　worst　feeling　in　the　world。
　　His　arm　was　bandaged　tight。　Who　had　bandaged　him？
　　He　heard　the　sloshing　of　water。　Then　the　flopping　sound　of　wet　rags　slapping　against　wood。　In　the　winter　twilight　ing　through　the　window；　he　could　make　out　somebody　washing　the　wall。　One　of　the　window　panes　was　covered　over　with　a　piece　of　wood。
　　〃Who　is　it？〃　asked　Thrower。　〃Who　are　you？〃
　　〃Just　me。〃
　　〃Armor…of…God。〃
　　〃Washing　down　the　walls。　This　is　a　church；　not　a　butcher　shed。〃
　　Of　course　there'd　be　blood　all　over。　〃Sorry；〃　said　Thrower。
　　〃I　don't　mind　cleaning　up；〃　said　Armor。　〃I　think　I　got　all　the　glass　out　of　your　arm。〃
　　〃You're　naked；〃　said　Thrower。
　　〃Your　arm　is　wearing　my　shirt。〃
　　〃You　must　be　cold。〃
　　〃Maybe　I　was；　but　I　got　the　window　covered　and　the　stove　het　up。　You're　the　one　with　a　face　so　white　you　look　like　you　been　dead　a　week。〃
　　Thrower　tried　to　sit　up；　but　he　couldn't。　He　was　too　weak；　his　arm　hurt　too　bad。
　　Armor　pushed　him　back　down。　〃Now；　you　just　lay　back；　Reverend　Thrower。　You　just　lay　back。　You　been　through　a　lot。〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃I　hope　you　don't　mind；　but　I　was　here　in　the　church　when　you　e　in。　I　was　asleep　by　the　stove　my　wife　threw　me　out　of　the　house。　I　been　thrown　out　twice　today。〃　He　laughed；　but　there　was　no　mirth　in　it。　〃So　I　saw　you。〃
　　〃Saw？〃
　　〃You　were　having　a　vision；　weren't　you？〃
　　〃Did　you　see　him？〃
　　〃I　didn't　see　much。　I　mostly　saw　you；　but　there　was　a　few　glimpses；　if　you　know　what　I　mean。　Running　around　the　walls。〃
　　〃You　saw；〃　said　Thrower。　〃Oh；　Armor；　it　was　terrible；　i