pzb.lostsouls-第11部分

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　　Christian　uncapped　the　bottle　and　started　to　pour　himself　a　shot。　His　hand　paused　over　the　glass；　bony　and　white；　cold　on　the　cold　bottle。　He　smelled　the　liqueur。　A　scent　as　fresh　as　the　new　night；　as　birth。　The　smell　of　altars。　He　wanted　so　badly　to　be　drunk；　to　sleep。　The　others…Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah…drank　incessantly；　even　ate；　they　drowned　their　true　natures　in　gluttony。　But　they　were　young。　They　were　of　a　newer　generation。　Their　chemistry　was　subtly　different；　they　were　hardier；　their　organs　perhaps　more　thick…walled；　less　delicate。　Christian　remembered　the　time　he　had　drunk　wine；　the　time　he　had　drunk　vodka；　and　the　memory　of　pain　shivered　up　his　spine。　But　perhaps　this。。。
　　Christian　clutched　the　bottle　to　his　chest　and　carried　it　up　the　stairs　with　him；　turning　off　the　bar　lights　as　he　went；　ascending　in　the　dark。　A　blessing　of　excellent　night　vision。
　　
　　The　Chartreuse　burned　going　down；　and　Christian　sat　tensed　in　the　dark；　waiting　for　pain。　But　when　the　liqueur　hit　his　belly；　a　gentle　green　fire　began　to　spread　through　him。　It　was　going　to　work　this　time。　His　strange；　treacherous　body　was　going　to　let　him　get　drunk　as　he　had　never　been　before；　and　he　would　rest；　for　a　time　he　would　not　have　to　think。
　　He　poured　himself　another　shot　and　tried　to　sip　it。　It　stung　his　eyes　and　went　up　his　nose；　and　he　threw　it　back　and　swallowed　hard　to　keep　from　coughing。　He　laughed　quietly　at　himself。　He　was　a　good　bartender；　an　excellent　bartender；　but　he　certainly　did　not　know　how　to　drink。　After　the　next　shot　he　dispensed　with　the　glass　altogether；　swigging　out　of　the　bottle　as　he　had　seen　the　others　do　on　that　Mardi　Gras　night。
　　When　the　first　noise　floated　up　from　the　alley；　Christian　was　drunk　enough　to　ignore　it。　It　was　only　a　bump。　But　then　there　was　another　bump　and　a　scraping　clatter　that　hurt　to　hear；　as　if　someone　were　dragging　one　of　the　metal　garbage　cans　across　the　concrete。　A　stray　dog？　A　bum？　Christian　crept　to　his　window；　which　gave　him　a　clear　view　of　the　alley　and　a　slice　of　Royal　Street　beyond　it。　He　cupped　his　hands　to　the　glass　and　looked　out。
　　Apparently　Wallace　Creech　was　still　drunk　too。　Nothing　else　could　account　for　the　clumsiness　with　which　he　was　going　through　Christian's　garbage；　mostly　empties　from　the　bar。　As　Christian　watched；　Wallace　let　a　Taaka　vodka　bottle　slip　from　his　hands。　It　shattered　on　the　concrete；　and　Wallace　went　down　on　his　hands　and　knees；　trying　futilely　to　scoop　the　glass　up；　to　dump　it　back　into　the　torn　garbage　bag。
　　This　was　too　much。　Wallace　Creech　would　have　to　be　dealt　with　more　harshly。　The　alley　was　already　strewn　with　broken　glass；　wrinkled　paper　bags；　and　other　trash；　but　what　was　Wallace　looking　for？　His　daughter's　bones；　picked　clean　and　wrapped　in　a　Times…Picayune　fifteen　years　out　of　date？
　　Christian　straightened　and　turned　away　from　the　window。　He　would　go　down　and　slip　into　the　alley；　he　would　bend　that　dry　old　neck　back；　let　flow　the　old　man's　tasteless　blood…
　　The　first　spasm　hit　him　as　he　was　opening　the　door　to　the　landing。　It　bent　him　nearly　double。　He　leaned　against　the　jamb；　clutching　himself；　trying　to　hold　in　the　blaze　of　green　agony　that　was　burning　its　way　through　his　belly。　This　was　worse　than　the　other　times；　so　much　worse；　surely　the　pain　must　be　ripping　him　apart　inside；　webbing　his　innards　with　tiny　bloody　holes。　His　eyes　squeezed　shut；　and　a　long　shudder　ran　through　him。
　　Christian　moaned　and　twisted　his　head；　clenching　his　teeth；　trying　not　to　scream。　He　had　to　get　to　the　bathroom：　it　was　out　on　the　landing；　shared　by　the　other　apartments　on　the　top　floor　of　the　building。　He　pushed　at　the　door。　It　swung　fully　open；　and　Christian　fell　onto　the　landing；　clumsy　and　agonized；　his　throat　bitter；　his　eyes　hot　and　streaming。
　　〃Jesus；　man；　Jesus。　Are　you　all　right？〃　His　neighbor；　David；　was　just　going　out。　Christian　rolled　onto　his　back　and　looked　helplessly　up　at　David；　the　drop…dead　suit；　the　hair　kept　pathologically　short；　the　sunglasses　he　always　wore；　even　at　night。　Another　spasm　of　pain　washed　over　him；　incredibly　worse　than　the　last；　and　he　curled　around　himself　and　whined　deep　in　his　throat。　Surely　the　tissues　of　his　body　were　burning　away；　dissolving　inside。
　　Then　he　was　aware　of　David's　hands　under　his　arms；　David　helping　him　up；　half　dragging　him　to　the　bathroom　where　he　bent　Christian　over　the　toilet。　Something　deep　in　Christian　loosened；　and　all　the　Chartreuse　came　up…green；　hot；　churned　into　a　foamy　mass　now。　Christian　sobbed　at　the　sight　of　it　and　turned　his　head　away。　Thick　strings　of　saliva　webbed　his　lips。
　　〃Jesus；　barkeep；　are　you　going　to　live？　Have　to　close　up　early　tonight？〃
　　Christian　managed　to　nod。　He　leaned　against　David。　The　warm　pressure　of　David's　hand　on　his　shoulder　kept　him　from　collapsing。　He　vomited　again；　having　to　force　it　this　time。　After　that；　he　felt　almost　good。　〃I'm　going　out；〃　he　told　David。
　　〃Jesus　wept；　are　you　sure？　How　about　I　help　you　to　your　room？　Don't　you　even　want　to　brush　your　teeth？〃
　　〃No。　I　need　a　drink　to　kill　the　taste。　I　must　have　eaten　something　bad。〃
　　〃I'm　meeting　a　girl。　Why　don't　you　e　and　have　a　drink　with　us？〃
　　At　the　mention　of　alcohol；　Christian　had　to　suppress　a　moan。　The　idea　of　having　a　drink　with　David　and　his　girl　made　him　feel　terribly　lonely。　He　could　never　do　such　a　thing。　And　besides；　now　he　was　ravenous。
　　They　walked　downstairs　together；　and　David　headed　up　Conti　toward　the　lights　of　Bourbon　Street。　Christian　checked　the　alley；　but　of　course　by　now　Wallace　was　gone。　All　that　lingered　was　a　breath　of　whiskey　and　fear。　He　would　meet　Wallace　Creech　again；　though；　with　his　old　tired　eyes　and　his　silver　cross。　Christian　knew　it；　and　he　smiled；　feeling　the　night　gather　around　him。　He　slipped　away　toward　the　river。
　　
　　Nothing　sat　on　his　bed；　naked　and　cross…legged；　the　quilt　pooled　around　his　waist　and　a　candle　before　him。　He　cupped　his　hands　around　the　flame　and　kept　them　there　until　his　palms　began　to　sweat。　Then　he　raised　his　hands　to　his　face　and　rubbed　the　heat　onto　his　cheeks。　He　had　his　music　turned　up　loud…Tom　Waits；　loud　and　splendidly　drunk　tonight；　wishing　he　were　in　New　Orleans。　Nothing　wished　he　were　too。
　　He　looked　toward　the　window。　Outside；　he　could　see　a　few　lights：　other　windows　in　other　houses；　more　houses　beyond；　houses　with　well…kept　lawns　and　shade　trees；　like　the　one　he　lived　in；　houses　with　swing　sets　and　poured　concrete　driveways　and　half…baths　and　redwood　sundecks；　streets　travelled　by　Volvos　and　Toyotas　picking　the　kids　up　from　day　care；　going　to　the　supermarket　the　health　club；　the　mall；　or；　if　they　were　bored　enough；　the　liquor　store。　Suburbs；　stretching　forever　or　until　the　end　of　Maryland；　whichever　came　first。　Nothing　shivered；　then　swigged　from　the　White　Horse　bottle　next　to　his　bed。　He　had　refilled　it　from　the　supply　in　his　parents'　liquor　cabinet；　watering　down　their　bottle；　but　now　it　was　nearly　empty　again。
　　He　kept　looking　toward　the　window。　Most　of　the　lights　had　gone　out。　He　shivered　again。
　　
　　Christian　still　wore　a　cloak；　long　and　black　and　lined　with　silk；　whenever　he　went　out。　Old　habits　died　hard；　if　they　ever　died　at　all。　The　night　had　cooled。　A　black　iron　railing　under　Christian's　hand　was　warm；　still　saturated　with　the　heat　of　the　day；　but　a　dark…smelling　breeze　wound　its　way　up　from　the　river；　brushing　Christian's　face；　reviving　him。　Now　he　had　nearly　forgotten　the　burning　in　his　stomach　and　the　vomiting　that　had　made　his　throat　bloody　and　raw。
　　His　step　quickened。　His　boot　heels　clocked　along　the　sidewalk。　He　fell　to　wondering　how　many　times　he　had　walked　along　these　ways；　how　infinitesimally　his　steps　had　worn　down　the　sidewalks　of　these　old　streets；　these　exotically　named；　haunted　streets…Ursulines；　Bienville；　Decatur。　He　wondered　how　much　of　his　substance　he　had　left　here；　how　much　of　his　substance　was　made　up　of　the　dust　of　these　streets。
　　There　had　always　been　New　Orleans。　Christian　had　lived　in　other　places；　far　away　across　sunless　seas；　places　older　and　darker　and　just　as　strange；　with　ghosts　aplenty。　But　where　else　did　slave　spirits　still　lament　in　the　Royal　Street　house　of　sadistic　Madame　Lalaurie；　where　else　could　one　still　smell　the　lingering　sweat　of　a　slave　woman　chained　to　a　stove　all　the　years　of　her　life？　Where　else　did　crows　flap　over　the　crumbling　ruins　of　St。　Louis　Cemetery　and　settle；　inky　and　baleful　of　eye；　on　a　tomb　slashed　with　hundreds　of　red　X's…X's　in　faded　crimson　chalk；　X's　still　flesh　and　glistening；　X's　for　voodoo　curses；　X's　to　invoke　the　wrath　of　Marie　Laveau；　the　voodoo　queen　who　had　stayed　young　forever？
　　Christian　passed　a　dark　doorway。　Inside；　pale　shapes　moved　through　dull　blue　light。　He　remembered　when　this　hole…in…the…wail　had　been　a　jazz　club；　when　bright　brassy　music　floated　out　late　at　night　and　spiralled　up　to　the　sky；　when　smoky…skinned　women　with　ripe　lips　and　red　dresses　stood　outside　smiling　dark　smiles　at　passersby。　Once　he　had　seen　Louis　Armstrong　standing　there　on　the　sidewalk　with　his　shirtsleeves　roiled　up；　talking　to　a　crowd　of　friends。
　　Christian　remembered　the　slow　laughter；　the　white　eyes　that　shone　out　of　faces　blue…black　with　sweat；　the　flasks　of　illicit　liquor　raw　enough　to　burn　a　hole　in　the　guts　of　even　Molochai；　Twig；　or　Zillah。　Now　the　figures　that　waited　uneasily　on　the　sidewalk　were　as　white　as　white　could　be；　with　eyes　smudged　black　and　ripped　black　clothes；　little　ghosts；　like　photonegatives　of　the　dusky　dancers　who　had　once　swirled　all　night　to　bright　jazz。　Now　the　music　that　drifted　out　of　the　doorway　and　up　toward　the　moon　was　sparse　and　dark　and　strange；　the　anthem　of　all　the　lost　children　who　began　their　lives　at　night；　when　the　bars　opened　and　the　music　began　to　play。
　　Right　now　it　was　sainted　Bauhaus；　the　pale　long…boned　gods　of　this　crowd；　doing　〃Bela　Lugosi's　Dead。〃　The　eyeliner　eyes　glazed　and　the　black　lipstick　lips　moved　in　time　with　the　words；　and　the　children　danced　slowly；　for　their　blood　was　thin；　and　they　were　under　the　spell　of　the　DJ　and　the　music　and　the　night。
　　Christian　went　in。　As　he　passed　the　bar；　he　heard　a　girl　say；　〃God；　how　tall　is　that　guy？〃　He　turned　but　could　not　search　out　her　eyes。　He　rose　like　a　narrow；　pale　beacon　above　most　of