pzb.lostsouls-第17部分

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and　eight…three　years。。。such　a　very　long　time　。　。　。　he　should　have　been　beautiful。。。　not　this　sad；　old；　tired　man。。。he　should　have　been　lovely。
　　
　　　Chapter　10
　　
　　Nothing　hurried　through　the　circle　of　brilliance　made　by　a　streetlight　and　slipped　into　the　deserted　darkness　again。　He　pulled　his　raincoat　around　him　（O　sensuous　black　silk；　as　erotic　as　the　touch　of　someone　else's　skin！）　and　hoisted　his　heavy　backpack　on　his　shoulder。
　　His　passage　was　hidden　by　luxuriant　hedges　and　the　shadows　they　cast　on　verdant　lawns；　by　sleek　cars　parked　at　the　curb。　Even　if　his　parents　missed　him　now；　they'd　never　be　able　to　find　him。　He　had　a　sudden　vision　of　them　cruising　the　dark　streets　in　his　mother's　Volvo；　calling　his　name；　waving　a　bottle　of　good　whiskey　to　lure　him　home。
　　He　was　forcing　himself　to　be　absolutely　silent；　making　a　game　of　it　so　that　he　would　not　have　to　think　too　hard　about　what　he　had　left　behind。　His　room　and　all　the　things　in　it。　Most　of　his　tapes；　most　of　his　books；　all　his　records　and　old　toys　and　the　stars　on　his　ceiling。　He　thought　of　the　stars　still　glowing　there；　lonely　pinpoints　of　light　above　his　empty　bed；　and　he　wondered　if　he　would　ever　again　sleep　beneath　a　ceiling　of　painted　yellow　stars。　Tears　pressed　against　the　backs　of　his　eyes。　He　chewed　his　lower　lip；　hugged　himself　tight；　and　waited　for　the　wave　of　loneliness　to　subside。　Not　even　two　blocks　away　and　already　homesick。　This　time　tomorrow；　alone　on　some　Greyhound　in　the　night；　he　might　be　a　real　mess。
　　He　unzipped　his　backpack　and　felt　around　inside。　He　had　brought　only　the　bare　essentials：　his　collection　of　Dylan　Thomas's　poems；　his　notebook；　the　note　stolen　from　his　mother's　drawer　that　would　tell　his　family　who　he　was　when　he　found　them；　his　Walkman；　and　as　many　tapes　as　he　had　been　able　to　cram　in。　He　would　honor　the　backpack　well；　it　would　never　have　to　lug　schoolbooks　again。
　　His　fingers　found　the　Walkman　and　the　edge　of　a　cassette　tape。　He　didn't　care　what　he　listened　to。　He　just　wanted　to　hear　something；　something　to　carry　him　away；　to　blot　out　his　thoughts　for　a　while。　He　knew　he　didn't　really　have　to　watch　for　his　parents。　They'd　never　miss　him。　He　had　heard　them　e　in　sometime　after　ten；　boozed　up　on　expensive　wine　and　stuffed　with　French　food；　arguing　about　him。　〃You　want　him　to　follow　any　asinine　whim　that　catches　his　fancy；〃　Father　had　said；　and　Mother　replied；　〃He　has　to　find　himself；〃　but　she　didn't　sound　as　serene　as　usual。　They'd　gone　into　their　bedroom　and　shut　the　door。　Nothing　lay　in　bed　and　thought　about　going　south　where　he　could　follow　his　whims；　asinine　or　not。　Where　no　one　would　ever　have　to　argue　about　him　again。
　　He　put　on　the　Lost　Souls？　cassette。　The　music　was　soft　and　wailing；　the　singer's　voice　pulling　him　down　south；　down　along　the　ways　the　trains　travelled；　down　through　the　green　land。　Nothing　wondered　whether　these　musicians　might　be　his　family；　his　long…lost　brothers。　He　thought　again　of　the　eerie…sounding　town　where　they　lived。　Maybe　he　would　go　there。
　　What　the　hell；　he　decided；　and　lit　a　cigarette。　Its　red　firefly　glow　would　pick　him　out　of　the　darkness　if　anyone　was　looking　for　him。　But　no　one　was。　He　knew　that。　Even　if　his　parents　missed　him；　they　would　figure　he'd　sneaked　out　to　party　with　his　friends。　We'll　cancel　his　allowance　for　a　week；　they'd　say；　and　then　they'd　roll　over　and　sleep　their　dreamless　sleep。　When　he　didn't　e　home　the　next　day；　they　would　call　the　police　and　set　up　a　halfhearted　search　for　him；　but　perhaps　they　would　be　secretly　relieved。　Now　they　could　live　their　fortable　lives　with　no　strange　son　to　look　at　them　and　silently　judge　them。　Now　they　need　no　longer　wonder　what　they　had　raised；　why　their　child　had　disappointed　them　so；　whether　they　might　have　been　happier　if　he　had　not　been　left　on　their　doorstep　that　cold　morning。　Now　he　was　on　the　road。　He　would　smoke　Lucky　Strikes　and　wander；　and　he　would　find　his　home。　He　was　on　his　way　already。
　　Skittle's　was　almost　empty　when　Nothing　walked　in。　The　cuffs　of　his　jeans　were　wet　with　night…dew。　The　fresh　cut　on　his　wrist　throbbed　in　time　with　his　heartbeat。　He　saw　Jack　in　a　corner　booth　with　four　other　kids；　two　boys　and　two　girls。　One　of　the　boys　was　Laine。　The　table　was　littered　with　empty　wax　cups　and　half…eaten　pizza；　the　ashtray　choked　with　butts。
　　Nothing　looked　at　Jack。　〃Can　you　still　drive　me　to　Columbia？〃
　　〃I　said　I　would；　dude。　Since　when　do　I　go　back　on　my　word？　I　need　the　five　dollars　if　you　have　it。〃　Nothing　handed　him　a　bill；　and　Jack　tucked　it　into　his　pack　of　Marlboros。
　　〃I　have　to　be　at　the　bus　station　by　one；〃　Nothing　said　pointedly。　〃The　bus　leaves　then。〃
　　Jack　heaved　a　great　sigh。　〃Okay。　Okay。　Let's　peel　out。〃　He　stood　up；　the　chains　on　his　boots　jangling。
　　The　others　stood　too；　Laine　slipped　out　of　the　booth　and　pressed　up　close　to　Nothing。　His　breath；　sweet　with　cloves；　tickled　Nothing's　ear。　〃Where　are　you　gonna　go？〃
　　〃I　don't　know。　South。〃
　　〃How　e　you　didn't　tell　me？〃
　　〃I　didn't　know　until　tonight。〃
　　Laine　took　Nothing's　hand　between　both　of　his；　twined　his　fingers　into　Nothing's。　〃You　should've　called　me。　I　would　have　gone　with　you。　I　hate　it　here　too。〃
　　Nothing　looked　at　Laine。　Laine's　lips　were　smeared　with　black　lipstick；　his　feathery　white…blond　hair　hid　his　eyes。　Nothing　wanted　to　brush　the　hair　away；　but　he　couldn't。　He　slid　his　hand　out　of　Laine's　and　shoved　it　into　the　pocket　of　his　jeans。　〃I　thought　you　were　going　out　with　Julie；〃　he　said。
　　Laine　shrugged；　an　unconcerned；　eloquent　gesture。　〃We　broke　up。　She's　such　a　damn　poser。〃
　　〃She's　all　right；〃　said　Nothing。　〃She　gave　me　her　Lost　Souls？　tape。〃
　　〃Yeah；　well；　she　never　listened　to　it　anyway。　She　doesn't　listen　to　anything　but　English　fashion　bands。〃　Laine　sneered。　Nothing　wondered　whether　Julie　had　dumped　Laine　this　afternoon；　or　possibly　even　earlier　tonight。　The　wounds　seemed　fresh。
　　If　Laine　wanted　Nothing　to　lick　them；　though；　he　was　out　of　luck。　Laine　wasn't　getting　an　invitation　to　go　south　with　him。　No　way。　Nothing　was　leaving　all　this　behind　tonight…　the　school；　the　parents；　and　this　goddamn　pizza　joint　where　the　kids　sat　and　smoked　and　talked　about　how　great　their　lives　would　be　if　only　they　lived　anywhere　but　here。
　　Jack　and　the　others　were　heading　for　the　parking　lot。　Laine　grabbed　Nothing's　hand　and　pulled　him　along。　〃You　don't　want　to　get　left；　do　you？　You're　getting　the　hell　out　of　here！〃　Laine's　voice　was　exalted；　envious。
　　The　ride　to　Columbia　seemed　to　take　no　lime　at　all。　Guardrails；　underpasses；　dead　orange　sodium　lights　flashed　past　at　a　great　speed。　Skinny　Puppy　played　on　Jack's　tape　deck；　so　loud　that　the　notes　were　mangled　beyond　recognition。　Someone　passed　around　a　flask　of　cheap　vodka；　and　Jack　drank　most　of　it　in　one　long　gurgling　swallow…like　the　Irishman　chauffeur　in　a　story　Nothing　had　read；　Jack　could　not　drive　unless　he　was　blind　drunk。
　　Nothing　was　squeezed　in　the　backseat　between　Laine　and　a　diminutive　purple…haired　girl　who　called　herself　Sioux。　Sioux　pulled　a　little　knife　from　her　boot　and　passed　it　over　to　Laine。　〃See　what　Veronica　traded　me　for　that　Cramps　poster？　It's　fucking　sharp！〃
　　Laine　fingered　the　tip　of　the　knife　and　yelped　as　the　blade　pierced　his　skin。　〃Seriously！　That　hurt。〃
　　A　spot　of　blood　glistened　on　Laine's　fingertip；　wet　and　black　in　the　orange　light　of　the　highway。　Nothing　bent　and　took　Laine's　finger　into　his　mouth　and　licked　the　blood　away。　Laine　lay　back　smiling。　Nothing　touched　his　tongue　to　the　spot；　questing　for　more；　but　Laine　slid　his　other　hand　under　Nothing's　chin；　tilted　Nothing's　face　up；　and　kissed　him　deeply；　wetly；　hugging　him　close。
　　〃I'll　miss　you；〃　said　Laine　into　Nothing's　mouth；　and　pushed　Nothing　against　the　back　of　the　seat　and　kissed　him　again。　
　　Then　Sioux　leaned　over　and　licked　Nothing's　throat；　and　Laine's　hands　were　in　his　hair　and　Sioux's　hands　were　on　his　thighs；　sliding　up　under　his　shirt。　Nothing　closed　his　eyes　and　smiled　into　the　darkness。　His　friends　had　disappointed　him　in　every　other　way；　but　they　certainly　knew　how　to　give　a　good　send…off。
　　The　others　waited　at　the　bus　station　with　him　until　Jack　put　a　nickel　in　the　gum　machine　and　kicked　it　over　when　no　gum　came　out。　Then　the　old　man　who　sold　tickets　made　them　all　leave；　and　Nothing　sat　alone　in　the　dark　waiting　room；　looking　at　the　frosted　glass　of　the　ticket　window；　the　dingy　scrolled　ceiling　high　above；　the　shiny　pink　bald　spot　on　the　back　of　the　old　man's　head　and　the　way　his　ivory…colored　hair　straggled　over　the　buckle　of　his　dirty　visor。
　　Nothing　took　out　his　Dylan　Thomas　book；　but　there　was　no　light　to　read　by。　He　looked　at　his　hands　in　his　lap。　Two　weeks　ago　he'd　put　on　some　of　Laine's　black　nail　polish；　but　most　of　it　was　gone　now。　He　examined　the　chips　and　flecks　that　were　left。　They　looked　like　shapes　on　a　map；　like　tiny　states。　Maybe　like　the　places　be　was　going。　He　cupped　his　hands　over　his　face。　'They　were　scented　with　vodka　and　smoke；　with　Laine　and　Sioux。　He　felt　his　eyes　closing。
　　The　old　man's　bawling　voice　woke　him　a　few　minutes　later。　〃Coach　boarding　for　Silver　Spring　Fairfax；　Wash'ton　DC；　Fredericksburg　。　。　。〃　Nothing　felt　for　his　backpack　and　stood　up。　Now　he　could　get　started。
　　The　bus　smelled　of　　cigarettes　and　prickly　upholstery　and　some　heavy　sweet　disinfectant。　Nothing　decided　he　liked　the　odor。　A　few　heads　lifted　to　stare　blearily　at　him；　then　drooped　back　against　the　dark　windows。　He　took　a　seat　in　the　back　and　lit　a　cigarette。　The　bus　shuddered；　heaved　a　sigh；　and　pulled　away　from　the　station。
　　Nothing　smiled　at　himself　in　the　window。　He　was　on　his　way。　His　journey　had　begun；　lie　was　already　a　little　closer　to　home。
　　
　　　Chapter　11
　　
　　Several　hours　after　Nothing　climbed　the　steps　of　a　Greyhound　bus　in　Maryland；　Christian　opened　his　eyes　and　saw　dawn　bleeding　palely　across　the　New　Orleans　sky。　At　first　he　could　not　remember　why　he　was　lying　on　the　riverbank；　why　his　clothes　were　wet　with　mist　and　his　limbs　so　stiff　and　cold。　He　could　not　think　why　it　seemed　strange　to　see　another　dawn；　why　he　had　never　expected　to　open　his　eyes　again；
　　Then　the　whole　night　came　rushing　back；　and　he　gave　an　involuntary　shudder　and　let　the　relief　and　the　fury　wash