pzb.lostsouls-第24部分

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　without　really　hearing　it。　The　bar　seemed　primitive：　Kinsey　served　no　liquor　or　even　wine；　only　beer；　and　not　many　varieties　of　that。　Without　shots　to　set　up；　without　Sazeracs　and　Hurricanes　to　mix；　Christian　felt　he　was　hardly　working。
　　Gradually　and　gratefully　he　came　to　realize　that　this　was　no　redneck　bar。　He　saw　children　in　black；　which　he　had　not　expected　in　a　small　southern　town；　and　he　watched　them　and　began　to　know　their　faces。　But　he　would　wait。　Some　of　these　children　might　be　drifters　or　flotsam　from　the　state　university　in　Raleigh；　but　he　could　not　afford　to　be　greedy　too　soon。　He　had　waited　before。　Soon　someone　would　e　to　town；　alone　and　a　stranger；　someone　he　could　take　safely。
　　His　wages　from　the　bar　would　not　be　quite　enough　to　pay　for　the　trailer　he　rented…it　was　on　Violin　Road；　but　it　was　cheap…and　the　gasoline　to　drive　to　work　each　night。　On　his　way　north　he　had　seen　wooden　stands　by　the　side　of　the　road。　They　sold　flowers；　fruit；　trinkets。　Behind　his　trailer　was　a　scrap　heap　and　a　great　thicket　of　roses　rioting　wild。　Christian　cut　the　huge　blossoms　and　wrapped　their　stems　in　newspaper。　In　an　overgrown　patch　of　garden　he　found　a　few　stunted　pumpkins；　a　few　gourds　gone　dry　on　the　vine。　He　got　some　sixpenny　nails　and　a　hammer　from　the　hardware　shop　in　town；　dragged　several　boards　out　of　the　scrap　heap；　put　together　a　stand　and　painted　a　sign。
　　When　the　sun　was　not　too　bright；　he　drove　around　the　outskirts　of　Missing　Mile　and　set　up　his　stand　on　different　corners。　Sometimes　people　stopped　to　buy　from　him；　he　answered　their　chatter　with　the　practiced　glibness　that　came　from　a　few　centuries　of　bartending。　From　behind　his　dark　glasses　he　watched　their　faces　and　their　throats；　wondering　how　long　it　would　be　until　his　mouth　began　to　water　at　the　smell　of　their　blood。
　　Christian　would　stay　in　Missing　Mile　as　long　as　he　could；　and　when　he　had　saved　some　money；　he　would　fill　the　tank　of　his　Bel　Air　and　start　driving　north　again。　North　was　where　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　might　be；　and　he　still　thought　of　finding　them。　Sometimes　at　night　he　would　take　out　the　three　bottles　of　Chartreuse　he　had　brought　from　New　Orleans。　He　read　the　legend　on　the　green…and…gold　foil　label　again　and　again；　thinking　of　Wallace　Creech　and　the　children　of　the　French　Quarter　and　the　dirty　slow　river；　but　he　never　cracked　the　seals　on　any　of　the　bottles。　He　still　remembered　how　the　green　fire　had　blazed　through　him　on　his　last　night　in　New　Orleans。
　　
　　　Chapter　15
　　
　　By　ten　o'clock　the　next　morning；　Nothing　was　so　hungry　and　lonely　that　he　almost　cried　from　sheer　relief　when　the　biker　stopped　and　picked　him　up。
　　Sleeping　in　a　barn　hadn't　been　any　fun。　He'd　gotten　out　of　the　rain　for　a　few　hours；　but　he　woke　up　sore；　hunger　nibbling　at　his　stomach　and　the　taste　of　dust　and　rotten　blood　in　his　mouth。　When　he　stumbled　out　of　the　barn；　morning　sunlight　blinded　him　for　a　moment。　Nothing　squeezed　his　eyes　shut；　then　opened　them　a　crack；　cautiously。　The　countryside　glistened　in　green　splendor　around　him。　Tendrils　of　vine　crept　up　the　side　of　the　barn；　poked　inquisitively　through　a　hole　in　the　roof。　He　dosed　his　eyes　again　and　breathed　the　smell　of　sunlight　drying　up　last　night's　rain。
　　Back　on　the　highway；　not　many　cars　went　by。　None　stopped。　He　saw　some　men　eating　biscuits　and　drinking　coffee　in　a　pickup　truck；　and　saliva　rushed　into　his　mouth。　He　spat　on　the　side　of　the　road；　to　swallow　hunger…spit　would　only　make　him　hungrier。　Experimentally；　he　put　his　hand　on　his　stomach。　Through　the　damp　cloth　of　his　T…shirt；　it　already　felt　more　hollow。　Surely　his　hipbones　were　sharper　than　they　had　been　two　days　ago。　He　lit　a　Lucky　and　sucked　up　the　smoke　as　if　it　were　orange　juice。
　　The　next　haft　hour　crawled　by。　Nothing　walked　slowly　along　the　shoulder　of　the　road　sticking　out　his　thumb　whenever　a　car　went　by。　Everyone　in　the　cars　stared　at　him；　but　no　one　stopped。　Then　he　heard　the　growl　of　a　motor　around　the　bend　he'd　just　passed。　Something　was　ing　down　the　highway　fast…no　car；　no　decrepit　pickup。　A　motorcycle。　A　big　one。　He　stared　pleadingly　as　it　approached；　and　when　the　driver　saw　him；　the　bike　slowed　and　pulled　up　short　beside　him。
　　〃Where　you　headed？〃　the　biker　asked。　The　question　already　seemed　familiar。
　　〃Missing　Mile；　North　Carolina。〃　Nothing　wasn't　sure　if　he　was　really　going　there；　but　the　name　had　bee　a　sort　of　talisman。
　　〃Yeah？　I'm　going　to　Danville。　That's　almost　over　the　Carolina　border。　Hop　on。〃
　　Nothing　had　never　been　on　a　motorcycle　before；　though　he　had　always　wished　he　could　drive　one。　This　was　a　heavy　bike；　chopped　and　channelled；　chrome　winking　through　a　layer　of　highway　dirt。　Nothing　stood　looking　at　the　machine　until　the　biker　said；　〃You　want　a　ride　or　not？〃
　　〃Yeah；　sure。〃　Nothing　looked　up　into　the　biker's　face。　White　blond　hair　going　dark　at　the　roots；　frazzled　by　wind。　No　crash　helmet。　Enormous　hollow　eyes；　as　round　and　glowing　as　a　bushbaby's。　Eyes　like　little　moons；　set　back　in　gray　hollows　of　bone。　A　young…old　face；　road…tough　yet　somehow　melancholy；　hanging　over　the　turned…up　collar　of　a　black　leather　jacket。　〃What's　your　name？〃　Nothing　asked。
　　〃Spooky；〃　the　biker　told　him；　and　it　seemed　right。　
　　Nothing　climbed　up　behind　Spooky　and　wrapped　his　arms　around　the　biker's　waist。　Under　the　heavy　jacket　Spooky's　body　felt　loose…jointed；　thin　as　a　whippet。　The　wide　saddle　thrummed；　it　was　like　climbing　astride　something　living。　Then　Spooky　let　out　the　clutch；　and　the　bike　leaped　forward。　The　wind　pummelled　Nothing's　bare　head；　blew　his　hair　straight　back；　stung　his　eyes。　He　wondered　whether　they　were　going　very　fast。
　　Around　noon　they　stopped　in　a　little　town　and　got　a　bucket　of　fried　chicken；　which　they　ate　in　an　old　tumbledown　graveyard　some　miles　down　the　highway。　Nothing　wolfed　the　crisp　flesh　and　sucked　at　the　bones；　but　Spooky　only　picked　at　a　drumstick；　peeling　off　shreds　of　meat　and　shoving　them　listlessly　into　his　mouth。　Nothing　licked　the　grease　off　his　fingers　and　leaned　back　against　the　door　of　a　crumbling　family　vault。　The　iron　bars　shifted　beneath　his　weight；　and　Nothing　waited　to　see　whether　he　would　spill　in　among　the　bones。　The　door　held。　A　little　disappointed；　he　looked　back　at　Spooky。　The　biker's　hands　were　shaking　now。
　　〃Shit；〃　said　Spooky。　〃Are　you　cool？　I　need　to　fix。〃　He　mimed　jabbing　something　into　the　vein　of　his　arm。
　　〃Oh；〃　said　Nothing；　understanding。　〃Oh。　Sure　I'm　cool。〃　He　tried　to　look　cool。　〃Who　do　you　think　I'd　tell？〃
　　〃Just　gotta　be　sure。　You　never　know。〃　Spooky　dug　through　the　pockets　of　his　jacket　and　pulled　out　several　objects。　A　tarnished　silver　spoon；　a　dirty　shred　of　cheesecloth；　a　cheap　plastic　lighter。　From　the　saddlebag　of　the　bike　he　took　a　Thermos　full　of　water。　Last；　he　reached　into　some　inner　partment　of　his　jacket　and　removed　a　flat　lacquered　box　inlaid　with　a　bright　scene　of　tropical　birds。　He　opened　it　reverentially；　Nothing　half…expected　silver　light　to　spill　out；　bathing　Spooky's　face；　engulfing　him。　But　inside　the　box　was　only　a　plastic　bag　full　of　little　foil　packets；　seemingly　hundreds　of　them。　And　them；　as　innocuous　as　a　dull　gray　viper；　the　syringe。
　　Nothing　watched　closely；　trying　to　look　as　if　he　had　seen　it　all　before。　Spooky　removed　his　studded　leather　belt；　shrugged　off　his　jacket；　and　pulled　the　belt　tight　around　his　upper　arm。　His　skin　was　faintly　damp；　mottled。　He　poured　a　little　water　into　the　spoon　and　shook　a　grainy　white　powder　out　of　one　of　the　foil　packets。　Then；　as　if　remembering　his　manners；　he　glanced　up　at　Nothing。　〃Oh；　hey；　you　want　to　fix？〃
　　〃Yes；〃　said　Nothing　without　thinking。　If　he　thought；　he　might　panic。　Dead　rock　stars　flitted　through　his　mind。　William　Burroughs　chided　him。
　　〃I'll　do　you　first。　You're　just　a　kid；　you　don't　know　how　to　do　it。　You　might　shoot　an　air　bubble。〃
　　Nothing　closed　his　eyes　as　Spooky　unbuckled　the　belt　from　his　own　arm　and　drew　it　snug　around　Nothing's。　He　stroked　the　inside　of　Nothing's　elbow；　pressing　down；　smoothing　out　the　skin。　His　touch　was　very　gentle；　but　had　no　sexual　quality　to　it。　All　of　Spooky's　erotic　energy　seemed　to　go　into　the　handling　of　his　drug。
　　〃Okay；　here's　your　vein。　Keep　your　finger　on　it。〃　Spooky　held　the　lighter　under　the　spoon　until　the　mixture　started　to　bubble。　Then　he　laid　the　cheesecloth　over　the　surface　and　drew　the　solution　into　the　syringe。　Spooky's　hands　were　steady　now。
　　〃Still　got　that　vein？　Okay；　hold　it　。　。　。〃　He　held　up　the　syringe　and　flicked　the　needle's　tip　with　his　finger。　〃Don't　worry。　I　can　smell　you're　scared；　but　this　is　good　shit。　There　goes　the　bubble。　Safe　as　milk；　like　Nick　Drake　used　to　say。　Okay。　Okay　。　。　。〃　He　bent　over　Nothing's　arm　and　probed　the　soft　flesh　with　the　needle。　〃There　you　go。〃　Spooky　drew　back　the　plunger。　A　diaphanous　swirl　of　blood　filled　the　syringe。　Nothing　realized　he　had　been　holding　his　breath。
　　〃My　turn。〃　Spooky　mixed　the　solution　again　and　injected　himself　with　a　cool　eagerness。　He　shivered　when　the　needle　went　in。　A　moment　later　Spooky　just　seemed　to　start　fading。　His　eyelids　fluttered；　and　his　voice　began　to　drag　like　a　m…cord　played　at　low　speed。　As　Nothing　watched；　those　luminous　bushbaby　eyes　slipped　shut。
　　Nothing　felt　the　junk　spreading　through　him；　tendrils　venturing　into　his　hands　and　his　legs；　turning　his　blood　as　clear　and　pure　as　water。　He　didn't　feel　sleepy　at　all。　His　mind　was　sharp；　cold。　He　felt　as　powerful　as　a　god。
　　Spooky　was　pletely　gone　now。　He　slumped　against　the　vault；　his　eyes　closed；　his　breathing　shallow；　harsh。　His　mouth　was　slightly　open。　Nothing　saw　the　tip　of　his　tongue　glistening。
　　Nothing　moved　closer　to　Spooky；　moved　so　close　that　he　was　almost　on　top　of　the　biker。　He　encircled　Spooky's　shoulders　with　his　arm。　At　the　neck　of　Spooky's　dirty　white　T…shirt　his　skin　was　chill；　sweaty；　goosepimpled。　With　the　tip　of　his　finger　Nothing　stroked　Spooky's　throat　and　found　the　spot　under　the　ear　where　the　pulse　beat。　He　left　his　finger　there　for　a　moment；　then　shook　his　head。　What　was　he　thinking？　If　you　bit　somebody　there；　you　might　kill　him。　Instead　he　picked　up　Spooky's　limp　arm　and　bit　at　the　soft　skin　of　the　inner　elbow；　where　Spooky　had　fixed。
　　The　vein　was　already　open；　and　the　blood　began　to　flow　easily。　From　s