pzb.lostsouls-第52部分

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s　with　rainbow…mirrored　lenses；　they　made　him　feel　like　John　Lennon　in　his　trippier　days。　It　was　good　to　keep　a　couple　of　pairs　of　sunglasses　on　you　all　the　time。　Daylight　didn't　hurt　him　and　the　others　as　it　did　Christian；　but　it　could　give　them　a　headache　that　pulsed　red　and　maddening　behind　the　eyes。
　　Nothing　wandered　the　streets　and　the　sidewalks　for　hours。　A　string　of　purple　Mardi　Gras　beads　was　draped　over　a　wrought…iron　gatepost；　left　over　from　the　carnival　in　the　spring；　a　garland　to　wele　him　home。　He　fastened　it　around　his　throat。
　　He　visited　St。　Louis　Cathedral　with　its　dizzy　vaulted　ceilings　and　its　thousand　votive　candles　flickering　in　stained…glass　light。　In　the　cathedral's　gift　shop　he　palmed　a　rosary　and　added　it　to　the　beads　around　his　neck；　the　two　strands　jangled　against　each　other；　then　nestled　together　in　an　uneasy　camaraderie　of　sacred　and　profane。
　　He　sat　at　the　Cafe　du　Monde　and　sipped　a　cup　of　coffee　shot　through　with　hot　steaming　milk。　He　wandered　to　the　top　of　the　levee　and　looked　down　upon　the　surging　brown　river。　My　mother's　bones　lie　there；　he　told　himself。　And　they　do　not　rest；　they　drift　and　break　apart　and　e　back　together　year　by　year；　and　they　never　rest。
　　When　shadows　began　to　stretch　across　the　sidewalks　and　tired　eyes　watched　his　progress　past　the　doorways　of　the　bars；　Nothing　retraced　his　steps　toward　Christian's　room。　The　others　would　be　ready　to　wake　by　now。　Christian　might　acpany　them　on　their　rounds　tonight；　or　might　find　some　other　way　to　amuse　himself；　since　he　no　longer　needed　a　job。　〃We　get　money　in　other　ways；〃　Zillah　had　told　him　coolly　when　he　proposed　going　back　to　work　at　some　bar。
　　They　would　descend　upon　the　French　Quarter；　reeling　from　bar　to　bar；　singing　down　Bourbon　Street　with　their　arms　around　one　another's　shoulders。　In　the　pany　of　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah；　Nothing　was　served　drinks　without　a　second　glance。　The　taste　of　Chartreuse　was　magical；　fragrant　and　heady　beyond　imagining；　yet　somehow　it　also　tasted　natural　to　him；　as　if　he　had　been　weaned　on　the　blazing　green　liqueur。　Already　it　felt　as　if　they　had　been　here　forever。
　　And　all　the　bloodstreams　here　were　sure　to　be　sweet。　With　a　shock；　Nothing　realized　how　hungry　he　was。　The　memory　of　Laine's　blood　gave　him　no　guilt　now。　He　remembered　only　how　rich　it　had　tasted；　its　heat；　the　way　it　had　pumped　into　his　mouth　with　the　beat　of　life　itself。　But　now　Laine's　death　felt　like　something　that　had　happened　a　long　time　ago。　Too　long　ago。
　　Since　then；　there　had　been　those　drifters　in　Missing　Mile；　and　the　child。　They　had　been　easier。　When　he　found　out　how　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　filed　their　teeth　to　make　them　sharp；　Nothing　had　sharpened　his　too。　Now　he　liked　to　run　his　tongue　over　them；　teasing　the　small　points。　But　not　even　the　kid　from　Violin　Road　had　tasted　as　sweet　as　Laine。　In　the　French　Quarter　all　blood　would　taste　alcoholic；　purple。。。。　
　　Yes；　tonight　they　would　surely　go　out　for　blood。
　　Now　he　was　almost　home。　Some　small　rational　part　of　his　mind　wondered　how　he　was　able　to　walk　these　streets　so　easily。　But　he　could　not　really　think　it　strange。　He　had　dreamed　of　this　city；　of　roaming　these　streets。　A　glittering　map　of　the　French　Quarter　seemed　to　unfold　in　his　head；　half…imagined　and　half…remembered；　as　clear　as　the　burn　of　Chartreuse。　He　swung　around　a　lamppost；　and　his　coat　floated　out　in　an　undulating　circle　of　black　silk。
　　Not　until　he　was　half　a　block　from　the　room　did　Nothing　notice　the　man　following　slowly　behind　him。　The　man　walked　bent　slightly　at　the　waist；　one　arm　clamped　across　his　stomach　as　if　it　hurt　him　to　move。　He　was　only　a　shape　in　the　fading　light；　neither　large　nor　small；　featureless。　Nothing　slowed　his　steps。　The　man　slowed　too。　Nothing　walked　faster。　So　did　the　man；　doubling　up　even　more。
　　Instead　of　stopping　at　the　boarded…up　bar；　Nothing　turned　right。　He　would　lead　the　man　into　the　alley　that　ran　beneath　Christian's　window。　The　alley　was　fenced　off　at　the　other　end　and　blocked　by　a　heap　of　garbage…he　might　be　trapping　himself。　But　he　could　face　the　man　there；　find　out　what　he　wanted　and　deal　with　him　however　necessary。　He　didn't　look　like　much　of　a　threat。
　　Nothing　heard　the　man　follow　him　into　the　alley；　shoes　crunching　over　broken　glass。　He　stopped　and　swung　around；　his　hands　on　his　hips　and　his　sneakers　planted　firmly　on　the　pavement；　trying　to　look　dangerous。
　　The　man　stopped　a　few　feet　away；　badly　hunched　now。　His　breathing　sounded　harsh　and　painful。　His　face　was　a　wavering　pale　blotch　on　the　dusk。　Below　it；　a　silver　cross　on　a　chain　gleamed。　He　stared　at　Nothing　for　a　long　moment；　his　lips　working　silently；　his　eyes　disbelieving。　Then　he　took　two　unsteady　steps　forward。
　　〃Jessy　。　。　。〃　he　whispered。
　　Nothing　felt　his　heart　cannon　against　his　ribs；　bounce　crazily　off　his　breastbone。　Hush；　he　willed　it；　hush；　heart；　no　one　can　hurt　me。　Zillah　is　close　by；　and　I　have　no　fear。
　　The　man　came　closer。　With　dry　fingertips　he　touched　Nothing's　face。　Nothing　thought；　He's　old。　He　is　much　older　than　I　thought。　And　he　looks　so　sick。　He　cannot　hurt　me。　He　caught　the　man's　hand　in　his　and　pulled　it　easily　away　from　his　face。　The　fingers　were　like　bones　wrapped　in　parchment。
　　〃Jessy；〃　the　man　said　again；　more　evenly　this　time。　
　　Nothing　tried　to　make　his　voice　calm。　It　came　out　husky；　as　if　he'd　smoked　a　whole　pack　of　Luckies　that　day。　〃That's　not　my　name；〃　he　said。
　　〃You　are　so　like　her…〃　The　old　man　pulled　himself　upright。　His　face　contorted。　Nothing　imagined　tissue　pulling　loose　inside　him；　bleeding　bad　blood。　He　gripped　the　man's　arm；　trying　to　give　what　support　he　could。　The　man　breathed　deeply　and　was　able　to　continue。　〃My　daughter　died　many　years　ago。　But　you　are　so　very　like　her　。　。　。〃
　　It's　Wallace；　Nothing　realized　wildly。　The　sick　old　man　who　nearly　killed　Christian　and　drove　him　away　from　here。　He　is　my　grandfather。　He　shot　Christian　in　the　chest　。　。　。　but　he　is　my　grandfather。　His　heart　caromed　again。　Should　he　tell　Wallace　his　name；　or　should　he　lie？　Something　in　him　rebelled　at　denying　his　name。　It　was　truly　his　now；　and　he　would　claim　it。　〃My　name　is　Nothing；〃　he　said。
　　〃Who　are　you？〃　The　man　grabbed　Nothing's　shoulders　and　gave　him　a　feeble　shake。　〃Who　are　you；　child？〃
　　Nothing　half…wanted　to　fall　into　Wallace's　arms　and　sob　out　the　whole　confusing　story。　After　all；　this　man　was　his　grandfather。　He　had　almost　killed　Christian；　but　he　hadn't　known　the　truth　then。　He　thought　Christian　had　lured　Jessy　to　her　death。　Nothing　could　explain　the　truth。
　　But　then　he　realized　he　couldn't。　Even　if　Nothing　was　Wallace's　only　grandson；　even　if　Nothing　looked　so　much　like　his　dear　dead　Jessy。　Because　if　Wallace　heard　the　whole　story；　he　would　know　who　had　really　killed　his　daughter。
　　Zillah。　Zillah　had　caused　Jessy's　death；　hadn't　he？　He　didn't　mean　to；　it　was　my　fault…I　tore　her　apart　inside　before　I　was　ever　born；　Nothing　thought　hysterically。　But　Wallace　would　not　blame　him。　Wallace　would　love　him　because　he　was　Jessy's　offspring；　because　he　looked　like　Jessy　and　was　just　the　age　she　had　been　when　Wallace　had　lost　her。　And　Wallace　would　want　to　take　him　away　from　Zillah；　away　from　his　family。
　　Besides；　Wallace　was　in　pain。　Suffering。
　　Maybe　Nothing　could　do　one　small　mercy　for　his　grandfather。
　　〃My　mother's　name　was　Jessy；〃　he　said。
　　Doubt　flickered　in　Wallace's　eyes；　brighter　than　the　pain　and　weariness。　If　Nothing　wanted　Wallace　to　trust　him；　he　had　to　think　of　some　kind　of　proof。　At　once　it　came　to　him。
　　〃She　disappeared　fifteen　years　ago；　at　Mardi　Gras；〃　he　told　Wallace。　'That　was　when　she　met　my　father。〃
　　Not　until　the　words　were　out；　hanging　in　the　cool　still　air　of　the　dusk；　did　Nothing　realize　his　mistake。
　　〃Then　you　are　one　of　the　unholy　creatures　too；〃　Wallace　whispered。　〃The　city　has　bee　riddled　with　them。〃　With　a　convulsive　motion　he　tore　the　crucifix　from　his　neck　and　thrust　it　at　Nothing；　trying　to　drive　him　toward　the　end　of　the　alley。　〃Repent　while　you　are　still　young…in　the　name　of　the　Father；　the　Son；　and　the　Holy　Ghost；　tear　the　bloodlust　from　your　heart…〃
　　Nothing　could　not　bring　himself　to　laugh。　He　caught　Wallace's　hand　and　took　the　cross　away。　〃I'm　sorry；　Grandfather；〃　he　said。　〃That　doesn't　work　on　all　of　us。〃
　　〃Then　it's　lucky　that　the　Lord　told　me　to　carry　other　protection；〃　said　Wallace。　In　one　jerky　movement　he　whipped　a　small　pistol　from　the　waistband　of　his　trousers　and　aimed　it　at　Nothing's　forehead。
　　〃Bless　you；　my　grandson；〃　he　said。　〃When　you　look　upon　the　face　of　God；　you　will　thank　me。〃
　　
　　Nothing　was　never　sure　how　long　he　stood　there　staring　down　the　round　black　barrel　of　the　gun；　wondering　whether　he　would　see　the　flash　of　fire　or　hear　the　explosion　before　the　bullet　smashed　into　his　face。　The　brain　or　the　heart；　Christian　had　told　him。　He　had　time　to　think　of　all　he　had　found；　all　he　was　about　to　lose；　all　the　miles　he　would　not　travel。
　　A　mist　seemed　to　surround　Wallace's　head；　suffusing　his　face　with　dim　light。　Nothing　saw　Wallace's　finger　tightening　on　the　trigger：　actually　saw　that。
　　Then　something　was　plummeting　toward　them。　Nothing　saw　the　large　dark　shape　hit　Wallace　dead…on；　saw　Wallace's　body　jerk　forward　and　his　arm　fly　up。　The　shot　went　wild。　Brick　splintered　far　overhead。
　　Zillah　crouched　atop　Wallace's　prone　form。　He　must　have　launched　himself　from　the　second…story　window；　but　he　was　not　even　breathing　hard。　The　other　man's　body　had　stopped　his　fall。
　　Wallace　lay　on　the　pavement　in　the　shards　of　glass。　He　groped　weakly　for　the　pistol。　Zillah　stamped　on　Wallace's　hand；　and　Nothing　heard　a　sound　like　strands　of　raw　spaghetti　breaking。　Wallace　screamed　once；　a　shrill；　despairing　sound。　Then　he　began　to　mumble　softly。　Nothing　realized　he　was　praying。　Did　he　still　think　his　God　was　going　to　pull　him　out　of　this　one？
　　〃Some　fine　messes　you　get　yourself　into；〃　said　Zillah。　〃What　if　I　hadn't　seen　you　from　up　there？〃　His　eyes　gleamed；　his　lips　were　purple　with　fury。　'You　little　fool〃…the　pointed　tip　of　his　shoe　met　Wallace's　cheekbone；　black　blood　sprayed…〃do　you　think　you're　too　smart　to　die？　Do　you　think　I　can　always　watch　out　for　you？〃
　　Zillah　knelt　above　Wallace；　pulled　Wallace's　head　up　by　a　h