pzb.lostsouls-第6部分

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lly　interested　him。　The　thought　made　him　sad；　though　he　wasn't　sure　why。
　　He　lay　back　on　the　floor　and　stared　up　at　a　poster　tacked　on　the　ceiling　above　Laine's　bed：　Robert　Smith's　lips　enlarged　several　thousand　limes；　smeared　with　hot　orange…red　lipstick；　shiny　and　sexual。　Nothing　wished　he　could　fall　into　them；　could　slide　down　Robert　Smith's　throat　and　curl　up　stile　in　his　belly。　The　marijuana　made　him　feel　restless；　he　wanted　to　do　a　hundred　things　at　once；　but　none　of　them　here。　He　realized　that　among　these　kids　he　called　his　friends　he　felt　much　more　alone　than　he　had　felt　in　his　room　last　night。
　　The　Bauhaus　tape　ended；　and　no　one　put　anything　else　on。　The　party　began　to　break　up。　A　hippie…looking　girl　Nothing　didn't　know　flashed　a　peace　sign　at　Laine　as　she　left。　Julie　got　up　to　leave　too；　she　was　supposed　to　be　grounded；　she　explained；　because　her　mother　had　smelled　beer　on　her　breath　when　she　came　home　from　a　party　last　weekend。　〃Bummer；〃　said　Laine；　not　sounding　as　if　he　cared　very　much。
　　Nothing　stared　at　the　floor；　feeling　depressed。　He　had　seen　Julie　so　strung　out　on　acid　that　she　thought　the　flesh　was　melting　from　her　bones；　and　her　parents　couldn't　even　deal　with　her　drinking　beer。
　　As　she　was　about　to　leave；　Julie　reached　into　her　purse。　〃You　can　have　this；〃　she　told　Nothing。　〃You　said　you　liked　it；　and　I　never　listen　to　it…sounds　like　shitkicker　music　to　me。〃　She　handed　him　a　cheap　home…produced　cassette　tape。　The　crayon　writing　on　the　liner　said　LOST　SOULS？
　　Nothing's　heart　quickened。　When　he　had　heard　this　tape　at　Julie's　house；　something　in　it　had　sung　out　to　him。　He　remembered　a　snatch　of　lyrics：　〃We　are　not　afraid　。　。　。　let　the　night　e　。　。　。　we　are　not　afraid。〃　The　singer's　golden　voice　chanting　those　words　had　awakened　in　him　a　courage　he　didn't　know　he　had；　a　belief　that　someday　his　life　would　be　more　than　this。　But　to　show　an　excess　of　feeling　in　this　crowd　was　considered　uncool；　as　far　as　Nothing　could　tell；　you　were　supposed　to　act　bored　all　the　time。　He　only　smiled　at　Julie；　said　〃Thanks；〃　and　stuck　the　cassette　in　his　backpack。
　　As　soon　as　Julie　was　gone；　Laine　got　up　and　put　on　a　Cure　tape。　Then　he　came　and　lay　beside　Nothing　on　the　floor。　His　bleached　white…blond　hair　fell　in　long　strands　over　his　eyes。　His　hand　found　Nothing's　and　squeezed。　Nothing　didn't　squeeze　back；　but　he　didn't　pull　away。
　　〃Do　you　want　a　blowjob？〃　said　Laine。　He　was　one　of　the　youngest　of　the　crowd；　only　fourteen；　but　he　cultivated　arcane　talents。　Nothing　had　seen　the　legend　Laine　Gives　Killer　Head　inscribed　on　more　than　one　bathroom　wall　at　school。　
　　〃What　about　Julie？〃
　　〃Julie　doesn't　turn　me　on　much；〃　said　Laine。　〃I　like　you；　though。　I　think　you're　really　cool。〃　lazily　he　propped　himself　on　his　elbow　and　reached　over　to　touch　Nothing's　face。　Nothing　closed　his　eyes　and　let　himself　be　touched。　The　contact　felt　good。　Laine　hugged　him；　buried　his　face　in　Nothing's　shoulder；　he　smelled　of　shampoo　and　clove　cigarettes。
　　〃Seriously；〃　he　said。　〃I　haven't　given　you　a　blowjob　since　August。　I　want　to。〃
　　〃Okay；〃　Nothing　told　him。　He　pulled　Laine's　face　to　his　and　kissed　him；　nudging　his　mouth　gently　open。　Laine's　mouth　tasted　delicately　salty；　like　tears。　He　suddenly　felt　terribly　sad　for　Laine；　who　was　too　young　to　know　so　much。　He　wanted　to　show　Laine　some　gesture　of　tenderness；　something　that　might　make　them　both　feel　as　young　as　they　really　were。
　　But　Laine's　tongue　was　already　tracing　a　wet　path　down　Nothing's　chest；　Laine's　hands　were　already　unfastening　Nothing's　jeans　and　tugging　them　open。　Nothing　stared　up　at　Robert　Smith's　magnified　mouth。　The　singer's　lush　clotted　voice　surrounded　him；　making　him　feel　again　as　if　he　were　tumbling　between　those　lips。　Laine's　hands　and　tongue　worked　him　with　a　skill　born　of　practice。　Nothing　felt　something　twist　inside　him。　He　put　his　hand　down　to　　touch　Laine's　brittle　hair；　and　Laine　looked　up　at　him　with　clear；　guileless　eyes。
　　As　he　began　to　e；　Nothing　thought　again　of　the　black　van　that　had　driven　past　the　school　today；　of　the　snatch　of　song　he　had　heard　trailing　from　its　windows。　He　wondered　where　the　van　was　now。
　　Wherever　it　was；　he　wished　he　were　there　too。
　　
　　　Chapter　3
　　　
　　The　road　was　long　and　hilly；　the　black　van　was　hurtling　along　like　a　roller　coaster；　and　the　day　was　fine。　Twig　drove　with　an　elbow　cocked　out　the　window。　Molochai　hung　out　the　other　side；　gnawing　on　his　sticky　fingers；　letting　the　wind　blow　in　his　face。　Zillah　lolled　on　a　mattress　in　the　back；　luxuriating　in　the　clear　autumn　warmth。　The　mattress　was　filthy；　parts　of　its　fabric　caked　with　stiff　stains　that　faded　from　dark'　maroon　to　nearly　black。　They　would　have　to　unload　it　at　a　dump　and　find　a　cleaner　one　soon。
　　Molochai　swivelled　his　head　as　they　passed　the　school。　〃Hey！　Kiddies！〃
　　Twig　swatted　him。　〃Small　game。　How　boring。〃
　　〃There'd　be　plenty　to　do　at　a　high　school。　All　those　candy　boys；　all　those　sugar　girls　。　。　。〃　Molochai　pictured　himself　gliding　through　shadowy　afternoon　halls　when　almost　everyone　had　gone　home；　his　nose　and　mouth　full　of　the　dry　smell　of　paper；　the　soft　scent　of　years'　dust　grimed　into　the　corners；　the　underlying　thrill　of　odor　left　behind　by　healthy　young　flesh　shot　through　with　sizzling　hormones；　greased　with　quickening　blood。　Maybe　one　of　them　would　have　stayed　behind；　kept　after　school：　a　bad　girl；　sulking　in　an　empty　classroom；　her　eyes　downcast。　She　would　never　see　the　shape　ing　down　the　hallway；　pausing　at　the　door。　Molochai　thought　of　ripping　soft　bellyskin；　white　and　firm　just　above　the　tangle　of　pubic　hair。　That　was　his　favorite　spot　to　bite　girls。
　　〃A　temple　of　boredom；〃　Zillah　offered　from　the　back。　He　was　braiding　his　hair。　He　kept　a　streak　of　it　dyed　purple；　gold；　and　green；　and　he　was　weaving　the　three　colored　strands　together；　toying　with　the　braid；　then　delicately　pulling　it　apart　with　his　fingers。　〃Boredom　is　a　sin。　Boredom　is　unholy。〃
　　Molochai　snorted。　〃What　do　you　know　about　it？　When　have　you　ever　been　bored？〃
　　'I'm　a　hundred；〃　said　Zillah；　studying　his　long　fingernails　critically。　He　produced　a　bottle　of　black　nail　polish　and　began　painting　his　nails；　neatly；　carefully。　〃You　two　are　only　seventy…five；　but　I　am　one　hundred　years　old　this　very　year。　I　have　been　bored。　I'm　bored　now。
　　〃I'm　a　hundred。〃　Twig　reached　under　the　driver's　seat　and　found　a　bottle。　〃And　this　wine　was　born　last　Tuesday！　Let's　drink　to　it。〃
　　'I'm　a　hundred；〃　Molochai　mumbled　around　the　neck　of　the　bottle。　The　wine　was　sticky；　sweet　as　rotten　grapes。　He　licked　his　lips　and　took　another　swig。
　　They　kept　driving；　kept　drinking；　never　looked　at　a　map。　They　did　not　need　maps；　the　possibility　of　alternate　routes；　charted　yellow　and　red　and　green　roads；　cryptic　legends；　held　no　fascination　for　them。　By　some　warm　alcoholic　magnetism　in　their　blood　they　were　drawn　on　to　the　next　city　and　the　next。　Twig　always　knew　what　roads　to　take；　what　highways　he　could　roar　along　the　fastest；　what　country　blacktops　were　haunted　by　state　troopers　and　God…fearing　folk。　They　had　just　e　from　New　York　City　where　they　were　able　to　sate　their　appetites　every　night　on　blood　rich　with　strange　drugs；　where　a　hophead　chick　they　met　had　let　them　sleep　the　days　away　in　her　East　Village　apartment　until　they　grew　careless　and　left　a　shredded　mess　in　her　bathtub。　Kinky　stuff　was　fine；　she　said；　but　she　wasn't　into　death。　And　there　were　gore　stains　on　her　only　set　of　towels。　She　had　still　been　trying　to　decide　how　to　get　rid　of　the　body　when　they　sneaked　out。
　　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　were　good　at　sneaking　out。　They　had　plenty　of　practice　at　it：　Zillah　had　taught　Molochai　and　Twig　how　to　act　nonchalant；　how　to　wipe　the　blood　off　their　faces　and　control　their　passionate　breathing　before　they　left　the　scene　of　a　kill。　Without　his　guidance；　Zillah　reflected；　they　would　both　have　been　dead　several　times　over；　probably　with　stakes　driven　through　their　punky　little　hearts。　It　was　true　that　Zillah　was　a　hundred　and　the　others　only　seventy…　five；　even　so；　they　were　just　teenagers　by　the　standard　of　their　race。　Zillah　remembered　the　depthless　eyes　of　Christian；　his　quiet；　almost　painful　dignity。　How　old　would　Christian　be　now？　Three　hundred　years？　Four？　But　even　when　Christian　had　been　a　mere　babe　of　fifty；　Zillah　found　it　hard　to　imagine　him　acting　as　stupid　as　Molochai　and　Twig。　
　　Still；　they　were　his　charges。　They　took　orders　without　question；　and　in　return　they　expected　Zillah　to　take　care　of　them；　to　do　their　thinking　for　them。　They　had　perhaps　half　a　brain　between　them。　They　knew　Zillah　was　the　smart　one。　But　they　were　good　fun。　
　　Zillah　had　met　them　at　an　elegant　garden　party　in　the　roaring　twenties；　a　Great　Gatsby…ish　affair　with　paper　lanterns　and　drunken　croquet　games　on　the　lawn。　Molochai　and　Twig　were　huddled　in　a　corner　of　the　garden　making　fun　of　the　women's　fancy　dresses。　Whenever　a　waiter　came　by　with　a　tray　of　champagne　flutes；　they　would　reach　out　and　grab　two　glasses　apiece；　one　in　each　hand。　When　Zillah　approached　them；　they　were　too　drunk　to　recognize　him　as　one　of　their　own；　but　they　liked　his　pretty　face　and　his　natty　suit　of　white　linen。　They　led　him　into　the　big　house；　thinking　they　were　luring　him　to　his　death；　and　tried　to　attack　him　in　an　upstairs　parlor　decorated　entirely　in　animal　skins　and　trophy　heads。　Zillah　threw　them　across　the　room；　hoisted　them　up；　and　cracked　their　heads　together　beneath　the　eternally　roaring　jaws　of　a　stuffed　lion。　Then　he　opened　a　vein　in　his　wrist　and　tenderly　gave　them　to　drink。　After　that　they　were　his　forever。　Or　nearly　so。　
　　Several　miles　outside　the　town；　they　gave　up　on　finding　the　doughnut　shop　that　Molochai　thought　he　remembered　once　seeing　along　this　highway。　They　stopped　at　a　7…Eleven　instead。　Molochai　filled　a　big　bag　with　candy　and　Hostess　cakes。　Twig　chose　a　package　of　sliced　bologna　and　stocked　up　on　cheap　wine。　
　　The　cashier　watched　them　with　an　absorption　that　bordered　on　awe；　readjusting　her　heavy　ass　on　the　stool　behind　the　register；　pushing　at　the　colored　plastic　barrettes　that　held　her　stringy　hair　in　place。　When　Zillah's　eyes　met　hers；　she　felt　her　insides　go　runny。　The　unfamiliar　territory　between　her　legs　twitched；　suddenly　moist。
　　She　had　moles