sk.everythingseventual-第30部分

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　　Before　he　could　finish；　one　of　them…a　thick…chested　troll　with　a　pouty　toad's　mouth　and　what　looked　like　gills　on　the　sides　of　his　wattled　neck…lunged　forward；　gibbering　in　a　high…pitched　and　peculiarly　flabby　voice。　It　might　have　been　a　species　of　laughter。　He　was　waving　what　looked　like　a　piano　leg。
　　Roland　fired。　Mr。　Toad's　chest　caved　in　like　a　bad　piece　of　roofing。　He　ran　backward　several　steps；　trying　to　catch　his　balance　and　clawing　at　his　chest　with　the　hand　not　holding　the　piano　leg。　His　feet；　clad　in　dirty　red　velvet　slippers　with　curled…up　toes；　tangled　in　each　other　and　he　fell　over；　making　a　queer　and　somehow　lonely　gargling　sound。　He　let　go　of　his　club；　rolled　over　on　one　side；　tried　to　rise；　and　then　fell　back　into　the　dust。　The　brutal　sun　glared　into　his　open　eyes；　and　as　Roland　watched；　white　tendrils　of　steam　began　to　rise　from　his　skin；　which　was　rapidly　losing　its　green　undertint。　There　was　also　a　hissing　sound；　like　a　gob　of　spit　on　top　of　a　hot　stove。
　　Saves　explaining；　at　least；　Roland　thought；　and　swept　his　eyes　over　the　others。　'All　right；　he　was　the　first　one　to　move。　Who　wants　to　be　the　second？'
　　None　did；　it　seemed。　They　only　stood　there；　watching　him；　not　ing　at　him　。　。　。　but　not　retreating；　either。　He　thought　（as　he　had　about　the　cross…dog）　that　he　should　kill　them　as　they　stood　there；　just　draw　his　other　gun　and　mow　them　down。　It　would　be　the　work　of　seconds　only；　and　child's　play　to　his　gifted　hands；　even　if　some　ran。　But　he　couldn't。　Not　just　cold；　like　that。　He　wasn't　that　kind　of　killer　。　。　。　at　least；　not　yet。
　　Very　slowly；　he　began　to　step　backward；　first　bending　his　course　around　the　watering　trough；　then　putting　it　between　him　and　them。　When　Bowler　Hat　took　a　step　forward；　Roland　didn't　give　the　others　in　the　line　a　chance　to　copy　him；　he　put　a　bullet　into　the　dust　of　the　High　Street　an　inch　in　advance　of　Bowler　Hat's　foot。
　　'That's　your　last　warning；'　he　said；　still　using　the　low　speech。　He　had　no　idea　if　they　understood　it；　didn't　really　care。　He　guessed　they　caught　this　tune's　music　well　enough。　'Next　bullet　I　fire　eats　up　someone's　heart。　The　way　it　works　is；　you　stay　and　I　go。　You　get　this　one　chance。　Follow　me；　and　you　all　die。　It's　too　hot　to　play　games　and　I've　lost　my…'
　　'Booh！'　cried　a　rough；　liquidy　voice　from　behind　him。　There　was　unmistakable　glee　in　it。　Roland　saw　a　shadow　grow　from　the　shadow　of　the　overturned　freight　wagon；　which　he　had　now　almost　reached；　and　had　just　time　to　understand　that　another　of　the　green　folk　had　been　hiding　beneath　it。
　　As　he　began　to　turn；　a　club　crashed　down　on　Roland's　shoulder；　numbing　his　right　arm　all　the　way　to　the　wrist。　He　held　onto　the　gun　and　fired　once；　but　the　bullet　went　into　one　of　the　wagon　wheels；　smashing　a　wooden　spoke　and　turning　the　wheel　on　its　hub　with　a　high　screeing　sound。　Behind　him；　he　heard　the　green　folk　in　the　street　uttering　hoarse；　yapping　cries　as　they　charged　forward。
　　The　thing　which　had　been　hiding　beneath　the　overturned　wagon　was　a　monster　with　two　heads　growing　out　of　his　neck；　one　with　the　vestigial；　slack　face　of　a　corpse。　The　other；　although　just　as　green；　was　more　lively。　Broad　lips　spread　in　a　cheerful　grin　as　he　raised　his　club　to　strike　again。
　　Roland　drew　with　his　left　hand…the　one　that　wasn't　numbed　and　distant。　He　had　time　to　put　one　bullet　through　the　bushwhacker's　grin；　flinging　him　backward　in　a　spray　of　blood　and　teeth；　the　bludgeon　flying　out　of　his　relaxing　fingers。　Then　the　others　were　on　him；　clubbing　and　drubbing。
　　The　gunslinger　was　able　to　slip　the　first　couple　of　blows；　and　there　was　one　moment　when　he　thought　he　might　be　able　to　spin　around　to　the　rear　of　the　overturned　wagon；　spin　and　turn　and　go　to　work　with　his　guns。　Surely　he　would　be　able　to　do　that。　Surely　his　quest　for　the　Dark　Tower　wasn't　supposed　to　end　on　the　sun…blasted　street　of　a　little　far　western　town　called　Eluria；　at　the　hands　of　half　a　dozen　green…skinned　slow　mutants。　Surely　ka　could　not　be　so　cruel。
　　But　Bowler　Hat　caught　him　with　a　vicious　sidehand　blow；　and　Roland　crashed　into　the　wagon's　slowly　spinning　rear　wheel　instead　of　skirting　around　it。　As　he　went　to　his　hands　and　knees；　still　scrambling　and　trying　to　turn；　trying　to　evade　the　blows　which　rained　down　on　him；　he　saw　there　were　now　many　more　than　half　a　dozen。　ing　up　the　street　toward　the　town　square　were　at　least　thirty　green　men　and　women。　This　wasn't　a　clan　but　a　damned　tribe　of　them。　And　in　broad；　hot　daylight！　Slow　mutants　were；　in　his　experience；　creatures　that　loved　the　dark；　almost　like　toadstools　with　brains；　and　he　had　never　seen　any　such　as　these　before。　They　…
　　The　one　in　the　red　vest　was　female。　Her　bare　breasts　swinging　beneath　the　dirty　red　vest　were　the　last　things　he　saw　clearly　as　they　gathered　around　and　above　him；　bashing　away　with　their　clubs。　The　one　with　the　nails　studded　in　it　came　down　on　his　lower　right　calf；　sinking　its　stupid　rusty　fangs　in　deep。　He　tried　again　to　raise　one　of　the　big　guns　（his　vision　was　fading；　now；　but　that　wouldn't　help　them　if　he　got　to　shooting；　he　had　always　been　the　most　hellishly　talented　of　them；　Jamie　DeCurry　had　once　proclaimed　that　Roland　could　shoot　blindfolded；　because　he　had　eyes　in　his　fingers）；　and　it　was　kicked　out　of　his　hand　and　into　the　dust。　Although　he　could　still　feel　the　smooth　sandalwood　grip　of　the　other；　he　thought　it　was　nevertheless　already　gone。
　　He　could　smell　them…the　rich；　rotted　smell　of　decaying　meat。　Or　was　that　only　his　hands；　as　he　raised　them　in　a　feeble　and　useless　effort　to　protect　his　head？　His　hands；　which　had　been　in　the　polluted　water　where　flecks　and　strips　of　the　dead　boy's　skin　floated？
　　The　clubs　slamming　down　on　him；　slamming　down　all　over　him；　as　if　the　green　folk　wanted　not　just　to　beat　him　to　death　but　to　tenderize　him　as　they　did　so。　And　as　he　went　down　into　the　darkness　of　what　he　most　certainly　believed　would　be　his　death；　he　heard　the　bugs　singing；　the　dog　he　had　spared　barking；　and　the　bells　hung　on　the　church　door　ringing。　These　sounds　merged　together　into　strangely　sweet　music。　Then　that　was　gone；　too；　the　darkness　ate　it　all。
　　
　　
　　II。　Rising。　Hanging　Suspended。　White　Beauty。
　　Two　Others。　The　Medallion。
　　
　　The　gunslinger's　return　to　the　world　wasn't　like　ing　back　to　consciousness　after　a　blow；　which　he'd　done　several　times　before；　and　it　wasn't　like　waking　from　sleep；　either。　It　was　like　rising。
　　I'm　dead；　he　thought　at　some　point　during　this　process　。　。　。　when　the　power　to　think　had　been　at　least　partially　restored　to　him。　Dead　and　rising　into　whatever　afterlife　there　is。　That's　what　it　must　be。　The　singing　I　hear　is　the　singing　of　dead　souls。
　　Total　blackness　gave　way　to　the　dark　gray　of　rainclouds；　then　to　the　lighter　gray　of　fog。　This　brightened　to　the　uniform　clarity　of　a　heavy　mist　moments　before　the　sun　breaks　through。　And　through　it　all　was　that　sense　of　rising；　as　if　he　had　been　caught　in　some　mild　but　powerful　updraft。
　　As　the　sense　of　rising　began　to　diminish　and　the　brightness　behind　his　eyelids　grew；　Roland　at　last　began　to　believe　he　was　still　alive。　It　was　the　singing　that　convinced　him。　Not　dead　souls；　not　the　heavenly　host　of　angels　sometimes　described　by　the　Jesus…Man　preachers；　but　only　those　bugs。　A　little　like　crickets；　but　sweeter…voiced。　The　ones　he　had　heard　in　Eluria。
　　On　this　thought；　he　opened　his　eyes。
　　His　belief　that　he　was　still　alive　was　severely　tried；　for　Roland　found　himself　hanging　suspended　in　a　world　of　white　beauty…his　first　bewildered　thought　was　that　he　was　in　the　sky；　floating　within　a　fair…weather　cloud。　All　around　him　was　the　reedy　singing　of　the　bugs。　Now　he　could　hear　the　tinkling　of　bells；　too。
　　He　tried　to　turn　his　head　and　swayed　in　some　sort　of　harness。　He　could　hear　it　creaking。　The　soft　singing　of　the　bugs；　like　crickets　in　the　grass　at　the　end　of　day　back　home　in　Gilead；　hesitated　and　broke　rhythm。　When　it　did；　what　felt　like　a　tree　of　pain　grew　up　Roland's　back。　He　had　no　idea　what　its　burning　branches　might　be；　but　the　trunk　was　surely　his　spine。　A　far　deadlier　pain　sank　into　one　of　his　lower　legs…in　his　confusion；　the　gunslinger　could　not　tell　which　one。　That's　where　the　club　with　the　nails　in　it　got　me；　he　thought。　And　more　pain　in　his　head。　His　skull　felt　like　a　badly　cracked　egg。　He　cried　out；　and　could　hardly　believe　that　the　harsh　crow's　caw　he　heard　came　from　his　own　throat。　He　thought　he　could　also　hear；　very　faintly；　the　barking　of　the　cross…dog；　but　surely　that　was　his　imagination。
　　Am　I　dying？　Have　I　awakened　once　more　at　the　very　end？
　　A　hand　stroked　his　brow。　He　could　feel　it　but　not　see　it…fingers　trailing　across　his　skin；　pausing　here　and　there　to　massage　a　knot　or　a　line。　Delicious；　like　a　drink　of　cool　water　on　a　hot　day。　He　began　to　close　his　eyes；　and　then　a　horrible　idea　came　to　him：　suppose　that　hand　were　green；　its　owner　wearing　a　tattered　red　vest　over　her　hanging　dugs？
　　What　if　it　is？　What　could　you　do？
　　'Hush；　man；'　a　young　woman's　voice　said　。　。　。　or　perhaps　it　was　the　voice　of　a　girl。　Certainly　the　first　person　Roland　thought　of　was　Susan；　the　girl　from　Mejis；　she　who　had　spoken　to　him　as　thee。
　　'Where　。　。　。　where　。　。　。'
　　'Hush；　stir　not。　'Tis　far　too　soon。'
　　The　pain　in　his　back　was　subsiding　now；　but　the　image　of　the　pain　as　a　tree　remained；　for　his　very　skin　seemed　to　be　moving　like　leaves　in　a　light　breeze。　How　could　that　be？
　　He　let　the　question　go…let　all　questions　go…and　concentrated　on　the　small；　cool　hand　stroking　his　brow。
　　'Hush；　pretty　man；　God's　love　be　upon　ye。　Yet　it's　sore　hurt　ye　are。　Be　still。　Heal。'
　　The　dog　had　hushed　its　barking　（if　it　had　ever　been　there　in　the　first　place）；　and　Roland　became　aware　of　that　low　creaking　sound　again。　It　reminded　him　of　horse　tethers；　or　something
　　（hangropes）
　　he　didn't　like　to　think　of。　Now　he　believed　he　could　feel　pressure　beneath　his　thighs；　his　buttocks；　and　perhaps　。　。　。　yes　。　。　。　his　shoulders。
　　I'm　not　in　a　bed　at　all。　I　think　I'm　above　a　bed。　Can　that　be？
　　He　supposed　he　could　be　in　a　sling。　He　seemed　to　remember　once；　as　a　boy；　that　some　fellow　had　been　suspended　that　way　in　the　horse　doctor's　room　behind　the　Great　Hall。　A　stablehand　who　had　been　burned　too　badly