sk.thewastelands-第22部分

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study　desk。　His　father　would　undoubtedly　think　he　had　been　into　it。
　　〃Now　let　me　say　a　word　about　Catch…22；〃　Ms。　Avery　said　from　the　front　of　the　room。　〃This　is　a　very　challenging　book　for　sixth…　and　seventh…grade　students；　but　you　will　nonetheless　find　it　entirely　enchanting；　if　you　open　your　minds　to　its　special　charm。　You　may　think　of　this　novel；　if　you　like；　as　a　edy　of　the　surreal。〃
　　I　don't　need　to　read　something　like　that；　Jake　thought。　I'm　living　something　like　that；　and　it's　no　edy。
　　He　turned　over　to　the　last　page　of　his　Final　Essay。　There　were　no　words　on　it。　Instead　he　had　pasted　another　picture　to　the　paper。　It　was　a　photograph　of　the　Leaning　Tower　of　Pisa。　He　had　used　a　crayon　to　scribble　it　black。　The　dark；　waxy　lines　looped　and　swooped　in　lunatic　coils。
　　He　could　remember　doing　none　of　this。
　　Absolutely　none　of　it。
　　Now　he　heard　his　father　saying　to　Mr。　Bissette：　Fou。　Yes；　he's　defi…nitely　fou。　A　kid　who'd　fuck　up　his　chance　at　a　school　like　Piper　HAS　to　be　fou；　wouldn't　you　say？　Well　。　。　。　I　can　handle　this。　Handling　things　is　my　job。　Sunnyvale's　the　answer。　He　needs　to　spend　some　time　in　Sunnyvale；　making　baskets　and　getting　his　shit　back　together。　Don't　you　worry　about　our　kid；　folks；　he　can　run　。　。　。　but　he　can't　hide。
　　Would　they　actually　send　him　away　to　the　nuthatch　if　it　started　to　seem　that　his　elevator　no　longer　went　all　the　way　to　the　top　floor？　Jake　thought　the　answer　to　that　was　a　big　you　bet。　No　way　his　father　was　going　to　put　up　with　a　loony　around　the　house。　The　name　of　the　place　they　put　him　in　might　not　be　Sunnyvale；　but　there　would　be　bars　on　the　windows　and　there　would　be　young　men　in　white　coats　and　crepe…soled　shoes　prowling　the　halls。　The　young　men　would　have　big　muscles　and　watchful　eyes　and　access　to　hypodermic　needles　full　of　artificial　sleep。
　　They'll　tell　everybody　I　went　away；　Jake　thought。　The　arguing　voices　in　his　head　were　temporarily　stilled　by　a　rising　tide　of　panic。　They'll　say　I'm　spending　the　year　with　my　aunt　and　uncle　in　Modesto　。。。　or　in　Sweden　as　an　exchange　student　。。。　or　repairing　satellites　in　outer　space。　My　mother　won't　like　it。　。　。　she'll　cry　。　。　。　but　she'll　go　along。　She　has　her　boyfriends；　and　besides；　she　always　goes　along　with　what　he　decides。　She　。　。　。　they　。　。　。　me　。　。　。
　　He　felt　a　shriek　welling　up　his　throat　and　pressed　his　lips　tightly　together　to　hold　it　in。　He　looked　down　again　at　the　wild　black　scribbles　snarled　across　the　photograph　of　the　Leaning　Tower　and　thought：　/　have　to　get　out　of　here。　I　have　to　get　out　right　now。
　　He　raised　his　hand。
　　〃Yes；　John；　what　is　it？〃　Ms。　Avery　was　looking　at　him　with　the　expression　of　mild　exasperation　she　reserved　for　students　who　interrupted　her　in　mid…lecture。
　　〃I'd　like　to　step　out　for　a　moment；　if　I　may；〃　Jake　said。
　　This　was　another　example　of　Piper…speak。　Piper　students　did　not　ever　have　to　〃take　a　leak〃　or　〃tap　a　kidney〃　or；　God　forbid；　〃drop　a　load。〃　The　unspoken　assumption　was　that　Piper　students　were　too　perfect　to　create　waste　byproducts　in　their　tastefully　silent　glides　through　life。　Once　in　a　while　someone　requested　permission　to　〃step　out　for　a　moment；〃　and　that　was　all。
　　Ms。　Avery　sighed。　〃Must　you；　John？〃
　　〃Yes；　ma'am。〃
　　〃All　right。　Return　as　soon　as　possible。〃
　　〃Yes；　Ms。　Avery。〃
　　He　closed　the　folder　as　he　got　up；　took　hold　of　it；　then　reluctantly　let　go　again。　No　good。　Ms。　Avery　would　wonder　why　he　was　taking　his　Final　Essay　to　the　toilet　with　him。　He　should　have　removed　the　damning　pages　from　the　folder　and　stuffed　them　in　his　pocket　before　asking　for　permission　to　step　out。　Too　late　now。
　　Jake　walked　down　the　aisle　toward　the　door；　leaving　his　folder　on　the　desk　and　his　bookbag　lying　beneath　it。
　　〃Hope　everything　es　out　all　right；　Chambers；〃　David　Surrey　whispered；　and　snickered　into　his　hand。
　　〃Still　your　restless　lips；　David；〃　Ms。　Avery　said；　clearly　exasperated　now；　and　the　whole　class　laughed。
　　Jake　reached　the　door　leading　to　the　hall；　and　as　he　grasped　the　knob；　that　feeling　of　hope　and　surety　rose　in　him　again：　This　is　it…really　it。　I'll　open　the　door　and　the　desert　sun　will　shine　in。　I'll　feel　that　dry　wind　on　my　face。　I'll　step　through　and　never　see　this　classroom　again。
　　He　opened　the　door　and　it　was　only　the　hallway　on　the　other　side；　but　he　was　right　about　one　thing　just　the　same：　he　never　saw　Ms。　Avery's　classroom　again。
　　　
　　　4
　　HE　WALKED　SLOWLY　DOWN　the　dim；　wood…panelled　corridor；　sweating　lightly。　He　walked　past　classroom　doors　he　would　have　felt　pelled　to　open　if　not　for　the　clear　glass　windows　set　in　each　one。　He　looked　into　Mr。　Bissette's　French　II　class　and　Mr。　Knopf's　Introduction　to　Geometry　class。　In　both　rooms　the　pupils　sat　with　pencils　in　hand　and　heads　bowed　over　open　blue…books。　He　looked　into　Mr。　Harley's　Spoken　Arts　class　and　saw　Stan　Dorfman…one　of　those　acquaintances　who　were　not　quite　friends…beginning　his　Final　Speech。　Stan　looked　scared　to　death；　but　Jake　could　have　told　Stan　he　didn't　have　the　slightest　idea　what　fear…real　fear…was　all　about。。
　　I　died。
　　No。　I　didn't。
　　Did　too。
　　Did　not。
　　Did。
　　Didn't。
　　He　came　to　a　door　marked　GIRLS。　He　pushed　it　open；　expecting　to　see　a　bright　desert　sky　and　a　blue　haze　of　mountains　on　the　horizon。　Instead　he　saw　Belinda　Stevens　standing　at　one　of　the　sinks；　looking　into　the　mirror　above　the　basin　and　squeezing　a　pimple　on　her　forehead。
　　〃Jesus　Christ；　do　you　mind？〃　she　asked。
　　〃Sorry。　Wrong　door。　I　thought　it　was　the　desert。〃
　　〃What？〃
　　But　he　had　already　let　the　door　go　and　it　was　swinging　shut　on　its　pneumatic　elbow。　He　passed　the　drinking　fountain　and　opened　the　door　marked　BOYS。　This　was　it；　he　knew　it；　was　sure　of　it；　this　was　the　door　which　would　take　him　back…
　　Three　urinals　gleamed　spotlessly　under　the　fluorescent　lights。　A　tap　dripped　solemnly　into　a　sink。　That　was　all。
　　Jake　let　the　door　close。　He　walked　on　down　the　hall；　his　heels　making　firm　little　clicks　on　the　tiles。　He　glanced　into　the　office　before　passing　it　and　saw　only　Ms。　Franks。　She　was　talking　on　the　telephone；　swinging　back　and　forth　in　her　swivel　chair　and　playing　with　a　lock　of　her　hair。　The　silver…plated　bell　stood　on　the　desk　beside　her。　Jake　waited　until　she　swivelled　away　from　the　door　and　then　hurried　past。　Thirty　seconds　later　he　was　emerging　into　the　bright　sunshine　of　a　morning　in　late　May。
　　I've　gone　truant；　he　thought。　Even　his　distraction　did　not　keep　him　from　being　amazed　at　this　unexpected　development。　When　I　don't　e　back　from　the　bathroom　in　five　minutes　or　so；　Ms。　Avery　will　send　somebody　to　check　。　。　。　and　then　they'll　know。　They'll　all　know　that　I've　left　school；　gone　truant。
　　He　thought　of　the　folder　lying　on　his　desk。
　　They'll　read　it　and　they'll　think　I'm　crazy。　Fou。　Sure　they　will。　Of　course。　Because　I　am。
　　Then　another　voice　spoke。　It　was；　he　thought；　the　voice　of　the　man　with　the　bombardier's　eyes；　the　man　who　wore　the　two　big　guns　slung　low　on　his　hips。　The　voice　was　cold　。　。　。　but　not　without　fort。
　　No；　Jake；　Roland　said。　You're　not　crazy。　You're　lost　and　scared；　but　you're　not　crazy　and　need　fear　neither　your　shadow　in　the　morning　striding　behind　you　nor　your　shadow　at　evening　rising　to　meet　you。　Yow　have　to　find　your　way　back　home；　that's　all。
　　〃But　where　do　I　go？〃　Jake　whispered。　He　stood　on　the　sidewalk　of　Fifty…sixth　Street　between　Park　and　Madison；　watching　the　traffic　bolt　past。　A　city　bus　snored　by；　laying　a　thin　trail　of　acrid　blue　diesel　smoke。　〃Where　do　I　go？　Where's　the　fucking　door？〃
　　But　the　voice　of　the　gunslinger　had　fallen　silent。
　　Jake　turned　left；　in　the　direction　of　the　East　River；　and　began　to　walk　blindly　forward。　He　had　no　idea　where　he　was　going…no　idea　at　all。　He　could　only　hope　his　feet　would　carry　him　to　the　right　place　。　。　。　as　they　had　carried　him　to　the　wrong　one　not　long　ago。
　　　
　　　5
　　IT　HAD　HAPPENED　THREE　weeks　earlier。
　　One　could　not　say　It　all　began　three　weeks　earlier；　because　that　gave　the　impression　that　there　had　been　some　sort　of　progression；　and　that　wasn't　right。　There　had　been　a　progression　to　the　voices；　to　the　violence　with　which　each　insisted　on　its　own　particular　version　of　reality；　but　the　rest　of　it　had　happened　all　at　once。
　　He　left　home　at　eight　o'clock　to　walk　to　school…he　always　walked　when　the　weather　was　good；　and　the　weather　this　May　had　been　abso…lutely　fine。　His　father　had　left　for　the　Network；　his　mother　was　still　in　bed；　and　Mrs。　Greta　Shaw　was　in　the　kitchen；　drinking　coffee　and　reading　her　New　York　Post。
　　〃Goodbye；　Greta；〃　he　said。　〃I'm　going　to　school　now。〃
　　She　raised　a　hand　to　him　without　looking　up　from　the　paper。　〃Have　a　good　day；　Johnny。〃
　　All　according　to　routine。　Just　another　day　in　the　life。
　　And　so　it　had　been　for　the　next　fifteen　hundred　seconds。　Then　everything　had　changed　forever。
　　He　idled　along；　bookbag　in　one　hand；　lunch　sack　in　the　other；　looking　in　the　windows。　Seven　hundred　and　twenty　seconds　from　the　end　of　his　life　as　he　had　always　known　it；　he　paused　to　look　in　the　window　of　Brendio's；　where　mannequins　dressed　in　fur　coats　and　Edwardian　suits　stood　in　stiff　poses　of　conversation。　He　was　thinking　only　of　going　bowling　that　afternoon　after　school。　His　average　was　158；　great　for　a　kid　who　was　only　eleven。　His　ambition　was　to　some　day　be　a　bowler　on　the　pro　tour　（and　if　his　father　had　known　this　little　factoid；　he　also　would　have　hit　the　roof）。
　　Closing　in　now…closing　in　on　the　moment　when　his　sanity　would　be　suddenly　eclipsed。
　　He　crossed　Thirty…ninth　and　there　were　four　hundred　seconds　left。　Had　to　wait　for　the　WALK　light　at　Forty…first　and　there　were　two　hundred　and　seventy。　Paused　to　look　in　the　novelty　shop　on　the　corner　of　Fifth　and　Forty…second　and　there　were　a　hundred　and　ninety。　And　now；　with　just　over　three　minutes　left　in　his　ordinary　life；　Jake　Cham…bers　walked　beneath　the　unseen　umbrella　of　that　force　which　Roland　called　ka…tet。
　　An　odd；　uneasy　feeling　began　to　creep　over　him。　At　first　he　thought　it　was　a　feeling　of　being　watched；　and　then　he　realized　it　wasn't　that　at　all　。。。　or　not　precisely　that。　He　felt　that　he　had　been　here　before；　that　he　was　reliving　a　dream　he　had　mostly　forgotten。　He　waited　for　the　feeling　to　pass；　but