sk.thetalisman-第100部分

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　his　body　and　discovered　that　Myles　P。　Kiger's　wonderfully　warm　coat　was　now　something　very　like　a　Mexican　serape。　I　bet　I　look　like　an　advertisement　for　Taco　Bell；　he　thought；　and　grinned。
　　An　expression　of　utter　panic　came　over　Richard's　face　when　Jack　started　up　the　hill；　leaving　him　alone　at　the　bottom。
　　'Where　are　you　going？'
　　Jack　looked　at　Richard　and　came　back。　He　put　his　hands　on　Richard's　shoulders　and　looked　soberly　into　Richard's　eyes。
　　'We　can't　stay　here；'　he　said。　'Some　of　them　must　have　seen　us　flip。　It　may　be　that　they　can't　e　right　after　us；　or　it　may　be　that　they　can。　I　don't　know。　I　know　as　much　about　the　laws　governing　all　of　this　as　a　kid　of　five　knows　about　magnetism…and　all　a　kid　of　five　knows　on　the　subject　is　that　sometimes　magnets　attract　and　sometimes　they　repel。　But　for　the　time　being；　that's　all　I　have　to　know。　We　have　to　get　out　of　here。　End　of　story。'
　　'I'm　dreaming　all　this；　I　know　I　am。'　
　　Jack　nodded　toward　the　ramshackle　wooden　building。　'You　can　e　or　you　can　stay　here。　If　you　want　to　stay　here；　I'll　e　back　for　you　after　I　check　the　place　out。'
　　'None　of　this　is　happening；'　Richard　said。　His　naked；　glassesless　eyes　were　wide　and　flat　and　somehow　dusty。　He　looked　for　a　moment　up　at　the　black　Territories　sky　with　its　strange　and　unfamiliar　sprawl　of　stars；　shuddered；　and　looked　away。　'I　have　a　fever。　It's　the　flu。　There's　been　a　lot　of　flu　around。　This　is　a　delirium。　You're　guest…starring　in　my　delirium；　Jack。'
　　'Well；　I'll　send　somebody　around　to　the　Delirium　Actors'　Guild　with　my　AFTRA　card　when　I　get　a　chance；'　Jack　said。　'In　the　meantime；　why　don't　you　just　stay　here；　Richard？　If　none　of　this　is　happening；　then　you　have　nothing　to　worry　about。'　
　　He　started　away　again；　thinking　that　it　would　take　only　a　few　more　of　these　Alice…at…the…tea…party　conversations　with　Richard　to　convince　him　that　he　was　crazy；　as　well。
　　He　was　halfway　up　the　hill　when　Richard　joined　him。
　　'I　would　have　e　back　for　you；'　Jack　said。
　　'I　know；'　Richard　said。　'I　just　thought　that　I　might　as　well　e　along。　As　long　as　all　of　this　is　a　dream；　anyway。'
　　'Well；　keep　your　mouth　shut　if　there's　anyone　up　there；'　Jack　said。　'I　think　there　is…I　think　I　saw　someone　looking　out　that　front　window　at　me。'
　　'What　are　you　going　to　do？'　Richard　asked。
　　Jack　smiled。　'Play　it　by　ear；　Richie…boy；'　he　said。　'That's　what　I've　been　doing　ever　since　I　left　New　Hampshire。　Playing　it　by　ear。'
　　　
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　　They　reached　the　porch。　Richard　clutched　Jack's　shoulder　with　panicky　strength。　Jack　turned　toward　him　wearily；　Richard's　patented　Kansas　City　Clutch　was　something　else　that　was　getting　old　in　a　big　hurry。
　　'What？'　Jack　asked。
　　'This　is　a　dream；　all　right；'　Richard　said；　'and　I　can　prove　it。'
　　'How？'
　　'We're　not　talking　English　anymore；　Jack！　We're　talking　some　language；　and　we're　speaking　it　perfectly；　but　it's　not　English！'
　　'Yeah；'　Jack　said。　'Weird；　isn't　it？'
　　He　started　up　the　steps　again；　leaving　Richard　standing　below　him；　gape…mouthed。
　　　
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　　After　a　moment　or　two；　Richard　recovered　and　scrambled　up　the　steps　after　Jack。　The　boards　were　warped　and　loose　and　splintery。　Stalks　of　that　richly　bearded　grain…grass　grew　up　through　some　of　them。　Off　in　the　deep　darkness；　both　boys　could　hear　the　sleepy　hum　of　insects…it　was　not　the　reedy　scratch　of　crickets　but　a　sweeter　sound…so　much　was　sweeter　over　here；　Jack　thought。
　　The　outside　lamp　was　now　behind　them；　their　shadows　ran　ahead　of　them　across　the　porch　and　then　made　right…angles　to　climb　the　door。　There　was　an　old；　faded　sign　on　that　door。　For　a　moment　it　seemed　to　Jack　to　be　written　in　strange　Cyrillic　letters；　as　indecipherable　as　Russian。　Then　they　came　clear；　and　the　word　was　no　surprise。　DEPOT。
　　Jack　raised　his　hand　to　knock；　then　shook　his　head　a　little。　No。　He　would　not　knock。　This　was　not　a　private　dwelling；　the　sign　said　DEPOT；　and　that　was　a　word　he　associated　with　public　buildings…places　to　wait　for　Greyhound　buses　and　Amtrak　trains；　loading　zones　for　the　Friendly　Skies。
　　He　pushed　the　door　open。　Friendly　lamplight　and　a　decidedly　unfriendly　voice　came　out　onto　the　porch　together。
　　'Get　away；　ye　devil！'　the　cracked　voice　screeched。　'Get　away；　I'm　going　in　the　morning！　I　swear！　The　train's　in　the　shed！　Go　away！　I　swore　I'd　go　and　I　will　go；　s'now　YE　go　。　。　。　go　and　leave　me　some　peace！'
　　Jack　frowned。　Richard　gaped。　The　room　was　clean　but　very　old。　The　boards　were　so　warped　that　the　walls　seemed　almost　to　ripple。　A　picture　of　a　stagecoach　which　looked　almost　as　big　as　a　whaling　ship　hung　on　one　wall。　An　ancient　counter；　its　flat　surface　almost　as　ripply　as　the　walls；　ran　across　the　middle　of　the　room；　splitting　it　in　two。　Behind　it；　on　the　far　wall；　was　a　slate　board　with　STAGE　ARRIVES　written　above　one　column　and　STAGE　LEAVES　written　above　the　other。　Looking　at　the　ancient　board；　Jack　guessed　it　had　been　a　good　long　time　since　any　information　had　been　written　there；　he　thought　that　if　someone　tried　to　write　on　it　with　even　a　piece　of　soft　chalk；　the　slate　would　crack　in　pieces　and　fall　to　the　weathered　floor。
　　Standing　on　one　side　of　the　counter　was　the　biggest　hourglass　Jack　had　ever　seen…it　was　as　big　as　a　magnum　of　champagne　and　filled　with　green　sand。
　　'Leave　me　alone；　can't　you？　I've　promised　ye　I'd　go；　and　I　will！　Please；　Morgan！　For　yer　mercy！　I've　promised；　and　if　ye　don't　believe　me；　look　in　the　shed！　The　train　is　ready；　I　swear　the　train　is　ready！'
　　There　was　a　good　deal　more　gabble　and　gobble　in　this　same　vein。　The　large；　elderly　man　spouting　it　was　cringing　in　the　far　right…hand　corner　of　the　room。　Jack　guessed　the　oldster's　height　at　six…three　at　least…even　in　his　present　servile　posture；　The　Depot's　low　ceiling　was　only　four　inches　or　so　above　his　head。　He　might　have　been　seventy；　he　might　have　been　a　fairly　well…preserved　eighty。　A　snowy　white　beard　began　under　his　eyes　and　cascaded　down　over　his　breast　in　a　spray　of　baby　fine　hair。　His　shoulders　were　broad；　although　now　so　slumped　that　they　looked　as　if　someone　had　broken　them　by　forcing　him　to　carry　heavy　weights　over　the　course　of　many　long　years。　Deep　crow's…feet　radiated　out　from　the　corners　of　his　eyes；　deep　fissures　undulated　on　his　forehead。　His　plexion　was　waxy…yellow。　He　was　wearing　a　white　kilt　shot　through　with　bright　scarlet　threads；　and　he　was　obviously　scared　almost　to　death。　He　was　brandishing　a　stout　staff；　but　with　no　authority　at　all。
　　Jack　glanced　sharply　around　at　Richard　when　the　old　man　mentioned　the　name　of　Richard's　father；　but　Richard　was　currently　beyond　noticing　such　fine　points。
　　'I　am　not　who　you　think　I　am；'　Jack　said；　advancing　toward　the　old　man。
　　'Get　away！'　he　shrieked。　'None　of　yer　guff！　I　guess　the　devil　can　put　on　a　pleasing　face！　Get　away！　I'll　do　it！　She's　ready　to　go；　first　thing　in　the　morning！　I　said　I'd　do　it　and　I　mean　to；　now　get　away；　can't　ye？'
　　The　knapsack　was　now　a　haversack　hanging　from　Jack's　arm。　As　Jack　reached　the　counter；　he　rummaged　in　it；　pushing　aside　the　mirror　and　a　number　of　the　jointed　money…sticks。　His　fingers　closed　around　what　he　wanted　and　brought　it　out。　It　was　the　coin　Captain　Farren　had　given　him　so　long　ago；　the　coin　with　the　Queen　on　one　side　and　the　gryphon　on　the　other。　He　slammed　it　down　on　the　counter；　and　the　room's　mellow　light　caught　the　lovely　profile　of　Laura　DeLoessian…again　he　was　struck　with　wonder　by　the　similarity　of　that　profile　to　the　profile　of　his　mother。　Did　they　look　that　much　alike　at　the　beginning？　Is　it　just　that　I　see　the　similarities　more　as　I　think　about　them　more？　Or　am　I　actually　bringing　them　together　somehow；　making　them　one？
　　The　old　man　cringed　back　even　farther　as　Jack　came　forward　to　the　counter；　it　began　to　seem　as　though　he　might　push　himself　right　through　the　back　of　the　building。　His　words　began　to　pour　out　in　a　hysterical　flood。　When　Jack　slammed　the　coin　down　on　the　counter　like　a　badman　in　a　Western　movie　demanding　a　drink；　he　suddenly　stopped　talking。　He　stared　at　the　coin；　his　eyes　widening；　the　spit…shiny　corners　of　his　mouth　twitching。　His　widening　eyes　rose　to　Jack's　face　and　really　saw　him　for　the　first　time。
　　'Jason；'　he　whispered　in　a　trembling　voice。　Its　former　weak　bluster　was　gone。　It　trembled　now　not　with　fear　but　with　awe。　'Jason！'
　　'No；'　he　said。　'My　name　is…'　Then　he　stopped；　realizing　that　the　word　which　would　e　out　in　this　strange　language　was　not　Jack　but…
　　'Jason！'　the　old　man　cried；　and　fell　on　his　knees。　'Jason；　ye've　e！　Ye've　e　and　a'　wi'　be　well；　aye；　a'　wi'　be　well；　a'　wi'　be　well；　and　a'　manner　a'　things　wi'　be　well！'
　　'Hey；'　Jack　said。　'Hey；　really…'
　　'Jason！　Jason's　e　and　the　Queen'll　be　well；　aye；　a'　manner　a'　things　wi'　be　well！'
　　Jack；　less　prepared　to　cope　with　this　weepy　adoration　than　he　had　been　to　deal　with　the　old　depot…keeper's　terrified　truculence；　turned　toward　Richard　。　。　。　but　there　was　no　help　there。　Richard　had　stretched　out　on　the　floor　to　the　left　of　the　door　and　had　either　gone　to　sleep　or　was　giving　a　damned　good　facsimile　thereof。
　　'Oh　shit；'　Jack　groaned。
　　The　old　man　was　on　his　knees；　babbling　and　weeping。　The　situation　was　rapidly　passing　from　the　realms　of　the　merely　ridiculous　into　those　of　the　cosmically　ic。　Jack　found　a　flip…up　partition　and　went　behind　the　counter。
　　'Ah；　rise；　you　good　and　faithful　servant；'　Jack　said。　He　wondered　blackly　if　Christ　or　Buddha　had　ever　had　problems　like　this。　'On　your　feet；　fella。'
　　'Jason！　Jason！'　the　old　man　sobbed。　His　white　hair　obscured　Jack's　sandaled　feet　as　he　bent　over　them　and　began　to　kiss　them…they　weren't　little　kisses；　either；　but　good　old　spooning…in…the…hayloft　smackers。　Jack　began　to　giggle　helplessly。　He　had　managed　to　get　them　out　of　Illinois；　and　here　they　were　in　a　ramshackle　depot　at　the　center　of　a　great　field　of　grain　which　wasn't　quite　wheat；　somewhere　in　the　Outposts；　and　Richard　was　sleeping　by　the　door；　and　this　strange　old　man　was　kissing　his　feet　and　his　beard　tickled。
　　'Rise！'　Jack　yelled；　giggling。　He　tried　to　step　back　but　hit　the　counter。　'Rise　up；　O　good　servant！　Get　on　your　frigging　feet；　get　up；　that's　enough！'
　　'Jason！'　Smack！　'A'　wi'　be　well！'　Smack…smack！
　　And　a'　manner　a'　things