sk.thetalisman-第134部分

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lthy。　If　they　hadn't　found　the　damned　bodies　。　。　。
　　He　had　remained　as　cheerful　as　possible　under　the　circumstances；　but　now；　as　he　sat　cleaning　his　fingernails　with　the　long　blade　of　his　pocketknife　in　his　study　at　home；　a　great　gray　wave　of　depression　crashed　over　him。　Suddenly　he　pulled　the　knife　away　from　his　thick　nails；　looked　at　it　thoughtfully　for　a　moment；　and　then　inserted　the　tip　of　the　blade　into　his　right　nostril。　He　held　it　there　for　a　moment　and　then　whispered；　'Oh　shit。　Why　not？'　He　jerked　his　fist　upward；　sending　the　six…inch　blade　on　a　short；　lethal　trip；　skewering　first　his　sinuses　and　then　his　brain。
　　　
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　　Smokey　Updike　sat　in　a　booth　at　the　Oatley　Tap；　going　over　invoices　and　totting　up　numbers　on　his　Texas　Instruments　calculator；　just　as　he　had　been　doing　on　the　day　Jack　had　met　him。　Only　now　it　was　early　evening　and　Lori　was　serving　the　evening's　first　customers。　The　jukebox　was　playing　'I'd　Rather　Have　a　Bottle　in　Front　of　Me　（Than　a　Frontal　Lobotomy）。'　
　　At　one　moment　everything　was　normal。　At　the　next　Smokey　sat　bolt…upright；　his　little　paper　cap　tumbling　backward　off　his　head。　He　clutched　his　white　T…shirt　over　the　left　side　of　his　chest；　where　a　hammering　bolt　of　pain　had　just　struck　like　a　silver　spike。　God　pounds　his　nails；　Wolf　would　have　said。
　　At　the　same　instant　the　grill　suddenly　exploded　into　the　air　with　a　loud　bang。　It　hit　a　Busch　display　sign　and　tore　it　from　the　ceiling。　It　landed　with　a　crash。　A　rich　smell　of　LP　gas　filled　the　area　in　back　of　the　bar　almost　at　once。　Lori　screamed。
　　The　jukebox　speeded　up：　45　rpms；　78；　150；　400！　The　woman's　serioic　lament　became　the　speedy　gabble　of　deranged　chipmunks　on　a　rocket…sled。　A　moment　later　the　top　blew　off　the　juke。　Colored　glass　flew　everywhere。
　　Smokey　looked　down　at　his　calculator　and　saw　a　single　word　blinking　on　and　off　in　the　red　window：
　　
　　TALISMAN…TALISMAN…TALISMAN…TALISMAN
　　
　　Then　his　eyes　exploded。
　　'Lori；　turn　off　the　gas！'　one　of　the　customers　screamed。　He　got　down　off　his　stool；　and　turned　toward　Smokey。　'Smokey；　tell　her…'　The　man　wailed　with　fright　as　he　saw　blood　gushing　from　the　holes　where　Smokey　Updike's　eyes　had　been。
　　A　moment　later　the　entire　Oatley　Tap　blew　sky…high；　and　before　the　fire…trucks　could　arrive　from　Dogtown　and　Elmira；　most　of　downtown　was　in　flames。
　　No　great　loss；　children；　can　you　say　amen。
　　　
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　　At　Thayer　School；　where　normality　now　reigned　as　it　always　had　（with　one　brief　interlude　which　those　on　campus　remembered　only　as　a　series　of　vague；　related　dreams）；　the　last　classes　of　the　day　had　just　begun。　What　was　light　snow　in　In…diana　was　a　cold　drizzle　here　in　Illinois。　Students　sat　dreaming　and　thoughtful　in　their　classes。
　　Suddenly　the　bells　in　the　chapel　began　to　peal。　Heads　came　up。　Eyes　widened。　All　over　the　Thayer　campus；　fading　dreams　suddenly　seemed　to　renew　themselves。
　　　
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　　Etheridge　had　been　sitting　in　advanced…math　class　and　pressing　his　hand　rhythmically　up　and　down　against　a　raging　hard…on　while　he　stared　unseeingly　at　the　logarithms　old　Mr。　Hunkins　was　piling　up　on　the　blackboard。　He　was　thinking　about　the　cute　little　townie　waitress　he　would　be　boffing　later　on。　She　wore　garter…belts　instead　of　pantyhose；　and　was　more　than　willing　to　leave　her　stockings　on　while　they　fucked。　Now　Etheridge　stared　around　at　the　windows；　forgetting　his　erection；　forgetting　the　waitress　with　her　long　legs　and　smooth　nylons…suddenly；　for　no　reason　at　all；　Sloat　was　on　his　mind。　Prissy　little　Richard　Sloat；　who　should　have　been　safely　classi…fiable　as　a　wimp　but　who　somehow　wasn't。　He　thought　about　Sloat　and　wondered　if　he　was　all　right。　Somehow　he　thought　that　maybe　Sloat；　who　had　left　school　unexcused　four　days　ago　and　who　hadn't　been　heard　from　since；　wasn't　doing　so　good。
　　
　　In　the　headmaster's　office；　Mr。　Dufrey　had　been　discussing　the　expulsion　of　a　boy　named　George　Hatfield　for　cheating　with　his　furious…and　rich…father　when　the　bells　began　to　jingle　out　their　unscheduled　little　tune。　When　it　ended；　Mr。　Dufrey　found　himself　on　his　hands　and　knees　with　his　gray　hair　hanging　in　his　eyes　and　his　tongue　lolling　over　his　lips。　Hatfield　the　Elder　was　standing　by　the　door…cringing　against　it；　actually…his　eyes　wide　and　his　jaw　agape；　his　anger　forgotten　in　wonder　and　fear。　Mr。　Dufrey　had　been　crawling　around　on　his　rug　barking　like　a　dog。
　　
　　Albert　the　Blob　had　just　been　getting　himself　a　snack　when　the　bells　began　to　ring。　He　looked　toward　the　window　for　a　moment；　frowning　the　way　a　person　frowns　when　he　is　trying　to　remember　something　that　is　right　on　the　tip　of　his　tongue。　He　shrugged　and　went　back　to　opening　a　bag　of　nacho　chips…his　mother　had　just　sent　him　a　whole　case。　His　eyes　widened。　He　thought…just　for　a　moment；　but　a　moment　was　long　enough…that　the　bag　was　full　of　plump；　squirming　white　bugs。
　　He　fainted　dead　away。
　　When　he　awoke　and　worked　up　enough　courage　to　peer　into　the　bag　again；　he　saw　it　had　been　nothing　but　a　hallucination。　Of　course！　What　else？　All　the　same；　it　was　a　hallucination　which　exercised　a　strange　power　over　him　in　the　future；　whenever　he　opened　a　bag　of　chips；　or　a　candy　bar；　or　a　Slim　Jim；　or　a　package　of　Big　Jerk　beef　jerky；　he　saw　those　bugs　in　his　mind's　eye。　By　spring；　Albert　had　lost　thirty…five　pounds；　was　playing　on　the　Thayer　tennis　team；　and　had　gotten　laid。　Albert　was　delirious　with　ecstasy。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　he　felt　that　he　might　survive　his　mother's　love。
　　　
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　　They　all　looked　around　when　the　bells　began　to　ring。　Some　laughed；　some　frowned；　a　few　burst　into　tears。　A　pair　of　dogs　howled　from　somewhere；　and　that　was　passing　strange　because　no　dogs　were　allowed　on　campus。
　　The　tune　the　bells　rang　was　not　in　the　puterized　schedule　of　tunes…the　disgruntled　head　custodian　later　verified　it。　A　campus　wag　suggested　in　that　week's　issue　of　the　school　paper　that　some　eager　beaver　had　programmed　the　tune　with　Christmas　vacation　in　mind。
　　It　had　been　'Happy　Days　Are　Here　Again。'
　　　
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　　Although　she　had　believed　herself　far　too　old　to　catch　pregnant；　no　blood　had　e　to　the　mother　of　Jack　Sawyer's　Wolf　at　the　time　of　the　Change　some　twelve　months　ago。　Three　months　ago　she　had　given　birth　to　triplets…two　litter…sisters　and　one　litter…brother。　Her　labor　had　been　hard；　and　the　foreknowledge　that　one　of　her　older　children　was　about　to　die　had　been　upon　her。　That　child；　she　knew；　had　gone　into　the　Other　Place　to　protect　the　herd；　and　he　would　die　in　that　Other　Place；　and　she　would　never　see　him　anymore。　This　was　very　hard；　and　she　had　wept　in　more　than　the　pain　of　her　delivery。
　　Yet　now；　as　she　slept　with　her　new　young　beneath　a　full　moon；　all　of　them　safely　away　from　the　herd　for　the　time　being；　she　rolled　over　with　a　smile　on　her　face　and　pulled　the　newest　litter…brother　to　her　and　began　to　lick　him。　Still　sleeping　himself；　the　Wolfling　put　his　arms　around　his　mother's　shaggy　neck　and　pressed　his　cheek　against　her　downy　breast；　and　now　they　both　smiled；　in　her　alien　sleep　a　human　thought　arose：　God　pounds　his　nails　well　and　true。　And　the　moonlight　of　that　lovely　world　where　all　smells　were　good　shone　down　on　the　two　of　them　as　they　slept　in　each　other's　arms　with　the　litter…sisters　nearby。
　　　
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　　In　the　town　of　Goslin；　Ohio　（not　far　from　Amanda；　and　some　thirty　miles　south　of　Columbus）；　a　man　named　Buddy　Parkins　was　shovelling　chickenshit　in　a　henhouse　at　dusk。　A　cheesecloth　mask　was　tied　over　his　mouth　and　nose　to　keep　the　choking　white　cloud　of　powdered　guano　he　was　raising　from　getting　up　his　nose　and　into　his　mouth。　The　air　reeked　of　ammonia。　The　stink　had　given　him　a　headache。　He　also　had　a　backache；　because　he　was　tall　and　the　henhouse　wasn't。　All　things　considered；　he　would　have　to　say　that　this　was　one　bitch…kitty　of　a　job。　He　had　three　sons；　and　every　damned　one　of　them　seemed　to　be　unavailable　when　the　henhouse　needed　to　be　swamped　out。　Only　thing　to　be　said　about　it　was　that　he　was　almost　done；　and…
　　The　kid！　Jesus　Christ！　That　kid！
　　He　suddenly　remembered　the　boy　who　had　called　himself　Lewis　Farren　with　total　clarity　and　a　stunned　kind　of　love。　The　boy　who　had　claimed　to　be　going　to　his　aunt；　Helen　Vaughan；　in　the　town　of　Buckeye　Lake；　the　boy　who　had　turned　to　Buddy　when　Buddy　had　asked　him　if　he　was　running　away　and　had　in　that　turning；　revealed　a　face　filled　with　honest　goodness　and　an　unexpected；　amazing　beauty…a　beauty　that　had　made　Buddy　think　of　rainbows　glimpsed　at　the　end　of　storms；　and　sunsets　at　the　end　of　days　that　have　groaned　and　sweated　with　work　that　has　been　well　done　and　not　scamped。
　　He　straightened　up　with　a　gasp　and　bonked　his　head　on　the　henhouse　beams　hard　enough　to　make　his　eyes　water　。　。　。　but　he　was　grinning　crazily　all　the　same。　Oh　my　God；　that　boy　is　THERE；　he's　THERE；　Buddy　Parkins　thought；　and　although　he　had　no　idea　of　where　'there'　was；　he　was　suddenly　overtaken　by　a　sweet；　violent　feeling　of　absolute　adventure；　never；　since　reading　Treasure　Island　at　the　age　of　twelve　and　cupping　a　girl's　breast　in　his　hand　for　the　first　time　at　fourteen；　had　he　felt　so　staggered；　so　excited；　so　full　of　warm　joy。　He　began　to　laugh。　He　dropped　his　shovel；　and　while　the　hens　stared　at　him　with　stupid　amazement；　Buddy　Parkins　danced　a　shuffling　jig　in　the　chickenshit；　laughing　behind　his　mask　and　snapping　his　fingers。
　　'He's　there！'　Buddy　Parkins　yelled　to　the　chickens；　laughing。　'By　diddly…damn；　he's　there；　he　made　it　after　all；　he's　there　and　he's　got　it！'
　　Later；　he　almost　thought…almost；　but　never　quite…that　he　must　have　somehow　gotten　high　on　the　stench　of　the　chicken…dust。　That　wasn't　all；　dammit；　that　wasn't。　He　had　had　some　kind　of　revelation；　but　he　could　no　longer　remember　what　it　had　been　。　。　。　he　supposed　it　was　like　that　British　poet　some　high…school　English　teacher　had　told　them　about：　the　guy　had　taken　a　big　dose　of　opium　and　had　started　to　write　some　poems　about　a　make…believe　Chink　whorehouse　while　he　was　stoned　。　。　。　except　when　he　came　down　to　earth　again　he　couldn't　finish　it。
　　Like　that；　he　thought；　but　somehow　he　knew　it　wasn't；　and　although　he　couldn't　remember　exactly　what　had　caused　the　joy；　he；　like　Donny　Keegan；　never　forgot　the　way　the　j