sk.thetalisman-第44部分

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　　Jack　giggled。　This　guy　was　better　than　a　rap　record　by　the　Sugarhill　Gang。
　　'Thanks；'　he　said　（a　large；　improbable　grin　had　appeared　on　the　chops　of　the　cat　in　the　mirror）。　'Thanks　very　much！'
　　'Thank　me　to　God；'　the　vendor　said　。　。　。　then；　as　an　afterthought：　'And　watch　your　wad！'　
　　Jack　moved　on；　tucking　the　mirror…toy　carefully　into　his　jerkin；　next　to　Speedy's　bottle。
　　And　every　few　minutes　he　checked　to　make　sure　his　sticks　were　still　there。
　　He　guessed　he　knew　what　dips　were；　after　all。
　　　
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　　Two　stalls　down　from　the　booth　of　the　rhyming　rug…vendor；　a　depraved…looking　man　with　a　patch　askew　over　one　eye　and　the　smell　of　strong　drink　about　him　was　trying　to　sell　a　farmer　a　large　rooster。　He　was　telling　the　farmer　that　if　he　bought　this　rooster　and　put　it　in　with　his　hens；　the　farmer　would　have　nothing　but　double…yolkers　for　the　next　twelve…month。
　　Jack；　however；　had　neither　eyes　for　the　rooster　nor　ears　for　the　salesman's　pitch。　He　joined　a　crowd　of　children　who　were　staring　at　the　one…eyed　man's　star　attraction。　This　was　a　parrot　in　a　large　wicker　cage。　It　was　almost　as　tall　as　the　youngest　children　in　the　group；　and　it　was　as　smoothly；　darkly　green　as　a　Heineken　beer…bottle。　Its　eyes　were　a　brilliant　gold　。　。　。　its　four　eyes。　Like　the　pony　he　had　seen　in　the　pavillion　stables；　the　parrot　had　two　heads。　It　gripped　its　perch　with　its　big　yellow　feet　and　looked　placidly　in　two　directions　at　once；　its　two　tufted　crowns　almost　touching。
　　The　parrot　was　talking　to　itself；　to　the　amusement　of　the　children…but　even　in　his　amazement　Jack　noted　that；　while　they　were　paying　close　attention　to　the　parrot；　they　seemed　neither　stunned　nor　even　very　wondering。　They　weren't　like　kids　seeing　their　first　movie；　sitting　stupefied　in　their　seats　and　all　eyes；　they　were　more　like　kids　getting　their　regular　Saturday…morning　cartoon…fix。　This　was　a　wonder；　yes；　but　not　a　wholly　new　one。　And　to　whom　do　wonders　pall　more　rapidly　than　the　very　young？
　　'Bawwwrk！　How　high　is　up？'　East…Head　enquired。
　　'As　low　as　low；'　West…Head　responded；　and　the　children　giggled。
　　'Graaak！　What's　the　great　truth　of　noblemen？'　East…Head　now　asked。
　　'That　a　king　will　be　a　king　all　his　life；　but　once　a　knight's　enough　for　any　man！'　West…Head　replied　pertly。　Jack　smiled　and　several　of　the　older　children　laughed；　but　the　younger　ones　only　looked　puzzled。
　　'And　what's　in　Mrs。　Spratt's　cupboard？'　East…Head　now　posed。
　　'A　sight　no　man　shall　see！'　West…Head　rejoined；　and　although　Jack　was　mystified；　the　children　went　into　gales　of　laughter。
　　The　parrot　solemnly　shifted　its　talons　on　its　perch　and　made　droppings　into　the　straw　below　it。
　　'And　what　frightened　Alan　Destry　to　death　in　the　night？'
　　'He　saw　his　wife…growwwwk！…getting　out　of　the　bath！'　
　　The　farmer　was　now　walking　away　and　the　one…eyed　salesman　still　had　charge　of　the　rooster。　He　rounded　furiously　on　the　children。　'Get　out　of　here！　Get　out　of　here　before　I　kick　your　asses　square！'　
　　The　children　scattered。　Jack　went　with　them；　sparing　a　last　bemused　look　over　his　shoulder　at　the　wonderful　parrot。
　　　
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　　At　another　stall　he　gave　up　two　knuckles　of　wood　for　an　apple　and　a　dipper　of　milk…the　sweetest；　richest　milk　he　had　ever　tasted。　Jack　thought　that　if　they　had　milk　like　that　back　at　home；　Nestlé's　and　Hershey's　would　go　bankrupt　in　a　week。
　　He　was　just　finishing　the　milk　when　he　saw　the　Henry　family　moving　slowly　in　his　direction。　He　handed　the　dipper　back　to　the　woman　in　the　stall；　who　poured　the　lees　thriftily　back　into　the　large　wooden　cask　beside　her。　Jack　hurried　on；　wiping　a　milk　moustache　from　his　upper　lip　and　hoping　uneasily　that　no　one　who　had　drunk　from　the　dipper　before　him　had　had　leprosy　or　herpes　or　anything　like　that。　But　he　somehow　didn't　think　such　awful　things　even　existed　over　here。
　　He　walked　up　the　market…town's　main　thoroughfare；　past　the　mimers；　past　two　fat　women　selling　pots　and　pans　（Territories　Tupperware；　Jack　thought；　and　grinned）；　past　that　wonderful　two…headed　parrot　（its　one…eyed　owner　was　now　drinking　quite　openly　from　a　clay　bottle；　reeling　wildly　from　one　end　of　his　booth　to　the　other；　holding　the　dazed…looking　rooster　by　the　neck　and　yelling　truculently　at　passersby…Jack　saw　the　man's　scrawny　right　arm　was　caked　with　yellowish…white　guano；　and　grimaced）；　past　an　open　area　where　farmers　were　gathered。　He　paused　there　for　a　moment；　curious。　Many　of　the　farmers　were　smoking　clay　pipes；　and　Jack　saw　several　clay　bottles；　much　the　same　as　the　one　the　bird…salesman　had　been　brandishing；　go　from　hand　to　hand。　In　a　long；　grassy　field；　men　were　hitching　stones　behind　large　shaggy　horses　with　lowered　heads　and　mild；　stupid　eyes。
　　Jack　passed　the　rug…stall。　The　vendor　saw　him　and　raised　a　hand。　Jack　raised　one　in　turn　and　thought　of　calling　Use　it；　my　man；　but　don't　abuse　it！　He　decided　he　better　not。　He　was　suddenly　aware　that　he　felt　blue。　That　feeling　of　strangeness；　of　being　an　outsider；　had　fallen　over　him　again。
　　He　reached　the　crossroads。　The　way　going　north　and　south　was　little　more　than　a　country　lane。　The　Western　Road　was　much　wider。
　　Old　Travelling　Jack；　he　thought；　and　tried　to　smile。　He　straightened　his　shoulders　and　heard　Speedy's　bottle　clink　lightly　against　the　mirror。　Here　goes　old　Travelling　Jack　along　the　Territories　version　of　Interstate　90。　Feets　don't　fail　me　now！
　　He　set　off　again；　and　soon　that　great　dreaming　land　swallowed　him。
　　　
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　　About　four　hours　later；　in　the　middle　of　the　afternoon；　Jack　sat　down　in　the　tall　grass　by　the　side　of　the　road　and　watched　as　a　number　of　men…from　this　distance　they　looked　little　bigger　than　bugs…climbed　a　tall；　rickety…looking　tower。　He　had　chosen　this　place　to　rest　and　eat　his　apple　because　it　was　here　that　the　Western　Road　seemed　to　make　its　closest　approach　to　that　tower。　It　was　still　at　least　three　miles　away　（and　perhaps　much　more　than　that…the　almost　supernatural　clarity　of　the　air　made　distances　extremely　hard　to　judge）；　but　it　had　been　in　Jack's　view　for　an　hour　or　more。
　　Jack　ate　his　apple；　rested　his　tired　feet；　and　wondered　what　that　tower　could　be；　standing　out　there　all　by　itself　in　a　field　of　rolling　grass。　And；　of　course；　he　wondered　why　those　men　should　be　climbing　it。　The　wind　had　blown　quite　steadily　ever　since　he　had　left　the　market…town；　and　the　tower　was　downwind　of　Jack；　but　whenever　it　died　away　for　a　minute；　Jack　could　hear　them　calling　to　each　other　。　。　。　and　laughing。　There　was　a　lot　of　laughing　going　on。
　　Some　five　miles　west　of　the　market；　Jack　had　walked　through　a　village…if　your　definition　of　a　village　stretched　to　cover　five　tiny　houses　and　one　store　that　had　obviously　been　closed　for　a　long　time。　Those　had　been　the　last　human　habitations　he　had　seen　between　then　and　now。　Just　before　glimpsing　the　tower；　he　had　been　wondering　if　he　had　already　e　to　the　Outposts　without　even　knowing　it。　He　remembered　well　enough　what　Captain　Farren　had　said：　Beyond　the　Outposts　the　Western　Road　goes　into　nowhere　。　。　。　or　into　hell。　I've　heard　it　said　that　God　Himself　never　ventures　beyond　the　Outposts
　　Jack　shivered　a　little。
　　But　he　didn't　really　believe　he　had　e　so　far。　Certainly　there　was　none　of　the　steadily　deepening　unease　he　had　been　feeling　before　he　floundered　into　the　living　trees　in　his　effort　to　get　away　from　Morgan's　diligence　。　。　。　the　living　trees　which　now　seemed　like　a　hideous　prologue　to　all　the　time　he　had　spent　in　Oatley。
　　Indeed；　the　good　emotions　he　had　felt　from　the　time　he　woke　up　warm　and　rested　inside　the　haystack　until　the　time　Henry　the　farmer　had　invited　him　to　jump　down　from　his　wagon　had　now　resurfaced：　that　feeling　that　the　Territories；　in　spite　of　whatever　evil　they　might　harbor；　were　fundamentally　good；　and　that　he　could　be　a　part　of　this　place　anytime　he　wanted　。　。　。　that　he　was　really　no　Stranger　at　all。
　　He　had　e　to　realize　that　he　was　part　of　the　Territories　for　long　periods　of　time。　A　strange　thought　had　e　to　him　as　he　swung　easily　along　the　Western　Road；　a　thought　which　came　half　in　English　and　half　in　whatever　the　Territories　language　was：　When　I'm　having　a　dream；　the　only　time　I　really　KNOW　it's　a　dream　is　when　I'm　starting　to　wake　up。　If　I'm　dreaming　and　just　wake　up　all　at　once…if　the　alarm　clock　goes　off；　or　something…then　I'm　the　most　surprised　guy　alive。　At　first　it's　the　waking　that　seems　like　a　dream。　And　I'm　no　stranger　over　here　when　the　dream　gets　deep…is　that　what　I　mean？　No；　but　it's　getting　close。　I　bet　my　dad　dreamed　deep　a　lot。　And　I'll　bet　Uncle　Morgan　almost　never　does。
　　He　had　decided　he　would　take　a　swig　out　of　Speedy's　bottle　and　flip　back　the　first　time　he　saw　anything　that　might　be　dangerous　。　。　。　even　if　he　saw　anything　scary。　Otherwise　he　would　walk　all　day　over　here　before　returning　to　New　York。　In　fact；　he　might　have　been　tempted　to　spend　the　night　in　the　Territories；　if　he'd　had　anything　to　eat　beyond　the　one　apple。　But　he　didn't；　and　along　the　wide；　deserted　dirt　track　of　the　Western　Road　there　was　not　a　7…Eleven　or　a　Stop…'n…Go　in　sight。
　　The　old　trees　which　had　surrounded　the　crossroads　and　the　market…town　had　given　way　to　open　grassland　on　either　side　once　Jack　got　past　the　final　small　settlement。　He　began　to　feel　that　he　was　walking　along　an　endless　causeway　which　crossed　the　middle　of　a　limitless　ocean。　He　travelled　the　Western　Road　alone　that　day　under　a　sky　that　was　bright　and　sunny　but　cool　（late　September　now；　of　course　it's　cool；　he　thought；　except　the　word　which　came　to　mind　was　not　September　but　a　Territories　word　which　really　did　translate　better　as　nine…month）。　No　pedestrians　passed　him；　no　wagons　either　loaded　or　empty。　The　wind　blew　pretty　steadily；　sighing　through　the　ocean　of　grasses　with　a　low　sound　that　was　both　autumnal　and　lonely。　Great　ripples　ran　across　the　grasses　before　that　wind。
　　If　asked　'How　do　you　feel；　Jack？；'　the　boy　would　have　responded：　'Pretty　good；　thanks。　Cheerful。'　Cheerful　is　the　word　which　would　have　e　into　his　mind　as　he　hiked　through　those　empty　grasslands；　rapture　was　a　word　he　associated　most　easily　with　the　pop　hit　of　the　same　name　by　the　rock　group　Blondie。　And　he　would　have　been　astounded　if　told　he　had　wept　several　times　as　he　stood　wat