sk.thetalisman-第5部分

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　　'Do　you　want　to　go？'
　　'Huh？　No！　Not　here！'
　　'Good；'　she　said。　'Because　I　don't　have　your　goddam　vaccination　papers。　They　won't　let　you　in　school　without　a　pedigree；　chum。'
　　　'Don't　call　me　chum；'　Jack　said；　but　Lily　didn't　crack　a　smile　at　the　old　joke。
　　Boy；　why　ain't　you　in　school？
　　He　blinked　as　if　the　voice　had　spoken　aloud　instead　of　only　in　his　mind。
　　'Something？'　she　asked。
　　'No。　Well　。　。　。　there's　a　guy　at　the　amusement　park。　Funworld。　Janitor；　caretaker；　something　like　that。　An　old　black　guy。　He　asked　me　why　I　wasn't　in　school。'　
　　She　leaned　forward；　no　humor　in　her　now；　almost　frighteningly　grim。　'What　did　you　tell　him？'
　　　Jack　shrugged。　'I　said　I　was　getting　over　mono。　You　remember　that　time　Richard　had　it？　The　doctor　told　Uncle　Morgan　Richard　had　to　stay　out　of　school　for　six　weeks；　but　he　could　walk　around　outside　and　everything。'　Jack　smiled　a　little。　'I　thought　he　was　lucky。'　
　　Lily　relaxed　a　little。　'I　don't　like　you　talking　to　strangers；　Jack。'
　　'Mom；　he's　just　a…'
　　'I　don't　care　who　he　is。　I　don't　want　you　talking　to　strangers。'　
　　Jack　thought　of　the　black　man；　his　hair　gray　steel　wool；　his　dark　face　deeply　lined；　his　odd；　light…colored　eyes。　He　had　been　pushing　a　broom　in　the　big　arcade　on　the　pier…the　arcade　was　the　only　part　of　Arcadia　Funworld　that　stayed　open　the　year　around；　but　it　had　been　deserted　then　except　for　Jack　and　the　black　man　and　two　old　men　far　in　the　back。　The　two　were　playing　Skee…Ball　in　apathetic　silence。
　　But　now；　sitting　here　in　this　slightly　creepy　restaurant　with　his　mother；　it　wasn't　the　black　man　who　asked　the　question；　it　was　himself。
　　Why　aren't　I　in　school？
　　It　be　just　like　she　say；　son。　Got　no　vaccination；　got　no　pedigree。　You　think　she　e　down　here　with　your　birth　certificate？　That　what　you　think？　She　on　the　run；　son；　and　you　on　the　run　with　her。　You…
　　'Have　you　heard　from　Richard？'　she　broke　in；　and　when　she　said　it；　it　came　to　him…no；　that　was　too　gentle。　It　crashed　into　him。　His　hands　twitched　and　his　glass　fell　off　the　table。　It　shattered　on　the　floor。
　　She's　almost　dead；　Jack。
　　The　voice　from　the　swirling　sand…funnel。　The　one　he　had　heard　in　his　mind。
　　It　had　been　Uncle　Morgan's　voice。　Not　maybe；　not　almost；　not　sorta　like。　It　had　been　a　real　voice。　The　voice　of　Richard's　father。
　　　
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　　Going　home　in　the　car；　she　asked　him；　'What　happened　to　you　in　there；　Jack？'
　　'Nothing。　My　heart　did　this　funny　little　Gene　Krupa　riff。'　He　ran　off　a　quick　one　on　the　dashboard　to　demonstrate。　'Threw　a　PCV；　just　like　on　General　Hospital。'
　　'Don't　wise　off　to　me；　Jacky。'　In　the　glow　of　the　dashboard　instruments　she　looked　pale　and　haggard。　A　cigarette　smouldered　between　the　second　and　third　fingers　of　her　right　hand。　She　was　driving　very　slowly…never　over　forty…as　she　always　drove　when　she'd　had　too　much　to　drink。　Her　seat　was　pulled　all　the　way　forward；　her　skirt　was　hiked　up　so　her　knees　floated；　storklike；　on　either　side　of　the　steering　column；　and　her　chin　seemed　to　hang　over　the　wheel。　For　a　moment　she　looked　haglike；　and　Jack　quickly　looked　away。
　　'I'm　not；'　he　mumbled。
　　'What？'
　　'I'm　not　wising　off；'　he　said。　'It　was　like　a　twitch；　that's　all。　I'm　sorry。'
　　'It's　okay；'　she　said。　'I　thought　it　was　something　about　Richard　Sloat。'
　　'No。'　His　father　talked　to　me　out　of　a　hole　in　the　sand　down　on　the　beach；　that's　all。　In　my　head　he　talked　to　me；　like　in　a　movie　where　you　hear　a　voice…over。　He　told　me　you　were　almost　dead。
　　'Do　you　miss　him；　Jack？'
　　'Who；　Richard？'
　　'No…Spiro　Agnew。　Of　course　Richard。'
　　'Sometimes。'　Richard　Sloat　was　now　going　to　school　in　Illinois…one　of　those　private　schools　where　chapel　was　pulsory　and　no　one　had　acne。
　　'You'll　see　him。'　She　ruffled　his　hair。
　　'Mom；　are　you　all　right？'　The　words　burst　out　of　him。　He　could　feel　his　fingers　biting　into　his　thighs。
　　'Yes；'　she　said；　lighting　another　cigarette　（she　slowed　down　to　twenty　to　do　it；　an　old　pick…up　swept　by　them；　its　horn　blatting）。　'Never　better。'
　　'How　much　weight　have　you　lost？'
　　'Jacky；　you　can　never　be　too　thin　or　too　rich。'　She　paused　and　then　smiled　at　him。　It　was　a　tired；　hurt　smile　that　told　him　all　the　truth　he　needed　to　know。
　　'Mom…'
　　'No　more；'　she　said。　'All's　well。　Take　my　word　for　it。　See　if　you　can　find　us　some　be…bop　on　the　FM。'
　　'But…'
　　'Find　us　some　bop；　Jacky；　and　shut　up。'　
　　He　found　some　jazz　on　a　Boston　station…an　alto　saxophone　elucidating　'All　the　Things　You　Are。'　But　under　it；　a　steady；　senseless　counterpoint；　was　the　ocean。　And　later；　he　could　see　the　great　skeleton　of　the　roller　coaster　against　the　sky。　And　the　rambling　wings　of　the　Alhambra　Inn。　If　this　was　home；　they　were　home。
　　
　　　CHAPTER　3
　　　Speedy　Parker
　　　
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　　The　next　day　the　sun　was　back…a　hard　bright　sun　that　layered　itself　like　paint　over　the　flat　beach　and　the　slanting；　red…tiled　strip　of　roof　Jack　could　see　from　his　bedroom　window。　A　long　low　wave　far　out　in　the　water　seemed　to　harden　in　the　light　and　sent　a　spear　of　brightness　straight　toward　his　eyes。　To　Jack　this　sunlight　felt　different　from　the　light　in　California。　It　seemed　somehow　thinner；　colder；　less　nourishing。　The　wave　out　in　the　dark　ocean　melted　away；　then　hoisted　itself　up　again；　and　a　hard　dazzling　streak　of　gold　leaped　across　it。　Jack　turned　away　from　his　window。　He　had　already　showered　and　dressed；　and　his　body's　clock　told　him　that　it　was　time　to　start　moving　toward　the　schoolbus　stop。　Seven…fifteen。　But　of　course　he　would　not　go　to　school　today；　nothing　was　normal　anymore；　and　he　and　his　mother　would　just　drift　like　ghosts　through　another　twelve　hours　of　daytime。　No　schedule；　no　responsibilities；　no　homework　。　。　。　no　order　at　all　except　for　that　given　them　by　mealtimes。
　　Was　today　even　a　schoolday？　Jack　stopped　short　beside　his　bed；　feeling　a　little　flicker　of　panic　that　his　world　had　bee　so　formless　。　。　。　he　didn't　think　this　was　a　Saturday。　Jack　counted　back　to　the　first　absolutely　identifiable　day　his　memory　could　find；　which　was　the　previous　Sunday。　Counting　forward　made　it　Thursday。　On　Thursdays　he　had　puter　class　with　Mr。　Balgo　and　an　early　sports　period。　At　least　that　was　what　he'd　had　when　his　life　had　been　normal；　a　time　that　now　seemed…though　it　had　e　to　an　end　only　months　ago…irretrievably　lost。
　　He　wandered　out　of　his　bedroom　into　the　living　room。　When　he　tugged　at　the　drawstring　for　the　curtains　the　hard　bright　light　flooded　into　the　room；　bleaching　the　furniture。　Then　he　punched　the　button　on　the　television　set　and　dropped　himself　onto　the　stiff　couch。　His　mother　would　not　be　up　for　at　least　another　fifteen　minutes。　Maybe　longer；　considering　that　she'd　had　three　drinks　with　dinner　the　night　before。
　　Jack　glanced　toward　the　door　to　his　mother's　room。　
　　Twenty　minutes　later　he　rapped　softly　at　her　door。　'Mom？'　A　thick　mumble　answered　him。　Jack　pushed　the　door　open　a　crack　and　looked　in。　She　was　lifting　her　head　off　the　pillow　and　peering　back　through　half…closed　eyes。
　　'Jacky。　Morning。　What　time？'
　　'Around　eight。'
　　'God。　You　starving？'　She　sat　up　and　pressed　the　palms　of　her　hands　to　her　eyes。
　　'Kind　of。　I'm　sort　of　sick　of　sitting　in　here。　I　just　wondered　if　you　were　getting　up　soon。'
　　'Not　if　I　can　help　it。　You　mind？　Go　down　to　the　dining　room；　get　some　breakfast。　Mess　around　on　the　beach；　okay？　You'll　have　a　much　better　mother　today　if　you　give　her　another　hour　in　bed。'
　　'Sure；'　he　said。　'Okay。　See　you　later。'　
　　Her　head　had　already　dropped　back　down　on　the　pillow。
　　Jack　switched　off　the　television　and　let　himself　out　of　the　room　after　making　sure　his　key　was　in　the　pocket　of　his　jeans。
　　The　elevator　smelled　of　camphor　and　ammonia…a　maid　had　tipped　a　bottle　off　a　cart。　The　doors　opened；　and　the　gray　desk　clerk　frowned　at　him　and　ostentatiously　turned　away。　Being　a　movie　star's　brat　doesn't　make　you　anything　special　around　here；　sonny　。　。　。　and　why　aren't　you　in　school？　Jack　turned　into　the　panelled　entrance　to　the　dining　room…The　Saddle　of　Lamb…and　saw　rows　of　empty　tables　in　a　shadowy　vastness。　Perhaps　six　had　been　set　up。　A　waitress　in　a　white　blouse　and　red　ruffled　skirt　looked　at　him；　then　looked　away。　Two　exhausted…looking　old　people　sat　across　a　table　from　each　other　at　the　other　end　of　the　room。　There　were　no　other　breakfasters。　As　Jack　looked　on；　the　old　man　leaned　over　the　table　and　unselfconsciously　cut　his　wife's　fried　egg　into　four…inch　square　sections。
　　'Table　for　one？'　The　woman　in　charge　of　The　Saddle　of　Lamb　during　the　day　had　materialized　beside　him；　and　was　already　plucking　a　menu　off　a　stack　beside　the　reservation　book。
　　'Changed　my　mind；　sorry。'　Jack　escaped。
　　The　Alhambra's　coffee　shop；　The　Beachber　Lounge；　lay　all　the　way　across　the　lobby　and　down　a　long　bleak　corridor　lined　with　empty　display　cases。　His　hunger　died　at　the　thought　of　sitting　by　himself　at　the　counter　and　watching　the　bored　cook　slap　down　strips　of　bacon　on　the　crusty　grill。　He　would　wait　until　his　mother　got　up：　or；　better　yet；　he　would　go　out　and　see　if　he　could　get　a　doughnut　and　a　little　carton　of　milk　at　one　of　the　shops　up　the　street　on　the　way　into　town。
　　He　pushed　open　the　tall　heavy　front　door　of　the　hotel　and　went　out　into　the　sunlight。　For　a　moment　the　sudden　brightness　stung　his　eyes…the　world　was　a　flat　glaring　dazzle。　Jack　squinted；　wishing　he　had　remembered　to　bring　his　sunglasses　downstairs。　He　went　across　the　apron　of　red　brick　and　down　the　four　curving　steps　to　the　main　pathway　through　the　gardens　at　the　front　of　the　hotel。
　　What　happened　if　she　died？
　　What　happened　to　him…where　would　he　go；　who　would　take　care　of　him；　if　the　worst　thing　in　the　world　actually　took　place　and　she　died；　for　good　and　all　died；　up　in　that　hotel　room？
　　He　shook　his　head；　trying　to　send　the　terrible　thought　away　before　a　lurking　panic　could　rush　up　out　of　the　Alhambra's　well…ordered　gardens　and　blast　him　apart。　He　would　not　cry；　he　would　not　let　that　happen　to　him…and　he　would　not　let　himself　think　about　the　Tarrytoons　and　the　weight　she　had　lost；　the　feeling　that　he　sometimes　had　that　she　was　too　helpless　and　without　direction。　He　was　walking　very　quickly　now；　and　he　shoved　his　hands　into　hi