sk.thetalisman-第50部分

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　　Jack　stumbled　forward　and　kicked　over　the　blind　man's　cup。　Coins　spilled　and　rolled。　The　gentle　lilt　of　the　blues　tune　came　to　a　jangling　halt。
　　Mr。　All…America　and　the　Three　Little　Princesses　were　already　moving　on。　Jack　stared　after　them　and　felt　the　now…familiar　impotent　hate。　This　was　how　it　felt　to　be　on　your　own；　just　young　enough　to　be　at　everyone's　mercy　and　to　be　anyone's　meat…anyone　from　a　psychotic　like　Osmond　to　a　humorless　old　Lutheran　like　Elbert　Palamountain；　whose　idea　of　a　pretty　fair　work…day　was　to　slog　and　squelch　through　gluey　fields　for　twelve　hours　during　a　steady　cold　downpour　of　October　rain；　and　to　sit　bolt…upright　in　the　cab　of　his　International　Harvester　truck　during　lunch　hour；　eating　onion　sandwiches　and　reading　from　the　Book　of　Job。
　　Jack　had　no　urge　to　'get'　them；　although　he　had　a　strange　idea　that　if　he　wanted　to；　he　could…that　he　was　gaining　some　sort　of　power；　almost　like　an　electrical　charge。　It　sometimes　seemed　to　him　that　other　people　knew　that；　too…that　it　was　in　their　faces　when　they　looked　at　him。　But　he　didn't　want　to　get　them；　he　only　wanted　to　be　left　alone。　He…
　　The　blind　man　was　feeling　around　himself　for　the　spilled　money；　his　pudgy　hands　moving　gently　over　the　pavement；　almost　seeming　to　read　it。　He　happened　on　a　dime；　set　his　cup　back　up　again；　and　dropped　the　dime　in。　Plink！
　　Faintly；　Jack　heard　one　of　the　princesses：　'Why　do　they　let　him　stay　there；　he's　so　gross；　you　know？'
　　Even　more　faintly　still：　'Yeah；　rilly！'
　　Jack　got　down　on　his　knees　and　began　to　help；　picking　up　coins　and　putting　them　into　the　blind　man's　cup。　Down　here；　close　to　the　old　man；　he　could　smell　sour　sweat；　mildew；　and　some　sweet　bland　smell　like　corn。　Smartly　dressed　mall　shoppers　gave　them　a　wide　berth。
　　'Thankya；　thankya；'　the　blind　man　croaked　monotonously。　Jack　could　smell　dead　chili　on　his　breath。　'Thankya；　blessya；　God　blessya；　thankya。'　
　　He　is　Speedy。
　　He's　not　Speedy。
　　What　finally　forced　him　to　speak…and　this　was　not　really　so　odd…was　remembering　just　how　little　of　the　magic　juice　he　had　left。　Barely　two　swallows　now。　He　did　not　know　if；　after　what　had　happened　in　Angola；　he　could　ever　bring　himself　to　travel　in　the　Territories　again；　but　he　was　still　determined　to　save　his　mother's　life；　and　that　meant　he　might　have　to。
　　And；　whatever　the　Talisman　was；　he　might　have　to　flip　into　the　other　world　to　get　it。
　　'Speedy？'
　　'Blessya；　thankya；　God　blessya；　didn't　I　hear　one　go　over　there？'　He　pointed。
　　'Speedy！　It's　Jack！'
　　'Ain't　nothin　speedy　round　here；　boy；　No　sir。'　His　hands　began　to　whisper…walk　along　the　concrete　in　the　direction　he　had　just　pointed。　One　of　them　found　a　nickel　and　he　dropped　it　into　the　cup。　His　other　happened　to　touch　the　shoe　of　a　smartly　dressed　young　woman　who　was　passing　by。　Her　pretty；　empty　face　wrinkled　in　almost　painful　disgust　as　she　drew　away　from　him。
　　Jack　picked　the　last　coin　out　of　the　gutter。　It　was　a　silver　dollar…a　big　old　cartwheel　with　Lady　Liberty　on　one　side。
　　Tears　began　to　spill　out　of　his　eyes。　They　ran　down　his　dirty　face　and　he　wiped　them　away　with　an　arm　that　shook。　He　was　crying　for　Thielke；　Wild；　Hagen；　Davey；　and　Heidel。　For　his　mother。　For　Laura　DeLoessian。　For　the　carter's　son　lying　dead　in　the　road　with　his　pockets　turned　out。　But　most　of　all　for　himself。　He　was　tired　of　being　on　the　road。　Maybe　when　you　rode　it　in　a　Cadillac　it　was　a　road　of　dreams；　but　when　you　had　to　hitch　it；　riding　on　your　thumb　and　a　story　that　was　just　about　worn　out；　when　you　were　at　everybody's　mercy　and　anyone's　meat；　it　was　nothing　but　a　road　of　trials。　Jack　felt　that　he　had　been　tried　enough　。　。　。　but　there　was　no　way　to　cry　it　off。　If　he　cried　it　off；　the　cancer　would　take　his　mother；　and　Uncle　Morgan　might　well　take　him。
　　'I　don't　think　I　can　do　it；　Speedy；'　he　wept。　'I　don't　think　so；　man。'　
　　Now　the　blind　man　groped　for　Jack　instead　of　the　spilled　coins。　Those　gentle；　reading　fingers　found　his　arm　and　closed　around　it。　Jack　could　feel　the　hard　pad　of　callus　in　the　tip　of　each　finger。　He　drew　Jack　to　him；　into　those　odors　of　sweat　and　heat　and　old　chili。　Jack　pressed　his　face　against　Speedy's　chest。
　　'Hoo；　boy。　I　don't　know　no　Speedy；　but　it　sounds　like　you　puttin　an　awful　lot　on　him。　You…'
　　'I　miss　my　mom；　Speedy；'　Jack　wept；　'and　Sloat's　after　me。　It　was　him　on　the　phone　inside　the　mall；　him。　And　that's　not　the　worst　thing。　The　worst　thing　was　in　Angola　。　。　。　the　Rainbird　Towers　。　。　。　earthquake　。　。　。　five　men　。　。　。　me；　I　did　it；　Speedy；　I　killed　those　men　when　I　flipped　into　this　world；　I　killed　them　just　like　my　dad　and　Morgan　Sloat　killed　Jerry　Bledsoe　that　time！'　
　　Now　it　was　out；　the　worst　of　it。　He　had　sicked　up　the　stone　of　guilt　that　had　been　in　his　throat；　threatening　to　choke　him；　and　a　storm　of　weeping　seized　him…but　this　time　it　was　relief　rather　than　fear。　It　was　said。　It　had　been　confessed。　He　was　a　murderer。
　　'Hooo…eeee！'　the　black　man　cried。　He　sounded　perversely　delighted。　He　held　Jack　with　one　thin；　strong　arm；　rocked　him。　'You　tryin　to　carry　you　one　heavy　load；　boy。　You　sure　am。　Maybe　you　ought　to　put　some　of　it　down。'
　　'I　killed　em；'　Jack　whispered。　'Thielke；　Wild；　Hagen；　Davey　。　。　。　'
　　'Well；　if　yo　friend　Speedy　was　here；'　the　black　man　said；　'whoever　he　might　be；　or　wherever　he　might　be　in　this　wide　old　world；　he　might　tell　you　that　you　cain't　carry　the　world　on　yo　shoulders；　son。　You　cain't　do　that。　No　one　can。　Try　to　carry　the　world　on　yo　shoulders；　why；　first　it's　gonna　break　yo　back；　and　then　it's　gonna　break　you　sperrit。'
　　'I　killed…'
　　'Put　a　gun　to　their　heads　and　shot　somebodies；　didya？'
　　'No　。　。　。　the　earthquake　。　。　。　I　flipped　。　。　。　'
　　'Don't　know　nothin　bout　dat；'　the　black　man　said。　Jack　had　pulled　away　from　him　a　bit　and　was　staring　up　into　the　black　man's　seamed　face　with　wondering　curiosity；　but　the　black　man　had　turned　his　head　toward　the　parking　lot。　If　he　was　blind；　then　he　had　picked　out　the　smoother；　slightly　more　powerful　beat　of　the　police　car's　engine　from　the　others　as　it　approached；　because　he　was　looking　right　at　it。　'All　I　know　is　you　seem　to　have　this　idear　of　'moider'　a　little　broad。　Prolly　if　some　fella　dropped　dead　of　a　heart…attack　goin　around　us　as　we　sit　here；　you'd　think　you　killed　him。　'Oh　look；　I　done　moidered　that　fella　on　account　of　where　I　was　sit…tin；　oh　woe；　oh　dooom；　oh　gloooooom；　oh　this　。　。　。　oh　that！'　'　As　he　spoke　this　and　that；　the　blind　man　punctuated　it　with　a　quick　change　from　G　to　C　and　back　to　G　again。　He　laughed；　pleased　with　himself。
　　'Speedy…'
　　'Nothin　speedy　round　here；'　the　black　man　reiterated；　and　then　showed　yellow　teeth　in　a　crooked　grin。　'Cept　maybe　how　speedy　some　folks　are　to　put　the　blame　on　themselves　for　things　others　might　have　got　started。　Maybe　you　runnin；　boy；　and　maybe　you　bein　chased。'　G…chord。
　　'Maybe　you　be　just　a　little　off…base。'
　　C…chord；　with　a　nifty　little　run　in　the　middle　that　made　Jack　grin　in　spite　of　himself。
　　'Might　be　somebody　else　gettin　on　yo　case。'
　　Back　down　to　G　again；　and　the　blind　man　laid　his　guitar　aside　（while；　in　the　police　car；　the　two　cops　were　flipping　to　see　which　of　them　would　actually　have　to　touch　Old　Snowball　if　he　wouldn't　get　into　the　back　of　the　cruiser　peaceably）。
　　'Maybe　dooom　and　maybe　gloooooom　and　maybe　this　and　maybe　that　。　。　。　'　He　laughed　again；　as　if　Jack's　fears　were　the　funniest　thing　he'd　ever　heard。
　　'But　I　don't　know　what　could　happen　if　I…'
　　'No　one　ever　knows　what　could　happen　if　they　do　anything；　do　dey？'　the　black　man　who　might　or　might　not　be　Speedy　Parker　broke　in。　'No。　Dey　do　not。　If　you　thought　about　it；　you'd　stay　in　yo　house　all　day；　ascairt　to　e　out！　I　don't　know　yo　problems；　boy。　Don't　want　to　know　em。　Could　be　crazy；　talkin　bout　earthquakes　and　all。　But　bein　as　how　you　helped　me　pick　up　my　money　and　didn't　steal　none…I　counted　every　plinkety…plink；　so　I　know…I'll　give　you　some　advice。　Some　things　you　cain't　help。　Sometimes　people　get　killed　because　somebody　does　somethin　。　。　。　but　if　somebody　didn't　do　that　somethin；　a　whole　lot　of　more　people　would　have　got　killed。　Do　you　see　where　I'm　pushin；　son？'　
　　The　dirty　sunglasses　inclined　down　toward　him。
　　Jack　felt　a　deep；　shuddery　relief。　He　saw；　all　right。　The　blind　man　was　talking　about　hard　choices。　He　was　suggesting　that　maybe　there　was　a　difference　between　hard　choices　and　criminal　behavior。　And　that　maybe　the　criminal　wasn't　here。
　　The　criminal　might　have　been　the　guy　who　had　told　him　five　minutes　ago　to　get　his　ass　home。
　　'Could　even　be；'　the　blind　man　remarked；　hitting　a　dark　D…minor　chord　on　his　box；　'that　all　things　soive　the　Lord；　just　like　my　momma　tole　me　and　your　momma　might　have　tole　you；　if　she　was　a　Christian　lady。　Could　be　we　think　we　doin　one　thing　but　are　really　doin　another。　Good　Book　says　all　things；　even　those　that　seem　evil；　soive　the　Lord。　What　you　think；　boy？'
　　'I　don't　know；'　Jack　said　honestly。　He　was　all　mixed　up。　He　only　had　to　close　his　eyes　and　he　could　see　the　telephone　tearing　off　the　wall；　hanging　from　its　wires　like　a　weird　puppet。
　　'Well；　it　smells　like　you　lettin　it　drive　you　to　drink。'
　　'What？'　Jack　asked；　astonished。　Then　he　thought；　I　thought　that　Speedy　looked　like　Mississippi　John　Hurt；　and　this　guy　started　playing　a　John　Hurt　blues　。　。　。　and　now　he's　talking　about　the　magic　juice。　He's　being　careful；　but　I　swear　that's　what　he's　talking　about…it's　got　to　be！
　　'You're　a　mind…reader；'　Jack　said　in　a　low　voice。　'Aren't　you？　Did　you　learn　it　in　the　Territories；　Speedy？'
　　'Don't　know　nothin　bout　readin　minds；'　the　blind　man　said；　'but　my　lamps　have　been　out　forty…two　year　e　November；　and　in　forty…two　year　your　nose　and　ears　take　up　some　of　the　slack。　I　can　smell　cheap　wine　on　you；　son。　Smell　it　all　over　you。　It's　almost　like　you　washed　yo　hair　widdit！'　
　　Jack　felt　an　odd；　dreamy　guilt…it　was　the　way　he　always　felt　when　accused　of　doing　something　wrong　when　he　was　in　fact　innocent…mostly　innocent；　anyway。　He　had　done　no　more　than　touch　the　almost…empty　bottle　since　flipping　back　into　this　world。　Just　touching　it　filled　him　with　dread…he　had　e　to　feel　about　it　the　way　a　fourteenth…century　European　peasant　might　have　felt　about　a　splinter　of　the　On