sk.thetalisman-第58部分

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　　'Hop　in；　boys！　Dirty　night；　ain't　it？'
　　'Thanks；　mister；　it　sure　is；'　Jack　said　cheerfully。　His　mind　was　in　overdrive；　trying　to　figure　out　how　he　could　work　Wolf　into　the　Story；　and　he　barely　noticed　Wolf's　expression。
　　The　man　noticed　it；　however。　
　　His　face　hardened。
　　'You　smell　anything　bad；　son？'
　　Jack　was　snapped　back　to　reality　by　the　man's　tone；　which　was　as　hard　as　his　face。　All　cordiality　had　departed　it；　and　he　looked　as　if　he　might　have　just　wandered　into　the　Oatley　Tap　to　eat　a　few　beers　and　drink　a　few　glasses。
　　Jack　whipped　around　and　looked　at　Wolf。
　　Wolf's　nostrils　were　flaring　like　the　nostrils　of　a　bear　which　smells　a　blown　skunk。　His　lips　were　not　just　pulled　back　from　his　teeth；　they　were　wrinkled　back　from　them；　the　flesh　below　his　nose　stacked　in　little　ridges。
　　'What　is　he；　retarded？'　the　man　in　the　CASE　FARM　EQUIPMENT　hat　asked　Jack　in　a　low　voice。
　　'No；　ah；　he　just…'　
　　Wolf　began　to　growl。　
　　That　was　it。
　　'Oh；　Christ；'　the　man　said　in　the　tones　of　one　who　simply　cannot　believe　this　is　happening。　He　stepped　on　the　gas　and　roared　down　the　exit　ramp；　the　passenger　door　flopping　shut。　His　taillights　dot…dashed　briefly　in　the　rainy　dark　at　the　foot　of　the　ramp；　sending　reflections　in　smeary　red　arrows　up　the　pavement　toward　where　they　stood。
　　'Boy；　that's　great；'　Jack　said；　and　turned　to　Wolf；　who　shrank　back　from　his　anger。　'That's　just　great！　If　he'd　had　a　CB　radio；　he'd　be　on　Channel　Nineteen　right　now；　yelling　for　a　cop；　telling　anyone　and　everyone　that　there　are　a　couple　of　loonies　trying　to　hitch　a　ride　out　of　Arcanum！　Jason！　Or　Jesus！　Or　Whoever；　I　don't　care！　You　want　to　see　some　fucking　nails　get　pounded；　Wolf？　You　do　that　a　few　more　times　and　you'll　feel　them　get　pounded！　Us！　We'll　get　pounded！'　
　　Exhausted；　bewildered；　frustrated；　almost　used　up；　Jack　advanced　on　the　cringing　Wolf；　who　could　have　torn　his　head　from　his　shoulders　with　one　hard；　swinging　blow　if　he　had　wanted　to；　and　Wolf　backed　up　before　him。
　　'Don't　shout；　Jack；'　he　moaned。　'The　smells　。　。　。　to　be　in　there　。　。　。　shut　up　in　there　with　those　smells　。　。　。　'
　　'I　didn't　smell　anything！'　Jack　shouted。　His　voice　broke；　his　sore　throat　hurt　more　than　ever；　but　he　couldn't　seem　to　stop；　it　was　shout　or　go　mad。　His　wet　hair　had　fallen　in　his　eyes。　He　shook　it　away　and　then　slapped　Wolf　on　the　shoulder。　There　was　a　smart　crack　and　his　hand　began　to　hurt　at　once。　It　was　as　if　he　had　slapped　a　stone。　Wolf　howled　abjectly；　and　this　made　Jack　angrier。　The　fact　that　he　was　lying　made　him　angrier　still。　He　had　been　in　the　Territories　less　than　six　hours　this　time；　but　that　man's　car　had　smelled　like　a　wild　animal's　den。　Harsh　aromas　of　old　coffee　and　fresh　beer　（there　had　been　an　open　can　of　Stroh's　between　his　legs）；　an　air…freshener　hanging　from　the　rear…view　mirror　that　smelled　like　dry　sweet　powder　on　the　cheek　of　a　corpse。　And　there　had　been　something　else；　something　darker；　something　wetter　。　。　。
　　'Not　anything！'　he　shouted；　his　voice　breaking　hoarsely。　He　slapped　Wolf's　other　shoulder。　Wolf　howled　again　and　turned　around；　hunching　like　a　child　who　is　being　beaten　by　an　angry　father。　Jack　began　to　slap　at　his　back；　his　smarting　hands　spatting　up　little　sprays　of　water　from　Wolf's　overalls。　Each　time　Jack's　hand　descended；　Wolf　howled。　'So　you　better　get　used　to　it　（Slap！）　because　the　next　car　to　e　along　might　be　a　cop　（Slap！）　or　it　might　be　Mr。　Morgan　Bloat　in　his　puke…green　BMW　（Slap！）　and　if　all　you　can　be　is　a　big　baby；　we're　going　to　be　in　one　big　fucking　world　of　hurt！　（Slap！）　Do　you　understand　that？'　
　　Wolf　said　nothing。　He　stood　hunched　in　the　rain；　his　back　to　Jack；　quivering。　Crying。　Jack　felt　a　lump　rise　in　his　own　throat；　felt　his　eyes　grow　hot　and　stinging。　All　of　this　only　increased　his　fury。　Some　terrible　part　of　him　wanted　most　of　all　to　hurt　himself；　and　knew　that　hurting　Wolf　was　a　wonderful　way　to　do　it。
　　'Turn　around！'
　　Wolf　did。　Tears　ran　from　his　muddy　brown　eyes　behind　the　round　spectacles。　Snot　ran　from　his　nose。
　　'Do　you　understand　me？'
　　'Yes；'　Wolf　moaned。　'Yes；　I　understand；　but　I　couldn't　ride　with　him；　Jack。'
　　'Why　not？'　Jack　looked　at　him　angrily；　fisted　hands　on　his　hips。　Oh；　his　head　was　aching。
　　'Because　he　was　dying；'　Wolf　said　in　a　low　voice。　
　　Jack　stared　at　him；　all　his　anger　draining　away。
　　'Jack；　didn't　you　know？'　Wolf　asked　softly。　'Wolf！　You　couldn't　smell　it？'
　　'No；'　Jack　said　in　a　small；　whistling；　out…of…breath　voice。　Because　he　had　smelled　something；　hadn't　he？　Something　he　had　never　smelled　before。　Something　like　a　mixture　of　。　。　。
　　It　came　to　him；　and　suddenly　his　strength　was　gone。　He　sat　down　heavily　on　the　guardrail　cable　and　looked　at　Wolf。
　　Shit　and　rotting　grapes。　That　was　what　that　smell　had　been　like。　That　wasn't　it　a　hundred　percent；　but　it　was　too　hideously　close。
　　Shit　and　rotting　grapes。
　　'It's　the　worst　smell；'　Wolf　said。　'It's　when　people　forget　how　to　be　healthy。　We　call　it…Wolf！…the　Black　Disease。　I　don't　even　think　he　knew　he　had　it。　And　。　。　。　these　Strangers　can't　smell　it；　can　they；　Jack？'
　　'No；'　he　whispered。　If　he　were　to　be　suddenly　teleported　back　to　New　Hampshire；　to　his　mother's　room　in　the　Alhambra；　would　he　smell　that　stink　on　her？
　　Yes。　He　would　smell　it　on　his　mother；　drifting　out　of　her　pores；　the　smell　of　shit　and　rotting　grapes；　the　Black　Disease。
　　'We　call　it　cancer；'　Jack　whispered。　We　call　it　cancer　and　my　mother　has　it。
　　'I　just　don't　know　if　I　can　hitch；'　Wolf　said。　'I'll　try　again　if　you　want；　Jack；　but　the　smells　。　。　。　inside　。　。　。　they're　bad　enough　in　the　outside　air；　Wolf！　but　inside　。　。　。　'　
　　That　was　when　Jack　put　his　face　in　his　hands　and　wept；　partly　out　of　desperation；　mostly　out　of　simple　exhaustion。　And；　yes；　the　expression　Wolf　believed　he　had　seen　on　Jack's　face　really　had　been　there；　for　an　instant　the　temptation　to　leave　Wolf　was　more　than　a　temptation；　it　was　a　maddening　imperative。　The　odds　against　his　ever　making　it　to　California　and　finding　the　Talisman…whatever　it　might　be…had　been　long　before；　now　they　were　so　long　they　dwindled　to　a　point　on　the　horizon。　Wolf　would　do　more　than　slow　him　down；　Wolf　would　sooner　or　later　get　both　of　them　thrown　in　jail。　Probably　sooner。　And　how　could　he　ever　explain　Wolf　to　Rational　Richard　Sloat？
　　What　Wolf　saw　on　Jack's　face　in　that　moment　was　a　look　of　cold　speculation　that　unhinged　his　knees。　He　fell　on　them　and　held　his　clasped　hands　up　to　Jack　like　a　suitor　in　a　bad　Victorian　melodrama。
　　'Don't　go　away　an'　leave　me；　Jack；'　he　wept。　'Don't　leave　old　Wolf；　don't　leave　me　here；　you　brought　me　here；　please；　please　don't　leave　me　alone　。　。　。　'
　　Beyond　this；　conscious　words　were　lost；　Wolf　was　perhaps　trying　to　talk　but　all　he　really　seemed　able　to　do　was　sob。　Jack　felt　a　great　weariness　fall　over　him。　It　fit　well；　like　a　jacket　that　one　has　worn　often。　Don't　leave　me　here；　you　brought　me　here　。　。　。
　　There　it　was。　Wolf　was　his　responsibility；　wasn't　he？　Yes。　Oh　yes　indeed。　He　had　taken　Wolf　by　the　hand　and　dragged　him　out　of　the　Territories　and　into　Ohio　and　he　had　the　throbbing　shoulder　to　prove　it。　He　had　had　no　choice；　of　course；　Wolf　had　been　drowning；　and　even　if　he　hadn't　drowned；　Morgan　would　have　crisped　him　with　whatever　that　lightning…rod　thing　had　been。　So　he　could　have　turned　on　Wolf　again；　could　have　said：　Which　would　you　prefer；　Wolf　old　buddy？　To　be　here　and　scared；　or　there　and　dead？
　　He　could；　yes；　and　Wolf　would　have　no　answer　because　Wolf　wasn't　too　swift　in　the　brains　department。　But　Uncle　Tommy　had　been　fond　of　quoting　a　Chinese　proverb　that　went：　The　man　whose　life　you　save　is　your　responsibility　for　the　rest　of　your　life。
　　Never　mind　the　ducking；　never　mind　the　fancy　footwork；　Wolf　was　his　responsibility。
　　'Don't　leave　me；　Jack；'　Wolf　wept。　'Wolf…Wolf！　Please　don't　leave　good　old　Wolf；　I'll　help　you；　I'll　stand　guard　at　night；　I　can　do　lots；　only　don't　don't…'
　　'Quit　bawling　and　get　up；'　Jack　said　quietly。　'I　won't　leave　you。　But　we've　got　to　get　out　of　here　in　case　that　guy　does　send　a　cop　back　to　check　on　us。　Let's　move　it。'
　　　
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　　'Did　you　figure　out　what　to　do　next；　Jack？'　Wolf　asked　timidly。　They　had　been　sitting　in　the　brushy　ditch　just　over　the　Muncie　town　line　for　more　than　half　an　hour；　and　when　Jack　turned　toward　Wolf；　Wolf　was　relieved　to　see　he　was　smiling。　It　was　a　weary　smile；　and　Wolf　didn't　like　the　dark；　tired　circles　under　Jack's　eyes　（he　liked　Jack's　smell　even　less…it　was　a　sick　smell）；　but　it　was　a　smile。
　　'I　think　I　see　what　we　should　do　next　right　over　there；'　Jack　said。　'I　was　thinking　about　it　just　a　few　days　ago；　when　I　got　my　new　sneakers。'　
　　He　bowed　his　feet。　He　and　Wolf　regarded　the　sneakers　in　depressed　silence。　They　were　scuffed；　battered；　and　dirty。　The　left　sole　was　bidding　a　fond　adieu　to　the　left　upper。　Jack　had　owned　them　for　。　。　。　he　wrinkled　his　forehead　and　thought。　The　fever　made　it　hard　to　think。　Three　days。　Only　three　days　since　he　had　picked　them　out　of　the　bargain　bin　of　the　Fayva　store。　Now　they　looked　old。　Old。
　　'Anyway　。　。　。　'　Jack　sighed。　Then　he　brightened。　'See　that　building　over　there；　Wolf？'　
　　The　building；　an　explosion　of　uninteresting　angles　in　gray　brick；　stood　like　an　island　in　the　middle　of　a　giant　parking　lot。　Wolf　knew　what　the　asphalt　in　that　parking　lot　would　smell　like：　dead；　deposing　animals。　That　smell　would　almost　suffocate　him；　and　Jack　would　barely　notice　it。
　　'For　your　information；　the　sign　there　said　Town　Line　Sixplex；'　Jack　said。　'It　sounds　like　a　coffee　pot；　but　actually　it's　a　movie　with　six　shows。　There　ought　to　be　one　we　like。'　And　in　the　afternoon；　there　won't　be　many　people　there　and　that's　good　because　you　have　this　distressing　habit　of　going　Section　Eight；　Wolf。　'e　on。'　He　got　unsteadily　to　his　feet。
　　'What's　a　movie；　Jack？'　Wolf　asked。　He　had　been　a　dreadful　problem　to　Jack；　he　knew…such　a　dreadful　problem　that　he　now　hesitated　to　protest　about　anything；　or　even　express　unease。　But　a　frightening　intuition　had　e　to　him：　that　going　to　a　movie　and　hitching　a　ride　might　be　the　same　thing。　Jack　called　the　roaring　carts　and　carriages　'cars；'　and　'Chevys；'　and　'Jartrans；'　and　'station…wagons'　（these　latter；　Wol