sk.thetalisman-第7部分

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　　Speedy's　'office'　was　a　small　board　rectangle…the　same　red　as　its　exterior…without　a　desk　or　a　telephone。　Two　upended　orange　crates　leaned　against　one　of　the　side　walls；　flanking　an　unplugged　electrical　heater　that　resembled　the　grille　of　a　mid…fifties　Pontiac。　In　the　middle　of　the　room　a　wooden　round…back　school　chair　kept　pany　with　an　overstuffed　chair　of　faded　gray　material。
　　The　arms　of　the　overstuffed　chair　seemed　to　have　been　clawed　open　by　several　generations　of　cats：　dingy　wisps　of　stuffing　lay　across　the　arms　like　hair；　on　the　back　of　the　school　chair　was　a　plex　graffito　of　scratched…in　initials。　Junkyard　furniture。　In　one　of　the　corners　stood　two　neat　foot…high　piles　of　paperback　books；　in　another　the　square　fake…alligator　cover　of　a　cheap　record　player。　Speedy　nodded　at　the　heater　and　said；　'You　e　round　here　in　January；　February；　boy；　you　see　why　I　got　that。　Cold？　Shoo。'　But　Jack　was　now　looking　at　the　pictures　taped　to　the　wall　over　the　heater　and　orange　crates。
　　All　but　one　of　the　pictures　were　nudes　cut　from　men's　magazines。　Women　with　breasts　as　large　as　their　heads　lolled　back　against　unfortable　trees　and　splayed　columnar；　hardworked　legs。　To　Jack；　their　faces　looked　both　fascinating　and　rapacious…as　if　these　women　would　take　bites　out　of　his　skin　after　they　kissed　him。　Some　of　the　women　were　no　younger　than　his　mother；　others　seemed　only　a　few　years　older　than　himself。　Jack's　eyes　grazed　over　this　needful　flesh…all　of　it；　young　and　unyoung；　pink　or　chocolate…brown　or　honey…yellow；　seemed　to　press　toward　his　touch；　and　he　was　too　conscious　of　Speedy　Parker　standing　beside　him；　watching。　Then　he　saw　the　landscape　in　the　midst　of　the　nude　photographs；　and　for　a　second　he　probably　forgot　to　breathe。
　　It　too　was　a　photograph；　and　it　too　seemed　to　reach　out　for　him；　as　if　it　were　three…dimensional。　A　long　grassy　plain　of　a　particular；　aching　green　unfurled　toward　a　low；　ground…down　range　of　mountains。　Above　the　plain　and　the　mountains　ranged　a　deeply　transparent　sky。　Jack　could　very　nearly　smell　the　freshness　of　this　landscape。　He　knew　that　place。　He　had　never　been　there；　not　really；　but　he　knew　it。　That　was　one　of　the　places　of　the　Daydreams。
　　'Kind　of　catch　the　eye；　don't　it？'　Speedy　said；　and　Jack　remembered　where　he　was。　A　Eurasian　woman　with　her　back　to　the　camera　tilted　a　heart…shaped　rear　and　smiled　at　him　over　her　shoulder。　Yes；　Jack　thought。　'Real　pretty　place；'　Speedy　said。　'I　put　that　one　up　myself。　All　these　here　girls　met　me　when　I　moved　in。　Didn't　have　the　heart　to　rip　em　off　the　wall。　They　sort　of　do　remind　me　of　way　back　when；　times　I　was　on　the　road。'　
　　Jack　looked　up　at　Speedy；　startled；　and　the　old　man　winked　at　him。
　　'Do　you　know　that　place；　Speedy？'　Jack　asked。　'I　mean；　do　you　know　where　it　is？'
　　'Maybe　so；　maybe　not。　It　might　be　Africa…someplace　in　Kenya。　Or　that　might　be　just　my　memory。　Sit　down；　Travellin　Jack。　Take　the　fortable　chair。'
　　Jack　twisted　the　chair　so　that　he　could　still　see　the　picture　of　the　Daydream　place。　'That's　Africa？'
　　'Might　be　somewhere　a　lot　closer。　Might　be　somewhere　a　fellow　could　get　to…get　to　anytime　he　liked；　that　is；　if　he　wanted　to　see　it　bad　enough。'　
　　Jack　suddenly　realized　that　he　was　trembling；　and　had　been　for　some　time。　He　balled　his　hands　into　fists；　and　felt　the　trembling　displace　itself　into　his　stomach。
　　He　was　not　sure　that　he　wanted　ever　to　see　the　Daydream　place；　but　he　looked　questioningly　over　at　Speedy；　who　had　perched　himself　on　the　school　chair。　'It　isn't　anyplace　in　Africa；　is　it？'
　　'Well；　I　don't　know。　Could　be。　I　got　my　own　name　for　it；　son。　I　just　call　it　the　Territories。'
　　Jack　looked　back　up　at　the　photograph…the　long；　dimpled　plain；　the　low　brown　mountains。　The　Territories。　That　was　right；　that　was　its　name。
　　They　have　magic　like　we　have　physics；　right？　An　agrarian　monarchy　。　。　。　modern　weapons　to　the　right　guys　over　there　。　。　。　Uncle　Morgan　plotting。　His　father　answering；　putting　on　the　brakes：　We　have　to　be　careful　about　the　way　we　go　in　there；　partner　。　。　。　remember；　we　owe　them；　by　which　I　mean　we　really　owe　them　。　。　。
　　'The　Territories；'　he　said　to　Speedy；　tasting　the　name　in　his　mouth　as　much　as　asking　a　question。
　　'Air　like　the　best　wine　in　a　rich　man's　cellar。　Soft　rain。　That's　the　place；　son。'
　　'You've　been　there；　Speedy？'　Jack　asked；　fervently　hoping　for　a　straightforward　answer。
　　But　Speedy　frustrated　him；　as　Jack　had　almost　known　he　would。　The　custodian　smiled　at　him；　and　this　time　it　was　a　real　smile；　not　just　a　subliminal　flare　of　warmth。
　　After　a　moment　Speedy　said；　'Hell；　I　never　been　outside　these　United　States；　Travellin　Jack。　Not　even　in　the　war。　Never　got　any　farther　than　Texas　and　Alabama。'
　　'How　do　you　know　about　the　。　。　。　the　Territories？'　The　name　was　just　beginning　to　fit　his　mouth。
　　'Man　like　me；　he　hear　all　kinds　of　stories。　Stories　about　two…headed　parrots；　men　that　fly　with　their　own　wings；　men　who　turn　into　wolves；　stories　about　queens。　Sick　queens。'
　　。　。　。　magic　like　we　have　physics；　right？
　　Angels　and　werewolves。　'I've　heard　stories　about　werewolves；'　Jack　said。　'They're　even　in　cartoons。　That　doesn't　mean　anything；　Speedy。'
　　'Probably　it　don't。　But　I　heard　that　if　a　man　pulls　a　radish　out　of　the　ground；　another　man　half　a　mile　away　will　be　able　to　smell　that　radish…the　air　so　sweet　and　clear。'
　　'But　angels　。　。　。　'
　　'Men　with　wings。'
　　'And　sick　queens；'　Jack　said；　meaning　it　as　a　joke…man；　this　is　some　dumb　place　you　make　up；　broom　jockey。　But　the　instant　he　spoke　the　words；　he　felt　sick　himself。　He　had　remembered　the　black　eye　of　a　gull　fixing　him　with　his　own　mortality　as　it　yanked　a　clam　from　its　shell：　and　he　could　hear　hustlin；　bustlin　Uncle　Morgan　asking　if　Jack　could　put　Queen　Lily　on　the　line。
　　Queen　of　the　Bs。　Queen　Lily　Cavanaugh。
　　'Yeah；'　Speedy　said　softly。　'Troubles　everywhere；　son。　Sick　Queen　。　。　。　maybe　dyin。　Dyin；　son。　And　a　world　or　two　waitin　out　there；　just　waitin　to　see　if　anyone　can　save　her。'　
　　Jack　stared　at　him　open…mouthed；　feeling　more　or　less　as　if　the　custodian　had　just　kicked　him　in　the　stomach。　Save　her？　Save　his　mother？　The　panic　started　to　flood　toward　him　once　again…how　could　he　save　her？　And　did　all　this　crazy　talk　mean　that　she　really　was　dying；　back　there　in　that　room？
　　'You　got　a　job；　Travellin　Jack；'　Speedy　told　him。　'A　job　that　ain't　gonna　let　you　go；　and　that's　the　Lord's　truth。　I　wish　it　was　different。'
　　'I　don't　know　what　you're　talking　about；'　Jack　said。　His　breath　seemed　to　be　trapped　in　a　hot　little　pocket　situated　at　the　base　of　his　neck。　He　looked　into　another　corner　of　the　small　red　room　and　in　the　shadow　saw　a　battered　guitar　propped　against　the　wall。　Beside　it　lay　the　neat　tube　of　a　thin　rolled…up　mattress。　Speedy　slept　next　to　his　guitar。
　　'I　wonder；'　Speedy　said。　'There　es　times；　you　know　what　I　mean；　you　know　more　than　you　think　you　know。　One　hell　of　a　lot　more。'
　　'But　I　don't…'　Jack　began；　and　then　pulled　himself　up　short。　He　had　just　remembered　something。　Now　he　was　even　more　frightened…another　chunk　of　the　past　had　rushed　out　at　him；　demanding　his　attention。　Instantly　he　was　filmed　with　perspiration；　and　his　skin　felt　very　cold…as　if　he　had　been　misted　by　a　fine　spray　from　a　hose。　This　memory　was　what　he　had　fought　to　repress　yesterday　morning；　standing　before　the　elevators；　pretending　that　his　bladder　was　not　about　to　burst。
　　'Didn't　I　say　it　was　time　for　a　little　refreshment？'　Speedy　asked；　reaching　down　to　push　aside　a　loose　floorboard。
　　Jack　again　saw　two　ordinary…looking　men　trying　to　push　his　mother　into　a　car。　Above　them　a　huge　tree　dipped　scalloped　fronds　over　the　automobile's　roof。
　　Speedy　gently　extracted　a　pint　bottle　from　the　gap　between　the　floorboards。　The　glass　was　dark　green；　and　the　fluid　inside　looked　black。　'This　gonna　help　you；　son。　Just　a　little　taste　all　you　need…send　you　some　new　places；　help　you　get　started　findin　that　job　I　told　you　bout。'
　　'I　can't　stay；　Speedy；'　Jack　blurted　out；　now　in　a　desperate　hurry　to　get　back　to　the　Alhambra。　The　old　man　visibly　checked　the　surprise　in　his　face；　then　slid　the　bottle　back　under　the　loose　floorboard。　Jack　was　already　on　his　feet。　'I'm　worried；'　he　said。
　　'Bout　your　mom？'
　　Jack　nodded；　moving　backward　toward　the　open　door。　
　　'Then　you　better　settle　your　mind　and　go　see　she's　all　right。　You　can　e　back　here　anytime；　Travellin　Jack。'
　　'Okay；'　the　boy　said；　and　then　hesitated　before　running　outside。　'I　think　。　。　。　I　think　I　remember　when　we　met　before。'
　　'Nah；　nah；　my　brains　got　twisted；'　Speedy　said；　shaking　his　head　and　waving　his　hands　back　and　forth　before　him。　'You　had　it　right。　We　never　met　before　last　week。　Get　on　back　to　your　mom　and　set　your　mind　at　ease。'　
　　Jack　sprinted　out　the　door　and　ran　through　the　dimension…less　sunlight　to　the　wide　arch　leading　to　the　street。　Above　it　he　could　see　the　letters　DLROWNUF　AIDACRA　outlined　against　the　sky：　at　night；　colored　bulbs　would　spell　out　the　park's　name　in　both　directions。　Dust　puffed　up　beneath　his　Nikes。　Jack　pushed　himself　against　his　own　muscles；　making　them　move　faster　and　harder；　so　that　by　the　time　he　burst　out　through　the　arch；　he　felt　almost　as　though　he　were　flying。
　　Nineteen　seventy…six。　Jack　had　been　puttering　his　way　up　Rodeo　Drive　on　an　afternoon　in　June？　July？　。　。　。　some　afternoon　in　the　drought　season；　but　before　that　time　of　the　year　when　everybody　started　worrying　about　brushfires　in　the　hills。　Now　he　could　not　even　remember　where　he　had　been　going。　A　friend's　house？　It　had　not　been　an　errand　of　any　urgency。　He　had；　Jack　remembered；　just　reached　the　point　where　he　no　longer　thought　of　his　father　in　every　unoccupied　second…for　many　months　after　Philip　Sawyer's　death　in　a　hunting　accident；　his　shade；　his　loss　had　sped　toward　Jack　at　a　bruising　speed　whenever　the　boy　was　least　prepared　to　meet　it。　Jack　was　only　seven；　but　he　knew　that　part　of　his　childhood　had　been　stolen　from　him…his　six…year…old　self　now　seemed　impossibly　naive　and　thoughtless…but　he　had　learned　to　trust　his　mother's　strength。　Formless　and　savage　threats　no　longer　seemed　to　conceal　themselves　in　dark　corners；　closets　with　half…open　doors；　shadowy　streets；　empty　rooms。
　　The　events　of　that