pzb.drawingblood-第2部分

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answered　back…　even　if　the　answer　was　giving　in…Daddy　might　be　ashamed　and　leave　him　alone。
　　〃Okay；　then；　leave　Didi　alone。〃　Daddy　made　the　car　go　faster。　Trevor　could　tell　Daddy　hated　the　little　town　as　much　as　he　and　Momma　liked　it。　Didi；　as　usual；　was　lost　in　space。
　　Daddy　wouldn't　stop　on　purpose　now；　not　for　any　reason。　Trevor　knew　the　car　was　going　to　break　down　soon；　at　least；　Momma　said　so。　If　that　was　true；　he　wished　it　would　go　ahead　and　break　down　here。　He　thought　a　place　like　this　might　be　good　for　Daddy　if　he　would　only　give　it　a　chance。
　　〃GodDAMM〃　Daddy　was　wrestling　with　the　shift　stick；　slamming　it　with　the　heel　of　his　hand。　Something　in　the　guts　of　the　car　banged　and　shuddered　horribly；　then　greasy　black　smoke　came　streaming　around　the　edges　of　the　hood。　The　car　coasted　to　a　stop　on　the　grassy　shoulder　of　the　road。
　　Trevor　felt　like　crying　again。　What　if　Daddy　knew　he　had　been　wishing　for　the　car　to　break　down　right　that　very　second？　What　would　Daddy　do？　Trevor　looked　down　at　his　lap；　noticed　how　tightly　his　fists　were　clenched　against　the　knees　of　his　jeans。　Cautiously　he　opened　one　hand；　then　the　other。　His　fingernails　had　made　stinging　red　halfmoons　in　the　soft　flesh　of　his　palms。
　　Daddy　kicked　the　Rambler's　door　open　and　flung　himself　out。　They　had　already　passed　through　downtown；　and　now　the　road　was　flanked　by　farmland；　green　and　wet…smelling。　Trevor　saw　a　few　patches　of　writhing　vine　dotted　with　tiny　purple　flowers　that　smelled　like　grape　soda。　They　had　been　seeing　this　plant　for　miles。　Momma　called　it　kudzu；　and　said　it　only　flowered　once　every　seven　years。　Daddy　snorted　and　said　it　was　a　goddamn　crop…killing　pest　that　wouldn't　even　die　if　you　burned　it　with　gasoline。
　　Daddy　walked　away　from　the　car　toward　a　cluster　of　trees　not　far　from　the　road。　He　stopped　and　stood　with　his　back　to　the　Rambler；　his　hands　clenched　at　his　sides。　Even　from　a　distance　Trevor　could　tell　Daddy　was　shaking。　Momma　said　Daddy　was　a　bundle　of　nerves；　wouldn't　even　fix　him　coffee　anymore　because　it　just　made　him　nervous。　But　sometimes　Daddy　was　worse　than　nervous。　When　he　got　like　this；　Trevor　could　feel　a　blind　red　rage　pulsing　from　him；　hotter　than　the　car's　engine；　a　rage　that　did　not　know　words　like　wife　and　sons。
　　It　was　because　Daddy　couldn't　draw　anymore。　But　why　was　that？　How　could　a　thing　you'd　had　all　your　life；　the　thing　you　loved　to　do　most；　suddenly　just　be　gone？
　　Momma's　door　swung　open。　When　Trevor　glanced　up；　her　long　blue…jeaned　legs　were　already　out　of　the　car；　and　she　was　looking　at　him　over　the　back　of　the　seat。　〃Please　watch　Didi　for　a　few　minutes；〃　she　said。　〃Do　some　reading　with　him　if　you're　up　to　it。〃　The　door　slammed　and　she　was　striding　across　the　green　verge　toward　the　taut　trembling　figure　of　Daddy。
　　Trevor　watched　them　e　together；　watched　Momma's　arms　go　around　Daddy　from　behind。　He　knew　her　gentle；　cool　hands　would　be　stroking　Daddy's　chest；　she　would　be　whispering　meaningless　soothing　words　in　her　soft　Southern　voice；　the　way　she　did　for　Trevor　or　Didi　when　they　woke　from　nightmares。　His　mind　framed　a　still　shot　of　his　parents　standing　together　under　the　trees；　a　picture　he　would　remember　for　a　long　time：　his　father；　Robert　Fredric　McGee；　a　smallish；　sharp…featured　man　with　black　wraparound　sunglasses　and　a　wispy　shock　of　ginger　hair　that　stood　straight　up　on　top；　the　lines　of　his　body　tight　as　a　violin　string；　his　mother；　Rosena　Parks　McGee；　a　slender　woman　dressed　as　beingly　as　the　fashions　of　the　day　would　allow　in　faded；　embroidered　jeans　and　a　loose　green　Indian　shirt　with　tiny　mirrors　at　the　collar　and　sleeves；　her　long　wavy　hair　twisted　into　a　braid　that　hung　halfway　down　her　back；　a　thick　cable　shot　through　with　wheat　and　corn　silk　and　autumn　gold。
　　Trevor's　hair　was　the　same　color　as　his　father's。　Didi's　was　still　the　palest　silk…spun　blond；　the　color　of　the　lightest　hairs　on　Momma's　head；　but　Momma　said　Trey's　hair　had　been　that　color　too　and　Didi's　would　likely　darken　to　ginger　by　the　time　he　was　Trevor's　age。
　　Trevor　wondered　if　Momma　was　out　there　soothing　Daddy；　convincing　him　that　it　didn't　matter　if　the　car　was　broken；　that　this　would　be　a　good　place　to　stay。　He　hoped　so。　Then　he　picked　up　the　closest　reading　material　at　hand；　a　Robert　Crumb　ic；　and　slid　across　the　seat　to　his　brother。　Didi　didn't　understand　all　the　things　that　happened　in　these　stories…neither　did　Trevor；　for　that　matter　…　but　both　boys　loved　the　drawings　and　thought　the　girls　with　giant　butts　were　funny。
　　Back　in　Texas；　Daddy　used　to　joke　that　Momma　had　a　classic　Crumb　butt；　and　Momma　would　smack　him　with　a　sofa　pillow。　There　had　been　a　big；　fortable　green　sofa　in　that　house。　Sometimes　Trevor　and　Didi　would　join　in　the　pillow　fights　too。　If　Momma　and　Daddy　were　really　stoned；　they'd　wind　up　giggling　so　hard　that　they'd　lose　their　breath；　and　Trevor　and　Didi　could　win。
　　Daddy　didn't　make　jokes　about　Momma's　butt　anymore。　Daddy　didn't　even　read　his　Robert　Crumb　ics　anymore；　he'd　given　them　all　to　Trevor。　And　Trev　couldn't　remember　the　last　tune　they　had　all　had　a　pillow　fight。
　　He　rolled　the　window　down　to　let　in　the　green…smelling　air。　Though　it　was　still　faintly　rank　with　the　odor　of　the　frying　engine；　it　was　fresher　than　the　inside　of　the　car；　which　smelled　of　smoke　and　sour　milk　and　Didi's　last　accident。　Then　he　started　reading　the　ic　aloud；　pointing　to　each　word　as　he　spoke　it；　making　Didi　follow　along　after　him。　His　brother　kept　trying　to　see　what　Momma　and　Daddy　were　doing。　Trevor　saw　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　that　Daddy　had　pulled　away　from　Momma　and　was　taking　long　strides　down　the　highway；　away　from　the　car；　away　from　the　town。　Momma　was　hurrying　after　him；　not　quite　running。　Trevor　pulled　Didi　against　him　and　forced　himself　not　to　look；　to　concentrate　on　the　words　and　pictures　and　the　stories　they　formed。
　　After　a　few　panels　it　was　easy：　the　ic　was　all　about　Mr。　Natural；　his　favorite　Crumb　character。　The　sight　of　the　clever　old　hippie…sage　forted　him；　made　him　forget　Daddy's　anger　and　Momma's　pain；　made　him　forget　he　was　reading　the　words　for　Didi。　The　story　took　him　away。
　　Besides；　he　knew　they　would　e　back。　They　always　did。　Your　parents　couldn't　just　walk　away　and　leave　you　in　the　back　seat；　not　when　it　would　be　dark　soon；　not　when　you　were　in　a　strange　place　and　there　was　nothing　to　eat　and　nowhere　to　sleep　and　you　were　only　five　years　old。
　　Could　they？
　　Momma　and　Daddy　were　far　down　the　road　now；　small　gesturing　shapes　in　the　distance。　But　Trevor　could　see　that　they　had　stopped　walking；　that　they　were　just　standing　there。　Arguing；　yes。　Yelling；　probably。　Maybe　crying。　But　not　going　away。
　　Trevor　looked　down　at　the　page　and　fell　back　into　the　story。
　　
　　It　turned　out　they　couldn't　go　anywhere。　Daddy　called　a　mechanic；　an　immensely　tall；　skinny　young　man　who　was　still　almost　a　teenager；　with　a　face　as　long　and　pale　and　kindly　as　that　of　the　Man　in　the　Moon。　Stitched　in　bright　orange　thread　on　the　pocket　of　his　greasy　overalls　was　the　improbable　name　Kinsey。
　　Kinsey　said　the　Rambler　had　thrown　a　rod　that　had　probably　been　ready　to　go　since　New　Orleans；　and　unless　they　were　prepared　to　drop　several　hundred　bucks　into　that　tired　old　engine；　they　might　as　well　push　the　car　off　the　road　and　be　glad　they'd　broken　down　close　to　a　town。　After　all；　Kinsey　pointed　out；　they　might　be　staying　awhile。
　　Daddy　helped　him　roll　the　car　forward　a　few　feet　so　that　it　was　pletely　off　the　blacktop。　The　body　sagged　on　its　tires；　two…toned　paint　a　faded　turquoise　above　the　dusty　strip　of　chrome　that　ran　along　the　side；　dirty　white　below。　Trevor　thought　the　Rambler　already　looked　dead。　Daddy's　face　was　very　pale；　almost　bluish；　sheened　with　oily…looking　sweat。　When　he　took　off　his　sunglasses；　Trevor　saw　smudgy　purple　shadows　in　the　hollows　of　his　eyes。
　　〃How　much　do　we　owe　you？〃　Daddy　said。　It　was　obvious　from　his　voice　that　he　dreaded　the　answer。
　　Kinsey　looked　at　Momma；　at　Trevor　and　Didi　in　the　crooks　of　her　arms；　at　their　clothes　and　other　belongings　heaped　in　the　back　seat；　the　duffel　bags　bulging　up　from　under　the　roped…down　lid　of　the　trunk；　the　three　mattresses　strapped　to　the　roof。　His　quick　blue　eyes；　as　bright　as　Trevor's　and　Daddy's　were　pale；　seemed　to　take　in　the　situation　at　a　glance。　〃For　ing　out？　Nothing。　My　time　isn't　that　valuable；　believe　me。〃
　　He　lowered　his　head　a　little　to　peer　into　Daddy's　face。　Trevor　thought　suddenly　of　an　inquisitive　giraffe。　〃But　don't　I　know　you？　You　wouldn't　be　。。。　no　。。。　not　Robert　McGee？　The　cartoonist　who　blew　the　brainpan　off　the　American　underground'　in　the　words　of　Saint　Crumb　himself？　。　。　。　No；　no；　of　course　not。　Not　in　Missing　Mile。　Silly　of　me；　sorry。〃
　　He　was　already　turning　away；　and　Daddy　wasn't　going　to　say　anything。　Trevor　couldn't　stand　it。　He　wanted　to　run　to　the　tall　young　man；　to　yell　up　into　that　kind；　curious　face；　Yes；　it　is　him；　it　is　Robert　McGee　and　he's　everything　you　said　and　he's　MY　DADDY　TOO！　In　that　moment　Trevor　felt　he　would　burst　with　pride　for　his　father。
　　But　Momma's　arm　tightened　around　him；　holding　him　back。　One　long　lacquered　nail　tapped　a　warning　on　his　forearm。　〃Sh；〃　he　heard　her　say　softly。
　　And　Daddy；　Robert　McGee；　Bobby　McGee；　creator　of　the　crazed；　sick；　beautiful　ic　Birdland；　whose　work　had　appeared　beside　Crumb's　and　Shelton's；　in　Zap！　and　the　L。A。　Free　Press　and　the　East　Village　Other　and　everywhere　in　between；　all　across　the　country　。　。　。　who　had　received　and　refused　offers　from　the　same　Hollywood　he　had　once　drawn　as　a　giant　blood…swollen　tick　still　clinging　to　the　rotten　corpse　of　a　dog　labeled　Art　。　。　。　who　had　once　had　a　steady　hand　and　a　pure；　scathing　vision　。。。
　　Daddy　only　shook　his　head　and　looked　away。
　　
　　Just　past　downtown　Missing　Mile；　a　road　splits　off　to　the　left　from　Firehouse　Street　and　meanders　away　into　scrubby　countryside。　The　fields　out　here　are　nearly　barren；　the　soil　gone　infertile…most　believe　from　overfarming　and　lack　of　crop　rotation。　Only　the　oldest　residents　of　town　still　say　these　fields　are　cursed；　and　were　once　sowed　with　salt。　The　good　land　is　on　the　other　side　of　town；　the　side　toward　Corinth；　out　where　the　abandoned　railyard　and　the　deep　woods　are。　Firehouse　Street　runs　into　State　Highway