pzb.drawingblood-第4部分

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　　〃Going　to　bed。〃
　　〃Thass　good。　I'll　fixyer　juice。〃　Momma　usually　gave　the　boys　fruit　juice　to　take　to　bed　with　them；　when　there　was　any　in　the　house。　Daddy　got　up　and　stumbled　past　Trevor　into　the　kitchen；　slapping　one　hand　against　the　door　frame　to　support　himself。　Trevor　heard　the　refrigerator　opening；　bottles　rattling。　Daddy　came　back　in　and　handed　him　a　glass　of　grapefruit　juice。　A　few　drops　sloshed　over　the　side；　trickled　over　Trevor's　fingers。　He　put　his　hand　to　his　mouth　and　licked　them　away。　Grapefruit　was　his　favorite；　because　of　the　interestingly　sour；　almost　salty　taste。　But　there　was　an　extra　bitterness　to　this　juice；　as　if　it　had　begun　to　spoil　in　the　bottle。
　　He　must　have　made　a　face；　because　Daddy　kept　staring　at　him。　〃Something　wrong？〃
　　Trevor　shook　his　head。
　　〃You　gonna　drink　that　or　not？〃
　　He　raised　the　glass　to　his　lips　and　drank　half　of　it；　took　a　deep　breath；　and　finished　it　off。　The　bitter　taste　shivered　over　his　tongue；　lingered　in　the　back　of　his　throat。
　　〃There　you　go。〃　Daddy　reached　out；　pulled　Trevor　into　his　embrace。　Daddy　smelled　of　stinging　liquor　and　old　sweat　and　dirty　clothes。　Trevor　hugged　back　anyway。　As　the　side　of　his　head　pressed　against　Daddy's；　a　panicky　terror　flooded　through　him；　though　he　didn't　know　why。　He　clutched　at　Daddy's　shoulders；　tried　to　wrap　his　arms　around　Daddy's　neck。
　　But　after　a　moment；　Daddy　pried　him　off　and　gently　pushed　him　away。
　　Trevor　went　down　the　hall；　glancing　into　Didi's　dark　bedroom。　Sometimes　Didi　got　scared　at　night；　but　now　he　was　fast　asleep　despite　the　punishing　volume　Of　the　music；　his　face　burrowed　into　his　pillow；　the　faint　light　from　the　hallway　casting　a　halo　on　his　pale　hair。　Back　in　Austin　the　brothers　had　shared　a　room；　this　was　the　first　time　they　had　slept　apart。　Trevor　missed　waking　up　to　the　soft　sound　of　Didi's　breathing；　to　the　scent　of　talcum　powder　and　candy　when　Didi　crawled　in　bed　with　him。　For　a　moment　he　thought　he　might　sleep　with　Didi　tonight；　might　wrap　his　arms　around　his　brother　and　not　have　to　fall　asleep　alone。
　　But　he　didn't　want　to　wake　Didi。　Daddy　was　being　too　scary。　Instead　Trevor　walked　down　the　hall　to　his　own　bedroom；　trailing　his　hand　along　the　wall。　The　old　boards　were　damp；　faintly　sticky。　He　wiped　his　fingers　on　the　front　of　his　T…shirt。
　　His　own　room　was　nearly　as　bare　as　Didi's。　They　had　been　able　to　bring　none　of　their　furniture　from　Austin；　and　hardly　any　of　their　toys。　Trevor's　mattress　lay　flat　on　the　floor；　a　rumpled　blanket　thrown　over　it。　He　had　pinned　up　some　of　his　drawings　on　the　walls；　though　he　hadn't　put　up　Skeletal　Sammy　and　he　hadn't　tried　to　draw　any　of　Daddy's　other　characters。　More　drawings　lay　scattered　on　the　floor；　along　with　the　ics　he　had　scrounged　from　Daddy。　He　picked　up　a　Fabulous　Furry　Freak　Brothers　book；　thinking　he　might　read　it　in　bed。　The　antics　of　those　friendly　fools　might　make　him　forget　Daddy　sprawled　in　the　chair；　pouring　straight　whiskey　on　top　of　his　pain。
　　But　he　was　too　tired；　his　eyes　were　already　closing。　Trevor　turned　off　his　bedside　lamp　and　crawled　under　the　blanket。　The　familiar　contours　of　his　mattress　cradled　him　like　a　weling　hand。　From　the　living　room　he　heard　Charlie　Parker　run　down　a　shimmering　scale。　Birdland；　he　thought　again。　That　was　the　place　where　you　could　work　magic；　the　place　where　no　one　else　could　touch　you。　It　might　be　an　actual　spot　in　the　world；　it　might　be　a　place　deep　down　inside　you。　Daddy　could　only　reach　his　Birdland　by　drinking　now。　Trevor　had　begun　to　believe　his　own　Birdland　might　be　the　pen　moving　over　the　paper；　the　weight　of　the　sketchbook　in　his　hands；　the　creation　of　worlds　out　of　ink　and　sweat　and　love。
　　He　slept；　and　the　music　wove　uneasily　in　and　out　of　his　dreams。　He　heard　Janis　Joplin　singing　〃Me　and　Bobby　McGee；〃　and　remembered　suddenly　that　she　had　died　last　year。　From　drugs；　Momma　had　told　him；　taking　care　to　explain　that　the　drugs　Janis　had　been　using　were　much　worse　than　the　pot　she　and　Daddy　sometimes　smoked。　An　image　came　to　him　of　Daddy　walking　hand　in　hand　with　a　girl　shorter　and　more　rounded　than　Momma；　a　girl　who　wore　bright　feathers　in　her　hair。　She　turned　to　Daddy　and　Trevor　saw　that　her　face　was　a　swollen　purple　mass　of　flesh；　the　holes　of　her　eyes　black　and　depthless　behind　the　big　round　glasses；　her　ruined　features　split　in　the　semblance　of　a　smile　as　she　leaned　in　to　give　his　father　a　deep　soul　kiss。
　　And　Daddy　kissed　back　。　。　。
　　
　　Sunlight　woke　him；　streaming　through　the　dirty　panes　of　his　window；　trickling　into　the　corners　of　his　eyes。　His　head　ached　slightly；　felt　somehow　too　heavy　on　his　neck。　Trevor　rolled　over；　stretched；　and　looked　around　the　room；　silently　greeting　his　drawings。　There　was　one　of　the　house；　one　of　Momma　holding　Didi；　a　whole　series　of　ones　that　he　was　pretty　sure　were　going　to　turn　into　a　ic。　He　knew　he　could　never　draw　the　slick；　tawdry　world　of　Birdland　the　way　Daddy　had；　but　he　could　make　his　own　world。　He　needed　to　practice　writing　smaller　so　he　could　do　the　letters。
　　His　head　slightly　logy　but　full　of　ideas；　Trevor　rolled　off　the　mattress；　pushed　open　the　door　of　his　room；　and　walked　down　the　hall　toward　the　kitchen。
　　He　saw　the　blood　on　the　walls　before　he　saw　Momma。
　　It　would　e　out　in　the　autopsy　report…which　Trevor　did　not　read　until　years　later…that　Daddy　had　attacked　her　near　the　front　door；　that　they　must　have　argued；　that　there　had　been　a　struggle　and　he　had　driven　her　back　toward　the　hall　before　he　killed　her。　That　was　where　he　would　have　picked　up　the　hammer。
　　Momma　was　crumpled　in　the　doorway　that　led　from　the　living　room　into　the　hall。　Her　back　rested　against　the　frame。　Her　head　lolled　on　the　fragile　stem　of　her　neck。　Her　eyes　were　open；　and　as　Trevor　edged　around　her　body；　they　seemed　to　fix　on　him。　For　a　heart…stopping　second　he　thought　she　was　alive。　Then　he　saw　that　the　eyes　were　cloudy；　and　filmed　with　blood。
　　Her　arms　were　a　mass　of　blood　and　bruise；　silver　rings　sparkling　amid　the　ruin　of　her　hands。　（Seven　fingers　broken；　the　autopsy　report　would　say；　along　with　most　of　the　small　bones　in　her　palms；　as　she　raised　her　hands　to　ward　off　the　blows　of　the　hammer。）　There　was　a　deep　gouge　in　her　left　temple；　another　in　the　center　of　her　forehead。　Her　hair　was　loose；　fanned　around　her　shoulders；　stiff　with　blood。　A　clear　fluid　had　seeped　from　her　head　wounds　and　dried　on　her　face；　making　silvery　tracks　through　the　mask　of　red。
　　And　on　the　wall　above　her；　a　confusion　of　bloody　handprints　trailing　down；　down　。　。　。
　　Trevor　spun　and　ran　back　down　the　hall；　toward　his　brother's　room。　He　did　not　know　that　his　bladder　had　let　go；　did　not　feel　the　hot　urine　spilling　down　his　legs。　He　did　not　hear　the　sound　he　was　making；　a　long；　high　moan。
　　The　door　of　Didi's　room　was　closed。　Trevor　had　not　closed　it　when　he　looked　in　on　Didi　last　night。　High　up　on　the　door　was　a　tiny　smudge　of　blood；　barely　noticeable。　It　told　Trevor　everything　he　needed　to　know。　He　went　in　anyway。
　　The　room　was　thick　with　the　smell　of　blood　and　shit。　The　two　odors　together　were　cloying；　almost　sweet。　Trevor　went　to　the　bed。　Didi　lay　in　the　same　position　Trevor　had　left　him　in　last　night；　his　head　burrowed　into　the　pillow；　one　small　hand　curled　into　a　fist　near　his　mouth。　The　back　of　Didi's　head　was　like　a　swamp；　a　dark　mush　of　splintered　bone　and　thick　clotted　gore。　Sometime　during　the　night…because　of　the　heat；　or　in　the　spasms　of　death…　Didi　had　kicked　off　his　covers。　Trevor　saw　the　dark　brown　stain　between　his　legs。　That　was　where　the　smell　came　from。
　　Trevor　lifted　the　blanket　and　pulled　it　over　Didi；　covering　the　stain；　the　ruined　head；　the　unbearable　curled　hand。　The　blanket　settled　over　the　small　still　form。　Where　it　covered　the　head；　a　blotch　of　red　appeared。
　　He　had　to　find　Daddy。　His　mind　clung　to　some　tiny；　glittering　hope　that　maybe　Daddy　hadn't　done　this　at　all；　that　maybe　some　crazy　person　had　broken　into　their　house　and　killed　Momma　and　Didi　and　left　him　alive　for　some　reason；　that　Daddy　might　still　be　alive　too。
　　He　stumbled　out　of　Didi's　room；　felt　his　way　along　the　hall；　sprawled　headlong　into　the　bathroom。
　　That　was　where　Momma's　friends　found　him　hours　later；　when　they　drove　out　to　see　why　Momma　hadn't　shown　up　to　model　that　day；　she　was　so　reliable　that　they　became　worried　immediately。　The　front　door　was　unlocked。　They　saw　Momma's　body　first；　and　had　nearly　worked　themselves　into　hysterics　when　someone　heard　the　high　toneless　keening。
　　They　found　Trevor　squeezed　into　a　tiny　space　between　the　toilet　and　the　old　porcelain　sink；　curled　as　pact　as　a　fetus；　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　body　of　his　father。　Bobby　McGee　hung　from　the　shower　curtain　rod。　It　was　the　old…fashioned　kind　bolted　into　the　wall；　and　had　held　his　weight　all　night　and　all　day。　He　was　naked。　His　penis　hung　limp　and　dry　as　a　dead　leaf；　there　had　been　no　last　orgasm　in　death　for　him。　His　body　was　thin　nearly　to　the　point　of　emaciation；　luminously　pale；　his　hands　and　feet　gravid　with　blood；　his　face　so　swollen　as　to　be　featureless　except　for　the　eyes　bulging　halfway　out　of　their　sockets。　The　rough　strand　of　hemp　cut　a　deep　slash　in　his　neck。　His　hands　and　his　torso　were　still　stained　with　the　blood　of　his　family。
　　As　someone　lifted　him　and　carried　him　out；　still　curled　into　the　smallest　possible　ball；　Trevor　had　his　first　coherent　thought　in　hours；　and　the　last　he　would　have　for　many　days。
　　He　needn't　have　worried　about　accidentally　ing　upon　the　Devil's　Tramping　Ground；　he　realized。
　　The　Devil's　Tramping　Ground　had　e　to　him。
　　
　　
　　From　the　Corinth　Weekly　Eye；　June　16；1972
　　
　　By　Denny　Marsten；　Staff　Writer
　　
　　MISSING　MILE…Grisly　tragedy　has　struck　just　down　the　road。　Hardly　anyone　knew　that　the　famous　〃underground〃　cartoonist　Robert　McGee　was　living　in　North　Carolina　until　he　bludgeoned　two　members　of　his　family　to　death；　then　mitted　suicide　in　a　rented　house　on　the　outskirts　of　Missing　Mile。
　　
　　McGee；　formerly　of　Austin；　Texas；　was　35。　His　work　has　appeared　in　student　and　counter…culture　newspapers　across　the　country；　and　he　created　the　controversial　adult　ic　book　Birdland。　Also　deceased　are　his　wife；　Rosena　McGee；　29；　and　a　son；　Fredric　McGee；　3。　Surviving　is　another　son；　name　and　age　unk