pzb.drawingblood-第43部分

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　cane；　red　and　white　（and　Black　all　over　。　。　。　wouldn't　Trevor　love　to　put　this　in　a　story？）。
　　Zach　felt　hysterical　laughter　bubbling　up　in　his　throat。　Tom　Waits's　drunken　piano　had　nothing　on　this　bathroom。　The　sink　was　bleeding　and　ejaculating：　great。　Maybe　next　the　toilet　would　decide　to　take　a　shit　or　the　bathtub　would　begin　to　drool。
　　He　looked　back　up　at　the　mirror　and　felt　the　laughter　turn　sour；　caustic；　like　harsh　vomit　on　the　back　of　his　tongue。
　　But　for　certain　familiar　landmarks…his　green　eyes；　the　dark　tangle　of　his　hair…Zach　barely　knew　his　own　reflection　in　the　glass。　It　was　as　if　a　sculptor　had　taken　a　plane　to　his　face　and　shaved　layers　of　flesh　from　the　already　prominent　bones。　His　forehead　and　cheekbones　and　chin　were　carved　in　stark　relief；　the　skin　stretched　over　them　like　parchment；　sickly　white　and　dry；　as　if　the　lightest　touch　would　start　it　sifting　from　the　bones。　His　nostrils　and　eye　sockets　seemed　too　large；　too　deep。　The　shadowy　smudges　beneath　his　eyes　had　bee　enormous　dark　hollows　in　which　his　pupils　glittered　feverishly。　The　skin　around　his　mouth　looked　desiccated；　the　lips　cracked　and　peeling。
　　It　was　not　the　face　of　a　nineteen…year…old　boy　in　any　kind　of　health。　It　was　the　face　of　the　skull　hiding　beneath　his　skin；　waiting　to　be　revealed。　Zach　suddenly　understood　that　the　skull　always　grinned　because　it　knew　it　would　emerge　triumphant；　that　it　would　prise　the　sole　identity　of　the　face　long　after　vain　baubles　like　lips　and　skin　and　eyes　were　gone。
　　He　stared　at　his　wasted　image　in　fascination。　There　was　a　certain　consumptive　beauty　to　it；　a　certain　dark　flame　like　that　which　burns　in　the　eyes　of　mad　poets　or　starving　children。
　　He　put　out　his　hand　to　touch　the　mirror；　and　the　lesions　began　to　appear。
　　Just　a　few　tiny　purplish　spots　at　first；　one　on　the　stark　jut　of　his　cheekbone；　one　bisecting　the　dark　curve　of　his　eyebrow；　one　nestled　in　the　small　hollow　at　the　corner　of　his　mouth。　But　they　began　to　spread；　deepening　like　enormous　bruises；　like　a　stop…motion　film　of　blighted　orchids　blooming　beneath　the　surface　of　his　skin。　Now　nearly　half　his　face　was　suffused　with　the　purple　rot；　tinged　necrotic　blue　at　the　edges　and　shot　through　with　a　scarlet　web　of　burst　capillaries；　and　there　was　no　semblance　of　beauty　to　it；　no　dark　flame；　nothing　but　corruption　and　despair　and　the　promise　of　death。
　　Zach　felt　his　stomach　churning；　his　chest　constricting。　He　had　never　obsessed　about　his　looks；　had　never　needed　to。　His　parents　had　usually　avoided　fucking　up　his　face　too　badly　because　it　might　be　noticed。　He　still　had　faint　belt　marks　on　his　back　and　two　lumpy　finger　joints　on　his　left　hand　from　breaks　that　had　healed　badly；　but　no　facial　scars。　He'd　never　even　had　zits　to　speak　of。　He　had　grown　up　with　no　particular　awareness　of　his　own　beauty；　and　once　he　realized　he　had　it　and　learned　what　it　was　good　for；　he　had　taken　it　for　granted。
　　Now　watching　it　rot　away　was　like　feeling　the　ground　disappear　from　under　his　feet；　like　having　a　limb　severed；　like　watching　the　knife　descend　for　the　final　stroke　of　the　lobotomy。
　　（Or　like　watching　a　loved　one　die；　and　knowing　you　had　a　hand　in　that　death　。　。　。　Zach；　do　you　love　yourself？）
　　The　faucet　was　still　gushing；　the　sink　clogged　nearly　to　overflowing　with　the　twin　fluids。　A　small　black　pinhole　had　appeared　in　the　center　of　each　lesion　on　his　face。　As　he　watched；　the　dots　swelled　and　erupted。　Pain　zigzagged　across　the　network　of　his　facial　nerves。　Beads　of　greasy　glistening　whiteness　welled　from　the　tiny　wounds。
　　Zach　felt　a　sudden；　blinding　flash　of　rage。　What　the　hell　was　the　white　stuff　supposed　to　be？　Maggots？　Pus？　More　e？　What　kind　of　cheap　morality　play　was　this；　anyway？
　　〃FUCK　IT！〃　he　yelled；　and　seized　the　edges　of　the　mirror　and　ripped　it　off　its　loose　moorings　and　flung　it　into　the　bathtub。　It　shattered　with　a　sound　that　could　have　woken　all　of　St。　Louis　Cemetery。　The　faucet　slowed　to　a　trickle；　then　stopped。
　　Zach　took　a　deep　breath　and　put　his　hands　to　his　face；　rubbed　them　over　his　cheeks。　His　skin　was　smooth　and　firm；　his　bones　no　sharper　than　usual。　He　looked　down　at　his　body。　No　huge　blossoming　bruises；　no　cancerous　purple　lesions。　His　stomach　and　hips　were　hollow　but　not　emaciated。　Even　the　spatters　of　rotten　blood　were　gone。　Nothing　felt　abnormal　but　his　scrotum；　which　was　trying　to　crawl　up　into　his　body　cavity。
　　His　shoulders　sagged　and　his　knees　turned　to　water。　Zach　put　a　hand　on　the　edge　of　the　sink　to　support　himself。　As　he　did；　he　saw　movement　in　the　tub；　something　other　than　his　own　motion　reflected　in　the　fragments　of　broken　mirror；　a　swinging　motion　that　seemed　to　sweep　across　the　glittering　shards；　then　back；　then　across　again　。。。
　　He　stared　at　it；　unable　to　look　away；　yet　terrified　that　soon　his　eyes　and　his　mind　would　piece　together　the　gestalt　of　all　the　infinitesimal　reflections。　He　did　not　want　to　know　what　hung　there；　swinging　in　the　mirror。　But　if　he　looked　away；　it　might　be　able　to　get　out。
　　Behind　him；　the　hinges　of　the　door　shrieked。　Zach　spun　around；　muscles　tensed；　ready　to　fight　whatever　was　ing　for　him。　He　saw　Trevor　framed　in　the　doorway；　tousled　and　sleepy…eyed；　his　face　half…bewildered；　half…scared。　〃What　are　you　doing？〃
　　〃How…〃　Zach　swallowed　hard。　His　mouth　and　throat　had　gone　dry；　and　it　was　difficult　to　speak。　〃How'd　you　get　in？〃
　　〃I　turned　the　knob　and　pushed。　Why　did　you　shut　yourself　in　here？〃
　　Speechless；　Zach　pointed　at　the　sink。　Trevor　followed　the　direction　of　Zach's　finger；　then　shook　his　head。　〃What？〃
　　Zach　stared　at　the　sink。　It　was　empty；　stained　with　nothing　but　dust　and　time。　The　square　of　plaster　above　it　where　the　mirror　had　hung　was　paler　than　the　rest　of　the　wall。　Trevor　noticed　it　too。　〃Did　you…〃　He　saw　the　broken　mirror　in　the　tub　and　frowned。　Then　his　eyes　fell　on　the　bent　shower　curtain　rod　and　he　looked　quickly　back　at　Zach；　away　from　the　faintest　of　shadows　slowly　twisting　on　the　wall。　He　wrapped　his　long　fingers　around　Zach's　wrist　and　pulled　hard。　〃Get　out　of　here。〃
　　They　stumbled　into　the　hall；　and　Trevor　yanked　the　bathroom　door　shut　behind　them。　He　stood　for　a　moment　with　his　eyes　closed；　breathing　hard。　Then　he　shoved　Zach　down　the　hall　toward　the　kitchen；　grabbing　his　arm　and　hustling　him　along　when　he　didn't　move　fast　enough。
　　〃Hey…what…don't…〃
　　〃Shut　up。〃
　　Trevor　groped　for　the　kitchen　light　switch；　pushed　Zach　toward　the　table；　then　sat　down　and　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。　Zach　saw　that　Trevor's　shoulders　were　trembling。　He　reached　out　to　massage　the　tightly　wound　muscles；　but　Trevor　went　even　stiffer；　then　reached　up　and　slapped　Zach's　hands　away。　〃Don't　touch　me！〃
　　Zach　felt　as　if　his　heart　had　been　plunged　into　ice　water。　He　backed　away　from　the　table；　toward　the　kitchen　door。　〃Fine！　You　don't　want　me　here；　your　ghosts　don't　want　me　here！　Maybe　I'll　just　get　the　fuck　out！〃　He　glanced　around　the　room；　trying　to　locate　the　bag　containing　his　laptop　and　OKI。　It　was　leaning　against　the　fridge；　and　he　would　have　to　walk　back　past　the　table　to　get　it。　His　glasses　were　still　in　the　bedroom　too。　So　much　for　grand　exits。
　　But　Trevor　didn't　even　look　up。　〃I　do　want　you　here。　I　think　they　do　too。　Sit　down。〃
　　〃Don't　tell　me　what　to…〃
　　〃Zach。〃　Now　Trevor　raised　his　head。　His　face　was　haggard；　his　eyes　had　a　dazed；　shell…shocked　gleam。　〃Don't　give　me　any　shit。　Please。　Just　sit　down　and　talk　to　me。〃
　　Unmollified　but　curious；　Zach　pulled　out　the　other　chair。　He　didn't　want　to　leave；　but　he　hated　being　pushed　away。　〃What　do　you　want　to　talk　about？〃
　　〃What　did　you　see　in　there？〃
　　〃All　kinds　of　shit。〃
　　〃Tell　me。〃
　　Zach　told　him　everything。　At　the　end　of　the　telling　he　found　himself　angry　again；　but　not　at　Trevor。　He　was　mad　at　the　house；　as　mad　as　he　had　been　when　he　broke　the　mirror。　Fuck　its　pathetic　funhouse　scares；　fuck　its　cheap　moral　judgments。　He　wanted　to　knock　Trevor　over　the　head；　drag　him　out　of　here　forever；　then　get　on　puserv　and　score　two　plane　tickets　to　some　remote　sundrenched　Caribbean　island。
　　When　Zach　had　finished　talking；　Trevor　didn't　say　anything　for　a　very　long　time。　His　right　hand　lay　flat　on　the　tabletop；　fingers　splayed　wide。　Cautiously；　Zach　put　his　own　hand　over　it；　and　Trevor　didn't　pull　away　this　time。
　　〃What　did　you　see？〃　Zach　asked　finally。
　　Trevor　stayed　silent　for　so　long　that　Zach　thought　he　wasn't　going　to　answer　at　all。　Then　he　looked　up　at　Zach。　His　pupils　were　enormous；　and　so　very　black　against　the　paleness　of　his　eyes。
　　〃My　father；〃　he　said。
　　
　　Neither　one　of　them　felt　like　going　back　to　sleep。　They　stayed　in　the　kitchen　talking　about　other　things；　anything　but　the　silent　house　around　them。
　　Trevor　was　still　visibly　upset；　so　Zach　tried　to　distract　him；　asking　about　ics　he　liked　and　hated；　trying　to　get　him　to　argue　about　politics。　（Zach　believed　in　trying　to　undermine；　subvert；　and　chivvy　away　the　vast　American　power　structure　in　as　many　tiny　ways　as　possible；　while　Trevor　opined　that　it　was　best　to　either　go　out　and　blow　shit　up　or　simply　slip　through　the　cracks　and　ignore　the　system　altogether。）　When　Zach　mentioned　his　idea　of　wiping　clean　the　police　records　of　every　drug　offender　he　could　find；　Trevor　interrupted。　〃Could　you　。　。　。〃
　　〃What？　You　want　to　smoke　another　joint？〃
　　〃No。　Could　you　show　me　some　of　that　puter　stuff？〃
　　Zach　smiled　evilly；　flexed　his　fingers　in　front　of　Trevor's　face；　and　assumed　a　bogus　Charlie　Chan　accent　that　had　always　driven　Eddy　into　paroxysms　of　annoyance。　〃Where　would　honorable　boyfriend　like　to　go？　Citibank？　NASA？　The　Pentagon？〃
　　〃You　can　break　into　the　Pentagon？〃
　　〃Well；　that'd　take　some　work；〃　Zach　admitted。　〃Hey；　I　know　what。　Let's　see　if　the　power's　really　turned　on！〃
　　〃You　mean　break　into　the　electric　pany？〃
　　〃Sure。〃
　　〃But　if　it's　on；　won't　they　notice　and　turn　it　off？〃
　　〃We're　not　gonna　change　anything。　That　is；　unless　you　want　to。　We'll　just　take　a　look。　First　we　need　a　number。〃
　　Before　Trevor　could　say　anything；　Zach　had　his　laptop　and　cellular　phone　arranged　and　assembled　on　the　table。　He　dialed　411；　waited；　then　spoke：　〃Raleigh　。　。　。　the　number　for　Carolina　Power　&　Light；　please。〃　He　scrawled　it　on　one　of　his　yellow　Post…its