sk.theshining-第70部分

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lnerable　one；　the　one　who　could　be　bent　and　twisted　until　something　snapped。
　　（until　i　let　go　and　sleep　。　。　。　and　when　i　do　that　if　i　do　that）　He　looked　up　at　the　banks　of　windows　and　the　sun　threw　back　an　almost　blinding　glare　from　their　many…paned　surfaces　but　he　looked　anyway。　For　the　first　time　he　noticed　how　much　they　seemed　like　eyes。　They　reflected　away　the　sun　and　held　their　own　darkness　within。　It　was　not　Danny　they　were　looking　at。　It　was　him。
　　In　those　few　seconds　he　understood　everything。　There　was　a　certain　black…and…　white　picture　he　remembered　seeing　as　a　child；　in　catechism　class。　The　nun　had　presented　it　to　them　on　an　easel　and　called　it　a　miracle　of　God。　The　class　had　looked　at　it　blankly；　seeing　nothing　but　a　jumble　of　whites　and　blacks；　senseless　and　patternless　Then　one　of　the　children　in　the　third　row　had　gasped；
　　〃It's　Jesus！〃　and　that　child　had　gone　home　with　a　brand…new　Testament　and　also　a　calendar　because　he　had　been　first。　The　others　stared　even　harder；　Jacky　Torrance　among　them。　One　by　one　the　other　kids　had　given　a　similar　gasp；　one　little　girl　transported　in　near…ecstasy；　crying　out　shrilly：　〃I　see　Him！　I　see　Him！〃　She　had　also　been　rewarded　with　a　Testament。　At　last　everyone　had　seen　the　face　of　Jesus　in　the　jumble　of　blacks　and　whites　except　Jacky。　He　strained　harder　and　harder；　scared　now；　part　of　him　cynically　thinking　that　everyone　else　was　simply　putting　on　to　please　Sister　Beatrice；　part　of　him　secretly　convinced　that　he　wasn't　seeing　it　because　God　had　decided　he　was　the　worst　sinner　in　the　class。　〃Don't　you　see　it；　Jacky？〃　Sister　Beatrice　had　asked　him　in　her　sad；　sweet　manner。　I　see　your　tits；　he　had　thought　in　vicious　desperation。　He　began　to　shake　his　head；　then　faked　excitement　and　said：　〃Yes；　I　do！　Wow！　It　is　Jesus！
　　〃　And　everyone　in　class　had　laughed　and　applauded　him；　making　him　feel　triumphant；　ashamed；　and　scared。　Later；　when　everyone　else　had　tumbled　their　way　up　from　the　church　basement　and　out　onto　the　street　he　had　lingered　behind；　looking　at　the　meaningless　black…and…white　jumble　that　Sister　Beatrice　had　left　on　the　easel。　He　hated　it。　They　had　all　made　it　up　the　way　he　had；　even　Sister　herself。　It　was　a　big　fake。　〃Shitfire…hellfire…shitfire；〃　he　had　whispered　under　his　breath；　and　as　he　turned　to　go　he　bad　seen　the　face　of　Jesus　from　the　corner　of　his　eye；　sad　and。　wise。　He　turned　back；　his　heart　in　his　throat。　Everything　had　suddenly　clicked　into　place　and　he　had　stared　at　the　picture　with　fearful　wonder；　unable　to　believe　he　had　missed　it。　The　eyes；　the　zigzag　of　shadow　across　the　care…worn　brow；　the　fine　nose；　the　passionate　lips。　Looking　at　Jack　Torrance。　What　had　only　been　a　meaningless　sprawl　had　suddenly　been　transformed　into　a　stark　black…and…white　etching　of　the　face　of　ChristOur…Lord。
　　Fearful　wonder　became　terror。　He　had　cussed　in　front　of　a　picture　of　Jesus。　He　would　be　damned。　He　would　be　in　hell　with　the　sinners。　The　face　of　Christ　had　been　in　the　picture　all　along。　All　along。
　　Now；　kneeling　in　the　sun　and　watching　his　son　playing　in　the　shadow　of　the　hotel；　he　knew　that　it　was　all　true。　The　hotel　wanted　Danny；　maybe　all　of　them　but　Danny　for　sure。　The　hedges　had　really　walked。　There　was　a　dead　woman　in　217；　a　woman　that　was　perhaps　only　a　spirit　and　harmless　under　most　circumstances；　but　a　woman　who　was　now　an　active　danger。　Like　some　malevolent　clockwork　toy　she　had　been　wound　up　and　set　in　motion　by　Danny's　own　odd　mind　。　。　。　and　his　own。
　　Had　it　been　Watson　who　had　told　him　a　man　had　dropped　dead　of　a　stroke　one　day　on　the　roque　court？　Or　had　it　been　Ullman？　It　didn't　matter。　There　had　been　an　assassination　on　the　third　floor。　How　many　old　quarrels；　suicides；　strokes？　How　many　murders？　Was　Grady　lurking　somewhere　in　the　west　wing　with　his　ax；　just　waiting　for　Danny　to　start　him　up　so　he　could　e　back　out　of　the　woodwork？
　　The　puffed　circle　of　bruises　around　Danny's　neck。
　　The　twinkling；　half…seen　bottles　in　the　deserted　lounge。
　　The　radio。
　　The　dreams。
　　The　scrapbook　he　had　found　in　the　cellar。
　　（Medoc；　are　you　here？　I've　been　sleepwalking　again；　my　dear　。　。　。　）　He　got　up　suddenly；　thrusting　the　snowshoes　back　out　the　door。　He　was　shaking　all　over。　He　slammed　the　door　and　picked　up　the　box　with　the　battery　in　it。　It　slipped　through　his　shaking　fingers　（oh　christ　what　if　i　cracked　it）　and　thumped　over　on　its　side。　He　pulled　the　flaps　of　the　carton　open　and　yanked　the　battery　out；　heedless　of　the　acid　that　might　be　leaking　through　the　battery's　casing　if　it　had　cracked。　But　it　hadn't。　It　was　whole。　A　little　sigh　escaped　his　lips。
　　Cradling　it；　he　took　it　over　to　the　Skidoo　and　put　it　on　its　platform　near　the　front　of　the　engine。　He　found　a　small　adjustable　wrench　on　one　of　the　shelves　and　attached　the　battery　cables　quickly　and　with　no　trouble。　The　battery　was　live；　no　need　to　use　the　charger　on　it。　There　had　been　a　crackle　of　electricity　and　a　small　odor　of　ozone　when　he　slipped　the　positive　cable　onto　its　terminal。
　　The　job　done；　he　stood　away；　wiping　his　hands　nervously　on　his　faded　denim　jacket。　There。　It　should　work。　No　reason　why　not。　No　reason　at　all　except　that　it　was　part　of　the　Overlook　and　the　Overlook　really　didn't　want　them　out　of　here。　Not　at　all。　The　Overlook　was　having　one　hell　of　a　good　time。　There　was　a　little　boy　to　terrorize　a　man　and　his　woman　to　set　one　against　the　other；　and　if　it　played　its　cards　right　they　could　end　up　flitting　through　the　Overlook's　halls　like　insubstantial　shades　in　a　Shirley　Jackson　novel；　whatever　walked　in　Hill　House　walked　alone；　but　you　wouldn't　be　alone　in　the　Overlook；　oh　no；　there　would　be　plenty　of　pany　here。　But　there　was　really　no　reason　why　the　snowmobile　shouldn't　start。　Except　of　course　（Except　he　still　didn't　really　want　to　go。）　yes；　except　for　that。
　　He　stood　looking　at　the　Skidoo；　his　breath　puffing　out　in　frozen　little　plumes。　He　wanted　it　to　be　the　way　it　had　been。　When　he　had　e　in　here　he'd　had　no　doubts。　Going　down　would　be　the　wrong　decision；　he　had　known　that　then。
　　Wendy　was　only　scared　of　the　boogeyman　summoned　up　by　a　single　hysterical　little　boy。　Now　suddenly；　he　could　see　her　side。　It　was　like　his　play；　his　damnable　play。　He　no　longer　knew　which　side　he　was　on；　or　how　things　should　e　out。
　　Once　you　saw　the　face　of　a　god　in　those　jumbled　blacks　and　whites；　it　was　everybody　out　of　the　pool…you　could　never　unsee　it。　Others　might　laugh　and　say　it's　nothing；　just　a　lot　of　splotches　with　no　meaning；　give　me　a　good　old　Craft…　master　paint…by…the…numbers　any　day；　but　you　would　always　see　the　face　of　Christ…Our…Lord　looking　out　at　you。　You　had　seen　it　in　one　gestalt　leap；　the　conscious　and　unconscious　melding　in　that　one　shocking　moment　of　understanding。
　　You　would　always　see　it。　You　were　damned　to　always　see　it。
　　（I've　been　sleepwalking　again；　my　dear　。　。　。）　It　had　been　all　right　until　he　had　seen　Danny　playing　in　the　snow。　It　was　Danny's　fault。　Everything　had　been　Danny's　fault。　He　was　the　one　with　the　shining；　or　whatever　it　was。　It　wasn't　a　shining。　It　was　a　curse。　If　he　and　Wendy　had　been　here　alone；　they　could　have　passed　the　winter　quite　nicely。　No　pain；　no　strain　on　the　brain。
　　（Don't　want　to　leave。　？Can't？）　The　Overlook　didn't　want　them　to　go　and　he　didn't　want　them　to　go　either。　Not　even　Danny。　Maybe　he　was　a　part　of　it；　now。　Perhaps　the　Overlook；　large　and　rambling　Samuel　Johnson　that　it　was；　had　picked　him　to　be　its　Boswell。　You　say　the　new　caretaker　writes？　Very　good；　sign　him　on。　Time　we　told　our　side。　Let's　get　rid　of　the　woman　and　his　snotnosed　kid　first；　however。　We　don't　want　him　to　be　distracted。　We　don't…　He　was　standing　by　the　snowmobile's　cockpit；　his　head　starting　to　ache　again。
　　What　did　it　e　down　to？　Go　or　stay。　Very　simple。　Keep　it　simple。　Shall　we　go　or　shall　we　stay？
　　If　we　go；　how　long　will　it　be　before　you　find　the　local　hole　in　Sidewinder？　a　voice　inside　him　asked。　The　dark　place　with　the　lousy　color　TV　that　unshaven　and　unemployed　men　spend　the　day　watching　game　shows　on？　Where　the　piss　in　the　men's　room　smells　two　thousand　years　old　and　there's　always　a　sodden　Camel　butt　unraveling　in　the　toilet　bowl？　Where　the　beer　is　thirty　cents　a　glass　and　you　cut　it　with　salt　and　the　jukebox