dk.solesurvivor-第6部分

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y　surfaces　to　disintegrate。
　　'Was　he　actually　watching　the　Koreans　play　chess　or　pretending？'　Joe　asked。
　　'He　was　watching　this　place　and　talking　to　the　cream　pies。'
　　'Cream　pies？'
　　'Couple　of　stone…gorgeous　bitches　in　thong　bikinis。　Man；　you　should　see　the　redhead　bitch　in　the　green　thong。　On　a　scale　of　one　to　ten；　she's　a　twelve。　Bring　you　all　the　way　to　attention；　man。'
　　'He　was　ing　on　to　them？'
　　'Don't　know　what　he　thinks　he's　doing；'　said　the　kid。　'Loser　like　him；　neither　of　those　bitches　will　give　him　a　shot。'
　　'Don't　call　them　bitches；'　Joe　said。
　　　What？'
　　'They're　women。'
　　In　the　kid's　angry　eyes；　something　flickered　like　visions　of　switchblades。　'Hey；　who　the　hell　are　you…the　Pope？'
　　The　acidic　yellow　air　seemed　to　thicken；　and　Joe　imagined　that　he　could　feel　it　eating　away　his　skin。
　　The　swirling　sound　of　flushing　toilets　inspired　a　spiralling　sensation　in　his　stomach。　He　struggled　to　repress　sudden　nausea。
　　To　the　boy；　he　said；　'Describe　the　women。'
　　With　more　challenge　in　his　stare　than　ever；　the　kid　said；　'Totally　stacked。　Especially　the　redhead。　But　the　brunette　is　just　about　as　nice。　I'd　crawl　on　broken　glass　to　get　a　whack　at　her；　even　if　she　is　deaf。'
　　'Deaf？'
　　'Must　be　deaf　or　something；'　said　the　boy。　'She　was　putting　a　hearing　aid　kind　of　thing　in　her　ear；　taking　it　out　and　putting　it　in　like　she　couldn't　get　it　to　fit　right。　Real　sweet…looking　bitch。'
　　Even　though　he　was　six　inches　taller　and　forty　pounds　heavier　than　the　boy；　Joe　wanted　to　seize　the　kid　by　the　throat　and　choke　him。　Choke　him　until　he　promised　never　to　use　that　word　again　without　thinking。　Until　he　understood　how　hateful　it　was　and　how　it　soiled　him　when　he　used　it　as　casually　as　a　conjunction。
　　Joe　was　frightened　by　the　barely　throttled　violence　of　his　reaction：　teeth　clenched；　arteries　throbbing　in　neck　and　temples；　field　of　vision　abruptly　constricted　by　a　blood…dark　pressure　at　the　periphery。　His　nausea　grew　worse；　and　he　took　a　deep　breath；　another；　calming　himself。
　　Evidently；　the　boy　saw　something　in　Joe's　eyes　that　gave　him　pause。　He　became　less　confrontational；　turning　his　gaze　once　more　to　the　shouting　gamblers。　'Give　me　the　twenty。　I　earned　it。'
　　Joe　didn't　relinquish　the　bill。　'Where's　your　dad？'
　　'Say　what？'
　　'Where's　your　mother？'
　　'What's　it　to　you？'
　　'Where　are　they？'
　　'They　got　their　own　lives。'
　　Joe's　anger　sagged　into　despair。　'What's　your　name；　kid？'
　　'What　do　you　need　to　know　for？　You　think　I'm　a　baby；　can't　e　to　the　beach　alone？　Screw　you；　I　go　where　I　want。'
　　'You　go　where　you　want；　but　you　don't　have　anywhere　to　be。'
　　The　kid　made　eye　contact　again。　In　his　bruised　stare　was　a　glimpse　of　hurt　and　loneliness　so　deep　Joe　was　shocked　that　anyone　should　have　descended　to　it　by　the　tender　age　of　fourteen。　'Anywhere　to　be？　What's　that　supposed　to　mean？'
　　Joe　sensed　that　they　had　made　a　connection；　that　a　door　had　opened　unexpectedly　for　him　and　for　this　troubled　boy；　and　that　both　of　their　futures　could　be　changed　for　the　better　if　he　could　just　understand　where　they　might　be　able　to　go　after　they　crossed　that　threshold。　But　his　own　life　was　as　hollow…his　store　of　philosophy　as　empty…as　any　abandoned　shell　washed　up　on　the　nearby　shore。　He　had　no　belief　to　share；　no　wisdom　to　impart；　no　hope　to　offer；　insufficient　substance　to　sustain　himself　let　alone　another。
　　He　was　one　of　the　lost；　and　the　lost　cannot　lead。
　　The　moment　passed；　and　the　kid　plucked　the　twenty…dollar　bill　out　of　Joe's　hand。　His　expression　was　more　of　a　sneer　than　a　smile　when　he　mockingly　repeated　Joe's　words；　〃They're　women。〃　Backing　away；　he　said；　'You　get　them　hot；　they're　all　just　bitches。'
　　'And　are　we　all　just　dogs？'　Joe　asked；　but　the　kid　slipped　out　of　the　lavatory　before　he　could　hear　the　question。
　　Although　Joe　had　washed　his　hands　twice；　he　felt　dirty。
　　He　turned　to　the　sinks　again；　but　he　could　not　easily　reach　them。　Six　men　were　now　gathered　immediately　around　the　cockroach；　and　a　few　others　were　hanging　back；　watching。
　　The　crowded　lavatory　was　sweltering；　Joe　was　streaming　sweat；　and　the　yellow　air　burned　in　his　nostrils；　corroded　his　lungs　with　each　inhalation；　stung　his　eyes。　It　was　condensing　on　the　mirrors；　blurring　the　reflections　of　the　agitated　men　until　they　seemed　not　to　be　creatures　of　flesh　and　blood　but　tortured　spirits　glimpsed　through　an　abattoir　window；　wet　with　sulphurous　steam；　in　the　deepest　kingdom　of　the　damned。　The　fevered　gamblers　shouted　at　the　roach；　shaking　fistfuls　of　dollars　at　it。　Their　voices　blended　into　a　single　shrill　ululation；　seemingly　senseless；　a　mad　gibbering　that　rose　in　intensity　and　pitch　until　it　sounded；　to　Joe；　like　a　crystal…shattering　squeal；　piercing　to　the　centre　of　his　brain　and　setting　off　dangerous　vibrations　in　the　core　of　him。
　　He　pushed　between　two　of　the　men　and　stamped　on　the　crippled　cockroach；　killing　it。
　　In　the　instant　of　stunned　silence　that　followed　his　intrusion；　Joe　turned　away　from　the　men；　shaking；　shaking；　the　shattering　sound　still　tremulant　in　his　memory；　still　vibrating　in　his　bones。　He　headed　toward　the　exit；　eager　to　get　out　of　there　before　he　exploded。
　　As　one；　the　gamblers　broke　the　paralytic　grip　of　their　surprise。　They　shouted　angrily；　as　righteous　in　their　outrage　as　churchgoers　might　be　outraged　at　a　filthy　and　drunken　denizen　of　the　streets　who　staggered　into　their　service　to　sag　against　the　chancel　rail　and　vomit　on　the　sanctuary　floor。
　　One　of　the　men；　with　a　face　as　sun　red　as　a　slab　of　greasy　ham；　heat…cracked　lips　peeled　back　from　snuff…stained　teeth；　seized　Joe　by　one　arm　and　spun　him　around。　'What　the　shit　you　think　you're　doing；　pal？'
　　'Let　go　of　me。'
　　'I　was　winning　money　here；　pal。'
　　The　stranger's　hand　was　damp　on　Joe's　arm；　dirty　fingernails　blunt　but　digging　in　to　secure　the　slippery　grip。
　　'Let　go。'
　　'I　was　winning　money　here；'　the　guy　repeated。　His　mouth　twisted　into　such　a　wrathful　grimace　that　his　chapped　lips　split；　and　threads　of　blood　unravelled　from　the　cracks。
　　Grabbing　the　angry　gambler　by　the　wrist；　Joe　bent　one　of　the　dirty　fingers　back　to　break　the　bastard's　grip。　Even　as　the　guy's　eyes　widened　with　surprise　and　alarm；　even　as　he　started　to　cry　out　in　pain；　Joe　wrenched　his　arm　up　behind　his　back；　twisted　him　around；　and　ran　him　forward；　giving　him　the　bum's　rush；　face　first　into　the　closed　door　of　a　toilet　stall。
　　Joe　had　thought　his　strange　rage　had　been　vented　earlier；　as　he　had　talked　to　the　teenage　boy；　leaving　only　despair；　but　here　it　was　again；　disproportionate　to　the　offence　that　seemed　to　have　caused　it；　as　hot　and　explosive　as　ever。　He　wasn't　sure　why　he　was　doing　this；　why　these　men's　callousness　mattered　to　him；　but　before　he　quite　realized　the　enormity　of　his　overreaction；　he　battered　the　door　with　the　guy's　face；　battered　it　again；　and　then　a　third　time。
　　The　rage　didn't　dissipate；　but　with　the　blood…dark　pressure　constricting　his　field　of　vision；　filled　with　a　primitive　frenzy　that　leaped　through　him　like　a　thousand　monkeys　skirling　through　a　jungle　of　trees　and　vines；　Joe　was　nevertheless　able　to　recognize　that　he　was　out　of　control。　He　let　go　of　the　gambler；　and　the　man　fell　to　the　floor；　in　front　of　the　toilet　stall。
　　Shuddering　with　anger　and　with　fear　of　his　anger；　Joe　moved　backward　until　the　sinks　prevented　him　from　going　any　farther。
　　The　other　men　in　the　lavatory　had　eased　away　from　him。　All　were　silent。
　　On　the　floor；　the　gambler　lay　on　his　back　in　scattered　one　and　five…dollar　bills；　his　winnings。　His　chin　was　bearded　with　blood　from　his　cracked　lips。　He　pressed　one　hand　to　the　left　side　of　his　face；　which　had　taken　the　impact　with　the　door。　'It　was　just　a　cockroach；　Christ's　sake；　just　a　lousy　cockroach。'
　　Joe　tried　to　say　that　he　was　sorry。　He　couldn't　speak。
　　'You　almost　broke　my　nose。　You　could've　broke　my　nose。　For　a　cockroach？　Broke　my　nose　for　a　cockroach？'
　　Sorry　not　for　what　he　had　done　to　this　man；　who　had　no　doubt　done　worse　to　others；　but　sorry　for　himself；　sorry　for　the　miserable　walking　wreckage　that　he　had　bee　and　for　the　dishonour　that　his　inexcusable　behaviour　brought　to　the　memory　of　his　w