sk.thegunslinger-第19部分

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　up。　〃I　have　not　forgotten　my　father's　face；　it　has　been　with　me　through　all。〃
Roland　glanced　sharply　at　the　crowd　and　was　disturbed　by　what　he　saw　there　　a　sense　of　sympathy？　Perhaps　admiration？　He　would　ask　his　father。　When　traitors　are　called　heroes　（or　heroes　traitors；　he　supposed　in　his　frowning　way）；　dark　times　must　have　fallen。　He　wished　he　understood　better。　His　mind　flashed　to　Cort　and　the　bread　Cort　had　given　them。　He　felt　contempt；　the　day　was　ing　when　Cort　would　serve　him。　Perhaps　not　Cuthbert；　perhaps　Cuthbert　would　buckle　under　Cort's　steady　fire　and　remain　a　page　or　a　horseboy　（or　infinitely　worse；　a　perfumed　diplomat；　dallying　in　receiving　chambers　or　looking　into　bogus　crystal　balls　with　doddering　kings　and　princes）；　but　he　would　not。　He　knew　it。
〃Roland？〃
〃I'm　here。〃　He　took　Cuthbert's　hand；　and　their　fingers　locked　together　like　iron。
The　trap　dropped。　Hax　plummeted　through。　And　in　the　sudden　stillness；　there　was　a　sound：　that　sound　an　exploding　pineknot　makes　on　the　hearth　during　a　cold　winter　night。
But　it　was　not　so　much。　The　cook's　legs　kicked　out　once　in　a　wide　Y；　the　crowd　made　a　satisfied　whistling　noise；　the　Guards　of　the　Watch　dropped　their　military　pose　and　began　to　gather　things　up　negligently。　The　gunslinger　walked　back　down　the　steps　slowly；　mounted　his　horse；　and　rode　off；　cutting　roughly　through　one　gaggle　of　picnickers；　making　them　scurry。
The　crowd　dispersed　rapidly　after　that；　and　in　forty　minutes　the　two　boys　were　left　alone　on　the　small　hill　they　had　chosen。　The　birds　were　returning　to　examine　their　new　prize。　One　lit　on　Hax's　shoulder　and　sat　there　chummily；　darting　its　beak　at　the　bright　and　shiny　hoop　Hax　had　always　worn　in　his　right　ear。
〃It　doesn't　look　like　him　at　all；〃　Cuthbert　said。
〃Oh；　yes；　it　does；〃　Roland　said　confidently　as　they　walked　toward　the　gallows；　the　bread　in　their　hands。　Cuthbert　looked　abashed。
They　paused　beneath　the　crosstree；　looking　up　at　the　dangling；　twisting　body。　Cuthbert　reached　up　and　touched　one　hairy　ankle；　defiantly。　The　body　started　on　a　new；　twisting　arc。
Then；　rapidly；　they　broke　the　bread　and　spread　the　crumbs　beneath　the　dangling　feet。　Roland　looked　back　just　once　as　they　rode　away。　Now　there　were　thousands　of　birds。　The　bread　　he　grasped　this　only　dimly　　was　symbolic；　then。
〃It　was　good；〃　Cuthbert　said　suddenly。　〃It　。　。　。　I　。　。　。　I　liked　it。　I　did。〃
Roland　was　not　shocked　by　this；　although　he　had　not　particularly　cared　for　the　scene。　But　he　thought　he　could　perhaps　understand　it。
〃I　don't　know　about　that；〃　he　said；　〃but　it　was　something。　It　surely　was。〃
The　land　did　not　fall　to　the　good　man　for　another　ten　years；　and　by　that　time　he　was　a　gunslinger；　his　father　was　dead；　he　himself　had　bee　a　matricide　　and　the　world　had　moved　on。
　
III
　
〃Look；　〃　Jake　said；　pointing　upward。
The　gunslinger　looked　up　and　felt　an　obscure　joint　in　his　back　pop。　They　had　been　in　the　foothills　two　days　now；　and　although　the　waterskins　were　almost　empty　again；　it　didn't　matter　now。　There　would　soon　be　all　the　water　they　could　drink。
He　followed　the　vector　of　Jake's　finger　upward；　past　the　rise　of　the　green　plain　to　the　naked　and　flashing　cliffs　and　gorges　above　it　。　。　。　and　on　up　toward　the　snowcap　itself。
Faint　and　far；　nothing　but　a　tiny　dot　（it　might　have　been　one　of　those　motes　that　dance　perpetually　in　front　of　the　eyes；　except　for　its　constancy）；　the　gunslinger　beheld　the　man　in　black；　moving　up　the　slopes　with　deadly　progress；　a　minuscule　fly　on　a　huge　granite　wall。
〃Is　that　him？〃　Jake　asked。
The　gunslinger　looked　at　the　depersonalized　mote　doing　its　faraway　acrobatics；　feeling　nothing　but　a　premonition　of　sorrow。
〃That's　him；　Jake。〃
〃Do　you　think　we'll　catch　him？〃
〃Not　on　this　side。　On　the　other。　And　not　if　we　stand　here　talking　about　it。〃
〃They're　so　high；〃　Jake　said。　〃What's　on　the　other　side？〃
〃I　don't　know；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃I　don't　think　anybody　does。　Maybe　they　did　once。　e　on；　boy。〃
They　began　to　move　upward　again；　sending　small　runnels　of　pebbles　and　sand　down　toward　the　desert　that　washed　away　behind　them　in　a　flat　bake…sheet　that　seemed　to　never　end。　Above　them；　far　above；　the　man　in　black　moved　up　and　up　and　up。　It　was　impossible　to　see　if　he　looked　back。　He　seemed　to　leap　across　impossible　gulfs；　to　scale　sheer　faces。　Once　or　twice　he　disappeared；　but　always　they　saw　him　again；　until　the　violet　curtain　of　dusk　shut　him　out　of　their　view。　When　they　made　their　camp　for　the　evening；　the　boy　spoke　little；　and　the　gunslinger　wondered　if　the　boy　knew　what　he　had　already　intuited。　He　thought　of　Cuthbert's　face；　hot；　dismayed；　excited。　He　thought　of　the　crumbs。　He　thought　of　the　birds。　It　ends　this　way；　he　thought。　Again　and　again　it　ends　this　way。　There　are　quests　and　roads　that　lead　ever　onward；　and　all　of　them　end　in　the　same　place　　upon　the　killing　ground。
Except；　perhaps；　the　road　to　the　Tower。
The　boy；　the　sacrifice；　his　face　innocent　and　very　young　in　the　light　of　their　tiny　fire；　had　fallen　asleep　over　his　beans。　The　gunslinger　covered　him　with　the　horse　blanket　and　then　curled　up　to　sleep　himself。
　
THE　ORACLE　AND　THE　MOUNTAINS
I
The　boy　found　the　oracle　and　it　almost　destroyed　him。
Some　thin　instinct　brought　the　gunslinger　up　from　sleep　to　the　velvet　darkness；　which　had　fallen　on　them　at　dusk　like　a　shroud　of　well　water。　That　had　been　when　he　and　Jake　reached　the　grassy；　nearly　level　oasis　above　the　first　rise　of　tumbled　foothills。　Even　on　the　hardscrabble　below；　where　they　had　toiled　and　fought　for　every　foot　in　the　killer　sun；　they　had　been　able　to　hear　the　sound　of　crickets　rubbing　their　legs　seductively　together　in　the　perpetual　green　of　willow　groves　above　them。　The　gunslinger　remained　calm　in　his　mind；　and　the　boy　had　kept　up　at　least　the　pretense　of　a　facade；　and　that　had　made　the　gunslinger　proud。　But　Jake　hadn't　been　able　to　hide　the　wildness　in　his　eyes；　which　were　white　and　starey；　the　eyes　of　a　horse　scenting　water　and　held　back　from　bolting　only　by　the　tenuous　chain　of　its　master's　mind；　like　a　horse　at　the　point　where　only　understanding；　not　the　spur；　could　hold　it　steady。　The　gunslinger　could　gauge　the　need　in　Jake　by　the　madness　the　sounds　of　the　crickets　bred　in　him。
The　sun　trampled　down　on　them　all　the　way；　even　when　it　turned　a　swollen；　feverish　red　with　sunset；　it　shone　perversely　through　the　knife…cut　in　the　hills　off　to　their　left；　blinding　them　and　making　every　teardrop　of　sweat　into　a　prism　of　pain。
Then　there　was　grass：　at　first　only　yellow　scrub；　clinging　to　the　bleak　soil　where　the　last　of　the　runoff　reached　with　gruesome　vitality。　Further　up　there　was　witchgrass；　sparse；　then　green　and　rank。。。　then　the　first　sweet　smell　of　real　grass；　mixed　with　timothy　and　shaded　by　the　first　of　the　dwarfed　firs。　There　the　gunslinger　saw　an　arc　of　brown　movements　in　the　shadows。　He　drew；　fired；　and　felled　the　rabbit　all　before　Jake　could　begin　to　cry　out　his　surprise。　A　moment　later　he　had　reholstered　the　gun。
〃Here；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　Up　ahead　the　grass　deepened　into　a　jungle　of　green　willows　that　was　shocking　after　the　parched　sterility　of　the　endless　hardpan。　There　would　be　a　spring；　perhaps　several　of　them；　and　it　would　be　even　cooler；　but　it　was　better　out　here　in　the　open。　The　boy　had　pushed　every　step　he　could　push；　and　there　might　be　sucker…bats　in　the　deeper　shadows　of　the　grove。　The　bats　might　break　the　boy's　sleep；　no　matter　how　deep　it　was；　and　if　they　were　vampires；　neither　of　them　might　awaken。。。　at　least；　not　in　this　world。
The　boy　said；　〃I'll　get　some　wood。〃
The　gunslinger　smiled。　〃No；　you　won't。　Sit　yourself；　Jake。〃　Whose　phrase　had　that　been？　Some　woman。
The　boy　sat　When　the　gunslinger　got　back；　Jake　was　asleep　in　the　grass。　A　large　praying　mantis　was　performing　ablutions　on　the　springy　stem　of　Jake's　cowlick。　The　gunslinger　set　the　fire　and　went　after　water。
The　willow　jungle　was　deeper　than　he　had　suspected；　and　confusing　in　the　failing　light。　But　he　found　a　spring；　richly　guarded　by　frogs　and　peepers。　He　filled　one　of　their　waterskins。。。　and　paused。　The　sounds　that　filled　the　night　awoke　an　uneasy　sensuality　in　him；　a　feeling　that　not　even　Allie；　the　woman　he　had　bedded　with　in　Tull；　had　been　able　to　bring　to　the　fore。　Sensuality　and　fucking　are；　after　all；　cousins　of　the　m