stephen king - mist-第24部分

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g　clean　white　skin。　I　looked　at　it　and　began　to　get　an　extremely　useless　and　unfortable　erection。
　I　tried　to　divert　my　mind　to　a　new　track　and　got　thinking　about　how　I　had　wanted　to　paint　Brent　Norton　yesterday。　No；　nothing　as　important　as　a　painting；　but　。。。　just　sit　him　on　a　log　with　my　beer　in　his　hand　and　sketch　his　sweaty；　tired　face　and　the　two　wings　of　his　carefully　processed　hair　sticking　up　untidily　in　the　back。　it　could　have　been　a　good　picture。　It　took　me　twenty　years　of　living　with　my　father　to　accept　the　idea　that　being　good　could　be　good　enough。
　You　know　what　talent　is？　The　curse　of　expectation。　As　a　kid　you　have　to　deal　with　that；　beat　it　somehow。　if　you　can　write；　you　think　God　put　you　on　earth　to　blow　Shakespeare　away。　Or　if　you　can　paint；　maybe　you　think　…　I　did　…　that　God　put　you　on　earth　to　blow　your　father　away。
　It　turned　out　I　wasn't　as　good　as　he　was。　I　kept　trying　to　be　for　longer　than　I　should　have；　maybe。　I　had　a　show　in　New　York　and　it　did　poorly　…　the　art　critics　beat　me　over　the　head　with　my　father。　A　year　later　I　was　supporting　myself　and　Steff　with　the　mercial　stuff。　She　was　pregnant　and　I　sat　down　and　talked　to　myself　about　it。　The　result　of　that　conversation　was　a　belief　that　serious　art　was　always　going　to　be　a　hobby　for　me；　no　more。
　I　did　Golden　Girl　Shampoo　ads…the　one　where　the　Girl　is　standing　astride　her　bike；　the　one　where　she's　playing　Frisbee　on　the　beach；　the　one　where　she's　standing　on　the　balcony　of　her　apartment　with　a　drink　in　her　hand。　I've　done　short…story　illustrations　for　most　of　the　big　slicks；　but　I　broke　into　that　field　doing　fast　illustrations　for　the　stories　in　the　sleazier　men's　magazines。　I've　done　some　movie　posters。　The　money　es　in。　We　keep　our　heads　nicely　above　water。
　I　had　one　final　show　in　Bridgton；　just　last　summer。　I　showed　nine　canvases　that　I　had　painted　in　five　years；　and　I　sold　six　of　them。　The　one　I　absolutely　would　not　sell　showed　the　Federal　market；　by　some　queer　coincidence。　The　perspective　was　from　the　far　end　of　the　parking　lot。　in　my　picture；　the　parking　lot　was　empty　except　for　a　line　of　Campbell's　Beans　and　Franks　cans；　each　one　larger　than　the　last　as　they　marched　toward　the　viewer's　eye。　The　last　one　appeared　to　be　about　eight　feet　tall。　The　picture　was　titled　Beans　and　False　Perspective。　A　man　from　California　who　was　a　top　exec　in　some　pany　that　makes　tennis　balls　and　rackets　and　who　knows　what　other　sports　equipment　seemed　to　want　that　picture　very　badly；　and　would　not　take　no　for　an　answer　in　spite　of　the　NFS　card　tucked　into　the　bottom　left…hand　corner　of　the　spare　wooden　frame。　He　began　at　six　hundred　dollars　and　worked　his　way　up　to　four　thousand。　He　said　he　wanted　it　for　his　study。　I　would　not　let　him　have　it；　and　he　went　away　sorely　puzzled。　Even　so；　he　didn't　give　up；　he　left　his　card　in　case　I　changed　my　mind。
　I　could　have　used　the　money…that　was　the　year　we　put　the　addition　on　the　house　and　bought　the　four…wheeldrive…but　I　just　couldn't　sell　it。　I　couldn't　sell　it　because　I　felt　it　was　the　best　painting　I　had　ever　done　and　I　wanted　it　to　look　at　after　someone　would　ask　me；　with　totally　unconscious　cruelty；　when　I　was　going　to　do　something　serious。
　Then　I　happened　to　show　it　to　Ollie　Weeks　one　day　last　fall。　He　asked　me　if　he　could　photograph　it　and　run　it　as　an　ad　one　week；　and　that　was　the　end　of　my　own　false　perspective。　Ollie　had　recognized　my　painting　for　what　it　was；　and　by　doing　so；　he　forced　me　to　recognize　it；　too。　A　perfectly　good　piece　of　slick　mercial　art。　No　more。　And；　thank　God；　no　less。
　I　let　him　do　it；　and　then　I　called　the　exec　at　his　home　in　San　Luis　Obispo　and　told　him　he　could　have　the　painting
　for　twenty…five　hundred　if　he　still　wanted　it。　He　did；　and　I　shipped　it　UPS　to　the　coast。　And　since　then　that　voice　of　disappointed　expectation…that　cheated　child's　voice　that　can　never　be　satisfied　with　such　a　mild　superlative　as　good…has　fallen　pretty　much　silent。　And　except　for　a　few　rumbles…like　the　sounds　of　those　unseen　creatures　somewhere　out　in　the　foggy　night…it　has　been　pretty　much　silent　ever　since。　Maybe　you　can　tell　me…why　should　the　silencing　of　that　childish；　demanding　voice　seem　so　much　like　dying？
　Around　four　o'clock　Billy　woke　up…partially；　at　least…and　looked　around　with　bleary；　unprehending　eyes。　〃Are　we　still　here？〃
　〃Yeah；　honey；〃　I　said。　〃We　are。〃
　He　started　to　cry　with　a　weak　helplessness　that　was　horrible。　Amanda　woke　up　and　looked　at　us。
　〃Hey；　kid；〃　she　said；　and　pulled　him　gently　to　her。　〃Everything　is　going　to　look　a　little　better　e　morning。
　〃No；〃　Billy　said。　〃No　it　won't。　It　won't。　It　won't。〃
　〃Shh；〃　she　said。　Her　eyes　met　mine　over　his　head。　〃Shh；　it's　past　your　bedtime。〃
　〃I　want　my　mother！〃
　〃Yeah；　you　do；〃　Amanda　said。　〃Of　course　you　do。〃
　Billy　squirmed　around　in　her　lap　until　he　could　look　at　me。　Which　he　did　for　some　time。　And　then　slept　again。
　〃Thanks；〃　I　said。　〃He　needed　you。〃
　〃He　doesn't　even　know　me。〃
　〃That　doesn't　change　it。〃
　〃So　what　do　you　think？〃　she　asked。　Her　green　eyes　held　mine　steadily。　〃What　do　you　really　think
　〃Ask　me　in　the　morning。〃
　〃I'm　asking　you　now。〃
　I　opened　my　mouth　to　answer　and　then　Ollie　Weeks　materialized　out　of　the　gloom　like　something　from　a　horror　tale。　He　had　a　flashlight　with　one　of　the　ladies'　blouses　over　the　lens；　and　he　was　pointing　it　toward　the　ceiling。　It　made　strange　shadows　on　his　haggard　face。　〃David；〃　be　whispered。
　Amanda　looked　at　him；　first　startled；　then　scared　again；
　〃Ollie；　what　is　it？〃　I　asked。
　〃David；〃　he　whispered　again。　Then：　〃e　on。　Please。〃
　〃I　don't　want　to　leave　Billy；　He　just　went　to　sleep。〃
　〃I'll　be　with　him；〃　Amanda　said。　〃You　better　go。　Then；　in　a　lower　voice：　〃Jesus；　this　is　never　going　to　end。〃
　　
　VIII。　What　Happened　to　the　Soldiers。With　Amanda。A　Conversation　with　Dan　Miller。
　I　went　with　Ollie。　He　was　headed　for　the　storage　area。　As　we　passed　the　cooler；　he　grabbed　a　beer。
　〃Ollie；　what　is　it？〃
　〃I　want　you　to　see　it？〃
　He　pushed　through　the　double　doors。　They　slipped　shut　behind　us　with　a　little　backwash　of　air。　it　was　cold。　I　didn't　like　this　place；　not　after　what　had　happened　to　Norm。　A　part　of　my　mind　insisted　on　reminding　me　that　there　was　still　a　small　scrap　of　dead　tentacle　lying　around　someplace。
　Ollie　led　the　blouse　drop　from　the　lens　of　his　light。　He　trained　it　overhead。　At　first　I　had　an　idea　that　someone　had　hung　a　couple　of　mannequins　from　one　of　the　heating　pipes　below　the　ceiling。　That　they　had　hung　them　on　piano　wire　or　something；　a　kid's　Halloween　trick。
　Then　I　noticed　the　feet；　dangling　about　seven　inches　off　the　cement　floor。　There　were　two　piles　of　kicked…over　cartons。　I　looked　up　at　the　faces　and　a　scream　began　to　rise　in　my　throat　because　they　were　not　the　faces　of　department…　store　dummies。　Both　heads　were　cocked　to　the　side；　as　if　appreciating　some　horribly　funny　joke；　a　joke　that　had　made　them　laugh　until　they　turned　purple。
　Their　shadows。　Their　shadows　thrown　long　on　the　wall　behind　them。　Their　tongues。　Their　protruding　tongues。
　They　were　both　wearing　uniforms。　They　were　the　kids　I　had　noticed　earlier　and　had　lost　track　of　along　the　way；　The　army　brats　from…
　The　scream。　I　could　hear　it　starting　in　my　throat　as　a　moan；　rising　like　a　police　siren；　and　then　Ollie　gripped　my　arm　just　above　the　elbow。　〃Don't　scream；　David。　No　one　knows　about　this　but　you　and　me。　And　that's　how　I　want　to　keep　it。〃
　Somehow　I　bit　it　back。
　〃Those　army　kids；〃　I　managed。
　〃From　the　Arrowhead　Project；〃　Ollie　said。　〃Sure〃
　Something　cold　was　thrust　into　my　hand。　The　beer　can。　〃Drink　this。　You　need　it。〃
　I　drained　the　can　pletely　dry。
　Ollie　said；　〃I　came　back　to　see　if　we　had　any　extra　cartridges　for　that　gas　grill　Mr。　McVey　has　been　using。　I　saw　these　guys。　The　way　I　figure；　they　must　have　gotten　the　nooses　ready　and　stood　on　top　of　those　two　piles　of　cartons。　They　must　have　tied　their　hands　for　each　other　and　then　balanced　each　other　while　they　stepped　through　the　length　of　rope　between　their　wrists。　So　。。。　so　that　their　hands　would　be　behind　them；　you　know。　Then…this　is　the　way　I　figure…they　stuck　their　heads　into　the　nooses　and　pulled　them　tight　by　jerking　their　heads　to　one　side。　Maybe　one　of　them　counted　to　three