sk.thetalisman-第42部分

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ke；　the　pinball　machine；　and　Space　Invaders　game。　Several　of　the　men　bellowed　greetings　at　Smokey；　who　grinned　his　narrow　grin；　exposing　the　big　set　of　mail…order　dentures。　Most　ordered　beer。　Two　or　three　ordered　Black　Russians。　One　of　them…a　member　of　the　Fair　Weather　Club；　Jack　was　almost　sure…dropped　quarters　into　the　jukebox；　summoning　up　the　voices　of　Mickey　Gilley；　Eddie　Rabbit；　Waylon　Jennings；　others。　Smokey　told　him　to　get　the　mop…bucket　and　squeegee　out　of　the　storeroom　and　swab　down　the　dancefloor　in　front　of　the　bandstand；　which　waited；　deserted；　for　Friday　night　and　The　Genny　Valley　Boys。　He　told　Jack　when　it　was　dry　he　wanted　him　to　put　the　Pledge　right　to　it。　'You'll　know　it's　done　when　you　can　see　your　own　face　grinnin　up　at　you；'　Smokey　said。
　　　
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　　So　his　time　of　service　at　Updike's　Oatley　Tap　began。
　　We　get　pretty　busy　by　four；　five　o'clock。
　　Well；　he　couldn't　very　well　say　that　Smokey　had　lied　to　him。　Up　until　the　very　moment　Jack　pushed　away　his　plate　and　began　making　his　wage；　the　Tap　had　been　deserted。　But　by　six　o'clock　there　were　maybe　fifty　people　in　the　Tap；　and　the　brawny　waitress…Gloria…came　on　duty　to　yells　and　hoo…raws　from　some　of　the　patrons。　Gloria　joined　Lori；　serving　a　few　carafes　of　wine；　a　lot　of　Black　Russians；　and　oceans　of　beer。
　　Besides　the　kegs　of　Busch；　Jack　lugged　out　case　after　case　of　bottled　beer…Budweiser；　of　course；　but　also　such　local　favorites　as　Genesee；　Utica　Club；　and　Rolling　Rock。　His　hands　began　to　blister；　his　back　to　ache。
　　Between　trips　to　the　storeroom　for　cases　of　bottled　beer　and　trips　to　the　storeroom　to　'run　me　out　a　keg；　Jack'　（a　phrase　for　which　he　was　already　ing　to　feel　an　elemental　dread）；　he　went　back　to　the　dancefloor；　the　mop…bucket；　and　the　big　bottle　of　Pledge。　Once　an　empty　beer…bottle　flew　past　his　head；　missing　him　by　inches。　He　ducked；　heart　racing；　as　it　shattered　against　the　wall。　Smokey　ran　the　drunken　perpetrator　out；　his　dentures　bared　in　a　great　false　alligator　grin。　Looking　out　the　window；　Jack　saw　the　drunk　hit　a　parking…meter　hard　enough　to　pop　the　red　VIOLATION　flag　up。
　　'e　on；　Jack；'　Smokey　called　impatiently　from　the　bar；　'it　missed　you；　didn't　it？　Clean　that　mess　up！'
　　Smokey　sent　him　into　the　men's　can　half　an　hour　later。　A　middle…aged　man　with　a　Joe　Pyne　haircut　was　standing　woozily　at　one　of　the　two　ice…choked　urinals；　one　hand　braced　against　the　wall；　the　other　brandishing　a　huge　uncircumcised　penis。　A　puddle　of　puke　steamed　between　his　spraddled　work…boots。
　　'Clean　her　up；　kid；'　the　man　said；　weaving　his　way　back　toward　the　door　and　clapping　Jack　on　the　back　almost　hard　enough　to　knock　him　over。　'Man's　gotta　make　room　any　way　he　can；　right？'
　　Jack　was　able　to　wait　until　the　door　closed；　and　then　he　could　control　his　gorge　no　longer。
　　He　managed　to　make　it　into　the　Tap's　only　stall；　where　he　was　faced　with　the　unflushed　and　sickeningly　fragrant　spoor　of　the　last　customer。　Jack　vomited　up　whatever　remained　of　his　dinner；　took　a　couple　of　hitching　breaths；　and　then　vomited　again。　He　groped　for　the　flush　with　a　shaking　hand　and　pushed　it。　Waylon　and　Willie　thudded　dully　through　the　walls；　singing　about　Luckenbach；　Texas。
　　Suddenly　his　mother's　face　was　before　him；　more　beautiful　than　it　had　ever　been　on　any　movie　screen；　her　eyes　large　and　dark　and　sorrowing。　He　saw　her　alone　in　their　rooms　at　the　Alhambra；　a　cigarette　smouldering　forgotten　in　the　ashtray　beside　her。　She　was　crying。　Crying　for　him。　His　heart　seemed　to　hurt　so　badly　that　he　thought　he　would　die　from　love　for　her　and　want　of　her…for　a　life　where　there　were　no　things　in　tunnels；　no　women　who　somehow　wanted　to　be　slapped　and　made　to　cry；　no　men　who　vomited　between　their　own　feet　while　taking　a　piss。　He　wanted　to　be　with　her　and　hated　Speedy　Parker　with　a　black　pleteness　for　ever　having　set　his　feet　on　this　awful　road　west。
　　In　that　moment　whatever　might　have　remained　of　his　self…confidence　was　demolished…it　was　demolished　utterly　and　forever。　Conscious　thought　was　overmastered　by　a　deep；　elemental；　wailing；　childish　cry：　I　want　my　mother　please　God　I　want　my　MOTHER…
　　He　trembled　his　way　out　of　the　stall　on　watery　legs；　thinking　Okay　that's　it　everybody　out　of　the　pool　fuck　you　Speedy　this　kid's　going　home。　Or　whatever　you　want　to　call　it。　In　that　moment　he　didn't　care　if　his　mother　might　be　dying。　In　that　moment　of　inarticulate　pain　he　became　totally　Jack's　Jack；　as　unconsciously　self…serving　as　an　animal　on　which　any　carnivore　may　prey：　deer；　rabbit；　squirrel；　chipmunk。　In　that　moment　he　would　have　been　perfectly　willing　to　let　her　die　of　the　cancer　metastasizing　wildly　outward　from　her　lungs　if　only　she　would　hold　him　and　then　kiss　him　goodnight　and　tell　him　not　to　play　his　goddam　transistor　in　bed　or　read　with　a　flash…light　under　the　covers　for　half　the　night。
　　He　put　his　hand　against　the　wall　and　little　by　little　managed　to　get　hold　of　himself。　This　taking…hold　was　no　conscious　thing　but　a　simple　tightening　of　the　mind；　something　that　was　very　much　Phil　Sawyer　and　Lily　Cavanaugh。　He'd　made　a　mistake；　yeah；　but　he　wasn't　going　back。　The　Territories　were　real　and　so　the　Talisman　might　also　be　real；　he　was　not　going　to　murder　his　mother　with　faintheartedness。
　　Jack　filled　his　mop…bucket　with　hot　water　from　the　spigot　in　the　storeroom　and　cleaned　up　the　mess。
　　When　he　came　out　again；　it　was　half　past　ten　and　the　crowd　in　the　Tap　began　to　thin　out…Oatley　was　a　working　town；　and　its　working　drinkers　went　home　early　on　week…nights。
　　Lori　said；　'You　look　as　pale　as　pastry；　Jack。　You　okay？'
　　'Do　you　think　I　could　have　a　gingerale？'　he　asked。　
　　She　brought　him　one　and　Jack　drank　it　while　he　finished　waxing　the　dancefloor。　At　quarter　to　twelve　Smokey　ordered　him　back　to　the　storeroom　to　'run　out　a　keg。'　Jack　managed　the　keg…barely。　At　quarter　to　one　Smokey　started　bawling　for　people　to　finish　up。　Lori　unplugged　the　juke…Dick　Cur…less　died　with　a　long；　unwinding　groan…to　a　few　halfhearted　cries　of　protest。　Gloria　unplugged　the　games；　donned　her　sweater　（it　was　as　pink　as　the　Canada　Mints　Smokey　ate　regularly；　as　pink　as　the　false　gums　of　his　dentures）；　and　left。　Smokey　began　to　turn　out　the　lights　and　to　urge　the　last　four　or　five　drinkers　out　the　door。
　　'Okay；　Jack；'　he　said　when　they　were　gone。　'You　did　good。　There's　room　for　improvement；　but　you　got　a　start；　anyway。　You　can　doss　down　in　the　storeroom。'　
　　Instead　of　asking　for　his　pay　（which　Smokey　did　not　offer　anyway）；　Jack　stumbled　off　toward　the　storeroom；　so　tired　that　he　looked　like　a　slightly　smaller　version　of　the　drunks　so　lately　ushered　out。
　　In　the　storeroom　he　saw　Lori　squatting　down　in　one　corner…the　squat　caused　her　basketball　shorts　to　ride　up　to　a　point　that　was　nearly　alarming…and　for　a　moment　Jack　thought　with　dull　alarm　that　she　was　going　through　his　knapsack。　Then　he　saw　that　she　had　spread　a　couple　of　blankets　on　a　layer　of　burlap　apple…sacks。　Lori　had　also　put　down　a　small　satin　pillow　which　said　NEW　YORK　WORLD'S　FAIR　on　one　side。
　　'Thought　I'd　make　you　a　little　nest；　kid；'　she　said。
　　'Thanks；'　he　said。　It　was　a　simple；　almost　offhand　act　of　kindness；　but　Jack　found　himself　having　to　struggle　from　bursting　into　tears。　He　managed　a　smile　instead。　'Thanks　a　lot；　Lori。'
　　'No　problem。　You'll　be　all　right　here；　Jack。　Smokey　ain't　so　bad。　Once　you　get　to　know　him；　he　ain't　half　bad。'　She　said　this　with　an　unconscious　wistfulness；　as　if　wishing　it　were　so。
　　'Probably　not；'　Jack　said；　and　then　he　added　impulsively；　'but　I'm　moving　on　tomorrow。　Oatley's　just　not　for　me；　I　guess。'　She　said：　
　　'Maybe　you'll　go；　Jack　。　。　。　and　maybe　you'll　decide　to　stay　awhile。　Why　don't　you　sleep　on　it？'　There　was　something　forced　and　unnatural　about　this　little　speech…it　had　none　of　the　genuineness　of　her　grin　when　she'd　said　Thought　I'd　make　you　a　little　nest。　Jack　noticed　it；　but　was　too　tired　to　do　more　than　that。
　　'Well；　we'll　see；'　he　said。
　　'Sure　we　will；'　Lori　agreed；　going　to　the　door。　She　blew　a　kiss　toward　him　from　the　palm　of　one　dirty　hand。　'Good　night；　Jack。'
　　'Good　night。'　
　　He　started　to　pull　off　his　shirt　。　。　。　and　then　left　it　on；　deciding　he　would　just　take　off　his　sneakers。　The　storeroom　w