sk.thetalisman-第47部分

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own　trash…a　rusty　bedspring　here；　the　grille　of　a　1957　Ford　over　there；　and　a　ghastly　sickle　moon　like　a　bent　bone　in　the　sky　overhead；　turning　every　shard　of　broken　glass　into　a　dead　and　staring　eye；　and　this　hadn't　begun　in　New　Hampshire；　had　it？　No。　It　hadn't　begun　when　his　mother　got　sick；　or　with　the　appearance　of　Lester　Parker。　It　had　begun　when…
　　Jacky　was　six。　When　we　all　lived　in　California　and　no　one　lived　anywhere　else　and　Jacky　was…
　　He　fumbled　at　the　straps　of　his　pack。
　　It　came　again；　seeming　almost　to　dance；　for　a　moment　reminding　him　of　some　animated　Disney　cartoon…figure　in　the　chancy　moonlight。　Crazily；　Jack　began　to　laugh。　The　thing　snarled　and　leaped　at　him。　The　swipe　of　those　heavy　hoof…claws　again　missed　him　by　barest　inches　as　he　danced　back　through　the　weeds　and　litter。　The　Elroy…thing　came　down　on　the　bedspring　and　somehow　became　entangled　in　it。　Howling；　snapping　white　gobbets　of　foam　into　the　air；　it　pulled　and　twisted　and　lunged；　one　foot　buried　deep　in　the　rusty　coils。
　　Jack　groped　inside　his　pack　for　the　bottle。　He　dug　past　socks　and　dirty　undershorts　and　a　wadded；　fragrant　pair　of　jeans。　He　seized　the　neck　of　the　bottle　and　yanked　it　out。
　　The　Elroy…thing　split　the　air　with　a　howl　of　rage；　finally　pulling　free　of　the　bedspring。
　　Jack　hit　the　cindery；　weedy；　scruffy　ground　and　rolled　over；　the　last　two　fingers　of　his　left　hand　hooked　around　one　pack…strap；　his　right　hand　holding　the　bottle。　He　worked　at　the　cap　with　the　thumb　and　forefinger　of　his　left　hand；　the　pack　dangling　and　swinging。　The　cap　spun　off。
　　Can　it　follow　me？　he　wondered　incoherently；　tipping　the　bottle　to　his　lips。　When　I　go；　do　I　punch　some　kind　of　hole　through　the　middle　of　things？　Can　it　follow　me　through　and　finish　me　on　the　other　side？
　　Jack's　mouth　filled　with　that　rotten　dead…grape　taste。　He　gagged；　his　throat　closing；　seeming　to　actually　reverse　direction。　Now　that　awful　taste　filled　his　sinuses　and　nasal　passages　as　well　and　he　uttered　a　deep；　shaking　groan。　He　could　hear　the　Elroy…thing　screaming　now；　but　the　scream　seemed　far　away；　as　if　it　were　on　one　end　of　the　Oatley　tunnel　and　he；　Jack；　were　falling　rapidly　toward　the　other　end。　And　this　time　there　was　a　sense　of　falling　and　he　thought：　Oh　my　God　what　if　I　just　flipped　my　stupid　self　over　a　cliff　or　off　a　mountain　over　there？
　　He　held　on　to　the　pack　and　the　bottle；　his　eyes　screwed　desperately　shut；　waiting　for　whatever　might　happen　next…Elroy…thing　or　no　Elroy…thing。　Territories　or　oblivion…and　the　thought　which　had　haunted　him　all　night　came　swinging　back　like　a　dancing　carousel　horse…Silver　Lady；　maybe　Ella　Speed。　He　caught　it　and　rode　it　down　in　a　cloud　of　the　magic　juice's　awful　smell；　holding　it；　waiting　for　whatever　would　happen　next；　feeling　his　clothes　change　on　his　body。
　　Six　oh　yes　when　we　were　all　six　and　nobody　was　anything　else　and　it　was　California　who　blows　that　sax　daddy　is　it　Dexter　Gordon　or　is　it　is　it　what　does　Mom　mean　when　she　says　we're　living　on　a　fault…line　and　where　where　oh　where　do　you　go　Daddy　you　and　Uncle　Morgan　oh　Daddy　sometimes　he　looks　at　you　like　like　oh　like　there　is　a　fault…line　in　his　head　and　an　earthquake　going　on　behind　his　eyes　and　you're　dying　in　it　oh　Daddy！
　　Falling；　twisting；　turning　in　the　middle　of　limbo；　in　the　middle　of　a　smell　like　a　purple　cloud；　Jack　Sawyer；　John　Benjamin　Sawyer；　Jacky；　Jacky
　　…was　six　when　it　started　to　happen；　and　who　blew　that　sax　Daddy？　Who　blew　it　when　I　was　six；　when　Jacky　was　six；　when　Jacky…
　　
　　　CHAPTER　11
　　　The　Death　of　Jerry　Bledsoe
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　was　six　。　。　。　when　it　really　started；　Daddy；　when　the　engines　that　eventually　pulled　him　to　Oatley　and　beyond　began　to　chug　away。　There　had　been　loud　saxophone　music。　Six。　Jacky　was　six。　At　first　his　attention　had　been　entirely　on　the　toy　his　father　had　given　him；　a　scale　model　of　a　London　taxi…the　toy　car　was　heavy　as　a　brick；　and　on　the　smooth　wooden　floors　of　the　new　office　a　good　push　sent　it　rumbling　straight　across　the　room。　Late　afternoon；　first　grade　all　the　way　on　the　other　side　of　August；　a　neat　new　car　that　rolled　like　a　tank　on　the　strip　of　bare　wood　behind　the　couch；　a　contented；　relaxed　feeling　in　the　air…conditioned　office　。　。　。　no　more　work　to　do；　no　more　phone　calls　that　couldn't　wait　until　the　next　day。　Jack　pushed　the　heavy　toy　taxi　down　the　strip　of　bare　wood；　barely　able　to　hear　the　rumbling　of　the　solid　rubber　tires　under　the　soloing　of　a　saxophone。　The　black　car　struck　one　of　the　legs　of　the　couch；　spun　sideways；　and　stopped。　Jack　crawled　down　and　Uncle　Morgan　had　parked　himself　in　one　of　the　chairs　on　the　other　side　of　the　couch。　Each　man　nursed　a　drink；　soon　they　would　put　down　their　glasses；　switch　off　the　turntable　and　the　amplifier；　and　go　downstairs　to　their　cars。　
　　when　we　were　all　six　and　nobody　was　anything　else　and　it　was　California
　　'Who's　playing　that　sax？'　he　heard　Uncle　Morgan　ask；　and；　half　in　a　reverie；　heard　that　familiar　voice　in　a　new　way：　something　whispery　and　hidden　in　Morgan　Sloat's　voice　coiled　into　Jacky's　ear。　He　touched　the　top　of　the　toy　taxi　and　his　fingers　were　as　cold　as　if　it　were　of　ice；　not　English　steel。
　　'That's　Dexter　Gordon；　is　who　that　is；'　his　father　answered。　His　voice　was　as　lazy　and　friendly　as　it　always　was；　and　Jack　slipped　his　hand　around　the　heavy　taxi。
　　'Good　record。'
　　'Daddy　Plays　the　Horn。　It　is　a　nice　old　record；　isn't　it？'
　　'I'll　have　to　look　for　it。'　And　then　Jack　thought　he　knew　what　that　strangeness　in　Uncle　Morgan's　voice　was　all　about…Uncle　Morgan　didn't　really　like　jazz　at　all；　he　just　pretended　to　in　front　of　Jack's　father。　Jack　had　known　this　fact　about　Morgan　Sloat　for　most　of　his　childhood；　and　he　thought　it　was　silly　that　his　father　couldn't　see　it　too。　Uncle　Morgan　was　never　going　to　look　for　a　record　called　Daddy　Plays　the　Horn；　he　was　just　flattering　Phil　Sawyer…and　maybe　the　reason　Phil　Sawyer　didn't　see　it　was　that　like　everyone　else　he　never　paid　quite　enough　attention　to　Morgan　Sloat。　Uncle　Morgan；　smart　and　ambitious　（'smart　as　a　wolverine；　sneaky　as　a　courthouse　lawyer；'　Lily　said）；　good　old　Uncle　Morgan　deflected　observation…your　eye　just　sort　of　naturally　slid　off　him。　When　he　was　a　kid；　Jacky　would　have　bet；　his　teachers　would　have　had　trouble　even　remembering　his　name。
　　'Imagine　what　this　guy　would　be　like　over　there；'　Uncle　Morgan　said；　for　once　fully　claiming　Jack's　attention。　That　falsity　still　played　through　his　voice；　but　it　was　not　Sloat's　hypocrisy　that　jerked　up　Jacky's　head　and　tightened　his　fingers　on　his　heavy　toy…the　words　over　there　had　sailed　straight　into　his　brain　and　now　were　gonging　like　chimes。　Because　over　there　was　the　country　of　Jack's　Daydreams。　He　had　known　that　immediately。　His　father　and　Uncle　Morgan　had　forgotten　that　he　was　behind　the　couch；　and　they　were　going　to　talk　about　the　Daydreams。
　　His　father　knew　about　the　Daydream…country。　Jack　could　never　have　mentioned　the　Daydreams　to　either　his　father　or　his　mother；　but　his　father　knew　about　the　Daydreams　because　he　had　to…simple　as　that。　And　the　next　step；　felt　along　Jack's　emotions　more　than　consciously　expressed；　was　that　his　dad　helped　keep　the　Daydreams　safe。
　　But　for　some　reason；　equally　difficult　to　translate　from　emotion　into　language；　the　conjunction　of　Morgan　Sloat　and　the　Daydreams　made　the　boy　uneasy。
　　'Hey？'　Uncle　Morgan　said。　'This　guy　would　really　turn　em　around；　wouldn't　he？　They'd　probably　make　him　Duke　of　the　Blasted　Lands；　or　something。'
　　'Well；　probably　not　that；'　Phil　Sawyer　said。　'Not　if　they　liked　him　as　much　as　we　do。'
　　But　Uncle　Morgan　doesn't　like　him；　Dad；　Jacky　thought；　suddenly　clear　that　this　was　important。　He　doesn't　like　him　at　all；　not　really；　he　thinks　that　music　is　too　loud；　he　thinks　it　takes　something　from　him
　　'Oh；　you　know　a　lot　more　about　it　than　I　do；'　Uncle　Morgan　said　in　a　voice　that　sounded　easy　and　relaxed。
　　'Well；　I've　been　there　more　often。　But　you're　doing　a　good　job　of　catching　up。'　Jacky　heard　that　his　father　was　smiling。
　　'Oh；　I've　learned　a　few　things；　Phil。　But　really；　you　know…I'll　never　get　over　being　grateful　to　you　for　showing　all　that　to　me。'　The　two　syllables　of　grateful　filled　with　smoke　and　the　s