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第27部分

cb.booksofblood2-第27部分

小说: cb.booksofblood2 字数: 每页4000字

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How'd you like that?'
 'No; Papa。'
 'You wouldn't like that?'
 'No thank you; Papa。'
 Eugene's face hardened。
 'Well I'd like to see that; Aaron。 I'd like to see what you'd do if I was to open you up and have a look inside you。'
 There was a new violence in his father's games; which Aaron couldn't understand: new threats; new intimacy。 Unfortable as he was the boy knew the real fear was felt not by him but by his father; fear was Eugene's birthright; just as it was Aaron's to watch; and wait; and suffer; until the moment came。 He knew (without understanding how or why); that he would be an instrument in the destruction of his father。 Maybe more than an instrument。
 Anger erupted in Eugene。 He stared at the boy; his brown fists clenched so tight that the knuckles burned white。 The boy was his ruin; somehow; he'd killed the good life they'd lived before he was born; as surely as if he'd shot his parents dead。 Scarcely thinking of what he was doing; Eugene's hands closed around the back of the boy's frail neck。
 Aaron made no sound。
 'I could kill you boy。'
 'Yes; sir。'
 'What do you say to that?'
 'Nothing; sir。'
 'You should say thank you; sir。'
 'Why?'
 'Why; boy? 'Cause this life's not worth what a hog can shit; and I'd be doing you a loving service; as a father should a son。'
 'Yes; sir。'
 
 In the shack behind the house Lucy had stopped crying。 There was no purpose in it; and besides; something in the sky she could see through the holes in the roof had brought memories to her that wiped the tears away。 A certain sky:
 pure blue; sheeny…clear。 Eugene wouldn't harm the boy。 He wouldn't dare; ever dare; harm that child。 He knew what the boy was; though he'd never admit to it。
 She remembered the day; six years ago now; when the sky had been sheened like today; and the air had been livid with the heat。 Eugene and she had been just about as hot as the air; they hadn't taken their eyes off each other all day。 He was stronger then: in his prime。 A soaring; splendid man; his body made heavy with work; and his legs so hard they felt like rock when she ran her hands over them。 She had been quite a looker herself; the best damn backside in Wele; firm and downy; a divide so softly haired Eugene couldn't keep from kissing her; even there; in the secret place。 He'd pleasure her all day and all night sometimes; in the house they were building; or out on the sand in the late afternoon。 The desert made a fine bed; and they could lie uninterrupted beneath the wide sky。
 That day six years ago the sky had darkened too soon; long before night was due。 It had seemed to blacken in a moment; and the lovers were suddenly cold in their hurried nakedness。 She had seen; over his shoulder; the shapes the sky had taken: the vast and monumental creatures that were watching them。 He; in his passion; still worked at her; thrust to his root and out the length again as he knew she delighted in; 'til a hand the colour of beets and the size of a man pinched his neck; and plucked him out of his wife's lap。 She watched him lifted into the sky like a squirming jack…rabbit; spitting from two mouths; North and South; as he finished his thrusts on the air。 Then his eyes opened for a moment; and he saw his wife twenty feet below him; still bare; still spread butterfly wide; with monsters on every side。 Casually; without malice; they threw him away; out of their ring of admiration; and out of her sight。
 She remembered so well the hour that followed; the embraces of the monsters。 Not foul in any way; not gross or harmful; never less than loving。 Even the machineries of reproduction that they pierced her with; one after the other; were not painful; though some were as large as Eugene's fisted arm; and hard as bone。 How many of those strangers took her that afternoon … three; four; five? Mingling their semen in her body; fondly teasing joy from her with their patient thrusts。 When they went away; and her skin was touched with sunlight again; she felt; though on reflection it seemed shameful; a loss; as though the zenith of her life was passed; and the rest of her days would be a cold ride down to death。
 She had got up at last; and walked over to where Eugene was lying unconscious on the sand; one of his legs broken by the fall。 She had kissed him; and then squatted to pass water。 She hoped; and hope it was; that there would be fruit from the seed of that day's love; and it would be a keepsake of her joy。
 
 In the house Eugene struck the boy。 Aaron's nose bled; but he made no sound。
 'Speak; boy。'
 'What shall I say?'
 'Am I your father or not?'
 'Yes; father。'
 'Liar!'
 He struck again; without warning; this time the blow carried Aaron to the floor。 As his small; uncalloused palms flattened against the kitchen tiles to raise himself he felt something through the floor。 There was a music in the ground。
 'Liar!' his father was saying still。
 There would be more blows to e; the boy thought; more pain; more blood。 But it was bearable; and the music was a promise; after a long wait; of an end to blows once and for all。
 
 Davidson staggered into the main street of Wele。 It was the middle of the afternoon; he guessed (his watch had stopped; perhaps out of sympathy); but the town appeared to be empty; until his eye alighted on the dark; smoking mound in the middle of the street; a hundred yards from where he stood。
 If such a thing had been possible; his blood would have run cold at the sight。
 He recognized what that bundle of burned flesh had been; despite the distance; and his head spun with horror。 It had all been real after all。 He stumbled on a couple more steps; fighting the dizziness and losing; until he felt himself supported by strong arms; and heard; through a fuzz of head…noises; reassuring words being spoken to him。 They made no sense; but at least they were soft and human: he could give up any pretence to consciousness。 He fainted; but it seemed there was only a moment of respite before the world came back into view again; as odious as ever。
 He had been carried inside and was lying on an un…fortable sofa; a woman's face; that of Eleanor Kooker; staring down at him。 She beamed as he came round。
 'The man'll survive;' she said; her voice like cabbage going through a grater。
 She leaned further forward。
 'You seen the thing; did you?'
 Davidson nodded。
 'Better give us the low…down。'
 A glass was thrust into his hand and Eleanor filled it generously with whisky。
 'Drink;' she demanded; 'then tell us what you got to tell …'
 
 He downed the whisky in two; and the glass was immediately refilled。 He drank the second glass more slowly; and began to feel better。
 The room was filled with people: it was as though all of Wele was pressing into the Kooker front parlour。 Quite an audience: but then it was quite a tale。 Loosened by the whisky; he began to tell it as best he could; without embellishment; just letting the words e。 In return Eleanor described the circumstances of Sheriff Packard's 'accident' with the body of the car…wrecker。 Packard was in the room; looking the worse for consoling whiskies and pain killers; his mutilated hand bound up so well it looked more like a club than a limb。
 'It's not the only devil out there;' said Packard when the stories were out。
 'So's you say;' said Eleanor; her quick eyes less than convinced。
 'My Papa said so;' Packard returned; staring down at his bandaged hand。 'And I believe it; sure as Hell I believe it。'
 'Then we'd best do something about it。'
 'Like what?' posed a sour looking individual leaning against the mantelpiece。 'What's to be done about the likes of a thing that eats automobiles?'
 Eleanor straightened up and delivered a well…aimed sneer at the questioner。
 'Well let's have the benefit of your wisdom; Lou;' she said。 'What do you think we should do?'
 'I think we should lie low and let 'em pass。'
 'I'm no ostrich;' said Eleanor; 'but if you want to go bury your head; I'll lend you a spade; Lou。 I'll even dig you the hole。'
 General laughter。 The cynic; disforted; fell silent and picked at his nails。
 'We can't sit here and let them e running through;' said Packard's deputy; between blowing bubbles with 

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