sk.everythingseventual-第40部分

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e　sworn　it）　at　the　medallion　lying　on　his　chest。　He　had　tucked　it　back　under　the　bed…dress　at　his　last　waking；　but　it　was　out　again　now。
　　A　sixth　sister　appeared；　pushing　rudely　in　between　Mary　and　Tamra。　This　one　perhaps　was　only　one…and…twenty；　with　flushed　cheeks；　smooth　skin；　and　dark　eyes。　Her　white　habit　billowed　like　a　dream。　The　red　rose　over　her　breast　stood　out　like　a　curse。
　　'Go！　Leave　him！'
　　'Oooo；　my　dear！'　cried　Sister　Louise　in　a　voice　both　laughing　and　angry。　'Here's　Jenna；　the　baby；　and　has　she　fallen　in　love　with　him？'
　　'She　has！'　Tamra　said；　laughing。　'Baby's　heart　is　his　for　the　purchase！'
　　'Oh；　so　it　is！'　agreed　Sister　Coquina。
　　Mary　turned　to　the　newer；　lips　pursed　into　a　tight　line。　'Ye　have　no　business　here；　saucy　girl。'
　　'I　do　if　I　say　I　do；'　Sister　Jenna　replied。　She　seemed　more　in　charge　of　herself　now。　A　curl　of　black　hair　had　escaped　her　wimple　and　lay　across　her　forehead　in　a　ma。　'Now　go。　He's　not　up　to　your　jokes　and　laughter。'
　　'Order　us　not；'　Sister　Mary　said；　'for　we　never　joke。　So　you　know；　Sister　Jenna。'
　　The　girl's　face　softened　a　little；　and　Roland　saw　she　was　afraid。　It　made　him　afraid　for　her。　For　himself；　as　well。　'Go；'　she　repeated。　''Tis　not　the　time。　Are　there　not　others　to　tend？'
　　Sister　Mary　seemed　to　consider。　The　others　watched　her。　At　last　she　nodded；　and　smiled　down　at　Roland。　Again　her　face　seemed　to　shimmer；　like　something　seen　through　a　heat…haze。　What　he　saw　（or　thought　he　saw）　beneath　was　horrible　and　watchful。　'Bide　well；　pretty　man；'　she　said　to　Roland。　'Bide　with　us　a　bit；　and　we'll　heal　ye。'
　　What　choice　have　I？　Roland　thought。
　　The　others　laughed；　birdlike　titters　which　rose　into　the　dimness　like　ribbons。　Sister　Michela　actually　blew　him　a　kiss。
　　'e；　ladies！'　Sister　Mary　cried。　'We'll　leave　Jenna　with　him　a　bit　in　memory　of　her　mother；　whom　we　loved　well！'　And　with　that；　she　led　the　others　away；　five　white　birds　flying　off　down　the　center　aisle；　their　skirts　nodding　this　way　and　that。
　　'Thank　you；'　Roland　said；　looking　up　at　the　owner　of　the　cool　hand　。　。　。　for　he　knew　it　was　she　who　had　soothed　him。
　　She　took　up　his　fingers　as　if　to　prove　this；　and　caressed　them。　'They　mean　ye　no　harm；'　she　said　。　。　。　yet　Roland　saw　she　believed　not　a　word　of　it；　nor　did　he。　He　was　in　trouble　here；　very　bad　trouble。
　　'What　is　this　place？'
　　'Our　place；'　she　said　simply。　'The　home　of　the　Little　Sisters　of　Eluria。　Our　convent；　if'ee　like。'
　　'This　is　no　convent；'　Roland　said；　looking　past　her　at　the　empty　beds。　'It's　an　infirmary。　Isn't　it？'
　　'A　hospital；'　she　said；　still　stroking　his　fingers。　'We　serve　the　doctors　。　。　。　and　they　serve　us。'　He　was　fascinated　by　the　black　curl　lying　on　the　cream　of　her　brow…would　have　stroked　it；　if　he　had　dared　reach　up。　Just　to　tell　its　texture。　He　found　it　beautiful　because　it　was　the　only　dark　thing　in　all　this　white。　The　white　had　lost　its　charm　for　him。　'We　are　hospitalers　。　。　。　or　were；　before　the　world　moved　on。'
　　'Are　you　for　the　Jesus　Man？'
　　She　looked　surprised　for　a　moment；　almost　shocked；　and　then　laughed　merrily。　'No；　not　us！'
　　'If　you　are　hospitalers　。　。　。　nurses　。　。　。　where　are　the　doctors？'
　　She　looked　at　him；　biting　at　her　lip；　as　if　trying　to　decide　something。　Roland　found　her　doubt　utterly　charming；　and　he　realized　that；　sick　or　not；　he　was　looking　at　a　woman　as　a　woman　for　the　first　time　since　Susan　Delgado　had　died；　and　that　had　been　long　ago。　The　whole　world　had　changed　since　then；　and　not　for　the　better。
　　'Would　you　really　know？'
　　'Yes；　of　course；'　he　said；　a　little　surprised。　A　little　disquieted；　too。　He　kept　waiting　for　her　face　to　shimmer　and　change；　as　the　faces　of　the　others　had　done。　It　didn't。　There　was　none　of　that　unpleasant　dead…earth　smell　about　her；　either。
　　Wait；　he　cautioned　himself。　Believe　nothing　here；　least　of　all　your　senses。　Not　yet。
　　'I　suppose　you　must；'　she　said　with　a　sigh。　It　tinkled　the　bells　at　her　forehead；　which　were　darker　in　color　than　those　the　others　wore…not　black　like　her　hair　but　charry；　somehow；　as　if　they　had　been　hung　in　the　smoke　of　a　campfire。　Their　sound；　however；　was　brightest　silver。　'Promise　me　you'll　not　scream　and　wake　the　pube　in　yonder　bed。'
　　'Pube？'
　　'The　boy。　Do　ye　promise？'
　　'Aye；'　he　said；　falling　into　the　half…forgotten　patois　of　the　Outer　Arc　without　even　being　aware　of　it。　Susan's　dialect。　'It's　been　long　since　I　screamed；　pretty。'
　　She　colored　more　definitely　at　that；　roses　more　natural　and　lively　than　the　one　on　her　breast　mounting　in　her　cheeks。
　　'Don't　call　pretty　what　ye　can't　properly　see；'　she　said。
　　'Then　push　back　the　wimple　you　wear。'
　　Her　face　he　could　see　perfectly　well；　but　he　badly　wanted　to　see　her　hair…hungered　for　it；　almost。　A　full　flood　of　black　in　all　this　dreaming　white。　Of　course　it　might　be　cropped；　those　of　her　order　might　wear　it　that　way；　but　he　somehow　didn't　think　so。
　　'No；　'tis　not　allowed。'
　　'By　whom？'
　　'Big　Sister。'
　　'She　who　calls　herself　Mary？'
　　'Aye；　her。'　She　started　away；　then　paused　and　looked　back　over　her　shoulder。　In　another　girl　her　age；　one　as　pretty　as　this；　that　look　back　would　have　been　flirtatious。　This　girl's　was　only　grave。
　　'Remember　your　promise。'
　　'Aye；　no　screams。'
　　She　went　to　the　bearded　man；　skirt　swinging。　In　the　dimness；　she　cast　only　a　blur　of　shadow　on　the　empty　beds　she　passed。　When　she　reached　the　man　（this　one　was　unconscious；　Roland　thought；　not　just　sleeping）；　she　looked　back　at　Roland　once　more。　He　nodded。
　　Sister　Jenna　stepped　close　to　the　suspended　man；　on　the　far　side　of　his　bed；　so　that　Roland　saw　her　through　the　twists　and　loops　of　woven　white　silk。　She　placed　her　hands　lightly　on　the　left　side　of　his　chest；　bent　over　him　。　。　。　and　shook　her　head　from　side　to　side；　like　one　expressing　a　brisk　negative。　The　bells　she　wore　on　her　forehead　rang　sharply；　and　Roland　once　more　felt　that　weird　stirring　up　his　back；　acpanied　by　a　low　ripple　of　pain。　It　was　as　if　he　had　shuddered　without　actually　shuddering；　or　shuddered　in　a　dream。
　　What　happened　next　almost　did　jerk　a　scream　from　him；　he　had　to　bite　his　lips　against　it。　Once　more　the　unconscious　man's　legs　seemed　to　move　without　moving　。　。　。　because　it　was　what　was　on　them　that　moved。　The　man's　hairy　shins；　ankles；　and　feet　were　exposed　below　the　hem　of　his　bed…dress。　Now　a　black　wave　of　bugs　moved　down　them。　They　were　singing　fiercely；　like　an　army　column　that　sings　as　it　marches。
　　Roland　remembered　the　black　scar　across　the　man's　cheek　and　nose…the　scar　that　had　disappeared。　More　such　as　these；　of　course。　And　they　were　on　him；　as　well。　That　was　how　he　could　shiver　without　shivering。　They　were　all　over　his　back。　Battening　on　him。
　　No；　keeping　back　a　scream　wasn't　as　easy　as　he　had　expected　it　to　be。
　　The　bugs　ran　down　to　the　tips　of　the　suspended　man's　toes；　then　leaped　off　them　in　waves；　like　creatures　springing　off　an　embankment　and　into　a　swimming　hole。　They　organized　themselves　quickly　and　easily　on　the　bright　white　sheet　below；　and　began　to　march　down　to　the　floor　in　a　battalion　about　a　foot　wide。　Roland　couldn't　get　a　good　look　at　them；　the　distance　was　too　far　and　the　light　too　dim；　but　he　thought　they　were　perhaps　twice　the　size　of　ants；　and　a　little　smaller　than　the　fat　honeybees　which　had　swarmed　the　flower　beds　back　home。
　　They　sang　as　they　went。
　　The　bearded　man　didn't　sing。　As　the　swarms　of　bugs　that　had　coated　his　twisted　legs　began　to　diminish；　he　shuddered　and　groaned。　The　young　woman　put　her　hand　on　his　brow　and　soothed　him；　making　Roland　a　little　jealous　even　in　his　revulsion　at　what　he　was　seeing。
　　And　was　what　he　was　seeing　really　so　awful？　In　Gilead；　leeches　had　been　used　for　certain　ailments…swellings　of　the　brain；　the　armpits；　and　the　groin；　primarily。　When　it　came　to　the　brain；　the　leeches；　ugly　as　they　were；　were　certainly　preferable　to　the　next　step；　which　was　trepanning。
　　Yet　there　was　something　loathsome　about　them；　perhaps　only　because　he　couldn't　see　them　well；　and　something　awful　about　trying　to　imagine　them　all　over　his　back　as　he　hung　here；　helpless。　Not　singing；　though。　Why？　Because　they　were　feeding？　Sleeping？　Both　at　once？
　　The　bear