sk.everythingseventual-第82部分

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　　I　grabbed　Diane's　wrist　and　yanked　her　to　her　feet。　She　came　without　a　word；　took　a　step　toward　me；　then　stumbled　on　her　high　heels　and　fell　clumsily　into　my　arms。　I　was　aware　of　her　breasts　pushing　against　me；　and　the　wet；　warm　clamminess　over　them。
　　'Eeeee！　You　boinker！'　the　ma？tre　d'　screamed；　or　perhaps　it　was　a　'boinger'　he　called　me。　It　probably　doesn't　matter；　I　know　that；　and　yet　it　quite　often　seems　to　me　that　it　does。　Late　at　night；　the　little　questions　haunt　me　as　much　as　the　big　ones。　'You　boinking　bastard！　All　these　radios！　Hush…do…baba！　Fuck　Cousin　Brucie！　Fuck　YOU！'
　　He　started　around　the　table　toward　us　（the　area　behind　him　was　pletely　empty　now；　and　looked　like　the　aftermath　of　a　brawl　in　a　western　movie　saloon）。　My　umbrella　was　still　lying　on　the　table　with　the　opened　top　jutting　off　the　far　side；　and　the　ma？tre　d'　bumped　it　with　his　hip。　It　fell　off　in　front　of　him；　and　while　he　kicked　it　aside；　I　set　Diane　back　on　her　feet　and　pulled　her　toward　the　far　side　of　the　room。　The　front　door　was　no　good；　it　was　probably　too　far　away　in　any　case；　but　even　if　we　could　get　there；　it　was　still　jammed　tight　with　frightened；　screaming　people。　If　he　wanted　me…or　both　of　us…he　would　have　no　trouble　catching　us　and　carving　us　like　a　couple　of　turkeys。
　　'Bugs！　You　bugs！　。　。　。　Eeeeee！　。　。　。　So　much　for　your　dog；　eh？　So　much　for　your　barking　dog！'
　　'Make　him　stop！'　Diane　screamed。　'Oh　Jesus；　he's　going　to　kill　us　both；　make　him　stop！'
　　'I　rot　you；　you　abominations！'　Closer；　now。　The　umbrella　hadn't　held　him　up　for　long；　that　was　for　sure。　'I　rot　you　and　all　your　trulls！'
　　I　saw　three　doors；　two　of　them　facing　each　other　in　a　small　alcove　where　there　was　also　a　pay　telephone。　Men's　and　women's　rooms。　No　good。　Even　if　they　were　single　toilets　with　locks　on　the　doors；　they　were　no　good。　A　nut　like　this　one　behind　us　would　have　no　trouble　bashing　a　bathroom　lock　off　its　screws；　and　we　would　have　nowhere　to　run。
　　I　dragged　her　toward　the　third　door　and　shoved　through　it　into　a　world　of　clean　green　tiles；　strong　fluorescent　light；　gleaming　chrome；　and　steamy　odors　of　food。　The　smell　of　salmon　dominated。　Humboldt　had　never　gotten　a　chance　to　ask　about　the　specials；　but　I　thought　I　knew　what　at　least　one　of　them　had　been。
　　A　waiter　was　standing　there　with　a　loaded　tray　balanced　on　the　flat　of　one　hand；　his　mouth　agape　and　his　eyes　wide。　He　looked　like　Gimpel　the　Fool　in　that　Isaac　Singer　story。　'What…'　he　said；　and　then　I　shoved　him　aside。　The　tray　went　flying；　with　plates　and　glassware　shattering　against　the　wall。
　　'Ay！'　a　man　yelled。　He　was　huge；　wearing　a　white　smock　and　a　white　chef's　hat　like　a　cloud。　There　was　a　red　bandanna　around　his　neck；　and　in　one　hand　he　held　a　ladle　that　was　dripping　some　sort　of　brown　sauce。　'Ay；　you　can't　e　in　here　like…a　dat！'
　　'We　have　to　get　out；'　I　said。　'He's　crazy。　He's…'
　　An　idea　struck　me　then；　a　way　of　explaining　without　explaining；　and　I　put　my　hand　over　Diane's　left　breast　for　a　moment；　on　the　soaked　cloth　of　her　dress。　It　was　the　last　time　I　ever　touched　her　intimately；　and　I　don't　know　if　it　felt　good　or　not。　I　held　my　hand　out　to　the　chef；　showing　him　a　palm　streaked　with　Humboldt's　blood。
　　'Good　Christ；'　he　said。　'Here。　Inna　da　back。'
　　At　that　instant；　the　door　we'd　e　through　burst　open　again　and　the　ma？tre　d'　rolled　in；　eyes　wild；　hair　sticking　out　everywhere　like　fur　on　a　hedgehog　that's　tucked　itself　into　a　ball。　He　looked　around；　saw　the　waiter；　dismissed　him；　saw　me；　and　rushed　at　me。
　　I　bolted　again；　dragging　Diane　with　me；　shoving　blindly　at　the　softbellied　bulk　of　the　chef。　We　went　past　him；　the　front　of　Diane's　dress　leaving　a　smear　of　blood　on　the　front　of　his　tunic。　I　saw　he　wasn't　ing　with　us；　that　he　was　turning　toward　the　ma？tre　d'　instead；　and　wanted　to　warn　him；　wanted　to　tell　him　that　wouldn't　work；　that　it　was　the　worst　idea　in　the　world　and　likely　to　be　the　last　idea　he　ever　had；　but　there　was　no　time。
　　'Ay！'　the　chef　cried。　'Ay；　Guy；　what's　dis？'　He　said　the　ma？tre　d's　name　as　the　French　do；　so　it　rhymes　with　free；　and　then　he　didn't　say　anything　at　all。　There　was　a　heavy　thud　that　made　me　think　of　the　sound　of　the　knife　burying　itself　in　Humboldt's　skull；　and　then　the　cook　screamed。　It　had　a　watery　sound。　It　was　followed　by　a　thick　wet　splat　that　haunts　my　dreams。　I　don't　know　what　it　was；　and　I　don't　want　to　know。
　　I　yanked　Diane　down　a　narrow　aisle　between　two　stoves　that　baked　a　furious　dull　heat　out　at　us。　There　was　a　door　at　the　end；　locked　shut　by　two　heavy　steel　bolts。　I　reached　for　the　top　one　and　then　heard　Guy；　The　Ma？tre　d'　from　Hell；　ing　after　us；　babbling。
　　I　wanted　to　keep　at　the　bolt；　wanted　to　believe　I　could　open　the　door　and　get　us　outside　before　he　could　get　within　sticking　distance；　but　part　of　me…the　part　that　was　determined　to　live…knew　better。　I　pushed　Diane　against　the　door；　stepped　in　front　of　her　in　a　protective　maneuver　that　must　go　all　the　way　back　to　the　Ice　Age；　and　faced　him。
　　He　came　running　up　the　narrow　aisle　between　the　stoves　with　the　knife　gripped　in　his　left　hand　and　raised　above　his　head。　His　mouth　was　open　and　pulled　back　from　a　set　of　dingy；　eroded　teeth。　Any　hope　of　help　I　might　have　had　from　Gimpel　the　Fool　disappeared。　He　was　cowering　against　the　wall　beside　the　door　to　the　restaurant。　His　fingers　were　buried　deep　inside　his　mouth；　making　him　look　more　like　the　village　idiot　than　ever。
　　'Forgetful　of　me　you　shouldn't　have　been！'　Guy　screamed；　sounding　like　Yoda　in　the　Star　Wars　movies。　'Your　hateful　dog！　。　。　。　Your　loud　music；　so　disharmonious！　。　。　。　Eeeee！　。　。　。　How　you　ever…'
　　There　was　a　large　pot　on　one　of　the　front　burners　of　the　lefthand　stove。　I　reached　out　for　it　and　slapped　it　at　him。　It　was　over　an　hour　before　I　realized　how　badly　I'd　burned　my　hand　doing　that；　I　had　a　palmful　of　blisters　like　little　buns；　and　more　blisters　on　my　three　middle　fingers。　The　pot　skidded　off　its　burner　and　tipped　over　in　midair；　dousing　Guy　from　the　waist　down　with　what　looked　like　corn；　rice；　and　maybe　two　gallons　of　boiling　water。
　　He　screamed；　staggered　backward；　and　put　the　hand　that　wasn't　holding　the　knife　down　on　the　other　stove；　almost　directly　into　the　blue…yellow　gasflame　underneath　a　skillet　where　mushrooms　which　had　been　sautéing　were　now　turning　to　charcoal。　He　screamed　again；　this　time　in　a　register　so　high　it　hurt　my　ears；　and　held　his　hand　up　before　his　eyes；　as　if　not　able　to　believe　it　was　connected　to　him。
　　I　looked　to　my　right　and　saw　a　little　nestle　of　cleaning　equipment　beside　the　door…Glass…X　and　Clorox　and　Janitor　In　A　Drum　on　a　shelf；　a　broom　with　a　dustpan　stuck　on　top　of　the　handle　like　a　hat；　and　a　mop　in　a　steel　bucket　with　a　squeegee　on　the　side。
　　As　Guy　came　toward　me　again；　holding　the　knife　in　the　hand　that　wasn't　red　and　swelling　up　like　an　innertube；　I　grabbed　the　handle　of　the　mop；　used　it　to　roll　the　bucket　in　front　of　me　on　its　little　casters；　and　then　jabbed　it　out　at　him。　Guy　pulled　back　with　his　upper　body　but　stood　his　ground。　There　was　a　peculiar；　twitching　little　smile　on　his　lips。　He　looked　like　a　dog　who　has　forgotten；　temporarily；　at　least；　how　to　snarl。　He　held　the　knife　up　in　front　of　his　face　and　made　several　mystic　passes　with　it。　The　overhead　fluorescents　glimmered　liquidly　on　the　blade　。　。　。　where　it　wasn't　caked　with　blood；　that　was。　He　didn't　seem　to　feel　any　pain　in　his　burned　hand；　or　in　his　legs；　although　they　had　been　doused　with　boiling　water　and　his　tuxedo　pants　were　spackled　with　rice。
　　'Rotten　bugger；'　Guy　said；　making　his　mystic　passes。　He　was　like　a　Crusader　preparing　to　go　into　battle。　If；　that　was；　you　could　imagine　a　Crusader　in　a　rice…caked　tux。　'Kill　you　like　I　did　your　nasty　barking　dog。'
　　'I　don't　have　a　dog；'　I　said。　'I　can't　have　a　dog。　It's　in　the　lease。'
　　I　think　it　was　the　only　thing　I　said　to　him　during　the　whole　nightmare；　and　I'm　not　entirely　sure　I　did　say　it　out　loud。　It　might　only　have　been　a　thought。　Behind　him；　I　could　see　the　chef　struggling　to　his　feet。　He　had　one　hand　wrapped　around　the　handle　of　the　kitchen's　big　refrigerator　and　the　other　clapped　to　his　bloodstained　tunic；　which　was　torn　open　across　the　swelling　of　his　stomach　in　a　big　purple　grin