sk.everythingseventual-第86部分

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tal　car；　which　was　a　Crown　Victoria…what　the　goodfellas　in　the　gangster　movies　invariably　called　a　Crown　Vic…heading　for　ten　days　in　a　place　where　the　tab　would　probably　be　。　。　。　well；　she　didn't　even　want　to　think　about　it。
　　Floyd？　。　。　。　Oh　shit。
　　'Carol？　What　is　it　now？'
　　'Nothing；'　she　said。　Up　ahead　by　the　road　was　a　little　pink　bungalow；　the　porch　flanked　by　palms…seeing　those　trees　with　their　fringy　heads　lifted　against　the　blue　sky　made　her　think　of　Japanese　Zeros　ing　in　low；　their　underwing　machine　guns　firing；　such　an　association　clearly　the　result　of　a　youth　misspent　in　front　of　the　TV…and　as　they　passed　a　black　woman　would　e　out。　She　would　be　drying　her　hands　on　a　piece　of　pink　towelling　and　would　watch　them　expressionlessly　as　they　passed；　rich　folks　in　a　Crown　Vic　headed　for　Captiva；　and　she'd　have　no　idea　that　Carol　Shelton　once　lay　awake　in　a　ninety…dollar…a…month　apartment；　listening　to　the　records　and　the　drug　deals　upstairs；　feeling　something　alive　inside　her；　something　that　made　her　think　of　a　cigarette　that　had　fallen　down　behind　the　drapes　at　a　party；　small　and　unseen　but　smoldering　away　next　to　the　fabric。
　　'Hon？'
　　'Nothing；　I　said。'　They　passed　the　house。　There　was　no　woman。　An　old　man…white；　not　black…sat　in　a　rocking　chair；　watching　them　pass。　There　were　rimless　glasses　on　his　nose　and　a　piece　of　ragged　pink　towelling；　the　same　shade　as　the　house；　across　his　lap。　'I'm　fine　now。　Just　anxious　to　get　there　and　change　into　some　shorts。'
　　His　hand　touched　her　hip…where　he　had　so　often　touched　her　during　those　first　days…and　then　crept　a　little　farther　inland。　She　thought　about　stopping　him　（Roman　hands　and　Russian　fingers；　they　used　to　say）　and　didn't。　They　were；　after　all；　on　their　second　honeymoon。　Also；　it　would　make　that　expression　go　away。
　　'Maybe；'　he　said；　'we　could　take　a　pause。　You　know；　after　the　dress　es　off　and　before　the　shorts　go　on。'
　　'I　think　that's　a　lovely　idea；'　she　said；　and　put　her　hand　over　his；　pressed　both　more　tightly　against　her。　Ahead　was　a　sign　that　would　read　PALM　HOUSE　3　MI。　ON　LEFT　when　they　got　close　enough　to　see　it。
　　The　sign　actually　read　PALM　HOUSE　2　MI。　ON　LEFT。　Beyond　it　was　another　sign；　Mother　Mary　again；　with　her　hands　outstretched　and　that　little　electric　shimmy　that　wasn't　quite　a　halo　around　her　head。　This　version　read　MOTHER　OF　MERCY　CHARITIES　HELP　THE　FLORIDA　SICK…WON'T　YOU　HELP　US？
　　Bill　said；　'The　next　one　ought　to　say　'Burma　Shave。''
　　She　didn't　understand　what　he　meant；　but　it　was　clearly　a　joke　and　so　she　smiled。　The　next　one　would　say　'Mother　of　Mercy　Charities　Help　the　Florida　Hungry；'　but　she　couldn't　tell　him　that。　Dear　Bill。　Dear　in　spite　of　his　sometimes　stupid　expressions　and　his　sometimes　unclear　allusions。　He'll　most　likely　leave　you；　and　you　know　something？　If　you　go　through　with　it　that's　probably　the　best　luck　you　can　expect。　This　according　to　her　father。　Dear　Bill；　who　had　proved　that　just　once；　just　that　one　crucial　time；　her　judgement　had　been　far　better　than　her　father's。　She　was　still　married　to　the　man　her　Gram　had　called　'the　big　boaster。'　At　a　price；　true；　but　what　was　that　old　axiom？　God　says　take　what　you　want　。　。　。　and　pay　for　it。
　　Her　head　itched。　She　scratched　at　it　absently；　watching　for　the　next　Mother　of　Mercy　billboard。
　　Horrible　as　it　was　to　say；　things　had　started　turning　around　when　she　lost　the　baby。　That　was　just　before　Bill　got　a　job　with　Beach　puters；　out　on　Route　128；　that　was　when　the　first　winds　of　change　in　the　industry　began　to　blow。
　　Lost　the　baby；　had　a　miscarriage…they　all　believed　that　except　maybe　Bill。　Certainly　her　family　had　believed　it：　Dad；　Mom；　Gram。　'Miscarriage'　was　the　story　they　told；　miscarriage　was　a　Catholic's　story　if　ever　there　was　one。　Hey；　Mary；　what's　the　story；　they　had　sometimes　sung　when　they　skipped　rope；　feeling　daring；　feeling　sinful；　the　skirts　of　their　uniforms　flipping　up　and　down　over　their　scabby　knees。　That　was　at　Our　Lady　of　Angels；　where　Sister　Annunciata　would　spank　your　knuckles　with　her　ruler　if　she　caught　you　gazing　out　the　window　during　Sentence　Time；　where　Sister　Dormatilla　would　tell　you　that　a　million　years　was　but　the　first　tick　of　eternity's　endless　clock　（and　you　could　spend　eternity　in　Hell；　most　people　did；　it　was　easy）。　In　Hell　you　would　live　forever　with　your　skin　on　fire　and　your　bones　roasting。　Now　she　was　in　Florida；　now　she　was　in　a　Crown　Vic　sitting　next　to　her　husband；　whose　hand　was　still　in　her　crotch；　the　dress　would　be　wrinkled　but　who　cared　if　it　got　that　look　off　his　face；　and　why　wouldn't　the　feeling　stop？
　　She　thought　of　a　mailbox　with　RAGLAN　painted　on　the　side　and　an　American…flag　decal　on　the　front；　and　although　the　name　turned　out　to　be　Reagan　and　the　flag　a　Grateful　Dead　sticker；　the　box　was　there。　She　thought　of　a　small　black　dog　trotting　briskly　along　the　other　side　of　the　road；　its　head　down；　sniffling；　and　the　small　black　dog　was　there。　She　thought　again　of　the　billboard　and；　yes；　there　it　was：　MOTHER　OF　MERCY　CHARITIES　HELP　THE　FLORIDA　HUNGRY…WON'T　YOU　HELP　US？
　　Bill　was　pointing。　'There…see？　I　think　that's　Palm　House。　No；　not　where　the　billboard　is；　the　other　side。　Why　do　they　let　people　put　those　things　up　out　here；　anyway？'
　　'I　don't　know。'　Her　head　itched。　She　scratched；　and　black　dandruff　began　falling　past　her　eyes。　She　looked　at　her　fingers　and　was　horrified　to　see　dark　smutches　on　the　tips；　it　was　as　if　someone　had　just　taken　her　fingerprints。
　　'Bill？'　She　raked　her　hand　through　her　blond　hair　and　this　time　the　flakes　were　bigger。　She　saw　they　were　not　flakes　of　skin　but　flakes　of　paper。　There　was　a　face　on　one；　peering　out　of　the　char　like　a　face　peering　out　of　a　botched　negative。
　　'Bill？'
　　'What？　Wh…'　Then　a　total　change　in　his　voice；　and　that　frightened　her　more　than　the　way　the　car　swerved。　'Christ；　honey；　what's　in　your　hair？'
　　The　face　appeared　to　be　Mother　Teresa's。　Or　was　that　just　because　she'd　been　thinking　about　Our　Lady　of　Angels？　Carol　plucked　it　from　her　dress；　meaning　to　show　it　to　Bill；　and　it　crumbled　between　her　fingers　before　she　could。　She　turned　to　him　and　saw　that　his　glasses　were　melted　to　his　cheeks。　One　of　his　eyes　had　popped　from　its　socket　and　then　split　like　a　grape　pumped　full　of　blood。
　　And　I　knew　it；　she　thought。　Even　before　I　turned；　I　knew　it。　Because　I　had　that　feeling。
　　A　bird　was　crying　in　the　trees。　On　the　billboard；　Mary　held　out　her　hands。　Carol　tried　to　scream。　Tried　to　scream。
　　
　　'Carol？'
　　It　was　Bill's　voice；　ing　from　a　thousand　miles　away。　Then　his　hand…not　pressing　the　folds　of　her　dress　into　her　crotch；　but　on　her　shoulder。
　　'You　okay；　babe？'
　　She　opened　her　eyes　to　brilliant　sunlight　and　her　ears　to　the　steady　hum　of　the　Learjet's　engines。　And　something　else…pressure　against　her　eardrums。　She　looked　from　Bill's　mildly　concerned　face　to　the　dial　below　the　temperature　gauge　in　the　cabin　and　saw　that　it　had　wound　down　to　twenty…eight　thousand。
　　'Landing？'　she　said；　sounding　muzzy　to　herself。　'Already？'
　　'It's　fast；　huh？'　Sounding　pleased；　as　if　he　had　flown　it　himself　instead　of　only　paying　for　it。　'Pilot　says　we'll　be　on　the　ground　in　Fort　Myers　in　twenty　minutes。　You　took　a　hell　of　a　jump；　girl。'
　　'I　had　a　nightmare。'
　　He　laughed…the　plummy　ain't…you…the…silly…billy　laugh　she　had　e　really　to　detest。　'No　nightmares　allowed　on　your　second　honeymoon；　babe。　What　was　it？'
　　'I　don't　remember；'　she　said；　and　it　was　the　truth。　There　were　only　fragments：　Bill　with　his　glasses　melted　all　over　his　face；　and　one　of　the　three　or　four　forbidden　skip　rhymes　they　had　sometimes　chanted　back　in　fifth　and　sixth　grade。　This　one　had　gone　Hey　there；　Mary；　what's　the　story　。　。　。　and　then　something…something…something。　She　couldn't　e　up　with　the　rest。　She　could　remember　Jangle…tangle　jingle…bingle；　I　saw　daddy's　great　big　dingle；　but　she　couldn't　remember　the　one　about　Mary。
　　Mary　helps　the　Florida　sick；　she　thought；　with　no　idea　of　what　the　thought　meant；　and　just　then　there　was　a　beep　as　the　pilot　turned　the　seat…belt　light　on。　They　had　started　their　final　descent。　Let　the　wild　rumpus　start；　she　thought；　and　tightened　her　belt。
　　'You　really　don't　remember？'　he　asked；　tightening　his