pzb.lostsouls-第13部分

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d　the　inside　of　his　collar；　loosening　it；　though　the　top　button　was　already　undone。　'There　was　a　girl；　once；〃　he　said。　〃Jessy。　Small；　thin。　Short　brown　hair。　Black　dress。　She　used　to　e　here。〃
　　Christian　felt　a　cold　fist　squeeze　shut　somewhere　deep　inside　him。　The　fist　twisted；　clenched；　it　was　wrapped　around　some　vital　part　of　him；　tearing　him　loose　inside。　He　licked　his　lips。　His　mouth　tasted　of　sour　blood。　He　pretended　to　think。　〃Jessy；〃　he　said。　〃Jessy。　Such　a　long　time　ago。。。　but　perhaps　I　remember。　She　stopped　ing　in　fifteen　years　ago。
　　〃Was　that　after　Mardi　Gras　。　。　。　fifteen　years　ago？〃
　　〃I　think　so；〃　said　Christian；　and　tasted　the　sour　blood　again。
　　〃She　was　my　daughter；〃　said　Wallace。
　　Christian　swallowed。　He　was　suddenly　thirsty。　〃And　she　just　disappeared？〃　he　asked。　〃Didn't　you　call　the　police？〃
　　〃I　didn't；　no。　Jessy　was　wild。〃　For　a　moment　Wallace's　face　was　a　Mardi　Gras　mask　of　tragedy；　then　he　put　his　hand　over　his　eyes；　frowned　his　tears　away；　and　went　on。　〃She　was　forever　threatening　to　leave　home；　saying　I　didn't　give　her　enough　money；　saying　I　was　dull。　She　liked　to　go　out　and　drink。　She　was　angry　because　I　made　her　continue　with　school　when　she　wanted　to　drop　out。　She　didn't　seem　to　care　about　anything　。　。　。　certainly　not　her　father。〃
　　Wallace　covered　his　eyes　again。　〃A　girl　needs　her　mother；　I　think；　and　Lydia…my　wife…died　when　Jessy　was　only　five。　Suicide；　a　sin。　I　brought　our　daughter　up　myself；　and　did　a　poor　job；　I　suppose。　When　Jessy　disappeared；　I　thought　she　had　run　off　with　a　boy。　I　hoped　she　would　e　back　when　his　money　was　gone。　She　had　such　strange　notions。。。　such　very　strange　notions。。。　and　sending　the　police　after　her　would　have　made　her　hate　me。〃
　　〃Why　are　you　here　now？〃　Christian　couldn't　look　at　Wallace's　eyes。　He　stared　at　the　silver　cross；　at　the　soft　loose　skin　of　the　man's　throat　behind　it。
　　〃Well　。　。　。　after　Jessy　left；　I　moved　all　her　things　to　the　attic。　When　I　realized　she　wasn't　ing　back；　I　hated　to　look　at　them。　Recently　I　happened　to　think　of　them；　and　I　wondered　whether　her　old　clothes　might　be　good　enough　to　give　to　my　church　group。　They　hold　a　yearly　bazaar　for　the　poor；　you　know。〃　Christian　nodded。　〃While　I　was　going　through　the　boxes；　I　found　an　old　diary。　The　entries　mentioned　you　several　times…and　your　bar。　She　seemed　to　have。。。feelings　for　you。　I　thought　she　might　have　told　you　where　she　was　going。　I'd　so　love　to　see　her　now。〃
　　〃I　don't　know；〃　said　Christian。　〃She　only　drank　here。　She　didn't　talk　to　me。　I've　no　idea　where　she　went。〃　He　realized　that　he　was　still　staring　at　the　crucifix　and　dropped　his　gaze　to　Wallace's　empty　glass。
　　Wallace　gave　a　heavy　sigh。　〃I'll　have　another；〃　he　said。　He　stayed　to　drink　two　more　whiskeys；　getting　drunker；　wandering　around　the　bar。　He　examined　the　stained…glass　window　and　its　blind　twin；　the　tables　scarred　with　cryptic　patterns　of　initials　and　beer…rings；　the　worn　crimson　leather　of　the　bar　stools。　From　time　to　time　he　glanced　back　at　Christian；　who　silently　avoided　his　eyes。
　　When　Wallace　began　staring　at　the　door　that　led　to　the　staircase　and；　beyond　that；　to　Christian's　room；　Christian　picked　up　his　rag　and　started　wiping　down　the　bar。　〃I'm　closing　up。　I'm　sorry　I　couldn't　help　you　with　your　problem。〃　His　voice　was　sharper　than　he　had　meant　it　to　be。
　　When　Wallace　was　gone…he　left　with　a　quiet；　swaying　dignity…and　the　door　locked　after　him；　Christian　turned　to　his　rows　of　bottles　and　found　a　squat　embossed　bottle　nearly　full　of　luminous　green　liqueur。　No　one　wanted　Chartreuse；　not　anymore；　but　Christian　always　kept　a　few　bottles　of　it　in　case　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　came　rolling　into　town　some　Mardi　Gras　night。　They　would　want　Chartreuse；　Christian　knew。　Tonight　he　wanted　it　too。　He　wanted　the　swirling　heaviness　of　alcohol　to　weigh　his　mind　down；　wanted　to　sleep　deep　and　dreamlessly；　with　no　phantoms　to　swim　out　of　the　recesses　of　memory；　no　thin　little　girls　with　shadowed　eyes　and　thighs　bloody　from　murderous；　innocent　birth。　Could　he？
　　Christian　uncapped　the　bottle　and　started　to　pour　himself　a　shot。　His　hand　paused　over　the　glass；　bony　and　white；　cold　on　the　cold　bottle。　He　smelled　the　liqueur。　A　scent　as　fresh　as　the　new　night；　as　birth。　The　smell　of　altars。　He　wanted　so　badly　to　be　drunk；　to　sleep。　The　others…Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah…drank　incessantly；　even　ate；　they　drowned　their　true　natures　in　gluttony。　But　they　were　young。　They　were　of　a　newer　generation。　Their　chemistry　was　subtly　different；　they　were　hardier；　their　organs　perhaps　more　thick…walled；　less　delicate。　Christian　remembered　the　time　he　had　drunk　wine；　the　time　he　had　drunk　vodka；　and　the　memory　of　pain　shivered　up　his　spine。　But　perhaps　this。。。
　　Christian　clutched　the　bottle　to　his　chest　and　carried　it　up　the　stairs　with　him；　turning　off　the　bar　lights　as　he　went；　ascending　in　the　dark。　A　blessing　of　excellent　night　vision。
　　
　　The　Chartreuse　burned　going　down；　and　Christian　sat　tensed　in　the　dark；　waiting　for　pain。　But　when　the　liqueur　hit　his　belly；　a　gentle　green　fire　began　to　spread　through　him。　It　was　going　to　work　this　time。　His　strange；　treacherous　body　was　going　to　let　him　get　drunk　as　he　had　never　been　before；　and　he　would　rest；　for　a　time　he　would　not　have　to　think。
　　He　poured　himself　another　shot　and　tried　to　sip　it。　It　stung　his　eyes　and　went　up　his　nose；　and　he　threw　it　back　and　swallowed　hard　to　keep　from　coughing。　He　laughed　quietly　at　himself。　He　was　a　good　bartender；　an　excellent　bartender；　but　he　certainly　did　not　know　how　to　drink。　After　the　next　shot　he　dispensed　with　the　glass　altogether；　swigging　out　of　the　bottle　as　he　had　seen　the　others　do　on　that　Mardi　Gras　night。
　　When　the　first　noise　floated　up　from　the　alley；　Christian　was　drunk　enough　to　ignore　it。　It　was　only　a　bump。　But　then　there　was　another　bump　and　a　scraping　clatter　that　hurt　to　hear；　as　if　someone　were　dragging　one　of　the　metal　garbage　cans　across　the　concrete。　A　stray　dog？　A　bum？　Christian　crept　to　his　window；　which　gave　him　a　clear　view　of　the　alley　and　a　slice　of　Royal　Street　beyond　it。　He　cupped　his　hands　to　the　glass　and　looked　out。
　　Apparently　Wallace　Creech　was　still　drunk　too。　Nothing　else　could　account　for　the　clumsiness　with　which　he　was　going　through　Christian's　garbage；　mostly　empties　from　the　bar。　As　Christian　watched；　Wallace　let　a　Taaka　vodka　bottle　slip　from　his　hands。　It　shattered　on　the　concrete；　and　Wallace　went　down　on　his　hands　and　knees；　trying　futilely　to　scoop　the　glass　up；　to　dump　it　back　into　the　torn　garbage　bag。
　　This　was　too　much。　Wallace　Creech　would　have　to　be　dealt　with　more　harshly。　The　alley　was　already　strewn　with　broken　glass；　wrinkled　paper　bags；　and　other　trash；　but　what　was　Wallace　looking　for？　His　daughter's　bones；　picked　clean　and　wrapped　in　a　Times…Picayune　fifteen　years　out　of　date？
　　Christian　straightened　and　turned　away　from　the　window。　He　would　go　down　and　slip　into　the　alley；　he　would　bend　that　dry　old　neck　back；　let　flow　the　old　man's　tasteless　blood…
　　The　first　spasm　hit　him　as　he　was　opening　the　door　to　the　landing。　It　bent　him　nearly　double。　He　leaned　against　the　jamb；　clutching　himself；　trying　to　hold　in　the　blaze　of　green　agony　that　was　burning　its　way　through　his　belly。　This　was　worse　than　the　other　times；　so　much　worse；　surely　the　pain　must　be　ripping　him　apart　inside；　webbing　his　innards　with　tiny　bloody　holes。　His　eyes　squeezed　shut；　and　a　long　shudder　ran　through　him。
　　Christian　moaned　and　twisted　his　head；　clenching　his　teeth；　trying　not　to　scream。　He　had　to　get　to　the　bathroom：　it　was　out　on　the　landing；　shared　by　the　other　apartments　on　the　top　floor　of　the　building。　He　pushed　at　the　door。　It　swung　fully　open；　and　Christian　fell　onto　the　landing；　clumsy　and　agonized；　his　throat　bitter；　his　eyes　hot　and　streaming。
　　〃Jesus；　man；　Jesus。　Are　you　all　right？〃　His　neighbor；　David；　was　just　going　out。　Christian　rolled　onto　his　back　and　looked　helplessly　up　at　David；　the　drop…dead　suit；　the　hair　kept　pathologically　short；　the　sunglasses　he　always　wore；　even　at　night。　Another　spasm　of　pain　washed　over　him；　incredibly　worse　than　the　last；　and　he　curled　around　himself　and　whined　deep　in　his　throat。　Surely　the　tissues　of　his　body　were　b