pzb.lostsouls-第59部分

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cked　that　she　did。　He　even　wanted　her　to　quit　smoking　her　unfiltered　Camels：　〃Can't　you　at　least　switch　to　one　of　the　low…tar　brands？〃　he'd　asked；　and　hadn't　understood　why　Ann　burst　out　laughing。　Eliot　couldn't　even　outdrink　her。　What　kind　of　man　got　sleepy　after　drinking　three　Lite　beers？　The　only　thing　Eliot　really　liked　to　drink　was　his　loathsome　gin…and…Cokes。
　　She　couldn't　pretend　that　Eliot　mattered　anymore。　He　had　tried　to　make　Ann　jealous　last　weekend；　telling　her　his　ex…wife　was　ing　to　town。　〃She's　got　no　place　to　stay；〃　Eliot　had　said　innocently；　〃Do　you　think　I　should　offer　to　put　her　up　here？〃　Ann　didn't　give　a　shit。　She　had　not　stayed　in　Missing　Mile　for　Eliot。　She　had　not　stayed　for　Steve。　She　had　stayed　because　of　her　father。　Simon's　strangeness　had　kept　her　here；　kept　her　worried　enough　to　postpone　her　life。　Now　it　was　the　final　thing　that　drove　her　away。　If　Simon　found　out　she　was　pregnant　。　。　。　well；　he　would　think　she　was　stupid。　And　Simon　did　not　suffer　fools　gladly。
　　But　none　of　those　men　mattered　now。　Steve；　Eliot；　Simon　…they　were　just　names　receding　into　her　past；　names　with　none　of　the　susurrant　magic　of　Zillah。　She　whispered　his　name　to　herself　constantly。　It　was　like　the　smooth　taste　of　whipped　cream；　like　a　deep　tongue　kiss。
　　She　drove　out　to　Violin　Road；　but　the　trailer　was　dark。　The　black　van　and　the　silver　Bel　Air　were　gone；　and　there　was　an　air　of　emptiness　about　the　trailer：　already　it　looked　as　if　no　one　had　lived　there　for　a　long　time。　They　were　on　their　way　to　New　Orleans；　then。　Soon　she　would　be　too。
　　Simon's　car　wasn't　there　either；　when　she　drove　home。　She　wanted　to　see　him　one　more　time；　but　she　was　afraid　to。　This　was　how　it　had　to　be。　She　began　to　pack。　What　should　she　put　in　the　one　small　bag　she　would　be　able　to　carry？　She　wished　she　could　take　the　new　series　of　paintings　she　had　begun。　All　of　them　were　unfinished；　all　were　of　faces　with　sly　pink　smiles　and　iridescent　green　eyes。　But　those　would　have　to　stay。　She　wouldn't　need　them　in　New　Orleans。　Instead　she　packed　her　black　lace　underwear　and　two　pairs　of　old　pink　cotton　panties。　Her　toothbrush；　her　cigarettes；　her　little　wooden　pipe　and　her　film　can；　which　contained　three　pinches　of　marijuana　she'd　cadged　off　Terry。　She　might　need　to　sneak　a　toke　in　some　bus　station　bathroom　between　here　and　New　Orleans。　Somewhere　in　the　swamps。
　　There　were　a　few　crumbly　leaves　left　in　the　bottom　of　her　bowl；　so　she　sneaked　a　toke　now。　It　put　her　at　loose　ends。　She　stood　staring　around　at　her　possessions；　suddenly　feeling　unable　to　leave　anything　behind。　Her　mourning　hat　with　the　little　black　veil；　her　record　collection。　The　R。E。M。　poster　on　the　wall　stared　down　at　her。　Stipe's　eyes　were　like　loss。　Peter　Buck's　were　like　dark　fire。　How　could　she　leave　her　posters；　her　clothes；　her　canvases　and　paint　box？
　　Frenziedly　she　snatched　at　a　black　lace　scarf　and　tied　it　around　her　throat。　That；　at　least；　would　go　with　her。　She　put　on　a　string　of　ebony　beads；　a　gray　sweatshirt；　a　skirt　with　a　torn　silk　lining。　She　was　caught　in　the　mirror；　adding　lipstick　and　silver　eyeshadow　（in　just　eighteen　hours　or　so　she　might　see　her　true　love　again；　she　must　look　beautiful）；　when　she　heard　Simon　at　the　front　door。　She　snatched　off　her　beret　and　with　the　side　of　her　foot　shoved　the　suitcase　under　the　bed。
　　Ann　heard　him　stepping　carefully　through　the　mess　in　the　living　room。　Picking　his　way　through　the　piles　of　books　and　newspapers；　emphasizing　how　untidy　the　room　was。　He　dragged　the　books　off　the　shelves；　he　read　the　newspapers；　but　she　was　supposed　to　keep　the　house　picked　up。　That　was　one　of　her　duties。　Simon　was　very　big　on　duties。　Sometimes　she　wondered　whether　he　didn't　strew　his　things　around　just　to　make　the　absence　of　liquor　bottles　more　obvious。　He　said　he　had　not　taken　a　drink　for　five　years；　six　months；　and　twenty　days；　and　Simon　was　never　wrong。
　　Here　he　was　at　the　doorway；　small　and　spare。　His　hair；　unbed　for　days；　flared　wildly　about　his　head。　It　was　thick　and　snow…white；　his　skin　was　almost　phosphorescent　in　the　gloom　of　the　hallway。　In　the　summer　Ann　worried　about　her　father's　health。　He　had　e　over　from　Dorchester　twenty　years　ago；　but　the　hot；　humid　summers　here　still　made　him　droop。　He　was　like　some　glacial　plant　whose　fragile　structure　was　supported　by　ice　crystals；　his　hair　went　limp；　he　perspired　from　the　dark　bags　beneath　his　eyes。　But　in　the　winter　he　exuded　a　kind　of　mad　vitality。
　　Suddenly　she　was　sure　he　would　be　able　to　read　her　mind；　or　look　through　the　mattress　and　see　the　suitcase　beneath　it。　He　would　begin　to　argue　with　her；　calmly；　reasonably。　But　his　argument　would　be　slippery。　There　would　be　no　tail　end　she　could　grab　onto　so　that　she　might　argue　back。　In　ten　minutes　she　would　feel　as　if　she　were　trying　to　wind　up　earthworms　on　a　spoon。　In　half　an　hour　she　would　feel　as　if　she　were　trying　to　drive　a　nail　through　a　blob　of　mercury。　In　an　hour　or　two　or　three；　he　would　have　her　talked　out　of　the　whole　stupid　notion。　She　would　not　go　to　the　Greyhound　station；　would　not　catch　the　all…night　express　to　New　Orleans。　She　would　never　see　Zillah　again。
　　Simon　had　talked　her　out　of　so　many　things。
　　But　all　he　said　now　was　〃Good　evening；　daughter。〃
　　As　always；　the　form　of　address　half…annoyed　her　and　half…warmed　her。　〃Hi；　Simon；〃　she　said。　
　　〃Your　day　was。。。？〃　
　　〃Rawther　shitty。〃
　　He　nodded　and　allowed　himself　the　slant　of　a　smile。　Ann's　voice　had　as　much　of　a　Carolina　twang　as　her　mother's　had　had；　but　she　knew　it　amused　him　when　she　imitated　his　accent。　〃As　was　mine。　I　dissected　three　toads　today。　There　was　no　change　in　any　of　them。〃
　　Simon　had　taught　once；　so　the　story　went；　at　one　of　the　Great　Universities　of　the　World。　Ann　wasn't　sure　where。　He　hinted　at　Germany；　France；　the　United　Kingdom。　Now　retired；　he　spent　the　days　in　his　study　trying　to　change　the　chemical　position　of　various　types　of　blood。　Until　recently　he　had　used　his　own；　and　sometimes　hers；　once　Steve；　drunk　off　his　ass；　had　offered　a　sample。
　　But　lately　Simon　had　been　getting　into　animals。　Ann　had　pitched　a　crying　fit　the　day　she　found　him　cutting　up　the　lusterless　carcass　of　Sarah　Jane；　a　black…and…white　kitten　she'd　been　feeding　on　the　back　steps。　Since　then；　as　far　as　she　knew；　he　had　stuck　to　using　mice　from　the　Woolworth's　in　Corinth　and　toads　he　caught　in　the　vacant　lot　next　door。　He　injected　the　toads　with　varying　amounts　of　his　own　blood　and　sometimes　with　liquid　LSD。　Mostly　they　jumped　around　a　lot。
　　Over　the　rims　of　his　glasses　Simon　looked　at　her　oddly。　〃Were　you　thinking　of　going　out　tonight；　Ann？〃
　　Involuntarily　she　glanced　at　the　space　beneath　her　bed。　The　bed　skirt　hid　the　suitcase；　but　again　she　felt　sure　that　her　father　could　see　through　mere　cloth；　that　he　knew　her　intentions。　〃I　might　go　down　to　the　Yew；〃　she　said。
　　〃You　aren't　going　to　see　Steve；　are　you？　After　the　way　he　dishonored　you？〃　She　had　told　her　father　only　that　Steve　had　slapped　her。　For　once；　with　rare　sensitivity；　he　had　not　pressed　the　issue。
　　〃No；　Simon；〃　she　said。　〃I'm　not　going　to　see　Steve。〃　
　　〃Or　his　peculiar　friend？〃
　　〃Simon；　Ghost　isn't　〃She　stopped。　There　was　no　point　saying　Ghost　wasn't　peculiar；　that　wasn't　what　she　meant　anyway。　〃Ghost　never　did　anything　to　me；〃　she　finished。　
　　〃I　wish　you　wouldn't　go　out　tonight；　daughter。〃
　　She　looked　at　him。　〃Are　you　requesting　or　ordering？〃　
　　〃I　have　your　best　interests　in　mind；〃　he　said　frostily。　Ann　rubbed　her　wrists。　At　sixteen　she　had　e　home　roaring　drunk　one　night。　Simon　was　still　drinking　then　too；　but　that　didn't　make　him　any　more　passionate。　He　trussed　her　to　her　own　bedposts　with　rope　and　kept　her　tied　there　for　seven　hours；　until　she　pissed　herself　and　begged　him　to　forgive　her　stupidity。　The　memory　of　the　chafing　had　never　quite　gone　away。
　　〃So　I'm　not　supposed　to　go　out　tonight；〃　she　said。　〃I'm　supposed　to　stay　home　and　wait　on　you。〃　Defeat　welled　in　her。　Why　did　Simon　have　to　get　his　way　every　damn　time？　
　　Maybe　he　didn't。
　　She　looked　up　at　him　again；　this　time　trying　to　make　her　eyes　submissive；　to　wipe　away　the　frigid　hurt　from　his　face。　〃I'm　sorry；　Daddy。〃　That　would　get　him　for　sure。　〃Had　a　long　day　at　work。　Why　don't　yo