sk.thetalisman-第128节

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　　'Felt　okay　until　a　second　or　two　ago；'　Richard　said　in　that　same　tiny；　whistling　voice。　His　respiration　was　very　fast；　very　dry。　His　eyes　were　half…closed。　Jack　could　only　see　whites　and　tiny　arcs　of　blue　irises。　'Just　got　。　。　。　faint。　Sorry。'　
　　From　behind　them　came　another　heavy；　belching　explosion；　followed　by　the　rattling　sound　of　train…debris　falling　on　the　tin　roof　of　the　Quonset　hut。　Jack　glanced　that　way；　then　anxiously　up　the　tracks。
　　'Can　you　hang　on　to　me？　I'll　piggyback　you　a　ways。'　Shades　of　Wolf；　he　thought。
　　'I　can　hang　on。'
　　'If　you　can't；　say　so。'
　　'Jack；'　Richard　said　with　a　heartening　trace　of　that　old　fussy　Richard…irritation；　'if　I　couldn't　hang　on；　I　wouldn't　say　I　could。'　
　　Jack　set　Richard　on　his　feet。　Richard　stood　there；　swaying；　looking　as　if　someone　could　blow　once　in　his　face　and　topple　him　over　backward。　Jack　turned　and　squatted；　the　soles　of　his　sneakers　on　one　of　the　old　rotted　ties。　He　made　his　arms　into　thigh…stirrups；　and　Richard　put　his　own　arms　around　Jack's　neck。　Jack　got　to　his　feet　and　started　to　shag　along　the　crossties　at　a　fast　walk　that　was　very　nearly　a　jog。　Carrying　Richard　seemed　to　be　no　problem　at　all；　and　not　just　because　Richard　had　lost　weight。　Jack　had　been　running　kegs　of　beer；　carrying　cartons；　picking　apples。　He　had　spent　time　picking　rocks　in　Sunlight　Gardener's　Far　Field；　can　you　gimme　hallelujah。　It　had　toughened　him；　all　of　that。　But　the　toughening　went　deeper　into　the　fiber　of　his　essential　self　than　something　as　simple　and　mindless　as　physical　exercise　could　go。　Nor　was　all　of　it　a　simple　function　of　flipping　back　and　forth　between　the　two　worlds　like　an　acrobat；　or　of　that　other　world…gorgeous　as　it　could　be…rubbing　off　on　him　like　wet　paint。　Jack　recognized　in　a　dim　sort　of　way　that　he　had　been　trying　to　do　more　than　simply　save　his　mother's　life；　from　the　very　beginning　he　had　been　trying　to　do　something　greater　than　that。　He　had　been　trying　to　do　a　good　work；　and　his　dim　realization　now　was　that　such　mad　enterprises　must　always　be　toughening。
　　He　did　begin　to　jog。
　　'If　you　make　me　seasick；'　Richard　said；　his　voice　jiggling　in　time　with　Jack's　footfalls；　'I'll　just　vomit　on　your　head。'
　　'I　knew　I　could　count　on　you；　Richie…boy；'　Jack　panted；　grinning。
　　'I　feel　。　。　。　extremely　foolish　up　here。　Like　a　human　pogo　stick。'
　　'Probably　just　how　you　look；　chum。'
　　'Don't　。　。　。　call　me　chum；'　Richard　whispered；　and　Jack's　grin　widened。　He　thought；　Oh　Richard；　you　bastard；　live　forever。
　　　
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　　'I　knew　that　man；'　Richard　whispered　from　above　Jack。
　　It　startled　him；　as　if　out　of　a　doze。　He　had　picked　Richard　up　ten　minutes　ago；　they　had　covered　another　mile；　and　there　was　still　no　sign　of　civilization　of　any　kind。　Just　the　tracks；　and　that　smell　of　salt　in　the　air。
　　The　tracks；　Jack　wondered。　Do　they　go　where　I　think　they　go？
　　'What　man？'
　　'The　man　with　the　whip　and　the　machine…pistol。　I　knew　him。　I　used　to　see　him　around。'
　　'When？'　Jack　panted。
　　'A　long　time　ago。　When　I　was　a　little　kid。'　Richard　then　added　with　great　reluctance；　'Around　the　time　that　I　had　that　。　。　。　that　funny　dream　in　the　closet。'　He　paused。　'Except　I　guess　it　wasn't　a　dream；　was　it？'
　　'No。　I　guess　it　wasn't。'
　　'Yes。　Was　the　man　with　the　whip　Reuel's　dad？'
　　'What　do　you　think？'
　　'It　was；'　Richard　said　glumly。　'Sure　it　was。'　
　　Jack　stopped。
　　'Richard；　where　do　these　tracks　go？'
　　'You　know　where　they　go；'　Richard　said　with　a　strange；　empty　serenity。
　　'Yeah…I　think　I　do。　But　I　want　to　hear　you　say　it。'　Jack　paused。　'I　guess　I　need　to　hear　you　say　it。　Where　do　they　go？'
　　'They　go　to　a　town　called　Point　Venuti；'　Richard　said；　and　he　sounded　near　tears　again。　'There's　a　big　hotel　there。　I　don't　know　if　it's　the　place　you're　looking　for　or　not；　but　I　think　it　probably　is。'
　　'So　do　I；'　Jack　said。　He　set　off　once　more；　Richard's　legs　in　his　arms；　a　growing　ache　in　his　back；　following　the　tracks　that　would　take　him…both　of　them…to　the　place　where　his　mother's　salvation　might　be　found。
　　　
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　　As　they　walked；　Richard　talked。　He　did　not　e　on　to　the　subject　of　his　father's　involvement　in　this　mad　business　all　at　once；　but　began　to　circle　slowly　in　toward　it。
　　'I　knew　that　man　from　before；'　Richard　said。　'I'm　pretty　sure　I　did。　He　came　to　the　house。　Always　to　the　back　of　the　house。　He　didn't　ring　the　bell；　or　knock。　He　kind　of　。　。　。　scratched　on　the　door。　It　gave　me　the　creeps。　Scared　me　so　bad　I　felt　like　peeing　my　pants。　He　was　a　tall　man…oh；　all　grown　men　seem　tall　to　little　kids；　but　this　guy　was　very　tall…and　he　had　white　hair。　He　wore　dark　glasses　most　of　the　time。　Or　sometimes　the　kind　of　sunglasses　that　have　the　mirror　lenses。　When　I　saw　that　story　on　him　they　had　on　Sunday　Report；　I　knew　I'd　seen　him　somewhere　before。　My　father　was　upstairs　doing　some　paperwork　the　night　that　show　was　on。　I　was　sitting　in　front　of　the　tube；　and　when　my　father　came　in　and　saw　what　was　on；　he　almost　dropped　the　drink　he　was　holding。　Then　he　changed　the　station　to　a　Star　Trek　rerun。
　　'Only　the　guy　wasn't　calling　himself　Sunlight　Gardener　when　he　used　to　e　and　see　my　father。　His　name　。　。　。　I　can't　quite　remember。　But　it　was　something　like　Banlon　。　。　。　or　Orlon　。　。　。'
　　'Osmond？'　
　　Richard　brightened。　'That　was　it。　I　never　heard　his　first　name。　But　he　used　to　e　once　every　month　or　two。　Sometimes　more　often。　Once　he　came　almost　every　other　night；　for　a　week；　and　then　he　was　gone　for　almost　half　a　year。　I　used　to　lock　myself　in　my　room　when　he　came。　I　didn't　like　his　smell。　He　wore　some　kind　of　scent　。　。　。　cologne；　I　suppose；　but　it　really　smelled　stronger　than　that。　Like　perfume。　Cheap　dime…store　perfume。　But　underneath　it…'
　　'Underneath　it　he　smelled　like　he　hadn't　had　a　bath　for　about　ten　years。'　
　　Richard　looked　at　him；　wide…eyed。
　　'I　met　him　as　Osmond；　too；'　Jack　explained。　He　had　explained　before…at　least　some　of　this…but　Richard　had　not　been　listening　then。　He　was　listening　now。　'In　the　Territories　version　of　New　Hampshire；　before　I　met　him　as　Sunlight　Gardener　in　Indiana。'
　　'Then　you　must　have　seen　that　。　。　。　that　thing。'
　　'Reuel？'　Jack　shook　his　head。　'Reuel　must　have　been　out　in　the　Blasted　Lands　then；　having　a　few　more　radical　cobalt　treatments。'　Jack　thought　of　the　running　sores　on　the　creature's　face；　thought　of　the　worms。　He　looked　at　his　red；　puffy　wrists　where　the　worms　had　bitten；　and　shuddered。　'I　never　saw　Reuel　until　the　end；　and　I　never　saw　his　American　Twin…ner　at　all。　How　old　were　you　when　Osmond　started　showing　up？'
　　'I　must　have　been　four。　The　thing　about　the　。　。　。　you　know；　the　closet　。　。　。　that　hadn't　happened　yet。　I　remember　I　was　more　afraid　of　him　after　that。'
　　'After　the　thing　touched　you　in　the　closet。'
　　'Yes。'
　　'And　that　happened　when　you　were　five。'
　　'Yes。'
　　'When　we　were　both　five。'
　　'Yes。　You　can　put　me　down。　I　can　walk　for　a　while。'　
　　Jack　did。　They　walked　in　silence；　heads　down；　not　looking　at　each　other。　At　five；　something　had　reached　out　of　the　dark　and　touched　Richard。　When　they　were　both　six
　　（six；　Jacky　was　six）
　　Jack　had　overheard　his　father　and　Morgan　Sloat　talking　about　a　place　they　went　to；　a　place　that　Jacky　called　the　Daydream…country。　And　later　that　year；　something　had　reached　out　of　the　dark　and　had　touched　him　and　his　mother。　It　had　been　nothing　more　or　less　than　Morgan　Sloat's　voice。　Morgan　Sloat　calling　from　Green　River；　Utah。　Sobbing。　He；　Phil　Sawyer；　and　Tommy　Woodbine　had　left　three　days　before　on　their　yearly　November　hunting　trip…another　college　chum；　Randy　Glover；　owned　a　luxurious　hunting　lodge　in　Blessing…ton；　Utah。　Glover　usually　hunted　with　them；　but　that　year　he　had　been　cruising　in　the　Caribbean。　Morgan　called　to　say　that　Phil　had　been　shot；　apparently　by　another　hunter。　He　and　Tommy　Woodbine　had　packed　him　out　of　the　wilderness　on　a　lashed…together　stretcher。　Phil　had　regained　consciousness　in　the　back　of　Glover's　Jeep　Cherokee；　Morgan　said；　and　had　asked　that　Morgan　send　his　love　to　Lily　and　Jack。　He　died　fifteen　minutes　later；　as　Morgan　drove　wildly　toward　Green　River　and　the　nearest　hospital。
　　Morgan　had　not　killed　Phil；　there　was　Tommy　to　testify　that　the　three　of　them　had　been　together　when　the　shot　rang　out；　if　any　testimony　had　ever　been　required　（and；　of　course；　none　ever　was）。
　　But　that　was　not　to　say　he　couldn't　have　hired　it　done；　Jack　thought　now。　And　it　was　not　to　say　that　Uncle　Tommy　might　not　have　harbored　his　own　long　doubts　about　what　had　happened。　If　so；　maybe　Uncle　Tommy　hadn't　been　killed　just　so　that　Jack　and　his　dying　mother　would　be　totally　unprotected　from　Morgan's　depredations。　Maybe　he　had　died　because　Morgan　was　tired　of　wondering　if　the　old　faggot　might　finally　hint　to　the　surviving　son　that　there　might　have　been　more　to　Phil　Sawyer's　death　than　an　accident。　Jack　felt　his　skin　crawl　with　dismay　and　revulsion。
　　'Was　that　man　around　before　your　father　and　my　father　went　hunting　together　that　last　time？'　Jack　asked　fiercely。
　　'Jack；　I　was　four　years　old…'
　　'No；　you　weren't；　you　were　six。　You　were　four　when　he　started　ing；　you　were　six　when　my　father　got　killed　in　Utah。　And　you　don't　forget　much；　Richard。　Did　he　e　around