sk.thetalisman-第161节

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icycle　gear）　in　order　to　see　if　maybe　Mick　Jagger　or　Frank　Sinatra　had　decided　to　pay　them　a　call。　Nope；　just　us；　folks。　Sleep　kept　stealing　him　away。　Once　he　awoke　（Colorado？　Illinois？）　to　the　thumping　of　rock　music；　Wolf　snapping　his　fingers　while　keeping　the　big　car　rolling　smoothly；　a　bursting　sky　of　orange　and　purple　and　blue；　and　saw　that　Richard　had　somewhere　acquired　a　book　and　was　reading　it　with　the　aid　of　the　El　Dorado's　recessed　passenger　light。　The　book　was　Broca's　Brain。　Richard　always　knew　what　time　it　was。　Jack　rolled　his　eyes　upward　and　let　the　music；　the　evening　colors；　take　him。　They　had　done　it；　they　had　done　everything　。　。　。　everything　except　what　they　would　have　to　do　in　an　empty　little　resort　town　in　New　Hampshire。
　　Five　days；　or　one　long；　dreaming　twilight？　'Run　Through　the　Jungle。'　Zoot　Sims's　tenor　saxophone　saying　Here's　a　story　for　you；　do　you　like　this　story？　Richard　was　his　brother；　his　brother。
　　Time　returned　to　him　about　when　the　Talisman　came　back　to　life；　during　the　magical　sunset　of　the　fifth　day。　Oatley；　Jack　thought　on　the　sixth　day。　I　could　have　shown　Richard　the　Oat…ley　tunnel；　and　whatever's　left　of　the　Tap；　I　could　have　shown　Wolf　which　way　to　go　。　。　。　but　he　did　not　want　to　see　Oatley　again；　there　was　no　satisfaction　or　pleasure　in　that。　And　he　was　conscious　now　of　how　close　they　had　e；　of　how　far　they　had　travelled　while　he　drifted　through　time　like　a　whistle。　Wolf　had　brought　them　to　the　great　broad　artery　of　I…95；　now　that　they　were　in　Connecticut；　and　Arcadia　Beach　lay　only　a　few　states　away；　up　the　indented　New　England　coast。　From　now　on　Jack　counted　the　miles；　and　the　minutes；　too。
　　　
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　　At　quarter　past　five　on　the　evening　of　December　21st；　some　three　months　after　Jack　Sawyer　had　set　his　face…and　his　hopes…on　the　west；　a　black　El　Dorado　Cadillac　swung　into　the　crushed…gravel　driveway　of　the　Alhambra　Inn　and　Gardens　in　the　town　of　Arcadia　Beach；　New　Hampshire。　In　the　west；　the　sunset　was　a　mellow　valediction　of　reds　and　oranges　fading　to　yellow　。　。　。　and　blue　。　。　。　and　royal　purple。　In　the　gardens　themselves；　naked　branches　clattered　together　in　a　bitter　winter　wind。　Amid　them；　until　a　day　not　quite　a　week　ago；　had　been　a　tree　which　caught　and　ate　small　animals…chipmunks；　birds；　the　desk　clerk's　starveling；　slat…sided　cat。　This　small　tree　had　died　very　suddenly。　The　other　growing　things　in　the　garden；　though　skeletal　now；　still　bided　with　dormant　life。
　　The　El　Dorado's　steel…belted　radials　popped　and　cracked　over　the　gravel。　From　inside；　muffled　behind　the　polarized　glass；　came　the　sound　of　Creedence　Clearwater　Revival。　'The　people　who　know　my　magic；'　John　Fogerty　sang；　'have　filled　the　land　with　smoke。'
　　The　Cadillac　stopped　in　front　of　the　wide　double　doors。　There　was　only　darkness　beyond　them。　The　double　headlights　went　out　and　the　long　car　stood　in　shadow；　tailpipe　idling　white　exhaust；　orange　parking　lights　gleaming。
　　Here　at　the　end　of　day；　here　at　sunset　with　color　fanning　up　from　the　western　sky　in　glory。
　　Here：
　　Right　here　and　now。
　　　
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　　The　back　of　the　Caddy　was　lit　with　faint；　uncertain　light。　The　Talisman　flickered　。　。　。　but　its　glow　was　weak；　little　more　than　the　glow　of　a　dying　firefly。
　　Richard　turned　slowly　toward　Jack。　His　face　was　wan　and　frightened。　He　was　clutching　Carl　Sagan　with　both　hands；　wringing　the　paperback　the　way　a　washerwoman　might　wring　a　sheet。
　　Richard's　Talisman；　Jack　thought；　and　smiled。　'Jack；　do　you　want…'
　　'No；'　Jack　said。　'Wait　until　I　call。'
　　He　opened　the　rear　right　door；　started　to　get　out　of　the　car；　then　looked　back　at　Richard。　Richard　sat　small　and　shrunken　in　his　seat；　wringing　his　paperback　in　his　hand。　He　looked　miserable。
　　Not　thinking；　Jack　came　back　in　for　a　moment　and　kissed　Richard's　cheek。　Richard　put　his　arms　around　Jack's　neck　for　a　moment；　and　hugged　fiercely。　Then　he　let　Jack　go。　Neither　of　them　said　anything。
　　　
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　　Jack　started　for　the　stairs　leading　up　to　the　lobby…level　。　。　。　and　then　turned　right　and　walked　for　a　moment　to　the　edge　of　the　driveway　instead。　There　was　an　iron　railing　here。　Below　it；　cracked　and　tiered　rock　fell　to　the　beach。　Farther　to　his　right；　standing　against　the　darkling　sky；　was　the　Arcadia　Funworld　roller　coaster。
　　Jack　lifted　his　face　to　the　east。　The　wind　that　was　harrying　through　the　formal　gardens　lifted　his　hair　away　from　his　forehead　and　blew　it　back。
　　He　lifted　the　globe　in　his　hands；　as　if　as　an　offering　to　the　ocean。
　　　
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　　On　December　21st；　1981；　a　boy　named　Jack　Sawyer　stood　near　the　place　where　the　water　and　the　land　came　together；　hands　cradling　an　object　of　some　worth；　looking　out　at　the　night…steady　Atlantic。　He　had　turned　thirteen　years　old　that　day；　although　he　did　not　know　it；　and　he　was　extraordinarily　beautiful。　His　brown　hair　was　long…probably　too　long…but　the　sea…breeze　swept　it　back　from　a　fine；　clear　brow。　He　stood　there　thinking　about　his　mother；　and　about　the　rooms　in　this　place　which　they　had　shared。　Was　she　going　to　turn　on　a　light　up　there？　He　rather　suspected　she　was。
　　
　　Jack　turned；　eyes　flashing　wildly　in　the　Talisman's　light。
　　　
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　　Lily　felt　along　the　wall　with　one　trembling；　skeletal　hand；　groping　for　the　light…switch。　She　found　it　and　turned　it　on。　Anyone　who　had　seen　her　in　that　moment　might　well　have　turned　away。　In　the　last　week　or　so；　the　cancer　had　begun　to　sprint　inside　her；　as　if　sensing　that　something　might　be　on　the　way　which　would　spoil　all　its　fun。　Lily　Cavanaugh　now　weighed　seventy…eight　pounds。　Her　skin　was　sallow；　stretched　over　her　skull　like　parchment。　The　brown　circles　under　her　eyes　had　turned　a　dead　and　final　black；　the　eyes　themselves　stared　from　their　sockets　with　fevered；　exhausted　intelligence。　Her　bosom　was　gone。　The　flesh　on　her　arms　was　gone。　On　her　buttocks　and　the　backs　of　her　thighs；　bedsores　had　begun　to　flower。
　　Nor　was　that　all。　In　the　course　of　the　last　week；　she　had　contracted　pneumonia。
　　In　her　wasted　condition　she　was；　of　course；　a　prime　candidate　for　that　or　any　other　respiratory　disease。　It　might　have　e　under　the　best　of　circumstances　。　。　。　and　these　were　definitely　not　those。　The　radiators　in　the　Alhambra　had　ceased　their　nightly　clankings　some　time　ago。　She　wasn't　sure　just　how　long…time　had　bee　as　fuzzy　and　indefinable　to　her　as　it　had　been　for　Jack　in　the　El　Dorado。　She　only　knew　the　heat　had　gone　out　on　the　same　night　she　had　punched　her　fist　through　the　window；　making　the　gull　that　had　looked　like　Sloat　fly　away。
　　In　the　time　since　that　night　the　Alhambra　had　bee　a　deserted　coldbox。　A　crypt　in　which　she　would　soon　die。
　　If　Sloat　was　responsible　for　what　had　happened　at　the　Alhambra；　he　had　done　one　hell　of　a　good　job。　Everyone　was　gone。　Everyone。　No　more　maids　in　the　halls　trundling　their　squeaky　carts。　No　more　whistling　maintenance　man。　No　more　mealy…mouthed　desk　clerk。　Sloat　had　put　them　all　in　his　pocket　and　taken　them　away。
　　Four　days　ago…when　she　could　not　find　enough　in　the　room　to　satisfy　even　her　birdlike　appetite…she　had　gotten　out　of　bed　and　had　worked　her　way　slowly　down　the　hall　to　the　elevator。　She　brought　a　chair　with　her　on　this　expedition；　alternately　sitting　on　it；　her　head　hanging　in　exhaustion；　and　using　it　as　a　walker。　It　took　her　forty　minutes　to　traverse　forty　feet　of　corridor　to　the　elevator　shaft。
　　She　had　pushed　the　button　for　the　car　repeatedly；　but　the　car　did　not　e。　The　buttons　did　not　even　light。
　　'Fuck　a　duck；'　Lily　muttered　hoarsely；　and　then　slowly　worked　herself　another　twenty　feet　down　the　hall　to　the　stairwell。
　　'Hey！'　she　shouted　downstairs；　and　then　broke　into　a　fit　of　coughing；　bent　over　the　back　of　the　chair。
　　Maybe　they　couldn't　hear　the　yell　but　they　sure　as　shit　must　have　been　able　to　hear　me　coughing　out　whatever's　left　of　my　lungs；　she　thought。
　　But　no　one　came。
　　She　yelled　again；　twice；　had　another　coughing　fit；　and　then　started　back　down　the　hallway；　which　looked　as　long　as　a　stretch　of　Nebraska　turnpike　on　a　clear　day。　She　didn't　dare　go　down　those　stairs。　She　would　never　get　back　up　them。　And　there　was　no　one　down　there；　not　in　the　lobby；　not　in　The　Saddle　of　Lamb；　not　in　the　coffee　shop；　not　anywhere。　And　the　phones　were　out。　At　least；　the　phone　in　her　room　was　out；　and　she　hadn't　heard　a　single　ring　anywhere　else　in　this　old　mausoleum。　Not　worth　it。　A　bad　gamble。　She　didn't　want　to　freeze　to　death　in　the　lobby。
　　'Jack…O；'　she　muttered；　'where　the　hell　are　y…'
　　Then　she　began　to　cough　again　and　this　one　was　really　bad　and　in　the　middle　of　it　she　collapsed　to　one　side　in　a　faint；　pulling　the　ugly　sitting…room　chair　over　on　top　of　her；　and　she　lay　there　on　the　cold　floor　for　nearly　an　hour；　and　that　was　probably　when　the　pneumonia　moved　into　the　rapidly　declining　neighborhood　that　was　Lily　Cavanaugh's　body。　Hey　there；　big　C！　I'm　the　new　kid　on　the　block！　You　can　call　me　big　P！　Race　you　to　the　finish　line！
　　Somehow　she　had　made　it　back　to　her　room；　and　since　then　she　had　existed　in　a　deepening　spiral　of　fever；　listening　to　her　respiration　grow　louder　and　louder　until　her　fevered　mind　began　to　imagine　her　lungs　as　two　organic　aquariums　in　which　a　number　of　submerged　chains　were　rattling。　And