sk.thetalisman-第3节

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　　　CHAPTER　2
　　　The　Funnel　Opens
　　　
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　　It　was　a　day　later；　but　Jack　Sawyer　was　no　wiser。　He　had；　however；　had　one　of　the　greatest　nightmares　of　all　time　last　night。　In　it；　some　terrible　creature　had　been　ing　for　his　mother…a　dwarfish　monstrosity　with　misplaced　eyes　and　rotting；　cheesy　skin。　'Your　mother's　almost　dead；　Jack；　can　you　say　hallelujah？'　this　monstrosity　had　croaked；　and　Jack　knew…the　way　you　knew　things　in　dreams…that　it　was　radioactive；　and　that　if　it　touched　him；　he　would　die；　too。　He　had　awakened　with　his　body　drenched　in　sweat；　on　the　edge　of　a　bitter　scream。　It　took　the　steady　pounding　of　the　surf　to　reacquaint　him　with　where　he　was；　and　it　was　hours　before　he　could　go　back　to　sleep。
　　He　had　meant　to　tell　his　mother　about　the　dream　this　morning；　but　Lily　had　been　sour　and　unmunicative；　hiding　in　a　cloud　of　cigarette　smoke。　It　was　only　as　he　started　out　of　the　hotel　coffee　shop　on　some　trumped…up　errand　that　she　smiled　at　him　a　little。
　　'Think　about　what　you　want　to　eat　tonight。'
　　'Yeah？'
　　'Yeah。　Anything　but　fast　food。　I　did　not　e　all　the　way　from　L。A。　to　New　Hampshire　in　order　to　poison　myself　with　hotdogs。'
　　'Let's　try　one　of　those　seafood　places　in　Hampton　Beach；'　Jack　said。
　　'Fine。　Go　on　and　play。'
　　Go　on　and　play；　Jack　thought　with　a　bitterness　utterly　unlike　him。　Oh　yeah；　Mom；　way　to　go。　Too　cool。　Go　on　and　play。　With　who？　Mom；　why　are　you　here？　Why　are　we　here？　How　sick　are　you？　How　e　you　won't　talk　to　me　about　Uncle　Tommy？　What's　Uncle　Morgan　up　to？　What…
　　Questions；　questions。　And　not　one　of　them　worth　a　darned　thing；　because　there　was　no　one　to　answer　them。
　　Unless　Speedy…
　　But　that　was　ridiculous；　how　could　one　old　black　man　he'd　just　met　solve　any　of　his　problems？
　　Still；　the　thought　of　Speedy　Parker　danced　at　the　edge　of　his　mind　as　Jack　ambled　across　the　boardwalk　and　down　to　the　depressingly　empty　beach。
　　　
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　　This　is　where　the　world　ends；　right？　Jack　thought　again。
　　Seagulls　coursed　the　gray　air　overhead。　The　calendar　said　it　was　still　summer；　but　summer　ended　here　at　Arcadia　Beach　on　Labor　Day。　The　silence　was　gray　as　the　air。
　　He　looked　down　at　his　sneakers　and　saw　that　there　was　some　sort　of　tarry　goo　on　them。　Beach　crud；　he　thought。　Some　kind　of　pollution。　He　had　no　idea　where　he　had　picked　it　up　and　he　stepped　back　from　the　edge　of　the　water；　uneasy。
　　The　gulls　in　the　air；　swooping　and　crying。　One　of　them　screamed　overhead　and　he　heard　a　flat　cracking　that　was　almost　metallic。　He　turned　in　time　to　see　it　e　in　for　a　fluttering；　awkward　landing　on　a　hump　of　rock。　The　gull　turned　its　head　in　rapid；　almost　robotic　movements；　as　if　to　verify　it　was　alone；　and　then　it　hopped　down　to　where　the　clam　it　had　dropped　lay　on　the　smooth；　hard…packed　sand。　The　clam　had　cracked　open　like　an　egg　and　Jack　saw　raw　meat　inside；　still　twitching　。　。　。　or　perhaps　that　was　his　imagination。
　　Don't　want　to　see　this。
　　But　before　he　could　turn　away；　the　gull's　yellow；　hooked　beak　was　pulling　at　the　meat；　stretching　it　like　a　rubber　band；　and　he　felt　his　stomach　knot　into　a　slick　fist。　In　his　mind　he　could　hear　that　stretched　tissue　screaming…nothing　coherent；　only　stupid　flesh　crying　out　in　pain。
　　He　tried　to　look　away　from　the　seagull　again　and　he　couldn't。　The　gull's　beak　opened；　giving　him　a　brief　glimpse　of　dirty　pink　gullet。　The　clam　snapped　back　into　its　cracked　shell　and　for　a　moment　the　gull　was　looking　at　him；　its　eyes　a　deadly　black；　confirming　every　horrible　truth：　fathers　die；　mothers　die；　uncles　die　even　if　they　went　to　Yale　and　look　as　solid　as　bank　walls　in　their　three…piece　Savile　Row　suits。　Kids　die　too；　maybe　。　。　。　and　at　the　end　all　there　may　be　is　the　stupid；　unthinking　scream　of　living　tissue。
　　'Hey；'　Jack　said　aloud；　not　aware　he　was　doing　anything　but　thinking　inside　his　own　head。　'Hey；　give　me　a　break。'　
　　The　gull　sat　over　its　catch；　regarding　him　with　its　beady　black　eyes。　Then　it　began　to　dig　at　the　meat　again。　Want　some；　Jack？　It's　still　twitching！　By　God；　it's　so　fresh　it　hardly　knows　it's　dead！
　　The　strong　yellow　beak　hooked　into　the　meat　again　and　pulled。　Strettttchhhhhh…
　　It　snapped。　The　gull's　head　went　up　toward　the　gray　September　sky　and　its　throat　worked。　And　again　it　seemed　to　be　looking　at　him；　the　way　the　eyes　in　some　pictures　seemed　always　to　look　at　you　no　matter　where　you　went　in　the　room。　And　the　eyes　。　。　。　he　knew　those　eyes。
　　Suddenly　he　wanted　his　mother…her　dark　blue　eyes。　He　could　not　remember　wanting　her　with　such　desperation　since　he　had　been　very；　very　small。　La…la；　he　heard　her　sing　inside　his　head；　and　her　voice　was　the　wind's　voice；　here　for　now；　somewhere　else　all　too　soon。　La…la；　sleep　now；　Jacky；　baby…bunting；　daddy's　gone　a…hunting。　And　all　that　jazz。　Memories　of　being　rocked；　his　mother　smoking　one　Herbert　Tareyton　after　another；　maybe　looking　at　a　script…blue　pages；　she　called　them；　he　remembered　that：　blue　pages。　La…la；　Jacky；　all　is　cool。　I　love　you；　Jacky。　Shhh　。　。　。　sleep。　La…la。
　　The　gull　was　looking　at　him。
　　With　sudden　horror　that　engorged　his　throat　like　hot　salt　water　he　saw　it　really　was　looking　at　him。　Those　black　eyes　（whose？）　were　seeing　him。　And　he　knew　that　look。
　　A　raw　strand　of　flesh　still　dangled　from　the　gull's　beak。　As　he　looked；　the　gull　sucked　it　in。　Its　beak　opened　in　a　weird　but　unmistakable　grin。
　　He　turned　then　and　ran；　head　down；　eyes　shut　against　the　hot　salt　tears；　sneakers　digging　against　the　sand；　and　if　there　was　a　way　to　go　up；　go　up　and　up；　up　to　some　gull's…eye　view；　one　would　have　seen　only　him；　only　his　tracks；　in　all　that　gray　day；　Jack　Sawyer；　twelve　and　alone；　running　back　toward　the　inn；　Speedy　Parker　forgotten；　his　voice　nearly　lost　in　tears　and　wind；　crying　the　negative　over　and　over　again：　no　and　no　and　no。
　　　
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　　He　paused　at　the　top　of　the　beach；　out　of　breath。　A　hot　stitch　ran　up　his　left　side　from　the　middle　of　his　ribs　to　the　deepest　part　of　his　armpit。　He　sat　down　on　one　of　the　benches　the　town　put　out　for　old　people　and　pushed　his　hair　out　of　his　eyes。
　　Got　to　get　control　of　yourself。　If　Sergeant　Fury　goes　Section　Eight；　who's　gonna　lead　the　Howling　mandos？
　　He　smiled　and　actually　did　feel　a　little　better。　From　up　here；　fifty　feet　from　the　water；　things　looked　a　little　better。　Maybe　it　was　the　change　in　barometric　pressure；　or　something。　What　had　happened　to　Uncle　Tommy　was　horrible；　but　he　supposed　he　would　get　over　it；　learn　to　accept。　That　was　what　his　mother　said；　anyway。　Uncle　Morgan　had　been　unusually　pesty　just　lately；　but　then；　Uncle　Morgan　had　always　been　sort　of　a　pest。
　　As　for　his　mother　。　。　。　well；　that　was　the　big　one；　wasn't　it？　
　　Actually；　he　thought；　sitting　on　the　bench　and　digging　at　the　verge　of　the　sand　beyond　the　boardwalk　with　one　toe；　actually　his　mother　might　still　be　all　right。　She　could　be　all　right；　it　was　certainly　possible。　After　all；　no　one　had　e　right　out　and　said　it　was　the　big　C；　had　they？　No。　If　she　had　cancer；　she　wouldn't　have　brought　him　here；　would　she？　More　likely　they'd　be　in　Switzerland；　with　his　mother　taking　cold　mineral　baths　and　scoffing　goat…glands；　or　something。　And　she　would　do　it；　too。
　　So　maybe…
　　A　low；　dry　whispering　sound　intruded　on　his　consciousness。　He　looked　down　and　his　eyes　widened。　The　sand　had　begun　to　move　by　the　instep　of　his　left　sneaker。　The　fine　white　grains　were　sliding　around　in　a　small　circle　perhaps　a　finger's　length　in　diameter。　The　sand　in　the　middle　of　this　circle　suddenly　collapsed；　so　that　now　there　was　a　dimple　in　the　sand。　It　was　maybe　two　inches　deep。　The　sides　of　this　dimple　were　also　in　motion：　around　and　around；　moving　in　rapid　counterclockwise　circuits。
　　Not　real；　he　told　himself　immediately；　but　his　heart　began　to　speed　up　again。　His　breathing　also　began　to　e　faster。　Not　real；　it's　one　of　the　Daydreams；　that's　all；　or　maybe　it's　a　crab　or　something　。　。　。
　　But　it　wasn't　a　crab　and　it　wasn't　one　of　the　Daydreams…this　was　not　the　other　place；　the　one　he　dreamed　about　when　things　were　boring　or　maybe　a　little　scary；　and　it　sure　as　hell　wasn't　any　crab。
　　The　sand　spun　faster；　the　sound　arid　and　dry；　making　him　think　of　static　electricity；　of　an　experiment　they　had　done　in　science　last　year　with　a　Leyden　jar。　But　more　than　either　of　these；　the　minute　sound　was　like　a　long　lunatic　gasp；　the　final　breath　of　a　dying　man。
　　More　sand　collapsed　inward　and　began　to　spin。　Now　it　was　not　a　dimple；　it　was　a　funnel　in　the　sand；　a　kind　of　reverse　dust…devil。　The　bright　yellow　of　a　gum　wrapper　was　revealed；　covered；　revealed；　covered；　revealed　again…each　time　it　showed　up　again。　Jack　could　read　more　of　it　as　the　funnel　grew：　JU；　then　JUI；　then　JUICY　F。　The　funnel　grew　and　the　sand　was　jerked　away　from　the　gum　wrapper　again。　It　was　as　quick　and　rude　as　an　unfriendly　hand　jerking　down　the　covers　on　a　made　bed。　JUICY　FRUIT；　he　read；　and　then　the　wrapper　flapped　upward。
　　The　sand　turned　faster　and　faster；　in　a　hissing　fury。　Hhhhh…haaaaahhhhhhhh　was　the　sound　the　sand　made。　Jack　stared　at　it；　fascinated　at　first；　and　then　horrified。　The　sand　was　opening　like　a　large　dark　eye：　it　was　the　eye　of　the　gull　that　had　dropped　the　clam　on　the　rock　and　then　pulled　the　livin