sk.thetalisman-第31节

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　he　turned　that　way　and　began　to　walk。　Forty　minutes　later；　drooping　with　weariness　（and　hungry　again；　which　was　somehow　worse）；　he　saw　a　gravel…pit　with　a　shed　of　some　sort　standing　beyond　a　chained…off　access　road。
　　Jack　ducked　under　the　chain　and　went　to　the　shed。　The　door　was　padlocked　shut；　but　he　saw　that　the　earth　had　eroded　under　one　side　of　the　small　outbuilding。　It　was　the　work　of　a　minute　to　remove　his　pack；　wriggle　under　the　shed's　side；　and　then　pull　the　pack　in　after　him。　The　lock　on　the　door　actually　made　him　feel　safer。
　　He　looked　around　and　saw　that　he　was　in　with　some　very　old　tools…this　place　hadn't　been　used　in　a　long　time；　apparently；　and　that　suited　Jack　just　fine。　He　stripped　to　the　skin；　not　liking　the　feel　of　his　clammy；　muddy　clothes。　He　felt　the　coin　Captain　Farren　had　given　him　in　one　of　his　pants　pockets；　resting　there　like　a　giant　amid　his　little　bit　of　more　ordinary　change。　Jack　took　it　out　and　saw　that　Farren's　coin；　with　the　Queen's　head　on　one　side　and　the　winged　lion　on　the　other…had　bee　a　1921　silver　dollar。　He　looked　fixedly　at　the　profile　of　Lady　Liberty　on　the　cartwheel　for　some　time；　and　then　slipped　it　back　into　the　pocket　of　his　jeans。
　　He　rooted　out　fresh　clothes；　thinking　he　would　put　the　dirty　ones　in　his　pack　in　the　morning…they　would　be　dry　then…and　perhaps　clean　them　along　the　way；　maybe　in　a　Laundromat；　maybe　just　in　a　handy　stream。
　　While　searching　for　socks；　his　hand　encountered　something　slim　and　hard。　Jack　pulled　it　out　and　saw　it　was　his　toothbrush。　At　once；　images　of　home　and　safety　and　rationality…all　the　things　a　toothbrush　could　represent…rose　up　and　overwhelmed　him。　There　was　no　way　that　he　could　beat　these　emotions　down　or　turn　them　aside　this　time。　A　toothbrush　was　a　thing　meant　to　be　seen　in　a　well…lighted　bathroom；　a　thing　to　be　used　with　cotton　pajamas　on　the　body　and　warm　slippers　on　the　feet。　It　was　nothing　to　e　upon　in　the　bottom　of　your　knapsack　in　a　cold；　dark　toolshed　on　the　edge　of　a　gravel…pit　in　a　deserted　rural　town　whose　name　you　did　not　even　know。
　　Loneliness　raged　through　him；　his　realization　of　his　outcast　status　was　now　plete。　Jack　began　to　cry。　He　did　not　weep　hysterically　or　shriek　as　people　do　when　they　mask　rage　with　tears；　he　cried　in　the　steady　sobs　of　one　who　has　discovered　just　how　alone　he　is；　and　is　apt　to　remain　for　a　long　time　yet。　He　cried　because　all　safety　and　reason　seemed　to　have　departed　from　the　world。　Loneliness　was　here；　a　reality；　but　in　this　situation；　insanity　was　also　too　much　of　a　possibility。
　　Jack　fell　asleep　before　the　sobs　had　entirely　run　their　course。　He　slept　curled　around　his　pack；　naked　except　for　clean　underpants　and　socks。　The　tears　had　cut　clean　courses　down　his　dirty　cheeks；　and　he　held　his　toothbrush　loosely　in　one　hand。
　　
　　　CHAPTER　8
　　　The　Oatley　Tunnel
　　　
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　　Six　days　later；　Jack　had　climbed　nearly　all　the　way　out　of　his　despair。　By　the　end　of　his　first　days　on　the　road；　he　seemed　to　himself　to　have　grown　from　childhood　right　through　adolescence　into　adulthood…into　petence。　It　was　true　that　he　had　not　returned　to　the　Territories　since　he　had　awakened　on　the　western　bank　of　the　river；　but　he　could　rationalize　that；　and　the　slower　travelling　it　involved；　by　telling　himself　that　he　was　saving　Speedy's　juice　for　when　he　really　needed　it。
　　And　anyhow；　hadn't　Speedy　told　him　to　travel　mainly　on　the　roads　in　this　world？　Just　following　orders；　pal。
　　When　the　sun　was　up　and　the　cars　whirled　by　him　thirty；　forty　miles　west　and　his　stomach　was　full；　the　Territories　seemed　unbelievably　distant　and　dreamlike：　they　were　like　a　movie　he　was　beginning　to　forget；　a　temporary　fantasy。　Sometimes；　when　Jack　leaned　back　into　the　passenger　seat　of　some　schoolteacher's　car　and　answered　the　usual　questions　about　the　Story；　he　actually　did　forget。　The　Territories　left　him；　and　he　was　again…or　nearly　so…the　boy　he　had　been　at　the　start　of　the　summer。
　　Especially　on　the　big　state　highways；　when　a　ride　dropped　him　off　near　the　exit　ramp；　he　usually　saw　the　next　car　pulling　off　to　the　side　ten　or　fifteen　minutes　after　he　stuck　his　thumb　into　the　air。　Now　he　was　somewhere　near　Batavia；　way　over　in　the　western　part　of　New　York　State；　walking　backward　down　the　breakdown　lane　of　I…90；　his　thumb　out　again；　working　his　way　toward　Buffalo…after　Buffalo；　he　would　start　to　swing　south。　It　was　a　matter；　Jack　thought；　of　working　out　the　best　way　to　acplish　something　and　then　just　doing　it。　Rand　McNally　and　the　Story　had　gotten　him　this　far；　all　he　needed　was　enough　luck　to　find　a　driver　going　all　the　way　to　Chicago　or　Denver　（or　Los　Angeles；　if　we're　going　to　daydream　about　luck；　Jacky…baby）；　and　he　could　be　on　his　way　home　again　before　the　middle　of　October。
　　He　was　suntanned；　he　had　fifteen　dollars　in　his　pocket　from　his　last　job…dishwasher　at　the　Golden　Spoon　Diner　in　Auburn…and　his　muscles　felt　stretched　and　toughened。　Though　sometimes　he　wanted　to　cry；　he　had　not　given　in　to　his　tears　since　that　first　miserable　night。　He　was　in　control；　that　was　the　difference。　Now　that　he　knew　how　to　proceed；　had　worked　it　out　so　painstakingly；　he　was　on　top　of　what　was　happening　to　him；　he　thought　he　could　see　the　end　of　his　journey　already；　though　it　was　so　far　ahead　of　him。　If　he　travelled　mainly　in　this　world；　as　Speedy　had　told　him；　he　could　move　as　quickly　as　he　had　to　and　get　back　to　New　Hampshire　with　the　Talisman　in　plenty　of　time。　It　was　going　to　work；　and　he　was　going　to　have　many　fewer　problems　than　he　had　expected。
　　That；　at　least；　was　what　Jack　Sawyer　was　imagining　as　a　dusty　blue　Ford　Fairlane　swerved　off　to　the　shoulder　of　the　road　and　waited　for　him　to　run　up　to　it；　squinting　into　the　lowering　sun。　Thirty　or　forty　miles；　he　thought　to　himself。　He　pictured　the　page　from　Rand　McNally　he　had　studied　that　morning；　and　decided：　Oatley。　It　sounded　dull；　small；　and　safe…he　was　on　his　way；　and　nothing　could　hurt　him　now。
　　　
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　　Jack　bent　down　and　looked　in　the　window　before　opening　the　Fairlane's　door。　Fat　sample　books　and　printed　fliers　lay　messily　over　the　back　seat；　two　oversize　briefcases　occupied　the　passenger　seat。　The　slightly　paunchy　black…haired　man　who　now　seemed　almost　to　be　mimicking　Jack's　posture；　bending　over　the　wheel　and　peering　through　the　open　window　at　the　boy；　was　a　salesman。　The　jacket　to　his　blue　suit　hung　from　the　hook　behind　him；　his　tie　was　at　half…mast；　his　sleeves　were　rolled。　A　salesman　in　his　mid…thirties；　tooling　fortably　through　his　territory。　He　would　love　to　talk；　like　all　salesmen。　The　man　smiled　at　him　and　picked　up　first　one　of　the　outsize　briefcases；　hoisting　it　over　the　top　of　the　seat　and　onto　the　litter　of　papers　behind；　then　the　other。　'Let's　create　a　little　room；'　he　said。
　　Jack　knew　that　the　first　thing　the　man　would　ask　him　was　why　he　was　not　at　school。
　　He　opened　the　door；　said；　'Hey；　thanks；'　and　climbed　in。　
　　'Going　far？'　the　salesman　asked；　checking　the　rear…view　mirror　as　he　slid　the　gear…lever　down　into　drive　and　swung　back　out　onto　the　road。
　　'Oatley；'　Jack　said。　'I　think　it's　about　thirty　miles。'
　　'You　just　flunked　geography；'　the　salesman　said。　'Oatley's　more　like　forty…five　miles。'　He　turned　his　head　to　look　at　Jack；　and　surprised　the　boy　by　winking　at　him。　'No　offense；'　he　said；　'but　I　hate　to　see　young　kids　hitching。　That's　why　I　always　pick　em　up　when　I　see　em。　At　least　I　know　they're　safe　with　me。　No　touchie…feelie；　know　what　I　mean？　Too　many　crazies　out　there；　kid。　You　read　the　papers？　I　mean；　I'm　talking　carnivores。　You　could　turn　yourself　into　an　endangered　species。'
　　'I　guess　you're　right；'　Jack　said。　'But　I　try　to　be　pretty　careful。'
　　'You　live　somewhere　back　there；　I　take　it？'　
　　The　man　was　still　looking　at　him；　snatching　little　birdlike　peeks　ahead　down　the　road；　and　Jack　frantically　searched　his　memory　for　the　name　of　a　town　back　down　the　road。　'Palmyra。　I'm　from　Palmyra。'　
　　The　salesman　nodded；　said；　'Nice　enough　old　place；'　and　turned　back　to　the　highway。　Jack　relaxed　back　into　the　fortable　plush　of　the　seat。　Then　the　man　finally　said；　'I　guess　you're　not　actually　playing　hooky；　are　you？'　and　it　was　time　yet　again　for　the　Story。
　　He　had　told　it　so　often；　varying　the　names　of　the　towns　involved　as　he　worked　westward；　that　it　had　a　slick；　monologue…like　feel　in　his　mouth。　'No；　sir。　It's　just　that　I　have　to　go　over　to　Oatley　to　live　with　my　Aunt　Helen　for　a　little　while。　Helen　Vaughan？　That's　my　mom's　sister。　She's　a　schoolteacher。　My　dad　died　last　winter；　see；　and　things　have　been　pretty　tough…then　two　weeks　ago　my　mom's　cough　got　a　lot　worse　and　she　could　hardly　get　up　the　stairs　and　the　doctor　said　she　had　to　stay　in　bed　for　as　long　as　she　could　and　she　asked　her　sister　if　I　could　e　stay　with　her　for　a　while。　Her　being　a　teacher　and　all；　I　guess　I'll　be　in　Oatley　school　for　sure。　Aunt　Helen　wouldn't　let　any　kid　play　hooky；　you　bet。'
　　'You　mean　your　mother　told　you　to　hitchhike　all　the　way　from　Palmyra　to　Oatley？'　the　man　asked。
　　'Oh　no；　not　at　all…she'd　never　do　that。　No；　she　gave　me　bus　money　but　I　decided　to　save　it。　There　won't　be　much　money　from　home　for　a　long　time；　I　guess；　and　Aunt　Helen　doesn't　really　have　any　money。　My　mom　would　hate　it　if　she　knew　I　was　th