sk.thetalisman-第45节

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？'　and　looked　at　everything　again；　just　to　make　sure。　This　time　he　saw　a　cricket　hop　toward　the　shadowy　protection　of　a　wall；　and　for　a　second　almost　could　have　believed　that　magic　was　real　and　some　malign　wizard　had　happened　along　and　。　。　。　the　cricket　reached　the　wall　and　slipped　into　an　invisible　crack。　No；　his　father　had　not　been　turned　into　a　cricket。　Of　course　he　had　not。　'Hey；'　the　boy　said…to　himself　it　seemed。　He　walked　backward　to　the　side　door　and　left　the　garage。　Sunlight　fell　on　the　lush；　springy　lawns　of　Rodeo　Drive。　He　would　have　called　someone；　but　whom？　The　police？　My　daddy　walked　into　the　garage　and　I　couldn't　find　him　in　there　and　now　I'm　scared
　　Two　hours　later　Phil　Sawyer　came　walking　up　from　the　Beverly　Wilshire　end　of　the　street。　He　carried　his　jacket　over　his　shoulder；　had　pulled　down　the　knot　of　his　tie…to　Jack；　he　looked　like　a　man　returning　from　a　journey　around　the　world。
　　Jack　jumped　down　from　his　anxious　elevation　and　tore　toward　his　father。　'You　sure　cover　the　ground；'　his　father　said；　smiling；　and　Jack　flattened　himself　against　his　legs。　'I　thought　you　were　taking　a　nap；　Travelling　Jack。'　
　　They　heard　the　telephone　ringing　as　they　came　up　the　walk；　and　some　instinct…perhaps　the　instinct　to　keep　his　father　close…made　Jacky　pray　that　it　had　already　rung　a　dozen　times；　that　whoever　was　calling　would　hang　up　before　they　reached　the　front　door。　His　father　ruffled　the　hair　on　his　crown；　put　his　big　warm　hand　on　the　back　of　his　neck；　then　pulled　open　the　door　and　made　it　to　the　phone　in　five　long　strides。　'Yes；　Morgan；'　Jacky　heard　his　father　say。　'Oh？　Bad　news？　You'd　better　tell　me；　yes。'　After　a　long　moment　of　silence　in　which　the　boy　could　hear　the　tinny；　rasping　sound　of　Morgan　Sloat's　voice　stealing　through　the　telephone　wires：　'Oh；　Jerry。　My　God。　Poor　Jerry。　I'll　be　right　over。'　Then　his　father　looked　straight　at　him；　not　smiling；　not　winking；　not　doing　anything　but　taking　him　in。　'I'll　e　over；　Morgan。　I'll　have　to　bring　Jack；　but　he　can　wait　in　the　car。'　Jack　felt　his　muscles　relax；　and　was　so　relieved　that　he　did　not　ask　why　he　had　to　wait　in　the　car；　as　he　would　have　at　any　other　time。
　　Phil　drove　up　Rodeo　Drive　to　the　Beverly　Hills　Hotel；　turned　left　onto　Sunset；　and　pointed　the　car　toward　the　office　building。　He　said　nothing。
　　His　father　zipped　through　the　oning　traffic　and　swung　the　car　into　the　parking　lot　beside　the　office　building。　Already　in　the　lot　were　two　police　cars；　a　fire　truck；　Uncle　Morgan's　pocket…size　white　Mercedes　convertible；　the　rusted　old　Ply…mouth　two…door　that　had　been　the　handyman's　car。　Just　inside　the　entrance　Uncle　Morgan　was　talking　to　a　policeman；　who　shook　his　head　slowly；　slowly；　in　evident　sympathy。　Morgan
　　Sloat's　right　arm　squeezed　the　shoulders　of　a　slim　young　woman　in　a　dress　too　large　for　her　who　had　twisted　her　face　into　his　chest。　Mrs。　Jerry；　Jack　knew；　seeing　that　most　of　her　face　was　obscured　by　a　white　handkerchief　she　had　pressed　to　her　eyes。　A　behatted；　raincoated　fireman　pushed　a　mess　of　twisted　metal　and　plastic；　ashes　and　broken　glass　into　a　disorderly　heap　far　past　them　down　the　hall。　Phil　said；　'Just　sit　here　for　a　minute　or　two；　okay；　Jacky？'　and　sprinted　toward　the　entrance。　A　young　Chinese　woman　sat　talking　to　a　policeman　on　a　concrete　abutment　at　the　end　of　the　parking　lot。　Before　her　lay　a　crumpled　object　it　took　Jack　a　moment　to　recognize　as　a　bike。　When　Jack　inhaled；　he　smelled　bitter　smoke。
　　Twenty　minutes　later；　both　his　father　and　Uncle　Morgan　left　the　building。　Still　gripping　Mrs。　Jerry；　Uncle　Morgan　waved　goodbye　to　the　Sawyers。　He　led　the　woman　around　to　the　passenger　door　of　his　tiny　car。　Jack's　father　twirled　his　own　car　out　of　the　lot　and　back　into　the　traffic　on　Sunset。
　　'Is　Jerry　hurt？'　Jack　asked。
　　'Some　kind　of　freak　accident；'　his　father　said。　'Electricity…the　whole　building　could've　gone　up　in　smoke。'
　　'Is　Jerry　hurt？'　Jack　repeated。
　　'Poor　son　of　a　bitch　got　hurt　so　bad　he's　dead；'　said　his　father。
　　Jack　and　Richard　Sloat　needed　two　months　to　really　put　the　story　together　out　of　the　conversations　they　overheard。　Jack's　mother　and　Richard's　housekeeper　supplied　other　details…the　housekeeper；　the　goriest。
　　Jerry　Bledsoe　had　e　in　on　a　Saturday　to　try　to　iron　out　some　of　the　kinks　in　the　building's　security　system。　If　he　tampered　with　the　delicate　system　on　a　weekday；　he　was　sure　to　confuse　or　irritate　the　tenants　with　the　Klaxon　alarm　whenever　he　accidentally　set　it　off。　The　security　system　was　wired　into　the　building's　main　electrical　board；　set　behind　two　large　removable　walnut　panels　on　the　ground　floor。　Jerry　had　set　down　his　tools　and　lifted　off　the　panels；　having　already　seen　that　the　lot　was　empty　and　nobody　would　jump　out　of　his　skin　when　the　alarm　went　off。　Then　he　went　downstairs　to　the　telephone　in　his　basement　cubicle　and　told　the　local　precinct　house　to　ignore　any　signals　from　the　Sawyer　&　Sloat　address　until　his　next　telephone　call。　When　he　went　back　upstairs　to　tackle　the　mare's　nest　of　wires　ing　into　the　board　from　all　the　contact　points；　a　twenty…three…year…old　woman　named　Lorette　Chang　was　just　riding　her　bicycle　into　the　building's　lot…she　was　distributing　a　leaflet　advertising　a　restaurant　which　was　due　to　open　down　the　street　in　fifteen　days。
　　Miss　Chang　later　told　the　police　that　she　looked　through　the　glass　front　door　and　saw　a　workman　enter　the　hall　from　the　basement。　Just　before　the　workman　picked　up　his　screwdriver　and　touched　the　wiring　panel；　she　felt　the　parking　lot　wobble　beneath　her　feet。　It　was；　she　assumed；　a　mini…earthquake：　a　lifelong　resident　of　Los　Angeles；　Lorette　Chang　was　untroubled　by　any　seismic　event　that　did　not　actually　knock　anything　down。　She　saw　Jerry　Bledsoe　set　his　feet　（so　he　felt　it；　too；　though　no　one　else　did）；　shake　his　head；　then　gently　insert　the　tip　of　the　screwdriver　into　a　hive　of　wires。
　　And　then　the　entry　and　downstairs　corridor　of　the　Sawyer　&　Sloat　building　turned　into　a　holocaust。
　　The　entire　wiring　panel　turned　instantly　to　a　solid　rectangular　body　of　flame；　bluish…yellow　arcs　of　what　looked　like　lightning　shot　out　and　encased　the　workman。　Electronic　horns　bawled　and　bawled：　KA…WHAAAAM！　KA…WHAAAM！　A　ball　of　fire　six　feet　high　fell　right　out　of　the　wall；　slammed　the　already　dead　Jerry　Bledsoe　aside；　and　rolled　down　the　corridor　toward　the　lobby。　The　transparent　front　door　blew　into　flying　glass　and　smoking；　twisted　pieces　of　frame。　Lorette　Chang　dropped　her　bike　and　sprinted　toward　the　pay　telephone　across　the　street。　As　she　told　the　fire　department　the　building's　address　and　noticed　that　her　bicycle　had　been　twisted　neatly　in　half　by　whatever　force　had　burst　through　the　door；　Jerry　Bled…soe's　roasted　corpse　still　swayed　upright　back　and　forth　before　the　devastated　panel。　Thousands　of　volts　poured　through　his　body；　twitching　it　with　regular　surges；　snapping　it　back　and　forth　in　a　steady　pulse。　All　the　handyman's　body　hair　and　most　of　his　clothes　had　fried　off；　and　his　skin　had　bee　a　cooked　blotchy　gray。　His　eyeglasses；　a　solidifying　lump　of　brown　plastic；　covered　his　nose　like　a　poultice。
　　
　　Jerry　Bledsoe。　Who　plays　those　changes；　daddy？　Jack　made　his　feet　move　until　he　had　gone　half　an　hour　without　seeing　another　of　the　little　thatched　cottages。　Unfamiliar　stars　in　unfamiliar　patterns　lay　all　over　the　sky　above　him…messages　in　a　language　he　could　not　read。
　　
　　　CHAPTER　12
　　　Jack　Goes　to　the　Market
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　He　slept　that　night　in　a　sweetly　fragrant　Territories　haystack；　first　burrowing　his　way　in　and　then　turning　around　so　the　fresh　air　could　reach　him　along　the　tunnel　he　had　made。　He　listened　apprehensively　for　small　scuttering　sounds…he　had　heard　or　read　somewhere　that　fieldmice　were　great　haystack　fans。　If　they　were　in　this　one；　then　a　great　big　mouse　named　Jack　Sawyer　had　scared　them　into　silence。　He　relaxed　little　by　little；　his　left　hand　tracing　the　shape　of　Speedy's　bottle…he　had　plugged　the　top　with　a　piece　of　springy　moss　from　a　small　stream　where　he　had　stopped　to　drink。　He　supposed　it　was　entirely　possible　that　some　of　the　moss　would　fall　into　the　bottle；　or　already　had。　What　a　pity；　it　would　spoil　the　piquant　flavor　and　the　delicate　bouquet。
　　As　he　lay　in　here；　warm　at　last；　heavily　sleepy；　the　feeling　he　was　most　aware　of　was　relief　。　。　。　as　if　there　had　been　a　dozen　ten…pound　weights　strapped　to　his　back　and　some　kind　soul　had　undone　the　buckles　and　allowed　them　to　fall　to　the　ground。　He　was　in　the　Territories　again；　the　place　which　such　charming　folks　as　Morgan　of　Orris；　Osmond　the　Bullwhipper；　and　Elroy　the　Amazing　Goat…Man　all　called　home；　the　Territories；　where　anything　could　happen。
　　But　the　Territories　could　be　good；　too。　He　remembered　that　from　his　earliest　childhood；　when　everyone　had　lived　in　California　and　no　one　had　lived　anyplace　else。　The　Territories　could　be　good；　and　it　seemed　he　felt　that　goodness　around　him　now；　as　calmly；　inarguably　sweet　as　the　smell　of　the　haystack；　as　clear　as　the　smell　of　the　Territories　air。
　　Does　a　fly　or　a　ladybug　feel　relief　if　an　unexpected　gust　of　wind　es　along　and　tilts　the　pitcher　plant　just　enough　to　allow　the　drowning　insect　to　fly　out？　Jack　didn't　know　。　。　。　but　he　knew　that　he　was　out　of　Oatley；　away　from　F