sk.thetalisman-第53节

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around　my　house。　You　can　stay　about　as　long　as　you　like；　depending　on　how　many　questions　you　want　to　answer。　'Cuz　I'll　be　asking　em；　at　least　after　the　first　time　we　break　bread　together。'　
　　He　rubbed　one　palm　over　his　gray　crewcut　and　glanced　across　the　seat。　Lewis　Farren　was　looking　more　like　a　boy　and　less　like　a　revelation。　'You'll　be　wele；　son。'　
　　Smiling；　the　boy　said；　'That's　really　nice　of　you；　Mr。　Parkins；　but　I　can't。　I　have　to　go　see　my；　ah；　aunt　in　。　。　。　'
　　'Buckeye　Lake；'　Buddy　supplied。
　　The　boy　swallowed　and　looked　forward　again。　
　　'I'll　give　you　help；　if　you　want　help；'　Buddy　repeated。　
　　Lewis　patted　his　forearm；　sunburned　and　thick。　'This　ride　is　a　big　help；　honest。'　
　　Ten　nearly　silent　minutes　later　he　was　watching　the　boy's　forlorn　figure　trudge　down　the　exit　ramp　outside　Zanesville。　Emmie　would　probably　have　brained　him　if　he'd　e　home　with　a　strange　dirty　boy　to　feed；　but　once　she'd　seen　him　and　talked　to　him；　Emmie　would　have　brought　out　the　good　glasses　and　the　plates　her　mother　had　given　her。　Buddy　Parkins　didn't　believe　that　there　was　any　woman　named　Helen　Vaughan　in　Buckeye　Lake；　and　he　wasn't　so　sure　this　mysterious　Lewis　Farren　even　had　a　mother…the　boy　seemed　such　an　orphan；　off　on　a　vast　errand。　Buddy　watched　until　the　boy　was　taken　by　the　curve　of　the　off…ramp；　and　he　was　staring　out　at　space　and　the　enormous　yellow…and…purple　sign　of　a　shopping　mall。
　　For　a　second　he　thought　of　jumping　out　of　the　car　and　running　after　the　kid；　trying　to　get　him　back　。　。　。　and　then　he　had　a　moment　of　recall　of　a　crowded；　smokey　scene　on　the　six…o'clock　news。　Angola；　New　York。　Some　disaster　too　small　to　be　reported　more　than　once；　that　was　what　had　happened　in　Angola；　one　of　those　little　tragedies　the　world　shovels　under　a　mountain　of　newsprint。　All　Buddy　could　catch；　in　this　short；　probably　flawed　moment　of　memory；　was　a　picture　of　girders　strewn　like　giant　straws　over　battered　cars；　jutting　up　out　of　a　fuming　hole　in　the　ground…a　hole　that　might　lead　down　into　hell。　Buddy　Parkins　looked　once　more　at　the　empty　place　on　the　road　where　the　boy　had　been；　and　then　stamped　on　his　clutch　and　dropped　the　old　car　into　low。
　　　
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　　Buddy　Parkins's　memory　was　more　accurate　than　he　imagined。　If　he　could　have　seen　the　first　page　of　the　month…old　Angola　Herald　'Lewis　Farren；'　that　enigmatic　boy；　had　been　holding　so　protectively　yet　fearfully　beneath　his　arm；　these　are　the　words　he　would　have　read：
　　
　　FREAK　EARTHQUAKE　KILLS　5
　　by　Herald　staff　reporter　Joseph　Gargan
　　
　　Work　on　the　Rainbird　Towers；　intended　to　be　Angola's　tallest　and　most　luxurious　condominium　development　and　still　six　months　from　pletion；　was　tragically　halted　yesterday　as　an　unprecedented　earth　tremor　collapsed　the　structure　of　the　building；　burying　many　construction　workers　beneath　the　rubble。　Five　bodies　have　been　retrieved　from　the　ruins　of　the　proposed　condominium；　and　two　other　workers　have　not　yet　been　found　but　are　presumed　dead。　All　seven　workers　were　welders　and　fitters　in　the　employ　of　Speiser　Construction；　and　all　were　on　the　girders　of　the　building's　top　two　floors　at　the　time　of　the　incident。
　　Yesterday's　tremor　was　the　first　earthquake　in　Angola's　recorded　history。　Armin　Van　Pelt　of　New　York　University's　Geology　Department；　contacted　today　by　telephone；　described　the　fatal　quake　as　a　'seismic　bubble。'　Representatives　of　the　State　Safety　mission　are　continuing　their　examinations　of　the　site；　as　is　a　team　of　。　。　。
　　
　　The　dead　men　were　Robert　Heidel；　twenty…three；　Thomas　Thielke；　thirty…four；　Jerome　Wild；　forty…eight；　Michael　Hagen；　twenty…nine；　and　Bruce　Davey；　thirty…nine。　The　two　men　still　missing　were　Arnold　Schulkamp；　fifty…four；　and　Theodore　Rasmussen；　forty…three。　Jack　no　longer　had　to　look　at　the　newspaper's　front　page　to　remember　their　names。　The　first　earthquake　in　the　history　of　Angola；　New　York；　had　occurred　on　the　day　he　had　flipped　away　from　the　Western　Road　and　landed　on　the　town's　border。　Part　of　Jack　Sawyer　wished　that　he　could　have　gone　home　with　big　kindly　Buddy　Parkins；　eaten　dinner　around　the　table　in　the　kitchen　with　the　Parkins　family…boiled　beef　and　deep…dish　apple　pie…and　then　snuggled　into　the　Parkinses'　guest　bed　and　pulled　the　homemade　quilt　up　over　his　head。　And　not　moved；　except　toward　the　table；　for　four　or　five　days。　But　part　of　the　trouble　was　that　he　saw　that　knotty…pine　kitchen　table　heaped　with　crumbly　cheese；　and　on　the　other　side　of　the　table　a　mouse…hole　was　cut　into　a　giant　baseboard；　and　from　holes　in　the　jeans　of　the　three　Parkins　boys　protruded　thin　long　tails。　Who　plays　these　Jerry　Bledsoe　changes；　Daddy？　Heidel；　Thielke；　Wild；　Hagen；　Davey；　Schulkamp　and　Rasmussen。　Those　Jerry　changes？　He　knew　who　played　them。
　　　
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　　The　huge　yellow…and…purple　sign　reading　BUCKEYE　MALL　floated　ahead　of　Jack　as　he　came　around　the　final　curve　of　the　off…ramp；　drifted　past　his　shoulder　and　reappeared　on　his　other　side；　at　which　point　he　could　finally　see　that　it　was　erected　on　a　tripod　of　tall　yellow　poles　in　the　shopping…center　parking　lot。　The　mall　itself　was　a　futuristic　assemblage　of　ochre…colored　buildings　that　seemed　to　be　windowless…a　second　later；　Jack　realized　that　the　mall　was　covered；　and　what　he　was　seeing　was　only　the　illusion　of　separate　buildings。　He　put　his　hand　in　his　pocket　and　fingered　the　tight　roll　of　twenty…three　single　dollar　bills　which　was　his　earthly　fortune。
　　In　the　cool　sunlight　of　an　early　autumn　afternoon；　Jack　sprinted　across　the　street　toward　the　mall's　parking　lot。
　　If　it　had　not　been　for　his　conversation　with　Buddy　Parkins；　Jack　would　very　likely　have　stayed　on　U。S。　40　and　tried　to　cover　another　fifty　miles…he　wanted　to　get　to　Illinois；　where　Richard　Sloat　was；　in　the　next　two　or　three　days。　The　thought　of　seeing　his　friend　Richard　again　had　kept　him　going　during　the　weary　days　of　nonstop　work　on　Elbert　Palamountain's　farm：　the　image　of　spectacled；　serious…faced　Richard　Sloat　in　his　room　at　Thayer　School；　in　Springfield；　Illinois；　had　fueled　him　as　much　as　Mrs。　Palamountain's　generous　meals。　Jack　still　wanted　to　see　Richard；　and　as　soon　as　he　could：　but　Buddy　Parkins's　inviting　him　home　had　somehow　unstrung　him。　He　could　not　just　climb　into　another　car　and　begin　all　over　again　on　the　Story。　（In　any　case；　Jack　reminded　himself；　the　Story　seemed　to　be　losing　its　potency。）　The　shopping　mall　gave　him　a　perfect　chance　to　drop　out　for　an　hour　or　two；　especially　if　there　was　a　movie　theater　somewhere　in　there…right　now；　Jack　could　have　watched　the　dullest；　soppiest　Love　Story　of　a　movie。
　　And　before　the　movie；　were　he　lucky　enough　to　find　a　theater；　he　would　be　able　to　take　care　of　two　things　he　had　been　putting　off　for　at　least　a　week。　Jack　had　seen　Buddy　Parkins　looking　at　his　disintegrating　Nikes。　Not　only　were　the　running　shoes　falling　apart；　the　soles；　once　spongy　and　elastic；　had　mysteriously　bee　hard　as　asphalt。　On　days　when　he　had　to　walk　great　distances…or　when　he　had　to　work　standing　up　all　day…his　feet　stung　as　if　they'd　been　burned。
　　The　second　task；　calling　his　mother；　was　so　loaded　with　guilt　and　other　fearful　emotions　that　Jack　could　not　quite　allow　it　to　bee　conscious。　He　did　not　know　if　he　could　keep　from　weeping；　once　he'd　heard　his　mother's　voice。　What　if　she　sounded　weak…what　if　she　sounded　really　sick？　Could　he　really　keep　going　west　if　Lily　hoarsely　begged　him　to　e　back　to　New　Hampshire？　So　he　could　not　admit　to　himself　that　he　was　probably　going　to　call　his　mother。　His　mind　gave　him　the　suddenly　very　clear　image　of　a　bank　of　pay　telephones　beneath　their　hairdryer　plastic　bubbles；　and　almost　immediately　bucked　away　from　it…as　if　Elroy　or　some　other　Territories　creature　could　reach　right　out　of　the　receiver　and　clamp　a　hand　around　his　throat。
　　Just　then　three　girls　a　year　or　two　older　than　Jack　bounced　out　of　the　back　of　a　Subaru　Brat　which　had　swung　recklessly　into　a　parking　spot　near　the　mall's　main　entrance。　For　a　second　they　had　the　look　of　models　contorted　into　awkwardly　elegant　poses　of　delight　and　astonishment。　When　they　had　adjusted　into　more　conventional　postures　the　girls　glanced　incuriously　at　Jack　and　began　to　flip　their　hair　expertly　back　into　place。　They　were　leggy　in　their　tight　jeans；　these　confident　little　princesses　of　the　tenth　grade；　and　when　they　laughed　they　put　their　hands　over　their　mouths　in　a　fashion　which　suggested　that　laughter　itself　was　laughable。　Jack　slowed　his　walk　into　a　kind　of　sleepwalker's　stroll。　One　of　the　princesses　glanced　at　him　and　muttered　something　to　the　brown…haired　girl　beside　her。
　　I'm　different　now；　Jack　thought：　I'm　not　like　them　any…more。　The　recognition　pierced　him　with　loneliness。
　　A　thickset　blond　boy　in　a　blue　sleeveless　down　vest　climbed　out　of　the　driver's　seat　and　gathered　the　girls　around　him　by　the　simple　expedient　of　pretending　to　ignore　them。　The　boy；　who　must　have　been　a　senior　and　at　the　very　least　in　the　varsity　backfield；　glanced　once　at　Jack　and　then　looked　appraisingly　at　the　facade　of　the　mall。　'Timmy？'　said　the　tall　brown…haired　girl。　'Yeah；　yeah；'　the　boy　said。　'I　was　just　wondering　what　smells　like　shit　out　here。'　He　rewarded　the　girls　with　a　superior　little　smile。　The　brown…haired　girl　looked　smirki