sk.thetalisman-第55节

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　　Jack　backed　away　down　the　hall。　When　he　was　halfway　down　the　escalator　he　finally　heard　the　clerk　yelling；　'Mr。　Olafson！　The　phone；　Mr。　Olafson！'　Jack　fled。
　　Outside；　the　air　was　bright；　surprisingly　humid。　Dazed；　Jack　wandered　across　the　sidewalk。　A　half…mile　away　across　the　parking　lot；　a　black…and…white　police　car　swung　in　toward　the　mall。　Jack　turned　sideways　and　began　to　walk　down　the　pavement。　Some　way　ahead；　a　family　of　six　struggled　to　get　a　lawn　chair　in　through　the　next　entrance　to　the　mall。　Jack　slowed　down　and　watched　the　husband　and　wife　tilt　the　long　chair　diagonally；　hindered　by　the　attempts　of　the　smaller　children　to　either　sit　on　the　chair　or　to　assist　them。　At　last；　nearly　in　the　posture　of　the　flag…raisers　in　the　famous　photograph　of　Iwo　Jima；　the　family　staggered　through　the　door。　The　police　car　lazily　circled　through　the　big　parking　lot。
　　Just　past　the　door　where　the　disorderly　family　had　succeeded　in　planting　their　chair；　an　old　black　man　sat　on　a　wooden　crate；　cradling　a　guitar　in　his　lap。　As　Jack　slowly　drew　nearer；　he　saw　the　metal　cup　beside　the　man's　feet。　The　man's　face　was　hidden　behind　big　dirty　sunglasses　and　beneath　the　brim　of　a　stained　felt　hat。　The　sleeves　of　his　denim　jacket　were　as　wrinkled　as　an　elephant's　hide。
　　Jack　swerved　out　to　the　edge　of　the　pavement　to　give　the　man　all　the　room　he　seemed　to　warrant；　and　noticed　that　around　the　man's　neck　hung　a　sign　handwritten　in　big　shaky　capital　letters　on　discolored　white　cardboard。　A　few　steps　later　he　could　read　the　letters。
　　
　　BLIND　SINCE　BIRTH
　　WILL　PLAY　ANY　SONG
　　GOD　BLESS　YOU
　　
　　He　had　nearly　walked　past　the　man　holding　the　beat…up　old　guitar　when　he　heard　him　utter；　his　voice　a　cracked　and　juicy　whisper；　'Yeah…bob。'
　　
　　　CHAPTER　15
　　　Snowball　Sings
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　Jack　swung　back　toward　the　black　man；　his　heart　hammering　in　his　chest。
　　Speedy？
　　The　black　man　groped　for　his　cup；　held　it　up；　shook　it。　A　few　coins　rattled　in　the　bottom。
　　It　is　Speedy。　Behind　those　dark　glasses；　it　is　Speedy。　
　　Jack　was　sure　of　it。　But　a　moment　later　he　was　just　as　sure　that　it　wasn't　Speedy。　Speedy　wasn't　built　square　in　the　shoulders　and　broad　across　the　chest；　Speedy's　shoulders　were　rounded；　a　little　slumped　over；　and　his　chest　consequently　had　a　slightly　caved…in　look。　Mississippi　John　Hurt；　not　Ray　Charles。
　　But　I　could　tell　one　way　or　the　other　for　sure　if　he'd　take　off　those　shades。
　　He　opened　his　mouth　to　speak　Speedy's　name　aloud；　and　suddenly　the　old　man　began　to　play；　his　wrinkled　fingers；　as　dully　dark　as　old　walnut　that　has　been　faithfully　oiled　but　never　polished；　moving　with　limber　speed　and　grace　on　both　strings　and　frets。　He　played　well；　finger…picking　the　melody。　And　after　a　moment；　Jack　recognized　the　tune。　It　had　been　on　one　of　his　father's　older　records。　A　Vanguard　album　called　Mississippi　John　Hurt　Today。　And　although　the　blind　man　didn't　sing；　Jack　knew　the　words：
　　
　　O　kindly　friends；　tell　me；　ain't　it　hard？　
　　To　see　ole　Lewis　in　a　new　graveyard；　
　　The　angels　laid　him　away
　　
　　The　blond　football　player　and　his　three　princesses　came　out　of　the　mall's　main　doors。　Each　of　the　princesses　had　an　ice　cream　cone。　Mr。　All…America　had　a　chili…dog　in　each　hand。　They　sauntered　toward　where　Jack　stood。　Jack；　whose　whole　attention　was　taken　up　by　the　old　black　man；　had　not　even　noticed　them。　He　had　been　transfixed　by　the　idea　that　it　was　Speedy；　and　Speedy　had　somehow　read　his　mind。　How　else　could　it　be　that　this　man　had　begun　to　play　a　Mississippi　John　Hurt　position　just　as　Jack　happened　to　think　Speedy　looked　like　that　very　man？　And　a　song　containing　his　own　road…name；　as　well？
　　The　blond　football　player　transferred　both　chili…dogs　to　his　left　hand　and　slapped　Jack　on　the　back　with　his　right　as　hard　as　he　could。　Jack's　teeth　snapped　on　his　own　tongue　like　a　bear…trap。　The　pain　was　sudden　and　excruciating。
　　'You　just　shake　her　easy；　urine…breath；'　he　said。　The　princesses　giggled　and　shrieked。
　　Jack　stumbled　forward　and　kicked　over　the　blind　man's　cup。　Coins　spilled　and　rolled。　The　gentle　lilt　of　the　blues　tune　came　to　a　jangling　halt。
　　Mr。　All…America　and　the　Three　Little　Princesses　were　already　moving　on。　Jack　stared　after　them　and　felt　the　now…familiar　impotent　hate。　This　was　how　it　felt　to　be　on　your　own；　just　young　enough　to　be　at　everyone's　mercy　and　to　be　anyone's　meat…anyone　from　a　psychotic　like　Osmond　to　a　humorless　old　Lutheran　like　Elbert　Palamountain；　whose　idea　of　a　pretty　fair　work…day　was　to　slog　and　squelch　through　gluey　fields　for　twelve　hours　during　a　steady　cold　downpour　of　October　rain；　and　to　sit　bolt…upright　in　the　cab　of　his　International　Harvester　truck　during　lunch　hour；　eating　onion　sandwiches　and　reading　from　the　Book　of　Job。
　　Jack　had　no　urge　to　'get'　them；　although　he　had　a　strange　idea　that　if　he　wanted　to；　he　could…that　he　was　gaining　some　sort　of　power；　almost　like　an　electrical　charge。　It　sometimes　seemed　to　him　that　other　people　knew　that；　too…that　it　was　in　their　faces　when　they　looked　at　him。　But　he　didn't　want　to　get　them；　he　only　wanted　to　be　left　alone。　He…
　　The　blind　man　was　feeling　around　himself　for　the　spilled　money；　his　pudgy　hands　moving　gently　over　the　pavement；　almost　seeming　to　read　it。　He　happened　on　a　dime；　set　his　cup　back　up　again；　and　dropped　the　dime　in。　Plink！
　　Faintly；　Jack　heard　one　of　the　princesses：　'Why　do　they　let　him　stay　there；　he's　so　gross；　you　know？'
　　Even　more　faintly　still：　'Yeah；　rilly！'
　　Jack　got　down　on　his　knees　and　began　to　help；　picking　up　coins　and　putting　them　into　the　blind　man's　cup。　Down　here；　close　to　the　old　man；　he　could　smell　sour　sweat；　mildew；　and　some　sweet　bland　smell　like　corn。　Smartly　dressed　mall　shoppers　gave　them　a　wide　berth。
　　'Thankya；　thankya；'　the　blind　man　croaked　monotonously。　Jack　could　smell　dead　chili　on　his　breath。　'Thankya；　blessya；　God　blessya；　thankya。'　
　　He　is　Speedy。
　　He's　not　Speedy。
　　What　finally　forced　him　to　speak…and　this　was　not　really　so　odd…was　remembering　just　how　little　of　the　magic　juice　he　had　left。　Barely　two　swallows　now。　He　did　not　know　if；　after　what　had　happened　in　Angola；　he　could　ever　bring　himself　to　travel　in　the　Territories　again；　but　he　was　still　determined　to　save　his　mother's　life；　and　that　meant　he　might　have　to。
　　And；　whatever　the　Talisman　was；　he　might　have　to　flip　into　the　other　world　to　get　it。
　　'Speedy？'
　　'Blessya；　thankya；　God　blessya；　didn't　I　hear　one　go　over　there？'　He　pointed。
　　'Speedy！　It's　Jack！'
　　'Ain't　nothin　speedy　round　here；　boy；　No　sir。'　His　hands　began　to　whisper…walk　along　the　concrete　in　the　direction　he　had　just　pointed。　One　of　them　found　a　nickel　and　he　dropped　it　into　the　cup。　His　other　happened　to　touch　the　shoe　of　a　smartly　dressed　young　woman　who　was　passing　by。　Her　pretty；　empty　face　wrinkled　in　almost　painful　disgust　as　she　drew　away　from　him。
　　Jack　picked　the　last　coin　out　of　the　gutter。　It　was　a　silver　dollar…a　big　old　cartwheel　with　Lady　Liberty　on　one　side。
　　Tears　began　to　spill　out　of　his　eyes。　They　ran　down　his　dirty　face　and　he　wiped　them　away　with　an　arm　that　shook。　He　was　crying　for　Thielke；　Wild；　Hagen；　Davey；　and　Heidel。　For　his　mother。　For　Laura　DeLoessian。　For　the　carter's　son　lying　dead　in　the　road　with　his　pockets　turned　out。　But　most　of　all　for　himself。　He　was　tired　of　being　on　the　road。　Maybe　when　you　rode　it　in　a　Cadillac　it　was　a　road　of　dreams；　but　when　you　had　to　hitch　it；　riding　on　your　thumb　and　a　story　that　was　just　about　worn　out；　when　you　were　at　everybody's　mercy　and　anyone's　meat；　it　was　nothing　but　a　road　of　trials。　Jack　felt　that　he　had　been　tried　enough　。　。　。　but　there　was　no　way　to　cry　it　off。　If　he　cried　it　off；　the　cancer　would　take　his　mother；　and　Uncle　Morgan　might　well　take　him。
　　'I　don't　think　I　can　do　it；　Speedy；'　he　wept。　'I　don't　think　so；　man。'　
　　Now　the　blind　man　groped　for　Jack　instead　of　the　spilled　coins。　Those　gentle；　reading　fingers　found　his　arm　and　closed　around　it。　Jack　could　feel　the　hard　pad　of　callus　in　the　tip　of　each　finger。　He　drew　Jack　to　him；　into　those　odors　of　sweat　and　heat　and　old　chili。　Jack　pressed　his　face　against　Speedy's　chest。
　　'Hoo；　boy。　I　don't　know　no　Speedy；　but　it　sounds　like　you　puttin　an　awful　lot　on　him。　You…'
　　'I　miss　my　mom；　Speedy；'　Jack　wept；　'and　Sloat's　after　me。　It　was　him　on　the　phone　inside　the　mall；　him。　And　that's　not　the　worst　thing。　The　worst　thing　was　in　Angola　。　。　。　the　Rainbird　Towers　。　。　。　earthquake　。　。　。　five　men　。　。　。　me；　I　did　it；　Speedy；　I　killed　those　men　when　I　flipped　into　this　world；　I　killed　them　just　like　my　dad　and　Morgan　Sloat　killed　Jerry　Bledsoe　that　time！'　
　　Now　it　was　out；　the　worst　of　it。　He　had　sicked　up　the　stone　of　guilt　that　had　been　in　his　throat；　threatening　to　choke　him；　and　a　storm　of　weeping　seized　him…but　this　time　it　was　relief　rather　than　fear。　It　was　said。　It　had　been　confessed。　He　was　a　murderer。
　　'Hooo…eeee！'　the　black　man　cried。　He　sounded　perversely　delighted。　He　held　Jack　with　one　thin；　strong　arm；　rocked　him。　'You　tryin　to　carry　you　one　heavy　load；　boy。　You　sure　am。　Maybe　you　ought　to　put　some　of　it　down。'
　　'I　killed　em；'　Jack　whispered。　'Thielke；　Wild；　Hagen；　Davey