dk.coldfire-第12节

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lls　of　the　channel　gave　way　easily　under　his　hands；　and　he　quickly　covered　the　bike。　
　He　had　assumed　he　could　walk　the　last　half　mile　with　relative　ease。　But　he　was　worse　off　than　he　had　realized。　His　vision　swam　in　and　out　of　focus。　
　His　lips　burned；　his　tongue　stuck　to　the　roof　of　his　dry　mouth；　and　his　throat　was　sore…as　if　he　were　in　the　grip　of　a　virulent　fever。　
　The　muscles　in　his　legs　began　to　cramp　and　throb；　and　each　foot　seemed　to　be　encased　in　a　concrete　boot。　
　He　must　have　blacked　out　on　his　feet；　because　the　next　thing　he　knew；　he　was　on　the　brick　steps　of　the　white　clapboard　church；　with　no　recollection　of　the　last　few　hundred　yards　of　his　journey。　The　words　R　LADY　OF　THE　DESERT　Were　On　a　brass　plaque　beside　the　double　doors。　
　He　had　been　a　Catholic　once。　In　a　part　of　his　heart；　he　still　was　Catholic。　He　had　been　many　things…Methodist；　Jew；　Buddhist；　Baptist；　Moslem；　Hindu；　Taoist；　more…and　although　he　was　no　longer　any　them　in　practice；　he　was　still　all　of　them　in　experience。　
　Though　the　door　seemed　to　weigh　more　than　the　boulder　that　had　covered　the　mouth　of　Christ's　tomb；　he　managed　to　pull　it　open。　He　went　inside。　
　The　church　was　much　cooler　than　the　twilight　Mojave；　but　not　really　cooL　It　smelled　of　myrrh　and　spikenard　and　the　slightly　sweetish　odor　of　burning　votive　candles；　causing　memories　of　his　Catholic　days　to　flood　back　him；　making　him　feel　at　home。　
　At　the　doorway　between　narthex　and　nave；　he　dipped　two　fingers　in　holy…water　font　and　crossed　himself　He　cupped　his　hands　in　the　liquid；　brought　them　to　his　mouth；　and　drank。　The　water　tasted　like　blood：　He　looked　into　the　white　marble　basin　in　horror；　certain　that　it　was　brimming　with　gore；　but　he　saw　only　water　and　the　dim；　shimmering　reflection　of　his　own　face。　
　He　realized　that　his　parched　and　stinging　lips　were　split。　He　lick　them。　The　blood　was　his　own。　
　Then　he　found　himself　on　his　knees　at　the　front　of　the　nave；　leaning　against　the　sanctuary　railing；　praying；　and　he　did　not　know　how　he　gotten　there。　Must　have　blacked　out　again。　
　The　last　of　the　day　had　blown　away　as　if　it　were　a　pale　skin　of　dust；　a　hot　night　wind　pressed　at　the　church　windows。　The　only　illumination　was　from　a　bulb　in　the　narthex；　the　flickering　flames　of　half　a　dozen　votive　candles　in　red…glass　containers；　and　a　small　spotlight　shining　down　on　the　crucifix。　
　Jim　saw　that　his　own　face　was　painted　on　the　figure　of　Christ。　
　He　blinked　his　burning　eyes　and　looked　again。　This　time　he　saw　the　face　of　the　dead　man　in　the　station　wagon。　The　sacred　countenance　metamorphosed　into　the　face　of　Jim　s　mother；　his　father；　the　child　named　Susie；　Lisa　then　it　was　no　face　at　all；　just　a　black　oval；　as　the　killer's　face　had　been　black　oval　when　he　had　turned　to　shoot　at　Jim　inside　the　shadow…fill　Road　king。　
　Indeed；　it　wasn't　Christ　on　the　cross　now；　it　was　the　killer。　He　open　his　eyes；　looked　at　Jim；　and　smiled。　He　jerked　his　feet　free　of　the　vertical　support；　a　nail　still　bristling　from　one　of　them；　a　black　nail　hole　in　the　other。　He　wrenched　his　hands　free；　too；　a　spike　still　piercing　each　palm　and　he　just　drifted　down　to　the　floor；　as　if　gravity　had　no　claim　on　him　accept　what　he　chose　to　allow　it。　He　started　across　the　altar　platform　toward　the　railing；　toward　Jim。　
　Jim's　heart　was　racing；　but　he　told　himself　that　what　he　saw　was　only　a　delusion。　The　product　of　a　fevered　mind。　Nothing　more。　
　The　killer　reached　him。　Touched　his　face。　The　hand　was　as　soft　as　rotting　meat　and　as　cold　as　a　liquid　gas。　
　Like　a　true　believer　in　a　tent　revival；　collapsing　under　the　empowered　hand　of　a　faith　healer；　Jim　shivered　and　fell　away　into　darkness。　
　A　white…walled　room。　
　A　narrow　bed。　
　Spare　and　humble　furnishings。　
　Night　at　the　windows。　
　He　drifted　in　and　out　of　bad　dreams。　Each　time　that　he　regained　a　consciousness；　which　was　never　for　longer　than　a　minute　or　two；　he　saw　the　same　man　hovering　over　him：　about　fifty；　balding；　slightly　plump；　with　？hick　eyebrows　and　a　squashed　nose。　
　Sometimes　the　stranger　gently　worked　an　ointment　into　Jim's　face；　and　sometimes　he　applied　presses　soaked　in　ice　water。　He　lifted　Jim's　head　off　the　pillows　and　encouraged　him　to　drink　cool　water　through　a　straw　Because　the　man's　eyes　were　marked　by　concern　and　kindness；　Jim　didn't　protest。　
　Besides；　he　had　neither　the　voice　nor　the　energy　to　protest。　His　throat　felt　as　if　he　had　swallowed　kerosene　and　then　a　match。　He　did　not　have　strength　even　to　lift　a　hand　an　inch　off　the　sheets。　
　〃Just　rest；〃　the　stranger　said。　〃You're　suffering　heatstroke　and　a　sunburn。〃　
　Windburn。　That's　the　worst　of　it；　Jim　thought；　remembering　the　Harley　SP；　which　had　not　been　equipped　with　a　plexiglass　fairing　for　weather　protection。　
　Light　at　the　windows。　A　new　day。　
　His　eyes　were　sore。　
　His　face　felt　worse　than　ever。　Swollen。　
　The　stranger　was　wearing　a　clerical　collar。　
　〃Priest；〃　Jim　said　in　a　coarse　and　whispery　voice　that　didn't　sound　his　own。　
　ù　〃I　found　you　in　the　church；　unconscious。〃　
　〃Our　Lady　of　the　Desert。〃　
　Lifting　Jim　off　the　pillows　again；　he　said；　〃That's　right。　I'm　Father　Geary。　Leo　Geary。〃　
　Jim　was　able　to　help　himself　a　little　this　time。　The　water　tasted　sweet。　
　Father　Geary　said；　〃What　were　you　doing　in　the　desert？〃　〃Wandering。〃　
　〃Why？〃　Jim　didn't　answer。　
　〃Where　did　you　e　from？〃　Jim　said　nothing。　
　〃What　is　your　name？〃　〃Jim。〃　
　〃You're　not　carrying　any　ID。〃　
　〃Not　this　time；　no。〃　
　〃What　do　you　mean　by　that？〃　Jim　was　silent。　
　ù'　The　priest　said；　〃There　was　three　thousand　dollars　in　cash　in　your　pockets。　〃　〃Take　what　you　need。〃　
　The　priest　stared　at　him；　then　smiled。　〃Better　be　careful　what　you　offer；　son。　This　is　a　poor　church。　We　need　all　we　can　get。〃　
　Later　still；　Jim　woke　again。　The　priest　was　not　there。　The　house　was　silent。　Once　in　a　while　a　rafter　creaked　and　a　window　rattled　softly　as　desert　wind　stirred　fitfully　outside。　
　When　the　priest　returned；　Jim　said；　〃A　question；　Father。〃　
　〃What's　that？〃　His　voice　was　still　raspy；　but　he　sounded　a　bit　more　like　himself　〃If　there's　a　God；　why　does　He　allow　suffering？〃　Alarmed；　Father　Geary　said；　〃Are　you　feeling　worse？〃　〃No；　no。　Better。　I　don't　mean　my　suffering。　Just。　。　。　why　does　He　allow　suffering　in　general？〃　〃To　test　us；〃　the　priest　said。　
　〃Why　do　we　have　to　be　tested？〃　〃To　determine　if　we're　worthy。〃　
　〃Worthy　of　what？〃　〃Worthy　of　heaven；　of　course。　Salvation。　Eternal　life。　〃　〃Why　didn't　God　make　us　worthy？〃　〃Yes；　he　made　us　perfect；　without　sin。　But　then　we　sinned；　and　fell　from　grace。〃　
　〃How　could　we　sin　if　we　were　perfect？〃　〃Because　we　have　free　will。〃　
　〃I　don't　understand。〃　
　Father　Geary　frowned。　〃I'm　not　a　nimble　theologian。　Just　an　ordinary　priest。　All　I　can　tell　you　is　that　it's　part　of　the　divine　mystery。　We　fell　from　grace；　and　now　heaven　must　be　earned。〃　
　〃I　need　to　pee；〃　Jim　said。　
　〃All　right。〃　
　〃Not　the　bedpan　this　time。　I　think　I　can　make　it　to　the　bathroom　with　your　help。〃　
　〃I　think　maybe　you　can；　too。　You're　really　ing　around　nicely；　thank　God。〃　
　〃Free　will；〃　Jim　said。　
　The　priest　frowned。　
　By　late　afternoon；　nearly　twenty…four　hours　after　Jim　stumbled　into　the　church；　his　fever　registered　only　three…tenths　of　a　degree　on　the　thermometer。　His　muscles　were　no　longer　spasming；　his　joints　did　not　hurt　any　more　he　was　not　dizzy；　and　his　chest　did　not　ache　when　he　drew　a　deep　breath　Pain　still　flared　across　his　face　periodically。　When　he　spoke　he　did　without　moving　his　facial　muscles　more　than　absolutely　necessary；　because　the　cracks　in　his　lips　and　in　the　corners　of　his　mouth　reopened　easily　in　spite　of　the　prescription　cortisone　cream　that　Father　Geary　applied　every　few　hours。　
　He　could　sit　up　in　bed　of　his　own　volition　and　move　about　the　room　with　only　minimal　help。　When　his　appetite　returned；　as　well；　Father　Geary　gave　him　chicken　soup；　then　vanilla　ice　cream。　He　ate　carefully；　mindful　of　his　split　lips；　trying　to　avoid　tainting　the　food　with　the　taste　of　his　own　blood。　
　〃I'm　still　hungry；〃　Jim　said　when　he　finished。　
　〃Let's　see　if　you　can　keep　that　down　first。〃　
　〃I'm　fine。　It　was　only　sunstroke；　dehydration。〃　
　〃Sunstroke　can　kill；　son。　You　need　more　rest。〃　
　When　the　priest　relented　a　while　later　and　brought　him　more　ice　cream　Jim　spoke　through　half　clenched　teeth　and　frozen　lips：　〃Why　are　some　people　killers？　Not　cops；　I　mean。　Not　soldiers。　Not　those　who　kill　in　self　defense。　The　other　kind；　the　murderers。　Why　do　they　kill？〃　Settling　into　a　straight…backed　rocker　near　the　bed；　the　priest　regarded　him　with　one　raised　eyebrow。　〃That's　a　peculiar　question。〃　
　〃Is　it？　Maybe。　Do　you　have　an　answer？〃　〃The　simple　one　is…because　there's　evil　in　them。〃　
　They　sat　in　mutual　silence　for　a　minute　or　so。　Jim　ate　ice　cream；　and　the　rocky　priest　rocked　in　his　chair。　Another　twilight　crept　across　the　sky　beyond　the　windows。　
　Finally　Jim　said；　〃Murder；　accidents；　disease；　old　age。　。　。　Why　did　God　make　us　mortal　in　the　first　place？　Why　do　we　have　to　die？〃　〃Death's　not　the　end。　Or　at　least　that's　what　I　believe。　Death　is　only　our　means　of　passage；　only　the　train　that　conveys　us　to　our　reward。〃　
　〃Heaven；　you　mean。〃　
　The　priest　hesitated。　〃Or　the　other。〃　
　Jim　slept　for　a　couple　of　hours。　When　h