sk.everythingseventual-第61节

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ces。'
　　He　stopped；　eyes　distant；　maybe　imagining　Lulubelle　on　a　bed　in　the　back　room　of　a　Nevada　trailer　whorehouse；　Lulubelle　wearing　nothing　but　stockings；　washing　off　some　unknown　cowboy's　stiff　cock　while　from　the　other　room　came　the　sound　of　Steve　Earle　and　the　Dukes　singing　'Six　Days　on　the　Road'　or　a　TV　playing　Hollywood　Squares。　Lulubelle　whoring　but　not　dead；　the　car　by　the　side　of　the　road…the　little　Subaru　she　had　brought　to　the　marriage…meaning　nothing。　The　way　an　animal's　look；　so　seemingly　attentive；　usually　means　nothing。
　　'I　can　believe　that　if　I　want；'　he　said；　swiping　his　swollen　eyes　with　insides　of　his　wrists。
　　'Sure；'　I　said。　'You　bet；　L。T。'　Wondering　what　the　grinning　men　who　listened　to　his　story　while　they　ate　their　lunches　would　make　of　this　L。T。；　this　shaking　man　with　his　pale　cheeks　and　red　eyes　and　hot　skin。
　　'Hell；'　he　said；　I　do　believe　that。'　He　hesitated；　then　said　it　again：　'I　do　believe　that。'
　　
　　When　I　got　back；　Roslyn　was　in　bed　with　a　book　in　her　hand　and　the　covers　pulled　up　to　her　breasts。　Holly　had　gone　home　while　I　was　driving　L。T。　back　to　his　house。　Roslyn　was　in　a　bad　mood；　and　I　found　out　why　soon　enough。　The　woman　behind　the　Mona　Lisa　smile　had　been　quite　taken　with　my　friend。　Smitten　by　him；　maybe。　And　my　wife　most　definitely　did　not　approve。
　　'How　did　he　lose　his　license？'　she　asked；　and　before　I　could　answer：　'Drinking；　wasn't　it？'
　　'Drinking；　yes。　OUI'　I　sat　down　on　my　side　of　the　bed　and　slipped　off　my　shoes。　'But　that　was　nearly　six　months　ago；　and　if　he　keeps　his　nose　clean　another　two　months；　he　gets　it　back。　I　think　he　will。　He　goes　to　AA；　you　know。'
　　My　wife　grunted；　clearly　not　impressed。　I　took　off　my　shirt；　sniffed　the　armpits；　hung　it　back　in　the　closet。　I'd　only　worn　it　an　hour　or　two；　just　for　dinner。
　　'You　know；'　my　wife　said；　I　think　it's　a　wonder　the　police　didn't　look　a　little　more　closely　at　him　after　his　wife　disappeared。'
　　'They　asked　him　some　questions；'　I　said；　'but　only　to　get　as　much　information　as　they　could。　There　was　never　any　question　of　him　doing　it；　Ros。　They　were　never　suspicious　of　him。'
　　'Oh；　you're　so　sure。'
　　'As　a　matter　of　fact；　I　am。　I　know　some　stuff。　Lulubelle　called　her　mother　from　a　hotel　in　eastern　Colorado　the　day　she　left；　and　called　her　again　from　Salt　Lake　City　the　next　day。　She　was　fine　then。　Those　were　both　weekdays；　and　L。T。　was　at　the　plant。　He　was　at　the　plant　the　day　they　found　her　car　parked　off　that　ranch　road　near　Caliente　as　well。　Unless　he　can　magically　transport　himself　from　place　to　place　in　the　blink　of　an　eye；　he　didn't　kill　her。　Besides；　he　wouldn't。　He　loved　her。'
　　She　grunted。　It's　this　hateful　sound　of　skepticism　she　makes　sometimes。　After　almost　thirty　years　of　marriage；　that　sound　still　makes　me　want　to　turn　on　her　and　yell　at　her　to　stop　it；　to　shit　or　get　off　the　pot；　either　say　what　she　means　or　keep　quiet。　This　time　I　thought　about　telling　her　how　L。T。　had　cried；　how　it　had　been　like　there　was　a　cyclone　inside　of　him；　tearing　loose　everything　that　wasn't　nailed　down。　I　thought　about　it；　but　I　didn't。　Women　don't　trust　tears　from　men。　They　may　say　different；　but　down　deep　they　don't　trust　tears　from　men。
　　'Maybe　you　ought　to　call　the　police　yourself；'　I　said。　'Offer　them　a　little　of　your　expert　help。　Point　out　the　stuff　they　missed；　just　like　Angela　Lansbury　on　Murder；　She　Wrote'
　　I　swung　my　legs　into　bed。　She　turned　off　the　light。　We　lay　there　in　darkness。　When　she　spoke　again；　her　tone　was　gentler。
　　'I　don't　like　him。　That's　all。　I　don't；　and　I　never　have。'
　　'Yeah；'　I　said。　I　guess　that's　clear。'
　　'And　I　didn't　like　the　way　he　looked　at　Holly。'
　　Which　meant；　as　I　found　out　eventually；　that　she　hadn't　liked　the　way　Holly　looked　at　him。　When　she　wasn't　looking　down　at　her　plate；　that　is。
　　'I'd　prefer　you　didn't　ask　him　back　to　dinner；'　she　said。
　　I　kept　quiet。　It　was　late。　I　was　tired。　It　had　been　a　hard　day；　a　harder　evening；　and　I　was　tired。　The　last　thing　I　wanted　was　to　have　an　argument　with　my　wife　when　I　was　tired　and　she　was　worried。　That's　the　sort　of　argument　where　one　of　you　ends　up　spending　the　night　on　the　couch。　And　the　only　way　to　stop　an　argument　like　that　is　to　be　quiet。　In　a　marriage；　words　are　like　rain。　And　the　land　of　a　marriage　is　filled　with　dry　washes　and　arroyos　that　can　bee　raging　rivers　in　almost　the　wink　of　an　eye。　The　therapists　believe　in　talk；　but　most　of　them　are　either　divorced　or　queer。　It's　silence　that　is　a　marriage's　best　friend。
　　Silence。
　　After　a　while；　my　best　friend　rolled　over　on　her　side；　away　from　me　and　into　the　place　where　she　goes　when　she　finally　gives　up　the　day。　I　lay　awake　a　little　while　longer；　thinking　of　a　dusty　little　car；　perhaps　once　white；　parked　nose…down　in　the　ditch　beside　a　ranch　road　out　in　the　Nevada　desert　not　too　far　from　Caliente。　The　driver's　side　door　standing　open；　the　rearview　mirror　torn　off　its　post　and　lying　on　the　floor；　the　front　seat　sodden　with　blood　and　tracked　over　by　the　animals　that　had　e　in　to　investigate；　perhaps　to　sample。
　　There　was　a　man…they　assumed　he　was　a　man；　it　almost　always　is…who　had　butchered　five　women　out　in　that　part　of　the　world；　five　in　three　years；　mostly　during　the　time　L。T。　had　been　living　with　Lulubelle。　Four　of　the　women　were　transients。　He　would　get　them　to　stop　somehow；　then　pull　them　out　of　their　cars；　rape　them；　dismember　them　with　an　axe；　leave　them　a　rise　or　two　away　for　the　buzzards　and　crows　and　weasels。　The　fifth　one　was　an　elderly　rancher's　wife。　The　police　call　this　killer　the　Axe　Man。　As　I　write　this；　the　Axe　Man　has　not　been　captured。　Nor　has　he　killed　again；　if　Cynthia　Lulubelle　Simms　DeWitt　was　the　Axe　Man's　sixth　victim；　she　was　also　his　last；　at　least　so　far。　There　is　still　some　question；　however；　as　to　whether　or　not　she　was　his　sixth　victim。　If　not　in　most　minds'　that　question　exists　in　the　part　of　L。T。's　mind　which　is　still　allowed　to　hope。
　　The　blood　on　the　seat　wasn't　human　blood；　you　see；　it　didn't　take　the　Nevada　State　Forensics　Unit　five　hours　to　determine　that。　The　ranch　hand　who　found　Lulubelle's　Subaru　saw　a　cloud　of　circling　birds　half　a　mile　away；　and　when　he　reached　them；　he　found　not　a　dismembered　woman　but　a　dismembered　dog。　Little　was　left　but　bones　and　teeth；　the　predators　and　scavengers　had　had　their　day；　and　there's　not　much　meat　on　a　Jack　Russell　terrier　to　begin　with。　The　Axe　Man　most　definitely　got　Frank；　Lulubelle's　fate　is　probable；　but　far　from　certain。
　　Perhaps；　I　thought；　she　is　alive。　Singing　'Tie　a　Yellow　Ribbon'　at　The　Jailhouse　in　Ely　or　'Take　a　Message　to　Michael'　at　The　Rose　of　Santa　Fe　in　Hawthorne。　Backed　up　by　a　three…piece　bo。　Old　men　trying　to　look　young　in　red　vests　and　black　string　ties。　Or　maybe　she's　blowing　GM　cowboys　in　Austin　or　Wendover…bending　forward　until　her　breasts　press　flat　on　her　thighs　beneath　a　calendar　showing　tulips　in　Holland；　gripping　set　after　set　of　flabby　buttocks　in　her　hands　and　thinking　about　what　to　watch　on　TV　that　night；　when　her　shift　is　done。　Perhaps　she　just　pulled　over　to　the　side　of　the　road　and　walked　away。　People　do　that。　I　know　it；　and　probably　you　do；　too。　Sometimes　people　just　say　fuck　it　and　walk　away。　Maybe　she　left　Frank　behind；　thinking　someone　would　e　along　and　give　him　a　good　home；　only　it　was　the　Axe　Man　who　came　along；　and　。　。　。
　　But　no。　I　met　Lulubelle；　and　for　the　life　of　me　I　can't　see　her　leaving　a　dog　to　most　likely　roast　to　death　or　starve　to　death　in　the　barrens。　Especially　not　a　dog　she　loved　the　way　she　loved　Frank。　No；　L。T。　hadn't　been　exaggerating　about　that；　I　saw　them　together；　and　I　know。
　　She　could　still　be　alive　somewhere。　Technically　speaking；　at　least；　L。T。's　right　about　that。　Just　because　I　can't　think　of　a　scenario　that　would　lead　from　that　car　with　the　door　hanging　open　and　the　rearview　mirror　lying　on　the　floor　and　the　dog　lying　dead　and　crow…picked　two　rises　away；　just　because　I　can't　think　of　a　scenario　that　would　lead　from　that　place　near　Caliente　to　some　other　place　where　Lulubelle　Simms　sings　or　sews　or　blows　truckers；　safe　and　unknown；　well；　that　doesn't　mean　that　no　such　scenario　exists。　As　I　told　L。T。；　it　isn't　as　if　they　found　her　body；　they　just　found　her　car；　and　the　remains　of　the　dog　a　little　way　from　the　car。　Lulubelle　herself　could　be　anywhere。　You　can　see　that。
　　I　couldn't　sleep　and　I　felt　thirsty。　I　got　out　of　bed；　went　into　the　bathroom；　and　took　the　toothbrushes　out　of　the　glass　we　keep　by　the　sink。　I　filled　the　glass　with　water。　Then　I　sat　down　on　the　closed　lid　of　the　toilet　and　drank　the　water　and　thought　about　the　sound　that　Siamese　cats　make；　that　weird　crying；　how　it　must　sound　good　if　you　love　them；　how　it　must　sound　like　ing　home。
　　　
　　　
　　　
　　　THE　ROAD　VIRUS　HEADS　NORTH
　　
　　
　　I　actually　have　the　picture　described　in　this　story；　how　weird　is　that？　My　wife　saw　it　and　thought　I'd　like　it　（or　at　least　react　to　it）；　so　she　gave　it　to　me　as　a　。　。　。　birthday　present？　Christmas　present？　I　can't　remember。　What　I　can　remember　is　that　none　of　my　three　kids　liked　it。　I　hung　it　in　my　office；　and　they　claimed　the　driver's　eyes　followed　them　as　they　crossed　the　room　（as　a　very　small　boy；　my　son　Owen　was　similarly　freaked　by　a　picture　of　Jim　Morrison