sk.everythingseventual-第63节

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　　'I　don't　know；'　Kinnell　said；　smiling　more　widely　than　ever。　'They　just　e　to　me。　Isn't　that　amazing？'
　　
　　The　yard　sale　minder's　name　was　Judy　Diment；　and　she　lived　in　the　house　next　door。　When　Kinnell　asked　her　if　she　knew　who　the　artist　happened　to　be；　she　said　she　certainly　did；　Bobby　Hastings　had　done　it；　and　Bobby　Hastings　was　the　reason　she　was　selling　off　the　Hastingses'　things。　'That's　the　only　painting　he　didn't　burn；'　she　said。　'Poor　Iris！　She's　the　one　I　really　feel　sorry　for。　I　don't　think　George　cared　much；　really。　And　I　know　he　didn't　understand　why　she　wants　to　sell　the　house。'　She　rolled　her　eyes　in　her　large；　sweaty　face…the　old　can…you…imagine…that　look。　She　took　Kinnell's　check　when　he　tore　it　off；　then　gave　him　the　pad　where　she　had　written　down　all　the　items　she'd　sold　and　the　prices　she'd　obtained　for　them。　'Just　make　it　out　to　Robin；'　she　said。　'Pretty　please　with　sugar　on　it？'　The　simper　reappeared；　like　an　old　acquaintance　you'd　hoped　was　dead。
　　'Uh…huh；'　Kinnell　said；　and　wrote　his　standard　thanks…for…being…a…fan　message。　He　didn't　have　to　watch　his　hands　or　even　think　about　it　anymore；　not　after　twenty…five　years　of　writing　autographs。　'Tell　me　about　the　picture；　and　the　Hastingses。'
　　Judy　Diment　folded　her　pudgy　hands　in　the　manner　of　a　woman　about　to　recite　a　favorite　story。
　　'Bobby　was　just　twenty…three　when　he　killed　himself　this　spring。　Can　you　believe　that？　He　was　the　tortured…genius　type；　you　know；　but　still　living　at　home。'　Her　eyes　rolled；　again　asking　Kinnell　if　he　could　imagine　it。　'He　must　have　had　seventy；　eighty　paintings；　plus　all　his　sketchbooks。　Down　in　the　basement；　they　were。'　She　pointed　her　chin　at　the　Cape　Cod；　then　looked　at　the　picture　of　the　fiendish　young　man　driving　across　the　Tobin　Bridge　at　sunset。　'Iris…that's　Bobby's　mother…said　most　of　them　were　real　bad；　lots　worse'n　this。　Stuff　that'd　curl　your　hair。'　She　lowered　her　voice　to　a　whisper；　glancing　at　a　woman　who　was　looking　at　the　Hastingses'　mismatched　silverware　and　a　pretty　good　collection　of　old　McDonald's　plastic　glasses　in　a　Honey；　I　Shrunk　the　Kids　motif。　'Most　of　them　had　sex　stuff　in　them。'
　　'Oh　no；'　Kinnell　said。
　　'He　did　the　worst　ones　after　he　got　on　drugs；'　Judy　Diment　continued。　'After　he　was　dead…he　hung　himself　down　in　the　basement；　where　he　used　to　paint…they　found　over　a　hundred　of　those　little　bottles　they　sell　crack　cocaine　in。　Aren't　drugs　awful；　Mr。　Kin…nell？'
　　'They　sure　are。'
　　'Anyway；　I　guess　he　finally　just　got　to　the　end　of　his　rope；　no　pun　intended。　He　took　all　of　his　sketches　and　paintings　out　into　the　backyard…except　for　that　one；　I　guess…and　burned　them。　Then　he　hung　himself　down　in　the　basement。　He　pinned　a　note　to　his　shirt。　It　said；　'I　can't　stand　what's　happening　to　me。'　Isn't　that　awful；　Mr。　Kin…nell？　Isn't　that　just　the　horriblest　thing　you　ever　heard？'
　　'Yes；'　Kinnell　said；　sincerely　enough。　'It　just　about　is。'
　　'Like　I　say；　I　think　George　would　go　right　on　living　in　the　house　if　he　had　his　druthers；'　Judy　Diment　said。　She　took　the　sheet　of　paper　with　Robin's　autograph　on　it；　held　it　up　next　to　Kinnell's　check；　and　shook　her　head；　as　if　the　similarity　of　the　signatures　amazed　her。　'But　men　are　different。'
　　'Are　they？'
　　'Oh；　yes；　much　less　sensitive。　By　the　end　of　his　life；　Bobby　Hastings　was　just　skin　and　bone；　dirty　all　the　time…you　could　smell　him…and　he　wore　the　same　Tee…shirt；　day　in　and　day　out。　It　had　a　picture　of　the　Led　Zeppelins　on　it。　His　eyes　were　red；　he　had　a　scraggle　on　his　cheeks　that　you　couldn't　quite　call　a　beard；　and　his　pimples　were　ing　back；　like　he　was　a　teenager　again。　But　she　loved　him；　because　a　mother's　love　sees　past　all　those　things。'
　　The　woman　who　had　been　looking　at　the　silverware　and　the　glasses　came　over　with　a　set　of　Star　Wars　placemats。　Mrs。　Diment　took　five　dollars　for　them；　wrote　the　sale　carefully　down　on　her　pad　below　'ONE　DOZ。　ASSORTED　POTHOLDERS　&　HOTPADS；'　then　turned　back　to　Kinnell。
　　'They　went　out　to　Arizona；'　she　said；　'to　stay　with　Iris's　folks。　I　know　George　is　looking　for　work　out　there　in　Flagstaff…he's　a　draftsman…but　I　don't　know　if　he's　found　any　yet。　If　he　has；　I　suppose　we　might　not　ever　see　them　again　here　in　Rosewood。　She　marked　out　all　the　stuff　she　wanted　me　to　sell…Iris　did…and　told　me　I　could　keep　twenty　per　cent　for　my　trouble。　I'll　send　a　check　for　the　rest。　There　won't　be　much。'　She　sighed。
　　'The　picture　is　great；'　Kinnell　said。
　　'Yeah；　too　bad　he　burned　the　rest；　because　most　of　this　other　stuff　is　your　standard　yard　sale　crap；　pardon　my　French。　What's　that？'　Kinnell　had　turned　the　picture　around。　There　was　a　length　of　Dymotape　pasted　to　the　back。
　　'A　title；　I　think。'
　　'What　does　it　say？'
　　He　grabbed　the　picture　by　the　sides　and　held　it　up　so　she　could　read　it　for　herself。　This　put　the　picture　at　eye…level　to　him；　and　he　studied　it　eagerly；　once　again　taken　by　the　simpleminded　weirdness　of　the　subject：　kid　behind　the　wheel　of　a　muscle　car；　a　kid　with　a　nasty；　knowing　grin　that　revealed　the　filed　points　of　an　even　nastier　set　of　teeth。
　　It　fits；　he　thought。　If　ever　a　title　fitted　a　painting；　this　one　does。
　　'The　Road　Virus　Heads　North；'　she　read。　'I　never　noticed　that　when　my　boys　were　lugging　stuff　out。　Is　it　the　title；　do　you　think？'
　　'Must　be。'　Kinnell　couldn't　take　his　eyes　off　the　blond　kid's　grin。　I　know　something；　the　grin　said。　I　know　something　you　never　will。
　　'Well；　I　guess　you'd　have　to　believe　the　fella　who　did　this　was　high　on　drugs；'　she　said；　sounding　upset…authentically　upset；　Kinnell　thought。　'No　wonder　he　could　kill　himself　and　break　his　mamma's　heart。'
　　'I've　got　to　be　heading　north　myself；'　Kinnell　said；　tucking　the　picture　under　his　arm。　'Thanks　for…'
　　'Mr。　Kinnell？'
　　'Yes？'
　　'Can　I　see　your　driver's　license？'　She　apparently　found　nothing　ironic　or　even　amusing　in　this　request。　'I　ought　to　write　the　number　on　the　back　of　your　check。'
　　Kinnell　put　the　picture　down　so　he　could　dig　for　his　wallet。　'Sure。　You　bet。'　The　woman　who'd　bought　the　Star　Wars　placemats　had　paused　on　her　way　back　to　her　car　to　watch　some　of　the　soap　opera　playing　on　the　lawn　TV。　Now　she　glanced　at　the　picture；　which　Kinnell　had　propped　against　his　shins。
　　'Ag；'　she　said。　'Who'd　want　an　ugly　old　thing　like　that？　I'd　think　about　it　every　time　I　turned　the　lights　out。'
　　'What's　wrong　with　that？'　Kinnell　asked。
　　
　　Kinnell's　Aunt　Trudy　lived　in　Wells；　which　is　about　six　miles　north　of　the　Maine…New　Hampshire　border。　Kinnell　pulled　off　at　the　exit　which　circled　the　bright　green　Wells　water　tower；　the　one　with　the　ic　sign　on　it　（KEEP　MAINE　GREEN；　BRING　MONEY　in　letters　four　feet　high）；　and　five　minutes　later　he　was　turning　into　the　driveway　of　her　neat　little　saltbox　house。　No　TV　sinking　into　the　lawn　on　paper　ashtrays　here；　only　Aunt　Trudy's　amiable　masses　of　flowers。　Kinnell　needed　to　pee　and　hadn't　wanted　to　take　care　of　that　in　a　roadside　rest…stop　when　he　could　e　here；　but　he　also　wanted　an　update　on　all　the　family　gossip。　Aunt　Trudy　retailed　the　best；　she　was　to　gossip　what　Zabar's　is　to　deli。　Also；　of　course；　he　wanted　to　show　her　his　new　acquisition。
　　She　came　out　to　meet　him；　gave　him　a　hug；　and　covered　his　face　with　her　patented　little　birdy…kisses；　the　ones　that　had　made　him　shiver　all　over　as　a　kid。
　　'Want　to　see　something？'　he　asked　her。　'It'll　blow　your　panty…hose　off。'
　　'What　a　charming　thought；'　Aunt　Trudy　said；　clasping　her　elbows　in　her　palms　and　looking　at　him　with　amusement。
　　He　opened　the　trunk　and　took　out　his　new　picture。　It　affected　her；　all　right；　but　not　in　the　way　he　had　expected。　The　color　fell　out　of　her　face　in　a　sheet…he　had　never　seen　anything　quite　like　it　in　his　entire　life。　'It's　horrible；'　she　said　in　a　tight；　controlled　voice。　'I　hate　it。　I　suppose　I　can　see　what　attracted　you　to　it；　Richie；　but　what　you　play　at；　it　does　for　real。　Put　it　back　in　your　trunk；　like　a　good　boy。　And　when　you　get　to　the　Saco　River；　why　don't　you　pull　over　into　the　breakdown　lane　and　throw　it　in？'
　　He　gaped　at　her。　Aunt　Trudy's　lips　were　pressed　tightly　together　to　stop　them　trembling；　and　now　her　long；　thin　hands　were　not　just　clasping　her　elbows　but　clutching　them；　as　if　to　keep　her　from　flying　away。　At　that　moment　she　looked　not　sixty…one　but　ninety…one。
　　'Auntie？'　Kinnell　spoke　tentatively；　not　sure　what　was　going　on　here。　'Auntie；　what's　wrong？'
　　'That；'　she　said；　unlocking　her　right　hand　and　pointing　at　the　picture。　'I'm　surprised　you　don't　feel　it　more　strongly　yourself；　an　imaginative　guy　like　you。'
　　Well；　he　felt　something；　obviously　he　had；　or　he　never　would　have　unlimbered　his　checkbook　in　the　first　place。　Aunt　Trudy　was　feeling　something　else；　though　。　。　。　or　something　more。　He　turned　the　picture　around　so　he　could　see　it　（he　had　been　holding　it　out　for　her；　so　the　side　with　the　Dymotaped　title　faced　him）；　and　looked　at　it　again。　What　he　saw　hit　him　in　the　chest　and　belly　like　a　one…two　punch。
　　The　picture　had　changed；　that　was　punch　number　one。　Not　much；　but　it　had　clearly　changed。　The　young　blond　man's　smile　was　wider；　revealing　more　of　those　filed　cannibal…teeth。　His　eyes　were　squinted　down　more；　too；　giving　his　face　a　look　which　was　more　knowing　and