sk.everythingseventual-第64节

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h。　His　eyes　were　squinted　down　more；　too；　giving　his　face　a　look　which　was　more　knowing　and　nastier　than　ever。
　　The　degree　of　a　smile　。　。　。　the　vista　of　sharpened　teeth　widening　slightly　。　。　。　the　tilt　and　squint　of　the　eyes　。　。　。　all　pretty　subjective　stuff。　A　person　could　be　mistaken　about　things　like　that；　and　of　course　he　hadn't　really　studied　the　painting　before　buying　it。　Also；　there　had　been　the　distraction　of　Mrs。　Diment；　who　could　probably　talk　the　cock　off　a　brass　monkey。
　　But　there　was　also　punch　number　two；　and　that　wasn't　subjective。　In　the　darkness　of　the　Audi's　trunk；　the　blond　young　man　had　turned　his　left　arm；　the　one　cocked　on　the　door；　so　that　Kinnell　could　now　see　a　tattoo　which　had　been　hidden　before。　It　was　a　vine…wrapped　dagger　with　a　bloody　tip。　Below　it　were　words。　Kinnell　could　make　out　DEATH　BEFORE；　and　he　supposed　you　didn't　have　to　be　a　big　best…selling　novelist　to　figure　out　the　word　that　was　still　hidden。　DEATH　BEFORE　DISHONOR　was；　after　all；　just　the　sort　of　a　thing　a　hoodoo　travelling　man　like　this　was　apt　to　have　on　his　arm。　And　an　ace　of　spades　on　the　other　one；　Kinnell　thought。
　　'You　hate　it；　don't　you；　Auntie？'　he　asked。
　　'Yes；'　she　said；　and　now　he　saw　an　even　more　amazing　thing：　she　had　turned　away　from　him；　pretending　to　look　out　at　the　street　（which　was　dozing　and　deserted　in　the　hot　afternoon　sunlight）　so　she　wouldn't　have　to　look　at　the　picture。　'In　fact；　Auntie　loathes　it。　Now　put　it　away　and　e　on　into　the　house。　I'll　bet　you　need　to　use　the　bathroom。'
　　
　　Aunt　Trudy　recovered　her　savoir…faire　almost　as　soon　as　the　watercolor　was　back　in　the　trunk。　They　talked　about　Kinnell's　mother　（Pasadena）；　his　sister　（Baton　Rouge）；　and　his　ex…wife；　Sally　（Nashua）。　Sally　was　a　space…case　who　ran　an　animal　shelter　out　of　a　double…wide　trailer　and　published　two　newsletters　each　month。　Survivors　was　filled　with　astral　info　and　supposedly　true　tales　of　the　spirit　world；　Visitors　contained　the　reports　of　people　who'd　had　close　encounters　with　space　aliens。　Kinnell　no　longer　went　to　fan　conventions　which　specialized　in　fantasy　and　horror。　One　Sally　in　a　lifetime；　he　thought；　was　enough。
　　When　Aunt　Trudy　walked　him　back　out　to　the　car；　it　was　four…thirty　and　he'd　turned　down　the　obligatory　dinner　invitation。　'I　can　get　most　of　the　way　back　to　Derry　in　daylight；　if　I　leave　now。'
　　'Okay；'　she　said。　'And　I'm　sorry　I　was　so　mean　about　your　picture。　Of　course　you　like　it；　you've　always　liked　your　。　。　。　your　oddities。　It　just　hit　me　the　wrong　way。　That　awful　face。'　She　shuddered。　'As　if　we　were　looking　at　him　。　。　。　and　he　was　looking　right　back。'
　　Kinnell　grinned　and　kissed　the　tip　of　her　nose。　'You've　got　quite　an　imagination　yourself；　sweetheart。'
　　'Of　course；　it　runs　in　the　family。　Are　you　sure　you　don't　want　to　use　the　facility　again　before　you　go？'
　　He　shook　his　head。　'That's　not　why　I　stop；　anyway；　not　really。'
　　'Oh？　Why　do　you？'
　　He　grinned。　'Because　you　know　who's　being　naughty　and　who's　being　nice。　And　you're　not　afraid　to　share　what　you　know。'
　　'Go　on；　get　going；'　she　said；　pushing　at　his　shoulder　but　clearly　pleased。　'If　I　were　you；　I'd　want　to　get　home　quick。　I　wouldn't　want　that　nasty　guy　riding　along　behind　me　in　the　dark；　even　in　the　trunk。　I　mean；　did　you　see　his　teeth？　Ag！'
　　
　　He　got　on　the　turnpike；　trading　scenery　for　speed；　and　made　it　as　far　as　the　Gray　service　area　before　deciding　to　have　another　look　at　the　picture。　Some　of　his　aunt's　unease　had　transmitted　itself　to　him　like　a　germ；　but　he　didn't　think　that　was　really　the　problem。　The　problem　was　his　perception　that　the　picture　had　changed。
　　The　service　area　featured　the　usual　gourmet　chow…burgers　by　Roy　Rogers；　cones　by　TCBY…and　had　a　small；　littered　picnic　and　dog…walking　area　at　the　rear。　Kinnell　parked　next　to　a　van　with　Missouri　plates；　drew　in　a　deep　breath；　let　it　out。　He'd　driven　to　Boston　in　order　to　kill　some　plot　gremlins　in　the　new　book；　which　was　pretty　ironic。　He'd　spent　the　ride　down　working　out　what　he'd　say　on　the　panel　if　certain　tough　questions　were　tossed　at　him；　but　none　had　been…once　they'd　found　out　he　didn't　know　where　he　got　his　ideas；　and　yes；　he　did　sometimes　scare　himself；　they'd　only　wanted　to　know　how　you　got　an　agent。
　　And　now；　heading　back；　he　couldn't　think　of　anything　but　the　damned　picture。
　　Had　it　changed？　If　it　had；　if　the　blond　kid's　arm　had　moved　enough　so　he；　Kinnell；　could　read　a　tattoo　which　had　been　partly　hidden　before；　then　he　could　write　a　column　for　one　of　Sally's　magazines。　Hell；　a　four…part　series。　If；　on　the　other　hand；　it　wasn't　changing；　then　。　。　。　what？　He　was　suffering　a　hallucination？　Having　a　breakdown？　That　was　crap。　His　life　was　pretty　much　in　order；　and　he　felt　good。　Had；　anyway；　until　his　fascination　with　the　picture　had　begun　to　waver　into　something　else；　something　darker。
　　'Ah；　fuck；　you　just　saw　it　wrong　the　first　time；'　he　said　out　loud　as　he　got　out　of　the　car。　Well；　maybe。　Maybe。　It　wouldn't　be　the　first　time　his　head　had　screwed　with　his　perceptions。　That　was　also　a　part　of　what　he　did。　Sometimes　his　imagination　got　a　little　。　。　。　well　。　。　。
　　'Feisty；'　Kinnell　said；　and　opened　the　trunk。　He　took　the　picture　out　of　the　trunk　and　looked　at　it；　and　it　was　during　the　space　of　the　ten　seconds　when　he　looked　at　it　without　remembering　to　breathe　that　he　became　authentically　afraid　of　the　thing；　afraid　the　way　you　were　afraid　of　a　sudden　dry　rattle　in　the　bushes；　afraid　the　way　you　were　when　you　saw　an　insect　that　would　probably　sting　if　you　provoked　it。
　　The　blond　driver　was　grinning　insanely　at　him　now…yes；　at　him；　Kinnell　was　sure　of　it…with　those　filed　cannibal…teeth　exposed　all　the　way　to　the　gumlines。　His　eyes　simultaneously　glared　and　laughed。　And　the　Tobin　Bridge　was　gone。　So　was　the　Boston　skyline。　So　was　the　sunset。　It　was　almost　dark　in　the　painting　now；　the　car　and　its　wild　rider　illuminated　by　a　single　streetlamp　that　ran　a　buttery　glow　across　the　road　and　the　car's　chrome。　It　looked　to　Kinnell　as　if　the　car　（he　was　pretty　sure　it　was　a　Grand　Am）　was　on　the　edge　of　a　small　town　on　Route　1；　and　he　was　pretty　sure　he　knew　what　town　it　washe　had　driven　through　it　himself　only　a　few　hours　ago。
　　'Rosewood；'　he　muttered。　'That's　Rosewood。　I'm　pretty　sure。'
　　The　Road　Virus　was　heading　north；　all　right；　ing　up　Route　1　just　as　he　had。　The　blond's　left　arm　was　still　cocked　out　the　window；　but　it　had　rotated　enough　back　toward　its　original　position　so　that　Kinnell　could　no　longer　see　the　tattoo。　But　he　knew　it　was　there；　didn't　he？　Yes；　you　bet。
　　The　blond　kid　looked　like　a　Metallica　fan　who　had　escaped　from　a　mental　asylum　for　the　criminally　insane。
　　'Jesus；'　Kinnell　whispered；　and　the　word　seemed　to　e　from　someplace　else；　not　from　him。　The　strength　suddenly　ran　out　of　his　body；　ran　out　like　water　from　a　bucket　with　a　hole　in　the　bottom；　and　he　sat　down　heavily　on　the　curb　separating　the　parking　lot　from　the　dog…walking　zone。　He　suddenly　understood　that　this　was　the　truth　he'd　missed　in　all　his　fiction；　this　was　how　people　really　reacted　when　they　came　face…to…face　with　something　which　made　no　rational　sense。　You　felt　as　if　you　were　bleeding　to　death；　only　inside　your　head。
　　'No　wonder　the　guy　who　painted　it　killed　himself；'　he　croaked；　still　staring　at　the　picture；　at　the　ferocious　grin；　at　the　eyes　that　were　both　shrewd　and　stupid。
　　There　was　a　note　pinned　to　his　shirt；　Mrs。　Diment　had　said。　'I　can't　stand　what's　happening　to　me。'　Isn't　that　awful；　Mr。　Kinnell？
　　Yes；　it　was　awful；　all　right。
　　Really　awful。
　　He　got　up；　gripping　the　picture　by　its　top；　and　strode　across　the　dog…walking　area。　He　kept　his　eyes　trained　strictly　in　front　of　him；　looking　for　canine　land　mines。　He　did　not　look　down　at　the　picture。　His　legs　felt　trembly　and　untrustworthy；　but　they　seemed　to　support　him　all　right。　Just　ahead；　close　to　the　belt　of　trees　at　the　rear　of　the　service　area；　was　a　pretty　young　thing　in　white　shorts　and　a　red　halter。　She　was　walking　a　cocker　spaniel。　She　began　to　smile　at　Kinnell；　then　saw　something　in　his　face　that　straightened　her　lips　out　in　a　hurry。　She　headed　left；　and　fast。　The　cocker　didn't　want　to　go　that　fast；　so　she　dragged　it；　coughing；　in　her　wake。
　　The　scrubby　pines　behind　the　service　area　sloped　down　to　a　boggy　acre　that　stank　of　plant　and　animal　deposition。　The　carpet　of　pine…needles　was　a　road…litter　fallout　zone：　burger　wrappers；　paper　soft…drink　cups；　TCBY　napkins；　beer　cans；　empty　wine…cooler　bottles；　cigarette　butts。　He　saw　a　used　condom　lying　like　a　dead　snail　next　to　a　torn　pair　of　panties　with　the　word　TUESDAY　stitched　on　them　in　cursive　girly…girl　script。
　　Now　that　he　was　here；　he　chanced　another　look　down　at　the　picture。　He　steeled　himself　for　further　changes…even　for　the　possibility　that　the　painting　would　be　in　motion；　like　a　movie　in　a　frame…but　there　was　none。　There　didn't　have　to　be；　Kinnell　realized；　the　blond　kid's　face　was　enough。　That　stone…crazy　grin。　Those　pointed　teeth。　The　face　said；　Hey；　old　man；　guess　what？　I'm　done　fucking　with　civilization。　I'm　a　representative　of　the　real　generation　X；　the　next　millennium　is　right　here　behind　the　wheel　of　this　fine；　high…steppin'　mo…sheen。
　　Aunt　Trudy's　initial　reaction　to　the