sk.everythingseventual-第75节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


eached　the　corner　I　shouted　it　again。　It　was　the　one　thing　I　couldn't　get　past；　it　was　stuck　in　my　throat　like　a　chicken　bone。　'I　saved　your　life！　Your　goddam　life！'
　　She　paused　at　the　corner　and　turned　back　to　me。　The　terrible　smile　was　still　on　her　face。　'No；'　she　said。　'You　didn't。'
　　Then　she　went　on　around　the　corner。　I　haven't　seen　her　since；　although　I　suppose　I　will。　I'll　see　her　in　court；　as　the　saying　goes。
　　
　　I　found　a　market　on　the　next　block　and　bought　a　package　of　Marlboros。　When　I　got　back　to　the　corner　of　Madison　and　Fifty…third；　Fifty…third　had　been　blocked　off　with　those　blue　sawhorses　the　cops　use　to　protect　crime…scenes　and　parade　routes。　I　could　see　the　restaurant；　though。　I　could　see　it　just　fine。　I　sat　down　on　the　curb；　lit　a　cigarette；　and　observed　developments。　Half　a　dozen　rescue　vehicles　arrived…a　scream　of　ambulances；　I　guess　you　could　say。　The　chef　went　into　the　first　one；　unconscious　but　apparently　still　alive。　His　brief　appearance　before　his　fans　on　Fifty…third　Street　was　followed　by　a　body…bag　on　a　stretcher…Humboldt。　Next　came　Guy；　strapped　tightly　to　a　stretcher　and　staring　wildly　around　as　he　was　loaded　into　the　back　of　an　ambulance。　I　thought　that　for　just　a　moment　his　eyes　met　mine；　but　that　was　probably　my　imagination。
　　As　Guy's　ambulance　pulled　away；　rolling　through　a　hole　in　the　sawhorse　barricade　provided　by　two　uniformed　cops；　I　tossed　the　cigarette　I'd　been　smoking　in　the　gutter。　I　hadn't　gone　through　this　day　just　to　start　killing　myself　with　tobacco　again；　I　decided。
　　I　looked　after　the　departing　ambulance　and　tried　to　imagine　the　man　inside　it　living　wherever　ma？tre　d's　live…Queens　or　Brooklyn　or　maybe　even　Rye　or　Mamaroneck。　I　tried　to　imagine　what　his　own　dining　room　might　look　like；　what　pictures　might　be　on　the　walls。　I　couldn't　do　that；　but　I　found　I　could　imagine　his　bedroom　with　relative　ease；　although　not　whether　he　shared　it　with　a　woman。　I　could　see　him　lying　awake　but　perfectly　still；　looking　up　at　the　ceiling　in　the　small　hours　while　the　moon　hung　in　the　black　firmament　like　the　half…lidded　eye　of　a　corpse；　I　could　imagine　him　lying　there　and　listening　to　the　neighbor's　dog　bark　steadily　and　monotonously；　going　on　and　on　until　the　sound　was　like　a　silver　nail　driving　into　his　brain。　I　imagined　him　lying　not　far　from　a　closet　filled　with　tuxedos　in　plastic　dry…cleaning　bags。　I　could　see　them　hanging　there　like　executed　felons。　I　wondered　if　he　did　have　a　wife。　If　so；　had　he　killed　her　before　ing　to　work？　I　thought　of　the　blob　on　his　shirt　and　decided　it　was　a　possibility。　I　also　wondered　about　the　neighbor's　dog；　the　one　that　wouldn't　shut　up。　And　the　neighbor's　family。
　　But　mostly　it　was　Guy　I　thought　about；　lying　sleepless　through　all　the　same　nights　I　had　lain　sleepless；　listening　to　the　dog　next　door　or　down　the　street　as　I　had　listened　to　sirens　and　the　rumble　of　trucks　heading　downtown。　I　thought　of　him　lying　there　and　looking　up　at　the　shadows　the　moon　had　tacked　to　the　ceiling。　Thought　of　that　cry…Eeeeeee！…building　up　in　his　head　like　gas　in　a　closed　room。
　　'Eeeee；'　I　said　。　。　。　just　to　see　how　it　sounded。　I　dropped　the　package　of　Marlboros　into　the　gutter　and　began　stamping　it　methodically　as　I　sat　there　on　the　curb。　'Eeeee。　Eeeee。　Eeeeee。'
　　One　of　the　cops　standing　by　the　sawhorses　looked　over　at　me。　'Hey；　buddy；　want　to　stop　being　a　pain　in　the　butt？'　he　called　over。　'We　got　us　a　situation　here。'
　　Of　course　you　do；　I　thought。　Don't　we　all。
　　I　didn't　say　anything；　though。　I　stopped　stamping…the　cigarette　pack　was　pretty　well　dead　by　then；　anyway…and　stopped　making　the　noise。　I　could　still　hear　it　in　my　head；　though；　and　why　not？　It　makes　as　much　sense　as　anything　else。
　　Eeeeeee。
　　Eeeeeee。
　　Eeeeeee。
　　　
　　　
　　　
　　　THAT　FEELING；　YOU　CAN　ONLY
　　　SAY　WHAT　IT　IS　IN　FRENCH
　　
　　
　　Floyd；　what's　that　over　there？　Oh　shit。
　　The　man's　voice　speaking　these　words　was　vaguely　familiar；　but　the　words　themselves　were　just　a　disconnected　snip　of　dialogue；　the　kind　of　thing　you　heard　when　you　were　channel…surfing　with　the　remote。　There　was　no　one　named　Floyd　in　her　life。　Still；　that　was　the　start。　Even　before　she　saw　the　little　girl　in　the　red　pinafore；　there　were　those　disconnected　words。
　　But　it　was　the　little　girl　who　brought　it　on　strong。　'Oh…oh；　I'm　getting　that　feeling；'　Carol　said。
　　The　girl　in　the　pinafore　was　in　front　of　a　country　market　called　Carson's…BEER；　WINE；　GROC；　FRESH　BAIT；　LOTTERY…crouched　down　with　her　butt　between　her　ankles　and　the　bright…red　apron…dress　tucked　between　her　thighs；　playing　with　a　doll。　The　doll　was　yellow…haired　and　dirty；　the　kind　that's　round　and　stuffed　and　boneless　in　the　body。
　　'What　feeling？'　Bill　asked。
　　'You　know。　The　one　you　can　only　say　what　it　is　in　French。　Help　me　here。'
　　'Déjà　vu；'　he　said。
　　'That's　it；'　she　said；　and　turned　to　look　at　the　little　girl　one　more　time。　She'll　have　the　doll　by　one　leg；　Carol　thought。　Holding　it　upside　down　by　one　leg　with　its　grimy　yellow　hair　hanging　down。
　　But　the　little　girl　had　abandoned　the　doll　on　the　store's　splintery　gray　steps　and　had　gone　over　to　look　at　a　dog　caged　up　in　the　back　of　a　station　wagon。　Then　Bill　and　Carol　Shelton　went　around　a　curve　in　the　road　and　the　store　was　out　of　sight。
　　'How　much　farther？'　Carol　asked。
　　Bill　looked　at　her　with　one　eyebrow　raised　and　his　mouth　dimpled　at　one　corner…left　eyebrow；　right　dimple；　always　the　same。　The　look　that　said；　You　think　I'm　amused；　but　I'm　really　irritated。　For　the　ninety　trillionth　or　so　time　in　the　marriage；　I'm　really　irritated。　You　don't　know　that；　though；　because　you　can　only　see　about　two　inches　into　me　and　then　your　vision　fails。
　　But　she　had　better　vision　than　he　realized；　it　was　one　of　the　secrets　of　the　marriage。　Probably　he　had　a　few　secrets　of　his　own。　And　there　were；　of　course；　the　ones　they　kept　together。
　　'I　don't　know；'　he　said。　'I've　never　been　here。'
　　'But　you're　sure　we're　on　the　right　road。'
　　'Once　you　get　over　the　causeway　and　onto　Sanibel　Island；　there's　only　one；'　he　said。　'It　goes　across　to　Captiva；　and　there　it　ends。　But　before　it　does　we'll　e　to　Palm　House。　That　I　promise　you。'
　　The　arch　in　his　eyebrow　began　to　flatten。　The　dimple　began　to　fill　in。　He　was　returning　to　what　she　thought　of　as　the　Great　Level。　She　had　e　to　dislike　the　Great　Level；　too；　but　not　as　much　as　the　eyebrow　and　the　dimple；　or　his　sarcastic　way　of　saying　'Excuse　me？'　when　you　said　something　he　considered　stupid；　or　his　habit　of　pooching　out　his　lower　lip　when　he　wanted　to　appear　thoughtful　and　deliberative。
　　'Bill？'
　　'Mmm？'
　　'Do　you　know　anyone　named　Floyd？'
　　'There　was　Floyd　Denning。　He　and　I　ran　the　downstairs　snack　bar　at　Christ　the　Redeemer　in　our　senior　year。　I　told　you　about　him；　didn't　I？　He　stole　the　Coke　money　one　Friday　and　spent　the　weekend　in　New　York　with　his　girlfriend。　They　suspended　him　and　expelled　her。　What　made　you　think　of　him？'
　　'I　don't　know；'　she　said。　Easier　than　telling　him　that　the　Floyd　with　whom　Bill　had　gone　to　high　school　wasn't　the　Floyd　the　voice　in　her　head　was　speaking　to。　At　least；　she　didn't　think　it　was。
　　Second　honeymoon；　that's　what　you　call　this；　she　thought；　looking　at　the　palms　that　lined　Highway　867；　a　white　bird　that　stalked　along　the　shoulder　like　an　angry　preacher；　and　a　sign　that　read　SEMINOLE　WILDLIFE　PARK；　BRING　A　CARFUL　FOR　10。　Florida　the　Sunshine　State。　Florida　the　Hospitality　State。　Not　to　mention　Florida　the　Second…Honeymoon　State。　Florida；　where　Bill　Shelton　and　Carol　Shelton；　the　former　Carol　O'Neill；　of　Lynn；　Massachusetts；　came　on　their　first　honeymoon　twenty…five　years　before。　Only　that　was　on　the　other　side；　the　Atlantic　side；　at　a　little　cabin　colony；　and　there　were　cockroaches　in　the　bureau　drawers。　He　couldn't　stop　touching　me。　That　was　all　right；　though；　in　those　days　I　wanted　to　be　touched。　Hell；　I　wanted　to　be　torched　like　Atlanta　in　Gone　With　the　Wind；　and　he　torched　me；　rebuilt　me；　torched　me　again。　Now　it's　silver。　Twenty…five　is　silver。　And　sometimes　I　get　that　feeling。
　　They　were　approaching　a　curve；　and　she　thought；　Three　crosses　on　the　right　side　of　the　road。　Two　small　ones　flanking　a　bigger　one。　The　small　ones　are　clapped…together　wood。　The　one　in　the　middle　is　white　birch　with　a　picture　on　it；　a　tiny　photograph　of　the　seventeen…year…old　boy　who　lost　control　of　his　car　on　this　curve　one　drunk　night　that　was　his　last　drunk　night；　and　this　is　where　his　girlfriend　and　her　girlfriends　marked　the　spot　…
　　Bill　drove　around　the　curve。　A　pair　of　black　crows；　plump　and　shiny；　lifted　off　from　something　pasted　to　the　macadam　in　a　splat　of　blood。　The　birds　had　eaten　so　well　that　Carol　wasn't　sure　they　were　going　to　get　out　of　the　way　until　they　did。　There　were　no　crosses；　not　on　the　left；　not　on　the　right。　Just　roadkill　in　the　middle；　a　woodchuck　or　something；　now　passing　beneath　a　luxury　car　that　had　never　been　north　of　the　Mason…Dixon　Line。
　　Floyd；　what's　that　over　there？
　　'What's　wrong？'
　　'Huh？'　She　looked　at　him；　bewildered；　feeling　a　little　wild。
　　'You're　sitting　bolt…upright。　Got　a　cramp　in　your　back？'
　　'Just　a　slight　one。'　She　settled　back　by　degrees。　'I　had　that　feeling　again。　The　déjà　vu。'