sk.everythingseventual-第92节

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　　Yes；　Freud　had　believed　that；　too；　I'd　read　it　in　Psych　101。　I　doubted　if　this　fellow　knew　much　about　Freud；　I　didn't　think　many　Freudian　scholars　wore　sleeveless　tee…shirts　and　baseball　caps　turned　around　backward；　but　he　knew　enough。　Funeral；　I'd　said。　Dear　Christ；　I'd　said　funeral。　It　came　to　me　then　that　he　was　playing　me。　I　didn't　want　to　let　him　know　I　knew　he　was　dead。　He　didn't　want　to　let　me　know　that　he　knew　I　knew　he　was　dead。　And　so　I　couldn't　let　him　know　that　I　knew　that　he　knew　that　。　。　。
　　The　world　began　to　swing　in　front　of　me。　In　a　moment　it　would　begin　to　spin；　then　to　whirl；　and　I'd　lose　it。　I　closed　my　eyes　for　a　moment。　In　the　darkness　the　afterimage　of　the　moon　hung；　turning　green。
　　'You　feeling　all　right；　man？'　he　asked。　The　concern　in　his　voice　was　gruesome。
　　'Yes；'　I　said；　opening　my　eyes。　Things　had　steadied　again。　The　pain　in　the　backs　of　my　hands　where　my　nails　were　digging　into　the　skin　was　strong　and　real。　And　the　smell。　Not　just　pine　air　freshener；　not　just　chemicals。　There　was　a　smell　of　earth；　as　well。
　　'You　sure？'　he　asked。
　　'Just　a　little　tired。　Been　hitchhiking　a　long　time。　And　sometimes　I　get　a　little　carsick。'　Inspiration　suddenly　struck。　'You　know　what；　I　think　you　better　let　me　out。　If　I　get　a　little　fresh　air；　my　stomach　will　settle。　Someone　else　will　e　along　and…'
　　'I　couldn't　do　that；'　he　said。　'Leave　you　out　here？　No　way。　It　could　be　an　hour　before　someone　came　along；　and　they　might　not　pick　you　up　when　they　did。　I　got　to　take　care　of　you。　What's　that　song？　Get　me　to　the　church　on　time；　right？　No　way　I'm　letting　you　out。　Crack　your　window　a　little；　that'll　help。　I　know　it　doesn't　smell　exactly　great　in　here。　I　hung　up　that　air　freshener；　but　those　things　don't　work　worth　a　shit。　Of　course；　some　smells　are　harder　to　get　rid　of　than　others。'
　　I　wanted　to　reach　out　for　the　window…crank　and　turn　it；　let　in　the　fresh　air；　but　the　muscles　in　my　arm　wouldn't　seem　to　tighten。　All　I　could　do　was　sit　there　with　my　hands　locked　together；　nails　biting　into　the　backs　of　them。　One　set　of　muscles　wouldn't　work；　another　wouldn't　stop　working。　What　a　joke。
　　'It's　like　that　story；'　he　said。　'The　one　about　the　kid　who　buys　the　almost　new　Cadillac　for　seven　hundred　and　fifty　dollars。　You　know　that　story；　don't　you？'
　　'Yeah；'　I　said　through　my　numb　lips。　I　didn't　know　the　story；　but　I　knew　perfectly　well　that　I　didn't　want　to　hear　it；　didn't　want　to　hear　any　story　this　man　might　have　to　tell。　'That　one's　famous。'　Ahead　of　us　the　road　leaped　forward　like　a　road　in　an　old　black…and…white　movie。
　　'Yeah；　it　is；　fucking　famous。　So　the　kid's　looking　for　a　car　and　he　sees　an　almost　brand…new　Cadillac　on　this　guy's　lawn。'
　　'I　said　I…'
　　'Yeah；　and　there's　a　sign　that　says　FOR　SALE　BY　OWNER　in　the　window。'
　　There　was　a　cigarette　parked　behind　his　ear。　He　reached　for　it；　and　when　he　did　his　shirt　pulled　up　in　the　front。　I　could　see　another　puckered　black　line　there；　more　stitches。　Then　he　leaned　forward　to　punch　in　the　cigarette　lighter　and　his　shirt　dropped　back　into　place。
　　'Kid　knows　he　can't　afford　no　Cadillac…car；　can't　get　within　a　shout　of　a　Caddy；　but　he's　curious；　you　know？　So　he　goes　over　to　the　guy　and　says；　'How　much　does　something　like　that　go　for？'　And　the　guy；　he　turns　off　the　hose　he's　got…cause　he's　washin　the　car；　you　know…and　he　says；　'Kid；　this　is　your　lucky　day。　Seven　hundred　and　fifty　bucks　and　you　drive　it　away。''
　　The　cigarette　lighter　popped　out。　Staub　pulled　it　free　and　pressed　the　coil　to　the　end　of　his　cigarette。　He　drew　in　smoke　and　I　saw　little　tendrils　e　seeping　out　between　the　stitches　holding　the　incision　on　his　neck　closed。
　　'The　kid；　he　looks　in　through　the　driver's…side　window　and　sees　there's　only　seventeen　thou　on　the　odometer。　He　says　to　the　guy；　〃Yeah；　sure；　that's　as　funny　as　a　screen　door　in　a　submarine。〃　The　guy　says；　〃No　joke；　kid；　pony　up　the　cash　and　it's　yours。　Hell；　I'll　even　take　a　check；　you　got　a　honest　face。〃　And　the　kid　says　。　。　。'
　　I　looked　out　the　window。　I　had　heard　the　story　before；　years　ago；　probably　while　I　was　still　in　junior　high。　In　the　version　I'd　been　told　the　car　was　a　Thunderbird　instead　of　a　Caddy；　but　otherwise　everything　was　the　same。　The　kid　says　I　may　only　be　seventeen　but　I'm　not　an　idiot；　no　one　sells　a　car　like　this；　especially　one　with　low　mileage；　for　only　seven　hundred　and　fifty　bucks。　And　the　guy　tells　him　he's　doing　it　because　the　car　smells；　you　can't　get　the　smell　out；　he's　tried　and　tried　and　nothing　will　take　it　out。　You　see　he　was　on　a　business　trip；　a　fairly　long　one；　gone　for　at　least　。　。　。
　　'。　。　。　a　coupla　weeks；'　the　driver　was　saying。　He　was　smiling　the　way　people　do　when　they're　telling　a　joke　that　really　slays　them。　'And　when　he　es　back；　he　finds　the　car　in　the　garage　and　his　wife　in　the　car；　she's　been　dead　practically　the　whole　time　he's　been　gone。　I　don't　know　if　it　was　suicide　or　a　heart　attack　or　what；　but　she's　all　bloated　up　and　the　car；　it's　full　of　that　smell　and　all　he　wants　to　do　is　sell　it；　you　know。'　He　laughed。　'That's　quite　a　story；　huh？'
　　'Why　wouldn't　he　call　home？'　It　was　my　mouth；　talking　all　by　itself。　My　brain　was　frozen。　'He's　gone　for　two　weeks　on　a　business　trip　and　he　never　calls　home　once　to　see　how　his　wife's　doing？'
　　'Well；'　the　driver　said；　'that's　sorta　beside　the　point；　wouldn't　you　say？　I　mean　hey；　what　a　bargain…that's　the　point。　Who　wouldn't　be　tempted？　After　all；　you　could　always　drive　the　car　with　the　fuckin　windows　open；　right？　And　it's　basically　just　a　story。　Fiction。　I　thought　of　it　because　of　the　smell　in　this　car。　Which　is　fact。'
　　Silence。　And　I　thought：　He's　waiting　for　me　to　say　something；　waiting　for　me　to　end　this。　And　I　wanted　to。　I　did。　Except　。　。　。　what　then？　What　would　he　do　then？
　　He　rubbed　the　ball　of　his　thumb　over　the　button　on　his　shirt；　the　one　reading　I　RODE　THE　BULLET　AT　THRILL　VILLAGE；　LACONIA。　I　saw　there　was　dirt　under　his　fingernails。　'That's　where　I　was　today；'　he　said。　'Thrill　Village。　I　did　some　work　for　a　guy　and　he　gave　me　an　all…day　pass。　My　girlfriend　was　gonna　go　with　me；　but　she　called　and　said　she　was　sick；　she　gets　these　periods　that　really　hurt　sometimes；　they　make　her　sick　as　a　dog。　It's　too　bad；　but　I　always　think；　hey；　what's　the　alternative？　No　rag　at　all；　right；　and　then　I'm　in　trouble；　we　both　are。'　He　yapped；　a　humorless　bark　of　sound。　'So　I　went　by　myself。　No　sense　wasting　an　all…day　pass。　You　ever　been　to　Thrill　Village？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。　Once。　When　I　was　twelve。
　　'Who'd　you　go　with？'　he　asked。　'You　didn't　go　alone；　did　you？　Not　if　you　were　only　twelve。'
　　I　hadn't　told　him　that　part；　had　I？　No。　He　was　playing　with　me；　that　was　all；　swatting　me　idly　back　and　forth。　I　thought　about　opening　the　door　and　just　rolling　out　into　the　night；　trying　to　tuck　my　head　into　my　arms　before　I　hit；　only　I　knew　he'd　reach　over　and　pull　me　back　before　I　could　get　away。　And　I　couldn't　raise　my　arms；　anyway。　The　best　I　could　do　was　clutch　my　hands　together。
　　'No；'　I　said。　'I　went　with　my　dad。　My　Dad　took　me。'
　　'Did　you　ride　the　Bullet？　I　rode　that　fucker　four　times。　Man！　It　goes　right　upside　down！'　He　looked　at　me　and　uttered　another　empty　bark　of　laughter。　The　moonlight　swam　in　his　eyes；　turning　them　into　white　circles；　making　them　into　the　eyes　of　a　statue。　And　I　understood　he　was　more　than　dead；　he　was　crazy。　'Did　you　ride　that；　Alan？'
　　I　thought　of　telling　him　he　had　the　wrong　name；　my　name　was　Hector；　but　what　was　the　use？　We　were　ing　to　the　end　of　it　now。
　　'Yeah；'　I　whispered。　Not　a　single　light　out　there　except　for　the　moon。　The　trees　rushed　by；　writhing　like　spontaneous　dancers　at　a　tentshow　revival。　The　road　rushed　under　us。　I　looked　at　the　speedometer　and　saw　he　was　up　to　eighty　miles　an　hour。　We　were　riding　the　bullet　right　now；　he　and　I；　the　dead　drive　fast。　'Yeah；　the　Bullet。　I　rode　it。'
　　'Nah；'　he　said。　He　drew　on　his　cigarette；　and　once　again　I　watched　the　little　trickles　of　smoke　escape　from　the　stitched　incision　on　his　neck。　'You　never。　Especially　not　with　your　father。　You　got　into　the　line；　all　right；　but　you　were　with　your　Ma。　The　line　was　long；　the　line　for　the　Bullet　always　is；　and　she　didn't　want　to　stand　out　there　in　the　hot　sun。　She　was　fat　even　then；　and　the　heat　bothered　her。　But　you　pestered　her　all　day；　pestered　pestered　pestered；　and　here's　the　joke　of　it；　man…when　you　finally　got　to　the　head　of　the　line；　you　chickened。　Didn't　you？'
　　I　said　nothing。　My　tongue　was　stuck　to　the　roof　of　my　mouth。
　　His　hand　stole　out；　the　skin　yellow　in　the　light　of　the　Mustang's　dashboard　lights；　the　nails　filthy；　and　gripped　my　locked　hands。　The　strength　went　out　of　them　when　he　did　and　they　fell　apart　like　a　knot　that　magically　unties　itself　at　the　touch　of　the　magician's　wand。　His　skin　was　cold　and　somehow　snaky。
　　'Didn't　you？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。　I　couldn't　get　my　voice　much　above　a　whisper。　'When　we　got　close　and　I　saw　how　high　it　was　。　。　。　how　it　turned　over　at　the　top　and　how　they　screamed　inside　when　it　did　。　。　。　I　chickened　out。　She　swatted　me；　and　she　wouldn't　talk　to　me　all　the　way　home。　I　never　rode　the　Bullet。'　Until　now；　at　least。
　　'You　should　have；　man。　That's　the　best　one。　That's　the　one　to　ride。　Nothin　else　is　as