pzb.lostsouls-第21节

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　seen　through　thick　dirty　glass。
　　Christian　turned　onto　Bourbon　Street。　The　rain　hadn't　stopped　tonight's　carnival。　Crowds　huddled　on　the　sidewalks　and　made　occasional　mad　dashes　across　the　street；　like　fish　darting　between　brightly　lit　riverbanks。　The　street　was　a　riot　of　lights。　Glittering　gold　ribbons；　pink　and　green　martini　glasses；　a　giant　red　neon　crawfish。　He　drove　past　Jean　Lafitte's　Old　Absinthe　House　and　remembered　when　it　had　first　begun　serving　that　bitter　liqueur。　The　sign　proclaimed　Since　1807；　and　Christian　had　to　trust　it。　His　memory　was　good；　but　he　had　been　in　and　out　of　the　city　in　those　years；　more　restless　then。　He　had　seen　Lafitte；　though；　a　handsome；　sensual　man　who　could　hold　forth　on　any　subject　and　draw　an　audience　whether　he　knew　what　he　spoke　of　or　not。　Christian's　eyes　had　met　Lafitte's　across　a　crowded　barroom　one　night；　and　Lafitte　had　pulled　a　face　at　him；　toothy　and　menacing；　then　winked。
　　The　pirate　had　been　drunk　on　absinthe；　which　produces　visions。　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　would　have　loved　absinthe　in　its　true　form；　before　the　poisonous　wormwood　was　taken　out　of　the　recipe。　But　they　had　been　mewling　babes　when　it　was　banned　in　the　United　States　in　1912。
　　Inside　the　strip　clubs；　spangles　gyrated　and　flashed。　Christian　stopped　his　car　for　a　crowd　of　people　milling　across　the　street。　Soldiers；　tourists；　street…corner　musicians…and　the　omnipresent　children　in　black。　He　had　seen　those　pale　smudged　faces　before；　in　the　clubs；　in　his　arms　。　。　。　but　no；　those　had　been　different　faces。
　　Most　of　the　crowd　was　drunk。　Some　turned　and　waved　at　Christian；　and　he　lifted　a　gloved　hand　in　return；　half…smiling。　Surely　those　could　not　be　tears　on　his　face。　He　had　not　cried　in　too　many　years。　He　could　not　remember　what　crying　felt　like。　This　was　only　leftover　rain；　dripping　from　his　hair；　pooling　in　his　eyes。
　　Christian　waved　goodbye　to　the　Bourbon　Street　crowd　and　wiped　the　rain　from　his　cheeks。　Then　he　turned　north　and　drove　out　of　town。
　　
　　　Chapter　12
　　
　　As　early　afternoon　light　touched　her　eyelids；　the　sleeping　girl　moaned　and　buried　her　face　in　soft　black　oblivion。
　　Her　sheets　and　pillowcases　had　been　plain　white　cotton　until　last　week；　when　she　had　run　them　all　through　the　washing　machine　with　six　packages　of　black　Rit　dye。　Now　they　were　a　flat　bluish…ebony　color　that　stained　her　skin　on　hot　nights。　She　nestled　deeper　into　her　inky　bedclothes　and　flung　an　arm　across　the　mattress。　Empty　space。　No　warmth　or　scent　except　her　own；　no　reassuringly　live　flesh　to　press　herself　close　to。　The　empty　bed　brought　her　awake　with　a　jolt；　and　for　a　moment　she　panicked。　Waking　up　alone　robbed　her　of　her　frame　of　reference；　she　could　barely　remember　who　she　was。
　　Then　she　saw　the　room　around　her；　the　posters　on　the　walls；　the　paint…smeared　easel；　the　clothes　heaped　on　the　floor　of　the　big　walk…in　closet。　Across　the　room　she　saw　herself　in　the　mirror　of　her　vanity；　eyes　round　and　startled；　pale　face　framed　by　tangles　of　long　red…gold　hair。　She　settled　back　with　a　sigh。　She　was　Ann　Bransby…Smith；　and　she　was　in　her　own　room；　safe　in　her　own　bed；　and　never　mind　the　sick　feeling　it　still　gave　her　to　wake　up　alone。
　　Not　until　she　rolled　over　and　hugged　her　pillow　close　to　her　did　she　realize　that　she　had　been　thinking　of　waking　up　not　with　Eliot…even　though　she　had　spent　most　of　last　night　with　him…but　with　Steve。
　　Even　the　thought　of　his　name　made　her　heart　twist。　After　all　that　had　happened　between　them；　Ann　still　sometimes　wished　she　could　wake　up　with　him；　see　his　dark　hair　straggling　across　the　pillow　and　his　intense　face　softened　in　sleep；　reach　over　and　glide　her　fingers　along　the　muscles　of　his　back。　God；　but　he　had　always　felt　good　beside　her；　on　top　of　her；　inside　her。
　　Well；　almost　always。
　　Well；　except　when　he　made　her　hurt　like　hell。
　　That　was　how　she　had　started　cheating　on　him　in　the　first　place：　she'd　wanted　to　have　sex　with　someone　who　didn't　leave　her　sore　the　next　morning。　Once　she　had　loved　the　sureness　and　strength　of　Steve's　touch；　but　drinking　turned　him　rough　and　seemed　to　make　his　bones　sharper。　Ann　woke　with　gnawed　nipples；　bruised　hipbones；　a　throbbing　ache　in　her　crotch　that　turned　to　raw　agony　when　she　pissed。　It　was　only　good　for　an　argument　if　she　mentioned　it；　and　she　still　desired　him；　so　after　a　while　she　shut　up。
　　And　when　she　was　honest　with　herself；　she　knew　the　rough　sex　wasn't　the　only　thing　that　had　driven　her　away。　It　was　the　music　as　well。　Steve　had　already　started　playing　guitar　when　she　met　him；　and　at　the　time　she　had　liked　the　idea　of　having　a　musician　for　a　boyfriend。　She　was　happy　for　him　when　he　started　getting　good　and　excited　when　he；　Ghost；　and　R。J。　decided　to　form　a　band。　R。J。　had　never　wanted　it　as　badly　as　the　other　two…he'd　always　been　a　serious　kid；　and　Ann　thought　music　was　just　too　frivolous　a　calling　for　him…and　had　dropped　out　early；　but　he　still　sat　in　with　them　sometimes。
　　All　that　had　been　fine。　But　when　it　got　too　heavy；　when　it　started　to　appear　that　Steve　and　Ghost　wanted　to　make　Lost　Souls？　their　life's　work；　Ann　balked。　She　didn't　want　to　he　a　musician's　wife；　spending　months　alone　in　Missing　Mile　while　he　toured；　worrying　about　money　during　the　lean　years　and　groupies　during　the　good　ones。　When　they　had　started　recording　their　tape；　the　final　wedge　was　driven　in。　The　all…night　sessions；　the　hours　upon　hours　Steve　spent　in　Terry's　home　studio　talking　about　levels；　tracks；　spillage；　and　other　inprehensible　things　he　never　bothered　to　explain　to　his　lowly　girlfriend。　He　had　never　felt　so　intensely　about　her；　Ann　was　sure。
　　At　any　rate；　she　had　known　Eliot　would　make　a　gentler　lover　from　the　first　time　she　met　him。
　　At　first　Eliot　had　seemed　exotic：　twenty…nine　to　Ann's　twenty…one；　divorced；　with　a　real　job　as　a　junior…college　English　teacher　and　half　a　novel　sitting　on　his　desk。　He　was　a　regular　customer　at　the　Spanish　restaurant　where　she　waited　tables。　He　always　sat　in　Ann's　section　and　started　leaving　her　giant　tips。　Eventually　he　asked　her　out。　〃You　disturb　me；〃　he　had　told　her；　〃but　you　intrigue　me。〃
　　The　line　sounded　stupid　when　Ann　thought　about　it　later；　but　by　then　she　had　already　slept　with　him　and　had　mistaken　his　tentativeness　for　tenderness。　At　least　when　Eliot　went　down　on　her；　her　clitoris　didn't　feel　as　if　it　were　about　to　be　sucked　out　by　its　roots。　At　least　when　Eliot's　penis　（she　could　not　help　noticing　it　was　thinner　and　much　pointier　than　she　was　used　to）　was　inside　her；　it　didn't　feel　like　an　angry　fist　battering　her　cervix。　At　least　Eliot　waited　until　she　was　wet。　These　days；　such　things　were　luxuries。
　　Also；　Eliot　had　had　a　vasectomy。　He　was　very　proud　of　it　and　sometimes　wore　a　bright　orange　button　that　said　I　Got　Mine！　If　you　asked　him　about　it；　he　would　launch　into　a　speech　about　how　None　of　Us　Have　the　Right　to　Bring　More　Children　into　This　Cruel；　Overpopulated　World。　Ann　didn't　care　for　the　button　or　the　speech；　but　it　was　nice　being　able　to　go　off　the　pill。　Her　sleep　patterns　and　her　depression　patterns　were　so　erratic　that　she　had　been　forgetting　as　many　as　she　remembered。
　　So　it　didn't　matter　when　she　read　the　half　a　novel　and　couldn't　think　of　anything　to　say　about　it。　It　was　a　study　of　a　rural　family　in　Virginia。　It　was　Tough　and　Gritty；　but　Sensitive。　The　hero　turned　out　to　he　the　youngest　son；　Edward；　who　went　to　the　University　and　became　a　teacher　of　English。　Edward　was　also　the　only　character　who　didn't　talk　in　dialect　…Eliot　had　written　his　doctoral　thesis　on　William　Faulkner；　and　had　never　really　gotten　over　it。　It　didn't　matter　that　Eliot　talked　sneeringly　of　her　〃redneck　boyfriend〃…whom　he　had　never　met　and　never　would…and　derived　a　perverse　glee　from　hearing　that　Steve　was　a　college　dropout。　It　didn't　even　matter　that　underneath　all　her　self…righteousness　she　felt　like　the　lowest　kind　of　lying；　betraying　bitch。　None　of　these　things　mattered　to　her　in　the　slightest。
　　Until　Steve　found　out。
　　Ghost　knew　about　it　first；　of　course。　He　had　always　been　able　to　see　inside　her　head；　the　way　he　could　see　inside　Steve's　head　and　almost　anyone　else's　if　he　chose　to。　Ann　had　seen　Ghost　looking　at　her　strangely；　then　looking　away　when　she　stared　back　at　him。　He　would　not　question　her　or　accuse　her；　but　she　knew　he　knew。
　　She　had　let　herself　into　their　house　one　day　while　Steve　was　at　work。　She　stood　in　the　doorway　of　Ghost's　room；　watching　him　write　something　in　a　spiral　notebook。　When　he　finally　looked　up；　he　didn't　seem　surprised　to　see　her。　His　pale　blue　eyes　had　been　calm　but　guarded。
　　〃Are　you　going　to　tell　him？〃　she　said。
　　For　a　long　moment　Ghost　only　looked　at　her；　and　she　didn't　think　he　would　answer　at　all。　Then　he　lifted　one　shoulder　in　a　tiny　shrug　and　shook　his　head　no…but　in　those　small　movements　Ann　saw　what　pain　it　was　causing　him　to　keep　such　an　ugly　secret　from　Steve。　All　the　guilt　and　the　sorrow　washed　over　her　then；　and　she　fell　on　Ghost's　bed；　buried　her　face　in　his　musty…rose…scented　heap　of　blankets；　and　sobbed　out　the　whole　sordid　tale。　Ghost　patted　her　back　and　stroked　her　sweaty　hair；　and　all　the　time　she　knew　she　was　telling　him　things　he　didn't　want　to　hear。　But　he　listened　anyway；　because　he　was　Ghost。　Beca