pzb.lostsouls-第40节

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　Ghost　saw　a　rusty　blue　pickup；　its　bed　pried　high　with　pumpkins　that　mirrored　the　pale　orange　light　of　the　moon。　He　saw　a　Greyhound　bus　going　north。　The　air　inside　the　T…bird　was　heavy　with　Steve's　restlessness。　Ghost　knew　Steve　would　get　very　drunk　tonight。
　　Well；　what　the　hell。　So　would　he。　Maybe。
　　But　after　the　music　was　over。
　　At　the　Sacred　Yew；　they　did　their　sound　check。　Ghost　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　stage；　swinging　his　legs；　listening　to　Steve　curse　the　club's　shitty　PA；　occasionally　singing　a　few　lines　into　the　microphone。　When　the　check　was　over；　Steve　headed　for　the　bar；　a　separate　room　at　the　back　of　the　club。　Ghost　followed；　trailing　his　fingers　along　the　hand…painted；　crayoned；　and　Magic　Markered　mural　on　the　wall。　He　had　drawn　part　of　the　mural　himself。　Anyone　who　wanted　to　add　to　it　could…Kinsey　kept　pens　and　finger　paints　behind　the　bar。
　　Ghost　knew　every　corner　of　the　Yew；　every　one　of　the　fancy　antique…gold　ceiling　tiles　Kinsey　had　put　in；　every　graffiti　in　the　restrooms。　When　you　played　at　a　club　forty　weeks　out　of　a　year；　it　got　to　be　home。
　　As　soon　as　Ghost　came　into　the　bar；　Steve　handed　him　a　can　of　Budweiser。　Kinsey　Hummingbird　was　serving　at　the　bar；　smiling　his　awkwardly　amiable　smile；　already　setting　up　a　second　beer　for　Steve。　Steve　finished　his　first　one　and　started　on　the　next。
　　Ghost　sipped　his　beer…he　didn't　need　it；　not　tonight；　he　would　drink　music…and　watched　the　kids　e　in。　Soon　the　club　was　full　of　them。　College　students　from　Raleigh；　and　dropouts　like　Steve　and　Ghost。　High　school　students　from　Windy　Hill；　the　hippie　Quaker　place；　but　hardly　any　from　the　county　school；　they　were　all　metalheads　over　there。　Younger　kids　too…junior　high　kids　smoking　Marlboros　and　Camels；　kids　trying　to　look　jaded　and　managing　only　to　look　bored。　Kids　with　wide…open　innocent　faces　and　easy　smiles；　kids　with　long　dark　hair　and　eyeliner；　kids　with　razor　scars　on　their　wrists；　kids　already　sick　of　life；　kids　happy　to　be　alive　and　drunk　and　younger　than　they　would　ever　feel　again。
　　They　were　so　very　young。　Ghost　thought　as　he　stood　among　them；　feeling　their　pain　and　their　exuberance；　their　stupidity　and　terror　and　beauty　brush　his　mind。　They　were　so　young；　and　they　wore　their　thrift…shop　jewelry；　their　ragged　jeans；　their　black　clothes　like　badges　of　membership　to　some　arcane　club。　Some　club　that　required　drunkenness…on　cheap　liquor；　on　rainy　midnights；　on　poetry　or　sex。　Some　club　that　required　love　of　obscure　bands　and　learning　to　lie　awake　at　4：00　A。M。；　bursting　with　terrors　and　wide…awake　dreams。
　　None　of　these　kids　was　Nothing。　Ghost　looked　for　the　long　silk　coat；　the　lank　black　hair；　the　three　lurking　figures　that　would　surround　the　boy。　But　he　was　not　here；　though　many　of　these　kids　looked　like　him…the　same　big；　black…rimmed；　blasted　eyes；　the　same　pale　flickering　hands。　Ghost　hoped　Nothing　wouldn't　e。　Not　with　those　three。　But　he　knew　they　would　be　there。
　　Something　in　him　ached　for　that　boy。　For　the　sadness　in　his　face；　for　his　eyes　yearning　to　stay　young。　He　wanted　to　grab　Nothing　away　from　his　panions　and　tell　him　that　sometimes　everything　could　be　all　right；　that　pain　did　not　have　to　e　with　magic；　that　childhood　never　had　to　end。　And　yet　he　wondered　whether　Nothing　had　not　known　all　those　things　when　he　made　his　choice。　Whatever　that　was。
　　The　right　choice　was　not　always　clear。　Nevertheless；　Nothing　had　had　to　make　one。　Ghost　had　felt　him　do　it；　right　there　in　the　bedroom　as　he　woke　up；　and　he　had　felt　the　boy　grow　a　little　older。　He　felt　his　mind　straining　at　something　it　could　not　quite　grasp；　and　the　feeling　was　odd；　there　wasn't　much　Ghost　could　not　empathize　with。　He　reminded　himself　that　he　had　not　really　tried；　had　not　wanted　to　try。
　　Then　Steve　grabbed　Ghost's　arm　and　dragged　him　through　the　crowd　toward　the　stage。　It　was　time　to　play。　Ghost　felt　the　small　shiver　of　something　like　stage　fright　and　something　like　wild　intoxication；　when　the　room　swims；　when　you　can　no　longer　stand　up　straight　or　trust　your　eyes。
　　Hands　plucked　at　Ghost's　clothes；　at　the　streamers　on　his　hat。　He　was　greeted　by　a　multitude　of　young　voices。　He　felt　the　brush　of　their　fingers　and　their　minds；　he　breathed　their　cigarette　smoke。　Then　they　were　stumbling　onstage；　Steve　and　Ghost；　Lost　Souls？　e　back　again。
　　Steve　clawed　at　his　guitar；　letting　loose　the　night's　first　jangling　scream。　Ghost　glanced　at　the　set　list　taped　to　the　floor；　scrawled　in　Steve's　illegible　handwriting；　and　the　words　of　the　first　song　rose　to　his　lips。　He　stepped　up　to　the　microphone　and；　gripping　it　with　both　hands；　whispered　those　words：　〃Don't　go　on　the　beach　。　。　。　Realize　the　lions　have　e　in　。　。　。〃
　　The　audience　swayed　at　the　touch　of　his　voice。　He　looked　into　those　upturned　young　faces　bathed　in　dim　stagelight；　the　fresh　faces；　the　pale　hollow…boned　faces　with　their　darkly　lined　eyes。
　　And　there　in　the　middle　of　the　crowd　was　Nothing；　not　swaying　but　standing　very　still；　his　face　tilted　up　with　the　rest；　his　eyes　wide　and　shadowed。　His　three　friends　were　there　too；　clustered　around　him。　Zillah　stared　at　the　floor；　his　face　in　darkness。　One　of　the　two　bigger　ones　poked　Nothing　and　shouted　something　into　his　ear；　but　Nothing　only　shook　his　head　and　kept　staring　at　Ghost。
　　Then；　as　the　first　song　ended；　Zillah　looked　up　at　the　stage。　Even　from　behind　the　lights；　from　fifteen　feet　away；　Ghost　could　see　that　Zillah's　face　was　perfect　as　a　mask　again。　His　nose　was　straight；　his　lips　full　and　lustrous。　There　were　no　bruises。　There　was　no　swelling。
　　Zillah　caught　him　staring　and　smiled。
　　Smiled　with　a　plete　mouthful　of　sharpened；　shining　teeth。
　　Ghost　faltered。　He　forgot　the　words　of　the　next　song。　Steve　was　trying　to　give　him　the　cue；　but　Ghost　couldn't　look　at　him；　couldn't　turn　his　head　away　from　that　perfect　mouthful　of　teeth。　What　was　he　dealing　with　here？　What　the　hell　had　decided　to　visit　itself　on　Missing　Mile？
　　The　moment　of　silence　stretched；　became　unbearable。　Now　Steve　was　at　the　back　of　the　stage　fucking　with　the　equipment；　trying　to　cover　for　him。　They　did　a　couple　of　songs　that　required　a　prerecorded　bass　and　drum　track；　and　Steve　was　turning　knobs　that　didn't　need　turning；　adjusting　levels　that　were　already　set。　But　how　long　could　that　stretch　out？　Where　were　his　words？
　　Then　Ghost　tore　his　gaze　away　from　Zillah's　shining　smile　and　looked　out　over　the　sea　of　faces　again；　and　the　spell　was　broken。　So　Zillah　had　new　teeth；　new　skin。　So　what？　He　and　Steve　had　a　show　to　do。　The　fragile　faces　could　not　be　turned　away；　the　burning　hearts　could　not　be　quenched　by　disappointment。　Ghost　felt　a　righteous　anger　fill　him。　Hypnotized　by　a　smile？　Oldest　trick　in　the　book！　It　couldn't　trick　him；　though；　not　now。　He　had　to　sing。
　　Steve　was　staring　at　him；　half　pissed　off；　half　scared。　He　tapped　his　foot　three　times　and　gave　Steve　the　nod。　And　when　Ghost　started　singing　again；　the　words　poured　from　him　like　a　river　of　gold。
　　They　played　〃Mandrake　Sky；〃　an　odd　chiming　melody；　the　first　song　Ghost　had　more　or　less　posed　on　his　own；　then　an　assortment　of　their　older　songs；　rocking　numbers。　Ghost　began　to　be　drunk　on　the　music。　When　he　felt　himself　swaying；　he　clung　harder　to　the　microphone。
　　The　audience　was　a　sea。　The　music　pulled　like　the　Mississippi；　he　could　be　swept　away；　he　could　drown。　But　drowning　might　be　sweet。　In　his　throat；　his　voice　was　thick　wine。　The　pale　hands　snatched　it　and　bore　it　up　on　a　cloud　of　clove　smoke。　For　those　children　Ghost　sang　harder；　letting　his　voice　soar；　pushing　it　down　deep　and　gravelly；　stringing　it　out　in　a　howl　like　a　shimmering　gold　wire。
　　Between　him　and　Steve　the　electricity　crackled。　Ghost　clenched　his　hands　in　front　of　him；　raised　his　face　to　the　gilded　tries　of　the　ceiling。　Steve　shook　his　head　madly。　His　hair　stood　out　like　a　scribbled　black　cloud。　Sparkling　drops　of　sweat　landed　sizzling　on　his　guitar；　on　the　audience；　on　Ghost's　upturned　face。　Ghost　licked　the　sweat　off　his　lips　and　tried　to　breathe。　There　was　no　breath　left　in　him。　The　audience　had　taken　it　all。　In　him　there　was　only　song；　endlessly　swelling。　If　he　did　not　let　it　out　his　heart　would　burst。
　　He　had　forgotten　all　about　Zillah's　perfect　new　face。
　　At　the　end；　Steve　joined　Ghost　at　the　microphone　to　sing　backup　on　the　last　song。　It　was　〃World；〃　the　song　they　always　closed　with。　Steve's　fingers　stroked　the　strings；　lingering　on　them；　making　them　chime。　〃World　out　of　balance；〃　Ghost　sang。　Steve　gave　the　acpanying　line；　〃World　without　end；〃　in　his　usual　off…key　tenor。　But　Steve's　singing　was　bettor　tonight　than　ever　before。　It　was　still　pretty　bad；　but　there　was　an　element　of　rawness　to　it；　a　hoarseness　born　of　beer　and　sorrow。　The　audience　rose　on　tiptoe。　〃'WE　ARE　NOT　AFRAID；〃　Ghost　chanted；　throwing　his　shoulders　back；　pushing　his　voice　harder。　〃'WE　ARE　NOT　AFRAID。〃
　　Behind　him；　Steve　sang；　〃Let　the　night　e；　let　the　night　e　。　。　。〃　That　wetness　on　his　face　was　only　sweat；　or　so　he　would　claim。　And　Ghost　wouldn't　say　different；　not　for　anything。　〃We　are　not　afraid；〃　he　whispered；　and　the　audience　whispered　back；　〃Let　the　night　e　。　。〃
　　
　　Steve　shoved　his　guitar　into　its　case；　snapped　the　catches　shut；　and　headed　for　the　bar。　He　was　already　half…