pzb.lostsouls-第42节
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hing short of devouring each other would satiate their hunger。 The quiet beery nights on the front porch of the house； sitting with Ghost； who always knew when to stay up talking past midnight and when to go to bed early。 The nights lying across Steve's bed in the half…darkness of the moonlit window； before the Penthouse centerfold went up； watching life go by and not needing to chase it because they were together and that was enough。
Those nights； and the psychobloody ones when they said things that could not be taken back； when they didn't care what they said。 〃I just can't pete with alcohol； can I？〃 she had asked one bitter night； and he had responded； 〃Fuck no…you're not that good。〃
But that was nothing。
That was nothing pared to the night； the one he couldn't bear to remember； the one he couldn't help remembering in every gory detail。
When he had thrown Ann on the bed and unzipped his pants； he had ceased to be Steve Finn。 Maybe that was a cop…out； but that was how it had felt。 His sense of selfness had deserted him。 The feeling of Ann's body beneath him； bucking and struggling against him； was remote as a figure on a movie screen。 In fact； the whole thing was like a movie； watching a badly faked snuff film might have given him the same sense of mild； free…floating disgust。
The shame and horror at what he had done hadn't hit him until； driving home； he had looked at his hand on the steering wheel and seen the mark of Ann's teeth。 Tiny beads of blood were welling up from the imprint； which circled the base of his thumb。 What had he done to make her bite him that hard？
Get home； his mind had chanted。 Get home； to Ghost。 Just get there and you'll be okay。 He had。 They hadn't talked much； but Ghost had sat up with him until he could sleep。
The next few weeks had dragged by。 He missed her； he ached for her； he hated her； he pictured her making wild sweet love with her schoolteacher boyfriend。 He called her house and hung up twice。 Then one time her father answered； and he worked up his courage and asked to talk to her。 Surely she wouldn't have told her father what he had done。 But Simon only informed him in accents more clipped than usual that Steve was not to try to see Ann； telephone her； or municate in any way。 This was the only warning； Simon told him。 On his second attempt Steve would be disposed of。
Arguing with Simon Bransby was like smoking a big joint of killer grass and then trying to take an exam in Nietzschean philosophy or organic chemistry。 You had no idea what made sense and what was bullshit； Simon bombarded you with words faster than you could sort them out。 Steve had hung up again。
He had not seen Ann since then。 Until now。 He was very high and more than a little drunk； and here she stood before him； e to see him and Ghost play at the Sacred Yew。 A few minutes ago he had been thinking about getting her name tattooed on his arm。
The crack in her eyes closed； and she smiled what Steve recognized as her most guarded smile。 〃Hey； Steve。 How've you been？〃
Steve wanted to grab her； to bury his face between her breasts and sob for all those lost nights； even the ones that had ripped both their souls open。 He wanted to wipe that fake glossy smile off her face。 He couldn't stand to see that smile on the lips he knew so well； the lips he had nudged open with his tongue； the lips that had brought him to the forbidden zone between pleasure and madness。 The betraying lips。 Were they printed with the kisses of the teacher from Corinth？ He wanted them for himself； wanted to reclaim them。
But even as drunk as he was； he could not。 To do that； he would have to show his desperation。 He would have to apologize or cry or something。 Such raw openness； with its possibility of scorn； was not in Steve。 Ghost had it； but Steve's dark eyes hid his soul as Ghost's pale ones never could。 So he
only smiled back； as easily as he was able； and offered her his half…full bottle。 〃Wanna beer？〃
〃Natty Boho； huh？〃 she said。 Steve winced。 She liked Rolling Rock； he knew that。 But her voice was the same as ever； that tender voice roughened by too many Camels； with the hoarse little catch in it； like a fingernail on a jagged piece of tin。
〃Uh； yeah；〃 he said。 Jesus。 Brilliant repartee。
〃Oh well。〃 She took a swallow and managed not to grimace。 〃Ghost brought me a copy of the tape。 Oh； wait； did he tell you he came over？〃 Her hands played nervously with the tattered veil of her hat。 Obviously she didn't want to get Ghost in trouble。
〃Yeah； he told me。〃 And it was no big deal； not like I yelled at him or nearly decked him or anything 。 。 。
〃It made me want to e see you play again。 I'm glad I did。 That was a damn good show； Steve。 You two are getting too good for this town。〃
Terry slid off his bar stool and hauled R。J。 down by the back of his collar。 After testing his balance； R。J。 managed to remain precariously upright。 〃We'll catch you later； man；〃 said Terry。 〃Hey； here…you want these？〃 He put a fresh beer in Steve's hand； and another in Ann's。 A Rolling Rock and a Bud。 Before Steve had a chance to thank him； Terry had dragged R。J。 off through the crowd。
〃You think we're too good for Missing Mile？〃 Steve said。 Another scintillating reply。 Jeeesus 。 。 。
〃Yeah。 I mean； Kinsey's great； but how much farther can you go playing at the Sacred Yew？ You ought to take it on the road。 You could get as big as R。E。M。 or somebody like that。 You could travel。 You could get to be famous。〃
Steve looked at the beer in his hand。 He popped it open and drained a third of it in one swallow。 Then he opened his mouth to answer Ann； and what came out was 〃You really want me out of town； huh？ I guess your boyfriend over in Corinth can still get it up for you。〃
OH； JESUS。 He hadn't meant to say that。 It was the demon。 He should have stuck with sparkling wit like 〃yeah〃 and 〃uh…huh。〃
But it was too late。 Ann's face had snapped shut； her eyes hardened。 〃You bastard；〃 she said。 〃You couldn't wait； you couldn't even talk to me…〃
〃Listen…Ann…〃
〃Shut up！ You had to get a jab in right away； didn't you？ Like you were the one who should be pissed at me。 Like I raped you； not the other way around！〃
〃Dammit； shut up for a minute 〃
〃Shut up？ Keep my voice down maybe？ That's real good； Steve。 That's so good you can shove it up your ass。〃 Now she was turning away。 She thought she was so tough； but she was turning away to hide her tears。 Before he could reach out and stop her； she was pushing her way through the bar crowd； her head down； making for the door。 Steve started to follow； but the demon spoke up again： Wait a second。 She started all this； she fucked around on me。 What the hell is she pissed off about？ Let her shove it up her own ass。
He turned back to the bar and met the cold eyes of the new bartender； who must have seen the sordid little melodrama from the beginning。 But under the coldness in those eyes was a strange sympathy； a look of solitude and wisdom。 The bartender raised one shoulder in a tiny shrug： Such is life； friend。 And in his long thin hand was another can of Budweiser； cold and frosty and waiting for Steve to grab it。
Ghost prowled around the club for maybe fifteen minutes； staying in the shadows； saying hello to people he knew but not stopping to talk to them。 Instead； he watched Nothing。 Right after the show he had found himself wanting to talk to Nothing； though he wasn't sure what he wished to say。 Maybe only to offer a word of kinship。 To say I can't heal your pain； but I can see it。 And you don't have to be lost。 Not forever。 So he waited and hoped that Nothing would move away from his three friends； if only to go to the restroom or something。 But they huddled in a tight little knot passing a flask with a Grateful Dead sticker on its sideGhost could just make out the roses and the grinning skull。
The two larger friends laughed a lot and sloshed the liquor in their mouths before they swallowed it。 But Nothing and Zillah were quiet。 Zillah always seemed to have his hands on Nothing； touching the sleeve of Nothing's raincoat； speaking occasionally （with his soft； untorn lips…but Ghost would not think about that； not now） into Nothing's ear。 Leaning in close； protective or predatory or both。 Zillah probably would have followed Nothing into the restroom。 Nothing stood silently； looking very young and a little nervous； his face lit orange by the glowing eye of his cigarette。
After a while the air inside the club began to press on Ghost's face。 It was heavy with smoke and the neon…bright energy of the kids。 A girl in black silk shimmied to the music piping over the PA system。 A boy with long unruly hair played air…guitar furiously； miming a Steve Finn lick for his friends。 Other kids shouted back and forth； fluttering hands stamped in ink with the many…boughed Yggdrasilian logo of the club。 Ghost passed them on his way to the door。 His head swarmed with their conversation and their stray thoughts。
Outside； in the night； the air felt as clear and hard…edged as slivers of ice。 Ghost breathed it in deep and blew it out。 Pale steam plumed from his mouth and his nostrils。 For a minute he stood on the sidewalk in f
