dk.intensity-第30节

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Army；　and　she　had　named　Chyna　after　China　because；　as　she　had　once　explained；　〃Honey；　I　just　suddenly　realized　one　day　that　China　is　the　only　just　society　on　earth；　and　it　seemed　like　a　beautiful　name。〃　She　had　never　been　able　to　recall　why　she　had　changed　the　i　toy；　though　by　then　she　had　been　a　working　partner　in　a　methamphetamine　lab；　packaging　speed　in　affordable　five…dollar　hits　and　sampling　the　merchandise　often　enough　to　have　been　left　with　a　few　blank　days　in　her　memory。　Only　when　praying　for　deliverance　had　young　Chyna　liked　her　name；　because　she　had　figured　that　God　would　remember　her　more　easily　for　it；　would　not　get　her　confused　with　the　millions　of　Marys　and　Carolines　and　Lindas　and　Heathers　and　Tracys　and　Janes。
　Now　her　name　no　longer　dismayed　or　pleased　her。　It　was　just　a　name　like　any　other。
　She　had　learned　that　who　she　was…the　true　person　she　was…had　nothing　whatsoever　to　do　with　her　name；　and　little　to　do　with　the　life　that　she'd　led　with　her　mother　for　sixteen　years。　She　couldn't　be　blamed　for　the　dreadful　hates　and　lusts　she　had　seen；　for　the　obscenines　heard；　for　the　crimes　witnessed；　or　for　the　things　that　some　of　her　mother's　male　friends　had　wanted　from　her。　She　was　not　defined　either　by　a　name　or　by　shameful　experience；　instead；　she　was　formed　by　dreams　and　hopes；　by　aspirations；　by　selfrespect　and　perseverance。　She　wasn't　clay　in　the　hands　of　others；　she　was　rock；　and　with　her　own　determined　hands；　she　could　sculpt　the　person　that　she　wanted　to　be。
　She　hadn't　reached　this　realization　until　a　year　ago；　When　she　was　twenty…five。　The　wisdom　had　e　to　her　not　in　a　dazzling　flash　but　slowly；　in　the　way　that　a　plot　of　bare　earth　is　covered　gradually　by　creeping　ajuga　until　one　day；　as　if　miraculously；　the　brown　dirt　is　gone　and　everywhere　are　emerald…green　leaves　and　tiny　blue　flowers。　Worthwhile　knowledge　always　seemed　hard…won　while　the　winning　was　in　progress…but　seemed　easily　acquired　in　retrospect。
　The　old　motor　home　lumbered　through　the　night；　creaking　like　a　long…sealed　door；　ticking　like　a　rusted　clock　too　corroded　to　register　every　second　faithfully；　toward　dawn。
　Crazy。　Crazy　to　be　taking　this　trip。　But　nowhere　else　to　go。　This　was　where　her　entire　life　had　been　leading。　Reckless　courage　wasn't　restricted　to　the　battlefield…or　to　men。　She　was　wet　and　cold　and　frightened…and　strangely；　for　the　first　time　in　her　entire　life；　she　was　at　peace　with　herself。　〃Ariel；〃　Chyna　said　softly；　one　girl　in　the　darkness　speaking　reassuringly　to　another。
　Mr。　Vess　drives　out　of　the　redwoods　into　a　drizzling　dawn；　first　iron　gray　and　then　somewhat　paler；　through　coastal　meadows　the　same　drear　shades　of　metal　as　the　sky；　back　onto　Highway　ioi；　into　forests　again；　but　of　pine　and　spruce　this　time；　out　of　Humboldt　County　into　Del　Norte　County；　ever　more　isolated　terrain；　eventually　leaving　ioi　for　a　route　that　leads　north…northeast。
　For　the　first　part　of　the　journey；　he　glances　frequently　at　the　rearview　mirror；　but　the　bedroom　door　remains　closed；　and　the　woman　seems　fortable　with　the　cadavers　or；　perhaps；　with　her　ignorance　of　them。　In　her　retreat；　the　window　is　sealed　off　with　plywood；　and　the　light　of　dawn　doesn't　penetrate。
　Vess　is　a　superb　driver；　and　he　makes　excellent　time；　even　in　bad　weather。　We　do　best　those　things　that　we　enjoy　doing；　which　is　why　Mr。　Vess　is　such　a　success　at　killing　and　why　he　bines　that　enthusiasm　with　his　love　of　driving　rather　than　restrict　himself　to　prey　within　a　reasonable　radius　of　his　home。
　Being　on　the　open　road　with　landscapes　ever　changing；　Edgler　Vess　is　the　recipient　of　a　constant　influx　of　fresh　visual　sensation。　And　of　course；　to　one　with　his　exquisitely　refined　senses　and　his　ability　to　use　them　in　a　hologrammatic　manner；　a　beautiful　sight　can　also　be　a　musical　sound。　A　scent　caught　through　the　open　window　can　be　not　solely　an　olfactory　experience　but　tactile　too；　the　sweet　fragrance　of　lilac　like　a　woman's　warm　breath　against　his　skin。　Ensconced　in　the　driver's　seat　of　his　motor　home；　he　travels　through　a　rich　sea　of　sensation　that　washes　him　the　way　water　ceaselessly　washes　the　hull　of　a　deeply　submerged　submarine。
　Now　he　crosses　into　Oregon。　The　mountains　e　to　him　and　pull　him　up　into　their　fastnesses。
　The　thickening　stands　of　trees　on　the　steep　slopes　are　more　gray　than　green　in　the　stubborn　rain；　and　the　sight　of　them　is　like　biting　on　a　piece　of　ice；　hard　between　his　teeth；　a　slight　but　pleasant　metallic　taste；　and　a　shattering　coldness　against　his　lips。
　He　seldom　glances　at　the　rearview　mirror　any　more。　The　woman　is　a　mystery；　and　mysteries　of　this　nature　can't　be　resolved　by　the　sheer　desire　to　resolve　them。　Ultimately　she　will　reveal　herself；　and　the　intensity　of　the　experience　will　depend　upon　whatever　purpose　she　has　and　what　secrets　she　possesses。
　The　waiting　is　delicious。　Throughout　the　last　few　hours　of　the　journey；　Vess　leaves　the　radio　off；　although　not　because　he　is　afraid　that　music　will　mask　the　sounds　of　the　woman　stalking　forward　through　the　motor　home。　In　fact；　he　rarely　listens　to　the　radio　while　driving。　In　his　memory　is　a　vast　library　of　recordings　of　the　music　that　he　likes　best：　the　cries　and　squeals；　the　prayerful　whispers；　the　shrieks　as　thin　as　paper　cuts；　the　pulsatory　sobbings　for　mercy；　and　the　erotic　inducements　of　final　desperations。
　As　he　leaves　the　state　highway　for　the　county　route；　he　recalls　specifically　Sarah　Templeton　in　her　shower　stall；　her　screams　and　her　frantic　gagging　muffled　by　the　green　dishwashing　sponge　that　he'd　stuffed　into　her　mouth　and　by　the　two　strips　of　strapping　tape　that　sealed　her　lips。　Nothing　on　the　radio；　from　Elton　John　to　Garth　Brooks　to　Pearl　Jam　to　Sheryl　Crow…to　Mozart　or　Beethoven；　for　that　matter…can　pare　to　this　interior　entertainment。
　He　follows　the　rain…swept；　two…lane　county　route　to　his　private　driveway。　The　entrance　is　securely　gated　and　flanked　by　thickets　of　pines　and　brambly　underbrush。
　The　gate　is　made　of　tubular　steel　and　barbed　wire；　set　between　stainless…steel　posts　in　concrete　footings。　It　features　an　electric　motor　with　remote　operation；　and　when　Mr。　Vess　pushes　a　button　on　the　hand…held　control　that　he　fishes　from　the　console　box；　the　barrier　swings　inward　to　the　left；　in　a　satisfying　stately　manner。
　After　driving　the　motor　home　onto　his　property；　he　brakes　to　a　stop　once　more；　rolls　down　his　window；　holds　out　the　control　unit；　with　the　signal…transmission　window　reversed　in　his　grip。　In　his　sideview　mirror；　he　watches　as　the　gate　closes。
　The　driveway　is　nearly　as　long　as　that　at　the　Templeton　family's　vineyards；　as　his　property　enpasses　fifty…four　acres　that　back　up　to　a　government…owned　wilderness；　which　measures　many　miles　on　a　side。　He　is　not　as　well…to…do　as　the　Templetons；　land　here　is　far　cheaper　than　in　the　Napa　Valley。
　In　spite　of　the　lack　of　paving；　there　is　little　mud　and　no　real　danger　of　the　motor　home　bogging　down。　The　topsoil　is　shallow；　the　lane　was　graded　down　to　the　underlying　shale。　The　way　is　a　bit　rough；　but　this　is　not；　after　all；　New　York　City；　New　York。
　Vess　drives　up　a　modest　incline；　between　looming　ranks　of　tall　pines；　spruces；　scattered　firs；　and　then　the　trees　recede　a　little；　and　he　crosses　the　bald　hilltop。　The　road　descends　easily；　in　a　graceful　curve；　into　a　small　vale；　with　the　house　at　the　end　and　the　hills　rising　behind　in　the　sheeting　rain　and　morning　fog。
　His　heart　swells　at　the　sight　of　home。　Home　is　where　his　Ariel　patiently　awaits。
　The　two…story　house　is　small　but　solidly　built　of　logs　mortared　with　cement。　The　old　lovs　are　nearly　black　with　layers　of　pitch；　and　time　has　darkened　the　cement　to　a　tobacco　brown；　except　for　the　tan　and　gray　mottling　of　recent　repairs。
　The　house　was　constructed　in　the　late　192os　by　the　owner　of　a　family　logging　business；　long　before　small　operators　were　regulated　out　of　such　work　and　before　the　government　declared　the　surrounding　public　lands　off…limits　to　timber　harvesters。　Electricity　was　brought　in　sometime　during　the　forties。
　Edgler　Vess　has　owned　the　house　for　six　years。　Upon　purchasing　the　place；　he　rewired　it；　improved　the　plumbing；　enlarged　the　secondfloor　bathroom。　And；　entirely　on　his　own；　of　course；　he　undertook　extensive　and　secret　remodeling　work　in　the　basement。
　To　some；　the　property　may　seem　isolated；　inconveniently　far　from　a　7…Eleven　or　a　multiplex　cinema。　But　for　Mr。　Vess；　whose　pleasures　would　never　be　understood　by　most　neighbors；　relative　isolation　is　the　faildamental　requirement　when　he　is　shopping　for　real　estate。
　On　a　summer　afternoon　or　evening；　however；　sitting　in　a　bentwood　rocker　on　the　front　porch；　gazing　out　at　the　deep　yard　and　the　acres　of　wildflowers　in　the　fields　cleared　by　the　logger　and　his　sons；　or　staring　at　the　great　spread　of　stars；　even　the　most　meek　and　citified　man　would　agree　that　isolation　has　its　appeal。
　In　good　weather；　Mr。　Vess　likes　to　take　his　dinner　and　a　couple　of　beers　on　the　porch。　When　the　mountain　silences　bee　boring；　he　allows　himself　to　hear　the　voices　of　those　who　are　buried　in　the　field：　their　groveling　and　lamentations；　the　music　that　he　prefers　to　any　on　the　radio。
　In　addition　to　the　house；　there　is　a　small　barn；　not　because　the　original　owner　of　the　property　farmed　any　of　the　land　that