dk.intensity-第4节

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　〃I　was　instructing　you　in　the　basic　techniques；〃　Paul　said。　〃I　didn't　expect　you　to　acquire　my　style。〃
　Sarah　said；　〃I　refuse　to　think　about　Laura's　driving。　I'd　just　be　worried　sick　all　the　time。〃
　〃Face　it；　Mom；　there's　an　Indianapolis　500　gene　on　Dad's　side　of　the　family；　and　he　passed　it　to　me。〃
　〃She's　an　excellent　driver；〃　Chyna　said。　〃I　always　feel　safe　with　Laura。
　Laura　grinned　at　her　and　gave　a　thumbs…up　sign。　Dinner　was　a　long；　leisurely　affair　because　the　Templetons　liked　to　talk　to　one　another；　thrived　on　talking　to　one　another。　They　were　careful　to　include　Chyna　and　seemed　genuinely　interested　in　what　she　had　to　say；　but　even　when　the　conversation　wandered　to　family　matters　of　which　Chyna　had　little　knowledge；　she　somehow　felt　a　part　of　it；　as　though　she　was；　by　a　magical　osmosis；　actually　being　absorbed　into　the　Templeton　clan。
　Laura's　thirtyish　brother；　Jack；　and　his　wife；　Nina；　lived　in　the　caretaker's　bungalow　elsewhere　in　the　vineyard；　but　a　previous　obligation　had　prevented　them　from　joining　the　family　for　dinner。　Chyna　was　assured　that　she　would　see　them　in　the　morning；　and　she　felt　no　trepidation　about　meeting　them；　as　she'd　felt　before　she'd　met　Sarahand　Paul。　Throughout　her　troubled　life；　there　had　been　no　place'…where　she　had　truly　felt　at　home；　while　she　might　never　fe　61　entirely　at　home　in　this　place　either；　at　least　she　felt　wele　here。
　After　dinner；　Chyna　and　Laura　went　for　a　walk　in　the　moonlit　vineyards；　between　the　rows　of　low　pruned　vines　that　had　not　yet　begun　to　sprout　either　leafy　trailers　or　fruit。　The　cool　air　was　redolent　with　the　'47。　pleasant　fecund　smell　of　freshly　plowed　earth；　and　there　was　a　sense　of　mystery　in　the　dark　fields　that　she　found　intriguing；　enchanting…but　at　times　disconcerting；　as　if　they　were　among　unseen　presences；　ancient　spirits　that　were　not　all　benign。
　When　they　had　strolled　deep　into　the　vines　and　then　turned　back　toward　the　house；　Chyna　said；　〃You're　the　best　friend　I've　ever　had。〃
　〃Me　too；〃　Laura　said。
　〃More　than　that。。。〃　Chyna's　voice　trembled。　She　had　been　about　to　say；　'You're　the　only　friend　I've　ever　had；　but　that　made　her　seem　so　lame　and；　besides；　was　still　an　inadequate　expression　of　what　she　felt　for　this　girl。　They　were；　indeed；　in　one　sense　sisters'。
　Laura　linked　arms　with　her　and　merely　said；　〃I　know。〃
　〃When　you　have　babies；　I　want　them　to　call　me　Aunt　Chyna。〃
　〃Listen；　Shepherd；　don't　you　think　I　should　find　a　guy　and　get　married　before　I　start　pumping　out　the　babies？〃
　〃Whoever　he　is；　he　better　be　the　best　husband　in　the　world　to　you；　or　I　promise　I'll　cut　his　cock　off。〃
　〃Do　me　a　favor；　okay？〃　Laura　said。　〃Don't　tell　him　about　this　promise　until　after　the　wedding。　Some　guys　might　be　put　off　by　it。〃
　From　elsewhere　in　the　vineyards　came　a　disquieting　sound　that　stopped　Chyna。　A　protracted　creaking。　
　〃It's　just　the　breeze　working　at　a　loose　bam　door；　rusty　hinges；〃　Laura　said。
　But　it　sounded　as　if　someone　were　opening　a　giant　door　in　the　wall　of　night　itself　and　stepping　in　from　another　world。
　
　Chyna　Shepherd　could　not　sleep　fortably　in　strange　houses。　Throughout　her　childhood　and　adolescence；　her　mother　had　dragged　her　from　one　end　of　the　country　to　the　other；　staying　nowhere　longer　than　a　month　or　two。　So　many　terrible　things　had　happened　to　them　'in　so　many　places　that　Chyna　eventually　learned　to　view　each　new　house　not　as　a　new　beginning；　not　with　hope　for　stability　and　happiness；　but　with　suspicion　and　quiet　dread。
　Now　she　was　long　rid　of　her　troubled　mother　and　free　to　stay　only　where　she　wished。　These　days；　her　life　was　almost　as　stable　as　that　of　a　cloistered　nun；　as　meticulously　planned　as　any　bomb　squad's　proceIdures　for　disarming　an　explosive　device；　and　without　any　of　the　turmoil　on　which　her　mother　had　thrived。　I　Nevertheless；　this　first　night　in　the　Templetons'　house；　Chyna　was　reluctant　to　undress　and　go　to　bed。　She　sat　in　the　darkness　in　a　medallion…back　armchair　at　one　of　the　two　windows　in　the　guest　room；　gazing　out　at　the　moonlit　vineyards；　fields；　and　hills　of　the　Napa　Valley。
　Laura　was　in　another　room；　at　the　far　end　of　the　second…floor　hall；　no　doubt　sound　asleep；　at　peace　because　this　house　was　not　at　all　strange　to　her。
　From　the　guest…room　window；　the　early…spring　vineyards　were　barely　visible。　Vague　geometric　patterns。
　Beyond　the　cultivated　rows　were　gentle　hills　mantled　in　long　dry　grass；　silver　in　the　moonlight。　An　inconstant　breeze　stirred　through　the　valley；　and　sometimes　the　wild　grass　seemed　to　roll　like　ocean　waves　across　the　slopes；　softly　aglimmer　with　lambent　lunar　light。
　Above　the　hills　was　the　Coast　Range；　and　above　those　peaks　were　cascades　of　stars　and　a　full　white　moon。　Storm　clouds　ing　across　the　mountains　from　the　northwest　would　soon　darken　the　night；　taming　the　silver　hills　first　to　pewter　and　then　to　blackest　iron。
　When　she　heard　the　first　scream；　Chyna　was　gazing　at　the　stars；　drawn　by　their　cold　light　as　she　had　been　since　childhood；　fascinated　by　the　thought　of　distant　worlds　that　might　be　barren　and　clean；　free　of　pestilence。　At　first　the　muffled　cry　seemed　to　be　only　a　memory；　a　fragment　of　a　shrill　argument　from　another　strange　house　in　the　past；　echoing　across　time。　Often；　as　a　child；　eager　to　hide　from　her　mother　and　her　mother's　friends　when　they　were　drunk　or　high；　she　climbed　onto　porch　roofs　or　into　backyard　trees；　slipped　through　windows　onto　fire　escapes；　away　to　secret　places　far　from　the　fray；　where　she　could　study　the　stars　and　where　voices　raised　in　argument　or　sexual　excitement　or　shrill　drug…induced　giddiness　came　to　her　as　though　from　out　of　a　radio；　from　faraway　places　and　people　who　had　no　connection　whatsoever　with　her　life。
　The　second　cry；　though　also　brief　and　only　slightly　louder　than　the　first；　was　indisputably　of　the　moment；　not　a　memory；　and　Chyna　sat　forward　on　her　chair。　Tense。　Head　cocked。　Listening。
　She　wanted　to　believe　that　the　voice　had　e　from　outside；　so　she　continued　to　stare　into　the　night；　surveying　the　vineyards　and　the　hills　beyond。　Breeze…driven　waves　swelled　through　the　dry　grass　on　the　moon…washed　slopes：　a　water　mirage　like　the　ghost　tides　of　an　ancient　sea。
　From　elsewhere　in　the　large　house　came　a　soft　thump；　as　though　a　heavy　object　had　fallen　to　a　carpeted　floor。
　Chyna　immediately　rose　from　the　chair　and　stood　utterly　still；　expectant。
　Trouble　often　followed　voices　raised　in　one　kind　of　passion　or　another。　Sometimes；　however；　the　worst　offenses　were　preceded　by　calculated　silences　and　stealth。
　She　had　difficulty　reconciling　the　idea　of　domestic　violence　with　Paul　and　Sarah　Templeton；　who　had　seemed　kind　and　loving　toward　each　other　as　toward　their　daughter。　Nevertheless；　appearances　and　realities　were　seldom　the　same；　and　the　human　talent　for　deception　was　far　greater　than　that　of　the　chameleon；　the　mockingbird；　or　the　praying　mantis；　which　masked　its　ferocious　cannibalism　with　a　serene　and　devout　posture。
　Following　the　stifled　cries　and　the　soft　thump；　silence　sifted　down　like　a　snowfall。　The　hush　was　eerily　deep；　as　unnatural　as　that　in　which　the　deaf　lived。　This　was　the　stillness　before　the　pounce；　the　quietude　of　the　coiled　snake。
　In　another　part　of　the　house；　someone　was　standing　as　motionless　as　she　herself　was　standing；　as　alert　as　she　was；　intently　listening。　Someone　dangerous。　She　could　sense　the　predatory　presence；　a　subtle　new　pressure　in　the　air；　not　dissimilar　to　that　preceding　a　violent　thunderstorm。
　On　one　level；　six　years　of　psychology　classes　caused　her　to　question　her　immediate　fearful　interpretation　of　those　night　sounds；　which　conceivably　could　be　insignificant；　after　all。　Any　well…trained　psychoanalyst　would　have　a　wealth　of　labels　to　pin　on　someone　who　leaped　first　to　a　negative　conclusion；　who　lived　in　expectation　of　sudden　violence。
　But　she　had　to　trust　her　instinct。　It　had　been　honed　by　many　years　of　hard　experience。
　Intuitively　certain　that　safety　lay　in　movement；　she　stepped　quietly　away　from　the　chair　at　the　window；　toward　the　hall　door。　In　spite　of　the　moonglow；　her　eyes　had　adjusted　to　darkness　during　the　two　hours　that　she　had　sat　in　the　lightless　room；　and　now　she　eased　through　the　gloom　with　no　fear　of　blundering　into　furniture。
　She　was　only　halfway　to　the　door　when　she　heard　approaching　footsteps　in　the　second…floor　hall。　The　heavy；　urgent　tread　was　alien　to　this　house。
　Unhampered　by　the　interminable　second…guessing　that　acpanied　an　education　in　psychology；　reverting　to　the　intuition　and　defenses　of　childhood；　Chyna　quickly　retreated　to　the　bed。　She　dropped　to　her　knees。
　Farther　along　the　hall；　the　footsteps　stopped。　A　door　opened。　She　was　aware　of　the　absurdity　of　attributing　rage　to　the　mere　opening　of　a　door。　The　rattle　of　the　knob　being　turned；　the　rasp　of　the　unsecured　latch；　the　spike…sharp　squeak　of　an　unoiled　hinge…they　were　only　sounds；　neither　meek　nor　furious；　guilty　nor　innocent；　and　could　have　been　made　as　easily　by　a　priest　as　by　a　burglar。　Yet　she　knew　that　rage　was　at　work　in　the　night。
　Flat　on　her　stomach；　she　wriggled　under　the　bed；　feet　toward　the　headboard。　It　was　a　graceful　piece　of　furniture　with　sturdy　galbe　legs；　and　fortunately　it　didn't　sit　as　close　to　the　floor　as　did　most　beds。　One　inch　less　o