dk.intensity-第49节

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al　workers　were　so　appreciative　of　the　wallowing。〃
　〃Where　did　you　go　from　the　facility？〃
　〃I　was　adopted。〃
　Speechless；　she　stared　at　him。
　〃I　know　what　you're　thinking；〃　he　said。　〃Not　many　twelve…year…old　orphans　get　adopted。　People　are　usually　looking　for　infants　to　mold　in　their　own　image。　But　I　was　such　a　beautiful　boy；　Chyna；　an　almost　ethereally　beautiful　boy。　Can　you　believe　that？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃People　want　beautiful　children。　Beautiful　children　with　nice　smiles。　I　was　sweet…tempered　and　charming。　By　then　I'd　learned　to　hide　better　among　all　you　hypocrites。　I'd　never　again　be　caught　with　a　bloody　kitten　or　a　dead　grandmother。〃
　〃But　who　。。。　who　would　adopt　you　after　what　you　did？〃
　〃What　I　did　was　expunged　from　my　record；　of　course。　I　was　just　the　littlest　boy；　after　all。　Chyna；　you　wouldn't　expect　my　whole　life　to　be　ruined　just　because　of　one　mistake？　Psychiatrists　and　social　workers　were　the　grease　in　my　wheels；　and　I　will　always　be　beholden　to　them　for　their　sweet；　earnest　desire　to　believe。〃
　〃Your　adoptive　parents　didn't　know？〃
　〃They　knew　that　I'd　been　traumatized　by　the　death　of　my　parents　in　a　fire；　that　the　trauma　had　led　to　counseling；　and　that　I　needed　to　be　watched　for　signs　of　depression。　They　wanted　so　badly　to　make　my　life　better；　to　prevent　depression　from　ever　touching　me　again。〃
　〃What　happened　to　them？〃
　〃We　lived　there　in　Chicago　two　years；　and　then　we　moved　here　to　Oregon。　I　let　them　live　for　quite　a　while；　and　I　let　them　pretend　to　love　me。　Why　not？　They　enjoyed　their　delusions　so　much。　But　then；　after　I　graduated　from　college；　I　was　twenty　years　old　and　needed　more　money　than　I　had；　so　there　had　to　be　another　dreadful　accident；　another　fire　in　the　night。　But　it　was　eleven　long　years　since　the　fire　that　took　my　real　mom　and　dad；　and　half　a　continent　away。　No　social　workers　had　seen　me　in　years；　and　there　were　no　files　about　my　horrible　mistake　with　Grandma；　so　no　connections　were　ever　made。〃
　They　sat　in　silence。　After　a　while　he　tapped　the　plate　in　front　of　her。　〃Eat；　eat；〃　he　cajoled。　〃I'll　be　eating　at　a　diner　myself。　Sorry　I　can't　keep　you　pany。〃
　〃I　believe　you；〃　she　said。
　〃What？〃
　〃That　you　were　never　abused。〃
　〃Though　that　runs　against　everything　you've　been　taught。　Good　girl；　Chyna。　You　know　the　truth　when　you　hear　it。　Maybe　there's　hope　for　you　yet。〃
　〃There's　no　understanding　you；〃　she　said；　though　she　was　talking　more　to　herself　than　to　him。
　〃Of　course　there　is。　I'm　just　in　touch　with　my　reptilian　nature；　Chyna。　It's　in　all　of　us。　We　all　evolved　from　that　slimy；　legged　fish　that　first　crawled　out　of　the　sea。　The　reptile　consciousness　。。。　it's　still　in　all　of　us；　but　most　of　you　struggle　so　hard　to　hide　it　from　yourselves；　to　convince　yourselves　that　you're　something　cleaner　and　better　than　what　you　really　are。　The　irony　is；　if　you；　'd　just　for　once　acknowledge　your　reptile　nature；　you'd　find　the　freedom　and　the　happiness　that　you're　all　so　frantic　to　achieve　and　never　do。〃
　He　tapped　the　plate　again；　and　then　the　glass　of　water。　He　got　up　and　tucked　his　chair　under　the　table。
　〃That　conversation　wasn't　quite　as　you　expected；　was　it；　Chyna？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃You　were　expecting　me　to　equivocate；　to　whine　on　about　being　a　victim；　to　indulge　in　elaborately　structured　self…delusions；　to　spit　up　some　tale　of　warping　incest。　You　wanted　to　believe　your　clever　probing　might　expose　a　secret　religious　fanaticism；　bring　revelations　that　I　hear　godly　voices　in　my　head。　You　didn't　expect　it　to　be　this　straightforward。　This　honest。〃
　He　went　to　the　door　between　the　kitchen　and　the　living　room；　and　then　turned　to　look　at　her。
　〃I'm　not　unique；　Chyna。　The　world　is　filled　with　the　likes　of　me…most　are　just　less　free。　You　know　where　I　think　a　lot　of　my　type　wind　up？〃
　In　spite　of　herself；　she　asked；　〃Where？〃
　〃In　politics。　Imagine　having　the　power　to　start　wars；　Chyna。　How　gratifying　that　would　be。　Of　course；　in　public　life；　one　would　generally　have　to　forgo　the　pleasure　of　getting　right　down　in　the　wet　of　it；　hands　dirty　with　all　the　wonderful　fluids。　One　would　have　to　be　satisfied　with　the　thrill　of　sending　thousands　to　their　deaths；　remote　destruction。　But　I　believe　I　could　adapt　to　that。　And　there　would　always　be　photos　from　the　war　zone；　reports；　all　as　graphic　as　one　requested。　And　never　a　danger　of　apprehension。　More　amazing…they　build　monuments　to　you。　You　can　bomb　a　small　country　into　oblivion；　and　dinners　are　given　in　your　honor。　You　can　kill　thirty…four　children　in　a　religious　munity；　crush　them　with　tanks；　burn　them　alive；　claim　they　were　dangerous　cultists…then　sit　back　to　the　sound　of　applause。　Such　power。　Intensity。〃
　He　glanced　at　the　clock。　A　few　minutes　past　five。　
　He　said；　〃I'll　finish　dressing　and　be　gone。　Back　as　soon　after　midnight　as　I　can　be。〃　He　shook　his　head　as　if　saddened　by　the　sight　of　her。　〃Untouched　and　alive。　What　kind　of　existence　is　that；　Chyna？　Not　one　worth　having。　Get　in　touch　with　your　reptile　consciousness。　Embrace　the　cold　and　the　dark。　That's　what　we　are。〃
　He　left　her　in　chains　as　twilight　entered　the　world　and　the　light　withdrew。
　Mr。　Vess　steps　onto　the　porch；　locks　the　front　door；　and　then　whistles　for　the　dogs。
　The　day　is　growing　cooler　as　it　wanes；　and　the　air　is　bracing。　He　zips　up　his　jacket。
　From　different　points　of　the　pass；　the　four　Dobermans　sprint　out　of　the　twilight　and　race　to　the　porch。　As　they　scamper　to　Vess　and　jostle　one　another　to　be　the　closest　to　him；　their　big　paws　thump　on　the　boards　in　a　fandango　of　canine　delight。
　He　kneels　among　them；　generously　doling　out　affection　once　more。　Oddly　like　people；　these　Dobermans　appear　to　be　unable　to　detect　the　insincerity　of　Mr。　Vess's　love。　They　are　only　tools　to　him；　not　treasured　pets；　and　the　attention　he　gives　them　is　like　the　3…In…One　oil　with　which　he　occasionally　lubricates　his　power　drill；　hand…held　belt　sander；　and　chain　saw。　In　the　movies；　it　is　always　a　dog　that　senses　the　werewolf　potential　in　the　moon…fearing　man　and　greets　him　with　a　growl；　always　a　dog　that　shies　away　from　the　character　who　is　secretly　harboring　the　alien　parasite　in　his　body。　But　movies　are　not　life。
　The　dogs　are　no　doubt　deceiving　him　just　as　he　deceives　them。　Their　love　is　nothing　but　respect…or　sublimated　fear　of　him。
　He　stands；　and　the　dogs　look　up　expectantly。　Earlier；　they　had　been　summoned　from　their　kennel　by　the　buzzer；　therefore；　they　are　now　merely　on　an　apprehend…and…detain　status。
　〃Nietzsche；〃　he　says。
　As　one；　the　four　Dobermans　twitch　and　then　bee　rigid。　Their　ears　first　prick　at　the　mand　word　but　then　flatten。
　Their　black　eyes　shine　in　the　dusk。
　Abruptly　they　depart　the　porch；　scattering　across　the　property；　having　been　elevated　to　attack　status。
　Putting　on　his　hat；　Mr。　Vess　walks　toward　the　barn；　where　he　keeps　his　car。
　He　leaves　the　motor　home　parked　beside　the　house。　Later；　to　minimize　the　distance　that　the　two　bodies　will　have　to　be　carried；　he　will　back　the　vehicle　along　the　lane；　closer　to　the　meadow　of　unmarked　graves。
　As　he　walks；　Mr。　Vess　draws　slow；　deep　breaths　and　clears　his　mind；　preparing　himself　for　reentry　into　the　workaday　world。
　He　enjoys　the　charade　of　his　second　life；　passing　for　one　of　the　repressed　and　deluded　who；　in　uncountable　multitudes；　rule　the　earth　with　lies；　who　pass　their　lives　in　denial；　anxiety；　and　hypocrisy。　He　is　like　a　fox　in　a　pen　of　mentally　deficient　chickens　that　are　unable　to　distinguish　between　a　predator　and　one　of　their　own；　and　this　is　a　fine　game　for　a　fox　with　a　sense　of　humor。
　Every　day；　all　day　long；　Vess　weighs　other　people　with　his　eyes；　furtively　tests　their　firmness　with　a　friendly　touch；　breathes　the　enticing　scents　of　their　flesh；　selecting　among　them　as　if　choosing　packaged　poultry　at　a　market。　He　does　not　often　kill　those　whom　he　meets　in　his　public　persona…only　if　he　is　absolutely　certain　that　he　can　get　away　with　it　and　if　the　particular　chicken　promises　to　be　tasty。
　If　Chyna　Shepherd　hadn't　disturbed　his　usual　routine；　Vess　would　have　spent　more　time　reacclimating　himself　to　his　role　as　an　ordinary　guy。　He　might　have　watched　a　game　show　on　television；　read　a　couple　of　chapters　in　a　romance　novel　by　RobertJames　Waller；　and　skimmed　an　issue　of　People　to　remind　himself　of　those　things　that　the　desperate　ruck　of　humanity　uses　to　anesthetize　itself　against　the　awareness　of　its　true　animal　nature　and　the　inevitability　of　death。　He　might　have　stood　before　a　mirror　for　a　while；　practicing　his　smile；　studying　his　eyes。
　Nevertheless；　by　the　time　he　reaches　the　silvered…cedar　barn；　he　is　confident　that　he　will　slide　back　into　his　second　life　without　a　ripple　and　that　all　those　who　look　into　his　pond　will　be　forted　to　see　their　own　faces　reflected。　Most　people　have　expended　so　much　effort　and　time　in　the　denial　of　their　predatory　nature　that　they　cannot　easily　recognize　it　in　others。
　He　opens　the　man…size　door　beside　the　larger　roll…up；　pauses；　and　glances　toward　the　back　of　the　house。　He　left　the　woman　in　the　dark；　so　he　can't　even　vaguely　discern　her　form　through　the　distant　window。
　The　sunless；　somber　twilight　is　still　bright　enough；　however；　for　Ms。　Shepherd；　the　eminent　psychologist；　to　have　seen　him　as　he　walked　to　the　barn。　She　could　be　watching　now。