sk.theshining-第85节
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they could have the father？…but employers often had foolish ideas and that was the condition that had been made。
He wasn't going to be able to reason with her； he could see that now。 He had tried to reason with her in the Colorado Lounge； and she had refused to listen； had hit him over the head with a bottle for his pains。 But there would be another time； and soon。 He would get out of here。
He suddenly held his breath and cocked his head。 Somewhere a piano was playing boogie…woogie and people were laughing and clapping along。 The sound was muffled through the heavy wooden door； but audible。 The song was 〃There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight。〃 His hands curled helplessly into fists； he had to restrain himself from battering at the door with them。 The party had begun again。 The liquor would be flowing freely。 Somewhere； dancing with someone else； would be the girl who had felt so maddeningly nude under her white silk gown。
〃You'll pay for this！〃 he howled。 〃Goddam you two； you'll pay！ You'll take your goddam medicine for this； I promise you！ You…〃
〃Here； here； now；〃 a mild voice said just outside the door； 〃No need to shout； old fellow。 I can hear you perfectly well。〃 Jack lurched to his feet
〃Grady？ Is that you？〃
〃Yes； sir。 Indeed it is。 You appear to have been locked in。〃
〃Let me out； Grady。 Quickly。〃
〃I see you can hardly have taken care of the business we discussed； sir。 The correction of your wife and son。〃
〃They're the ones who locked me in。 Pull the bolt； for God's sake！〃
〃You let them lock you in？〃 Grady's voice registered wellbred surprise。 〃Oh； dear。 A woman half your size and a little boy？ Hardly sets you off as being of top managerial timber； does it？〃 A pulse began to beat in the clockspring of veins at Jack's right temple。 〃Let me out； Grady。 I'll take care of them。〃
〃Will you indeed； sir？ I wonder。〃 Well…bred surprise was replaced by well…bred regret。 〃I'm pained to say that I doubt it。 I…and others…have really e to believe that your heart is not in this； sir。 That you haven't the 。 。 。 the belly for it〃
〃I do！〃 Jack shouted。 〃I do； I swear it！〃
〃You would bring us your son？〃
〃Yes！ Yes！〃
〃Your wife would object to that very strongly； Mr。 Torrance。 And she appears to be 。 。 。 somewhat stronger than we had imagined。 Somewhat more resourceful。
She certainly seems to have gotten the better of you。〃 Grady tittered。
〃Perhaps； Mr。 Torrance； we should have been dealing with her all along。〃
〃I'll bring him； I swear it；〃 Jack said。 His face was against the door now。 He was sweating。 〃She won't object。 I swear she won't。 She won't be able to。〃
〃You would have to kill her； I fear；〃 Grady said coldly。
〃I'll do what I have to do。 Just let me out。〃
〃You'll give your word on it； sir？〃 Grady persisted。
〃My word； my promise； my sacred vow； whatever in hell you want。 If you…〃 There was a flat snap as the bolt was drawn back。 The door shivered open a quarter of an inch。 Jack's words and breath halted。 For a moment he felt that death itself was outside that door。
The feeling passed。
He whispered： 〃Thank you； Grady。 I swear you won't regret it。 I swear you won't。〃 There was no answer。 He became aware that all sounds had stopped except for the cold swooping of the wind outside。
He pushed the pantry door open； the hinges squealed faintly。
The kitchen was empty。 Grady was gone。 Everything was still and frozen beneath the cold white glare of the fluorescent bars。 His eyes caught on the large chopping block where the three of them had eaten their meals。
Standing on top of it was a martini glass； a fifth of gin； and a plastic dish filled with olives。
Leaning against it was one of the roque mallets from the equipment shed。
He looked at it for a long time。
Then a voice much deeper and much more powerful than Grady's； spoke from somewhere； everywhere 。 。 。 from inside him。
（Keep your promise； Mr。 Torrance。）
〃I will；〃 he said。 He heard the fawning servility in his own voice but was unable to control it。 〃I will。〃 He walked to the chopping block and put his hand on the handle of the mallet。
He hefted it。
Swung it。
It hissed viciously through the air。
Jack Torrance began to smile。
》
HALLORANN； GOING UP THE COUNTRY
It was quarter of two in the afternoon and according to the snow…clotted signs and the Hertz Buick's odometer； he was less than three miles from Estes Park when he finally went off the road。
In the hills； the snow was falling faster and more furiously than Hallorann had ever seen （which was； perhaps； not to say a great deal； since Hallorann had seen as little snow as he could manage in his lifetime）； and the wind was blowing a capricious gale…now from the west； now backing around to the north； sending clouds of powdery snow across his field of vision； making him coldly aware again and again that if he missed a turn he might well plunge two hundred feet off the road； the Electra cartwheeling ass over teapot as it went down。
Making it worse was his own amateur status as a winter driver。 It scared him to have the yellow center line buried under swirling； drifting snow； and it scared him when the heavy gusts of wind came unimpeded through the notches in the hills and actually made the heavy Buick slew around。 It scared him that the road information signs were mostly masked with snow and you could flip a coin as to whether the road was going to break right or left up ahead in the white drive…in movie screen he seemed to be driving through。 He was scared； all right。 He had driven in a cold sweat since climbing into the hills west of Boulder and Lyons； handling the accelerator and brake as if they were Ming vases。 Between rock 'n' roll tunes on the radio； the disc jockey constantly adjured motorists to stay off the main highways and under no conditions to go into the mountains； because many roads were impassable and all of them were dangerous。 Scores of minor accidents had been reported； and two serious ones： a party of skiers in a VW microbus and a family that had been bound for Albuquerque through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains。 The bined score on both was four dead and five wounded。 〃So stay off those roads and get into the good music here at KTLK；〃 the jock concluded cheerily； and then pounded Hallorann's misery by playing 〃Seasons in the Sun。〃 〃We had joy； we had fun； we had…〃 Terry Jacks gibbered happily； and Hallorann snapped the radio off viciously； knowing he would have it back on in five minutes。 No matter how bad it was； it was better than riding alone through this white madness。
（Admit it。 Dis heap black boy has got at least one long stripe of yaller 。 。 。
and it runs rant up his ebberlubbin back！） It wasn't even funny。 He would have backed off before he even cleared Boulder if it hadn't been for his pulsion that the boy was in terrible trouble。 Even now a small voice in the back of his skull…more the voice of reason than of cowardice； he thought…was telling him to hole up in an Estes Park motel for the night and wait for the plows to at least expose the center stripe again。 That voice kept reminding him of the jet's shaky landing at Stapleton； of that sinking feeling that it was going to e in nose…first； delivering its passengers to the gates of hell rather than at Gate 39； Concourse B。 But reason would not stand against the pulsion。 It had to be today。 The snowstorm was his own bad luck。 He would have to cope with it。 He was afraid that if he didn't； he might have something much worse to cope with in his dreams。
The wind gusted again； this time from the northeast； a little English on the ball if you please； and he was again cut off from the vague shapes of the hills and even from the embankments on either side of the road。 He was driving through white null。
And then the high sodium lights of the snowplow loomed out of the soup； bearing down； and to his horror he saw that instead of being to one side； the Buick's nose was pointed directly between those headlamps。 The plow was being none too choosy about keeping its own side of the road； and Hallorann had allowed the Buick to drift。
The grinding roar of the plow's diesel engine intruded over the bellow of the wind； and then the sound of its airhorn； hard； long； almost deafening。
Hallorann's testicles turned into two small wrinkled sacs filled with shaved ice。 His guts seemed to have been transformed into a large mass of Silly Putty。
Color was materializing out of the white now； snow…clotted orange。 He could see the high cab； even the gesticulating figure of the driver behind the single long wiper blade。 He could see the V shape of the plow's wing blades； spewing more snow up onto the road's left…hand embankment like pallid； smoking exhaust。
WHAAAAAAAAA！ the airhorn bellowed indignantly。
He squeezed the accelerator like the breast of a muchloved woman and the Buick scooted forward and toward the right。 There was no embankment over here； the plows headed up instead of down had only to push the snow directly over the drop。
（The drop； ah yes； the drop…） The wingblades on Hallorann's left； fully four feet higher than the E
