sk.thegunslinger-第2部分

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nt；　toward　the　gritty；　featureless　hardpan。　〃Guess　this　ain't　Lord's　Prayer　country。　You're　a　gunslinger。　That　right？〃
〃Yes。〃　He　hunkered　down　and　brought　out　his　makings。　Zoltan　launched　himself　from　Brown's　head　and　landed；　flittering；　on　the　gunslinger's　shoulder。
〃After　the　other　one；　I　guess。〃
〃Yes。〃　The　inevitable　question　formed　in　his　mouth：
〃How　long　since　he　passed　by？〃
Brown　shrugged。　〃I　don't　know。　Time's　funny　out　here。　More　than　two　weeks。　Less　than　two　months。　The　bean　man's　been　twice　since　he　passed。　I'd　guess　six　weeks。　That's　probably　wrong。〃
〃The　more　you　eat；　the　more　you　toot；〃　Zoltan　said。
〃Did　he　stop　off？〃　the　gunslinger　asked。
Brown　nodded。　〃He　stayed　supper；　same　as　you　will；　I　guess。　We　passed　the　time。〃
The　gunslinger　stood　up　and　the　bird　flew　back　to　the　roof；　squawking。　He　felt　an　odd；　trembling　eagerness。　〃What　did　he　talk　about？〃
Brown　cocked　an　eyebrow　at　him。　〃Not　much。　Did　it　ever　rain　and　when　did　I　e　here　and　had　I　buried　my　wife。　I　did　most　of　the　talking；　which　ain't　usual。〃　He　paused。　and　the　only　sound　was　the　stark　wind。　〃He's　a　sorcerer；　ain't　he？〃
〃Yes。〃
Brown　nodded　slowly。　〃I　knew。　Are　you？〃
〃I'm　just　a　man。〃
〃You'll　never　catch　him。〃
〃I'll　catch　him。〃
They　looked　at　each　other；　a　sudden　depth　of　feeling　between　them；　the　dweller　upon　his　dust…puff…dry　ground；　the　gunslinger　on　the　hardpan　that　shelved　down　to　the　desert。　He　reached　for　his　flint。
〃Here。〃　Brown　produced　a　sulfur…headed　match　and　struck　it　with　a　grimed　nail。　The　gunslinger　pushed　the　tip　of　his　smoke　into　the　flame　and　drew。
〃Thanks。〃
〃You'll　want　to　fill　your　skins；〃　the　dweller　said；　turning　away。　〃Spring's　under　the　eaves　in　back。　I'll　start　dinner。〃
The　gunslinger　stepped　gingerly　over　the　rows　of　corn　and　went　around　back。　The　spring　was　at　the　bottom　of　a　hand…dug　well；　lined　with　stones　to　keep　the　powdery　earth　from　caving。　As　he　descended　the　rickety　ladder；　the　gunslinger　reflected　that　the　stones　must　represent　two　years'　work　easily　　hauling；　dragging；　laying。　The　water　was　clear　but　slow…moving；　and　filling　the　skins　was　a　long　chore。
While　he　was　topping　the　second；　Zoltan　perched　on　the　lip　of　the　well。
〃Screw　you　and　the　horse　you　rode　in　on；〃　he　advised。
He　looked　up；　startled。　The　shaft　was　about　fifteen　feet　deep：　easy　enough　for　Brown　to　drop　a　rock　on　him；　break　his　head；　and　steal　everything　on　him。　A　crazy　or　a　rotter　wouldn't　do　it；　Brown　was　neither。　Yet　he　liked　Brown；　and　so　he　pushed　the　thought　out　of　his　mind　and　got　the　rest　of　his　water。　What　came；　came。
When　he　came　through　the　hut's　door　and　walked　down　the　steps　（the　hovel　proper　was　set　below　ground　level；　designed　to　catch　and　hold　the　coolness　of　the　nights）；　Brown　was　poking　ears　of　corn　into　the　embers　of　a　tiny　fire　with　a　hardwood　spatula。　Two　ragged　plates　had　been　set　at　opposite　ends　of　a　dun　blanket。　Water　for　the　beans　was　just　beginning　to　bubble　in　a　pot　hung　over　the　fire。
〃I'll　pay　for　the　water；　too。〃
Brown　did　not　look　up。　〃The　water's　a　gift　from　God。　Pappa　Doc　brings　the　beans。〃
The　gunslinger　grunted　a　laugh　and　sat　down　with　his　back　against　one　rude　wall；　folded　his　arms　and　closed　his　eyes。　After　a　little；　the　smell　of　roasting　corn　came　to　his　nose。　There　was　a　pebbly　rattle　as　Brown　dumped　a　paper　of　dry　beans　into　the　pot　An　occasional　tak…tak…tak　as　Zoltan　walked　restlessly　on　the　roof。　He　was　tired；　he　had　been　going　sixteen　and　sometimes　eighteen　hours　a　day　between　here　and　the　horror　that　had　occurred　in　Tull；　the　last　village。　And　he　had　been　afoot　for　the　last　twelve　days；　the　mule　was　at　the　end　of　its　endurance。
Tak…tak…tak。
Two　weeks；　Brown　had　said；　or　as　much　as　six。　Didn't　matter。　There　had　been　calendars　in　Tull；　and　they　had　remembered　the　man　in　black　because　of　the　old　man　he　had　healed　on　his　way　through。　Just　an　old　man　dying　with　the　weed。　An　old　man　of　thirty…five。　And　if　Brown　was　right；　the　man　in　black　had　lost　ground　since　then。　But　the　desert　was　next。　And　the　desert　would　be　hell。
Tak…tak…tak。
　Lend　me　your　wings；　bird。　I'll　spread　them　and　fly　on　the　thermals。
He　slept
III
Brown　woke　him　up　five　hours　later。　It　was　dark。　The　only　light　was　the　dull　cherry　glare　of　the　banked　embers。
〃Your　mule　has　passed　on；〃　Brown　said。　〃Dinner's　ready。〃
〃How？〃
Brown　shrugged。　〃Roasted　and　boiled；　how　else？　You　picky？〃
〃No；　the　mule。〃
〃It　just　laid　over；　that's　all。　It　looked　like　an　old　mule。〃　And　with　a　touch　of　apology：　〃Zoltan　et　the　eyes。〃
〃Oh。〃　He　might　have　expected　it　〃All　right〃
Brown　surprised　him　again　when　they　sat　down　to　the　blanket　that　served　as　a　table　by　asking　a　brief　blessing：　Rain；　health；　expansion　to　the　spirit
〃Do　you　believe　in　an　afterlife？〃　The　gunslinger　asked　him　as　Brown　dropped　three　ears　of　hot　corn　onto　his　plate。
Brown　nodded。　〃I　think　this　is　it。〃
IV
The　beans　were　like　bullets；　the　corn　tough。　Outside；　the　prevailing　wind　snuffled　and　whined　around　the　ground…level　eaves。　He　ate　quickly；　ravenously；　drinking　four　cups　of　water　with　the　meal。　Halfway　through；　there　was　a　machine…gun　rapping　at　the　door。　Brown　got　up　and　let　Zoltan　in。　The　bird　flew　across　the　room　and　hunched　moodily　in　the　corner。
〃Musical　fruit；〃　he　muttered。
After　dinner；　the　gunslinger　offered　his　tobacco。
　Now。　Now　the　questions　will　e。
But　Brown　asked　no　questions。　He　smoked　and　looked　at　the　dying　embers　of　the　fire。　It　was　already　noticeably　cooler　in　the　hovel。
〃Lead　us　not　into　temptation；〃　Zoltan　said　suddenly；　apocalyptically。
The　gunslinger　started　as　if　he　had　been　shot　at。　He　was　suddenly　sure　that　it　was　an　illusion；　all　of　it　（not　a　dream；　no；　an　enchantment）；　that　the　man　in　black　had　spun　a　spell　and　was　trying　to　tell　him　something　in　a　maddeningly　obtuse；　symbolic　way。
〃Have　you　been　through　Tull？〃　he　asked　suddenly。
Brown　nodded。　〃ing　here；　and　once　to　sell　corn。　It　rained　that　year。　Lasted　maybe　fifteen　minutes。　The　ground　just　seemed　to　open　and　suck　it　up。　An　hour　later　it　was　just　as　white　and　dry　as　ever。　But　the　corn　　God；　the　corn。　You　could　see　it　grow。　That　wasn't　so　bad。　But　you　could　hear　it；　as　if　the　rain　had　given　it　a　mouth。　It　wasn't　a　happy　sound。　It　seemed　to　be　sighing　and　groaning　its　way　out　of　the　earth。〃　He　paused。　〃I　had　extra；　so　I　took　it　and　sold　it。　Pappa　Doc　said　he'd　do　it；　but　he　would　have　cheated　me。　So　I　went。〃
〃You　don't　like　town？〃
〃No。''
〃I　almost　got　killed　there；〃　the　gunslinger　said　abruptly。
〃That　so？〃
〃I　killed　a　man　that　was　touched　by　God；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃Only　it　wasn't　God。　It　was　the　man　in　black。〃
〃He　laid　you　a　trap。〃
〃Yes。〃
The　looked　at　each　other　across　the　shadows；　the　moment　taking　on　overtones　of　finality。
　Now　the　questions　will　e。
But　Brown　had　nothing　to　say。　His　smoke　was　a　smoldering　roach；　but　when　the　gunslinger　tapped　his　poke；　Brown　shook　his　head。
Zoltan　shifted　restlessly；　seemed　about　to　speak；　subsided。
〃May　I　tell　you　about　it？〃　the　gunslinger　asked。
〃Sure。〃
The　gunslinger　searched　for　words　to　begin　and　found　none。　〃I　have　to　flow；〃　he　said。
Brown　nodded。　〃The　water　does　that。　The　corn；　please？〃
〃Sure。〃
He　went　up　the　stairs　and　out　into　the　dark。　The　stars　glittered　overhead　in　a　mad　splash。　The　wind　pulsed　steadily。　His　urine　arched　out　over　the　powdery　cornfield　in　a　wavering　stream。　The　man　in　black　had　sent　him　here。　Brown　might　even　be　the　man　in　black　himself。　It　might　be　He　shut　the　thoughts　away。　The　only　contingency　he　had　not　learned　how　to　bear　was　the　possibility　of　his　own　madness。　He　went　back　inside。
〃Have　you　decided　if　I'm　an　enchantment　yet？〃　Brown　asked；　amused。
The　gunslinger　paused　on　the　tiny　landing；　startled。　Then　he　came　down　slowly　and　sat
〃I　started　to　tell　you　about　Tull。〃
〃Is　it　growing？〃
〃It's　dead；〃　the　gunslinger　said；　and　the　words　hung　in　the　air。
Brown　nodded。　〃The　desert。　I　think　it　may　strangle　everything　eventually。　Did　you　know　that　there　was　once　a　coach　road　across　the　desert？〃
The　gunslinger　closed　his　eyes。　His　mind　whirled　crazily。
〃You　doped　me；〃　he　said　thickly。
〃No。　I've　done　nothing。〃
The　gunslinger　opened　his　eyes　warily。
〃You　won't　feel　right　about　it　unless　I　invite　you；〃　Brown　said。　〃And　so　I　do。　Will　you　tell　me　about　Tull？〃
The　gunslinger　opened　his　mouth　hesitantly　and　was　surprised　to　find　that　this　time　the　words　were　there。　He　began　to　speak　in　flat　bursts　that　slowly　spread　into　an　even；　slightly　toneless　narrative。　The　doped　feeling　left　him；　and　he　found　himself　oddly　excited。　He　talked　deep　into　the　night。　Brown　did　not　interrupt　at　all。　Neither　did　the　bird。
V
He　had　bought　the　mule　in　Pricetown；　and　when　he　reached　Tull；　it　was　still　fresh。　The　sun　had　set　an　hour　earlier；　but　the　gunslinger　had　continued　traveling；　guided　by　the　town　glow　in　the　sky；　then　by　the　uncannily　clear　notes　of　a　honky…tonk　piano　playing　Hey　Jude。　The　road　widened　as　it　took　on　tributaries。
The　forests　had　been　gone　long　now；　replaced　by　the　monotonous　flat　country：　endless；　desolate　fields　gone　to　timothy　and　low　shrubs；　shacks；　eerie；　deserted　estates　guarded　by　brooding；　shadowed　mansions　where　demons　undeniably　walked；　leering；　empty　shanties　where　the　people　had　either　moved　on　or　had　been　moved　along；　an　occasional　dweller's　hovel；　given　away　by　a　single　flickering　point　of　l