sk.thegunslinger-第23部分

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〃I　remember　how　they　danced；〃　the　gunslinger　said　softly。　〃I　remember　how　they　danced。　。　。　。　〃He　looked　up　at　the　unseeable　stone　roof　and　it　seemed　for　a　moment　that　he　might　scream　at　it；　rail　at　it；　challenge　it　blindly　　those　dumb　tonnages　of　insensible　granite　that　bore　their　tiny　lives　in　its　stone　intestine。
〃What　hand　could　have　held　the　knife　that　did　my　father　to　his　death？〃
〃I'm　tired；〃　the　boy　said　wistfully。
The　gunslinger　lapsed　into　silence；　and　the　boy　laid　over　and　put　one　hand　between　his　cheek　and　the　stone。　The　little　flame　in　front　of　them　guttered。　The　gunslinger　rolled　a　smoke。　It　seemed　he　could　see　the　crystal　light　still；　in　the　sardonic　hall　of　his　memory；　hear　the　shout　of　accolade；　empty　in　a　husked　land　that　stood　even　then　hopeless　against　a　gray　ocean　of　time。　The　island　of　light　hurt　him　bitterly；　and　he　wished　he　had　never　held　witness　to　it；　or　to　his　father's　cuckoldry。
He　passed　smoke　between　his　mouth　and　nostrils；　looking　down　at　the　boy。　How　we　make　large　circles　in　earth　for　ourselves；　he　thought。　How　long　before　the　daylight　again？
He　slept。
After　the　sound　of　his　breathing　had　bee　long　and　steady　and　regular；　the　boy　opened　his　eyes　and　looked　at　the　gunslinger　with　an　expression　that　was　very　much　like　love。　The　last　light　of　the　fire　caught　in　one　pupil　for　a　moment　and　was　drowned　there。　He　went　to　sleep。
The　gunslinger　had　lost　most　of　his　time　sense　in　the　desert；　which　was　changeless；　he　lost　the　rest　of　it　here　in　these　chambers　under　the　mountains；　which　were　lightless。　Neither　of　them　had　any　means　of　telling　time；　and　the　concept　of　hours　became　meaningless。　In　a　sense；　they　stood　outside　of　time。　A　day　might　have　been　a　week；　or　a　week　a　day。　They　walked；　they　slept；　they　ate　thinly。　Their　only　panion　was　the　steady　thundering　rush　of　the　water；　drilling　its　auger　path　through　the　stone。　They　followed　it；　drank　from　its　flat；　mineral…salted　depth。　At　times　the　gunslinger　thought　he　saw　fugitive　drifting　lights　like　corpse…lamps　beneath　its　surface；　but　supposed　they　were　only　projections　of　his　brain；　which　had　not　forgotten　the　light。　Still；　he　cautioned　the　boy　not　to　put　his　feet　in　the　water。
The　range　finder　in　his　head　took　them　on　steadily。
The　path　beside　the　river　（for　it　was　a　path；　smooth；　sunken　to　a　slight　concavity）　led　always　upward；　toward　the　river's　head。　At　regular　intervals　they　came　to　curved　stone　pylons　with　sunken　ringbolts；　perhaps　once　oxen　or　stage…horses　had　tethered　there。　At　each　was　a　steel　flagon　holding　an　electric　torch；　but　these　were　all　barren　of　life　and　light。
During　the　third　period　of　rest…before…sleep；　the　boy　wandered　away　a　little。　The　gunslinger　could　hear　small　conversation　of　rattled　pebbles　as　he　moved　cautiously。
〃Careful；〃　he　said。　〃You　can't　see　where　you　are。
〃I'm　crawling。　It's　。　。　。　say！〃
〃What　is　it？〃　The　gunslinger　half　crouched；　touching　the　haft　of　one　gun。
There　was　a　slight　pause。　The　gunslinger　strained　his　eyes　uselessly。
〃I　think　it's　a　railroad；〃　the　boy　said　dubiously。
The　gunslinger　got　up　and　walked　slowly　toward　the　sound　of　Jake's　voice；　leading　with　one　foot　lightly　to　test　for　pitfalls。
〃Here。〃　A　hand　reached　out　and　cat's…pawed　the　gunslinger's　face。　The　boy　was　very　good　in　the　dark；　better　than　the　gunslinger　himself。　His　eyes　seemed　to　dilate　until　there　was　no　color　left　in　them：　the　gunslinger　saw　this　as　he　struck　a　meager　light。　There　was　no　fuel　in　this　rock　womb；　and　what　they　had　brought　with　them　was　going　rapidly　to　ash。　At　times　the　urge　to　strike　a　light　was　well…nigh　insatiable。
The　boy　was　standing　beside　a　curved　rock　wall　that　was　lined　with　parallel　metal　staves　off　into　the　darkness。　Each　carried　black　bulbs　that　might　once　have　been　conductors　of　electricity。　And　beside　and　below；　set　only　inches　off　the　stone　floor；　were　tracks　of　bright　metal。　What　might　have　run　on　those　tracks　at　one　time？　The　gunslinger　could　only　imagine　black　electric　bullets；　flying　through　this　forever　night　with　affrighted　searchlight　eyes　going　before。　He　had　never　heard　of　such　things。　But　there　were　skeletons　in　the　world；　just　as　there　were　demons。　He　had　once　e　upon　a　hermit　who　had　gained　a　quasi…religious　power　over　a　miserable　flock　of　kine…keepers　by　possession　of　an　ancient　gasoline　pump。　The　hermit　crouched　beside　it；　one　arm　wrapped　possessively　around　it；　and　preached　wild；　guttering；　sullen　sermons。　He　occasionally　placed　the　still…bright　steel　nozzle；　which　was　attached　to　a　rotted　rubber　hose；　between　his　legs。　On　the　pump；　in　perfectly　legible　（although　rust…clotted）　letters；　
Hulks；　the　gunslinger　thought。　Only　meaningless　hulks　in　sands　that　once　were　seas。
And　now　a　railroad。
〃We'll　follow　it；〃　he　said。
The　boy　said　nothing。
The　gunslinger　extinguished　the　light　and　they　slept。　When　the　gunslinger　awoke　the　boy　was　up　before　him；　sitting　on　one　of　the　rails　and　watching　him　sightlessly　in　the　dark。
They　followed　the　rails　like　blindmen；　the　gunslinger　leading；　the　boy　following。　They　slipped　their　feet　along　one　rail　always；　also　like　blindmen。　The　steady　rush　of　the　river　off　to　the　right　was　their　panion。　They　did　not　speak；　and　this　went　on　for　three　periods　of　waking。　The　gunslinger　felt　no　urge　to　think　coherently；　or　to　plan。　His　sleep　was　dreamless。
During　the　fourth　period　of　waking　and　walking；　they　literally　stumbled　on　a　handcar。
The　gunslinger　ran　into　it　chest…high；　and　the　boy；　walking　on　the　other　side；　struck　his　forehead　and　went　down　with　a　cry。
The　gunslinger　made　a　light　immediately。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃　The　words　sounded　sharp；　almost　waspish；　and　he　winced　at　them。
〃Yes。〃　The　boy　was　holding　his　head　gingerly。　He　shook　it　once　to　make　sure　he　had　told　the　truth。　They　turned　to　look　at　what　they　had　run　into。
It　was　a　flat　square　of　metal　that　sat　mutely　on　the　tracks。　There　was　a　see…saw　handle　in　the　center　of　the　square。　The　gunslinger　had　no　immediate　sense　of　it；　but　the　boy　knew　immediately。
〃It's　a　handcar。〃
〃What？〃
〃Handcar；〃　the　boy　said　impatiently；　〃like　in　the　old　movies。　Look。〃
He　pulled　himself　up　and　went　to　the　handle。　He　managed　to　push　it　down；　but　it　was　necessary　to　hang　all　his　weight　on　the　handle。　He　grunted　briefly。　The　handcar　moved　a　foot；　with　silent　timelessness；　on　the　rails。
〃It　works　a　little　hard；〃　the　boy　said；　as　if　apologizing　for　it。
The　gunslinger　pulled　himself　up　and　pushed　the　handle　down。　The　handcar　moved　forward　obediently；　then　stopped。　he　could　feel　a　drive…shaft　turn　beneath　his　feet。　The　operation　pleased　him　　it　was　the　first　old　machine　other　than　the　pump　at　the　way　station　that　he　had　seen　in　years　which　still　worked　well；　but　it　disquieted　him；　too。　It　would　take　them　to　their　destination　that　much　quicker。　The　curse…kiss　again；　he　thought；　and　knew　the　man　in　black　had　meant　them　to　find　this；　too。
〃Neat；　huh？〃　The　boy　said；　and　his　voice　was　full　of　loathing。
〃What　are　movies？〃　The　gunslinger　asked　again。
Jake　still　did　not　answer　and　they　stood　in　a　black　silence；　like　in　a　tomb　where　life　had　fled。　The　gunslinger　could　hear　his　organs　at　work　inside　his　body　and　the　boy's　respiration。　That　was　all。
〃You　stand　on　one　side。　I　stand　on　the　other　side；〃　Jake　said。　〃You'll　have　to　push　by　yourself　until　it　gets　rolling　good。　Then　I　can　help。　First　you　push；　then　I　push。　We'll　go　right　along。　Get　it？〃
〃I　get　it；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　His　hands　were　in　helpless；　despairing　fists。
〃But　you'll　have　to　push　by　yourself　until　it　gets　rolling　good；〃　the　boy　repeated；　looking　at　him。
The　gunslinger　had　a　sudden　vivid　picture　of　the　Great　Hall　a　year　after　the　spring　Ball；　in　the　shattered；　hulked　shards　of　revolt；　civil　strife；　and　invasion。　It　was　followed　with　the　memory　of　Allie；　the　woman　from　Tull　with　the　scar；　pushed　and　pulled　by　the　bullets　that　were　killing　her　in　reflex。　It　was　followed　by　Jamie's　face；　blue　in　death；　by
Susan's；　twisted　and　weeping。　All　my　old　friends；　the　gunslinger　thought；　and　smiled　hideously。
〃I'll　push；〃　the　gunslinger　said。
He　began　to　push。
They　rolled　on　through　the　dark；　faster　now；　no　longer　having　to　feel　their　way。　Once　the　awkwardness　of　a　buried　age　had　been　run　off　the　handcar；　it　went　smoothly。　The　boy　tried　to　do　his　share；　and　the　gunslinger　allowed　him　small　shifts　　but　mostly　he　pumped　by　himself；　in　large　and　chest…stretching　rises　and　failings。　The　river　was　their　panion；　sometimes　closer　on　their　right；　sometimes　further　away。　Once　it　took　on　huge　and　thunderous　hollowness；　as　if　passing　through　a　prehistoric　cathedral　narthex。　Once　the　sound　of　it　disappeared　almost　altogether。
The　speed　and　the　made　wind　against　their　faces　seemed　to　take　the　place　of　sight　and　to　put　them　once　again　in　a　frame　of　time　and　reference。　The　gunslinger　estimated　they　were　making　anywhere　from　ten　to　fifteen　miles　an　hour；　always　on　a　shallow；　almost　imperceptible　uphill　grade　that　wore　him　out　deceptively。　When　they　stopped　he　slept　like　the　stone　itself。　Their　food　was　almost　gone　again。　Neither　of　them　worried　about　it。
For　the　gunslinger；　the　tenseness　of　a　ing　climax　was　as　unperceivable　but　as　real　and　as　accretive　as　the　fatigue　of　propelling　the　handcar。　They　were　close　to　the　end　of　the　beginning。　He　felt　like　a　performer　placed　on　center　stage　mi