pzb.drawingblood-第34部分

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　　Trevor　shrugged。　〃I　wasn't　expecting　pany。〃
　　Zach　started　laughing。　He　couldn't　help　it。　This　guy　was　so　fucked　up　。　。　。　but　smart；　and　despite　his　weird　asexuality；　entirely　too　beautiful。　Trevor　stared　at　him　for　a　moment；　then　tentatively　joined　in。
　　They　grinned　at　each　other　in　ganja…swirled　camaraderie。　Suddenly　Zach　found　himself　wondering　again　if　it　mightn't　be　possible　after　all　to　love　someone　and　make　love　with　them　too。　Something　about　such　a　spontaneous　sweet　smile　on　a　face　that　didn't　smile　too　often　made　him　wonder　why　he　had　always　denied　himself　the　physical　pleasure　of　a　person　he　truly　cared　for。　Wouldn't　it　be　fun　to　see　someone…all　right　then；　someone　like　Trevor…　smile　that　way　just　because　Zach　knew　how　to　make　him　feel　good？　Maybe　even　more　fun　than　getting　sucked　off　by　a　cute；　all…but…anonymous　stranger　in　the　back　room　of　a　convenience　store　in　a　state　he　might　never　see　again？
　　Probably　not。　Probably　it　would　end　in　cutting　words　and　tears；　pain　and　blame　and　regret；　maybe　even　blood。　Those　were　the　risks　of　such　a　relationship；　almost　guaranteed。
　　But　where　along　the　line　had　he　decided　that　he　could　not　take　those　particular　risks；　while　cheerfully　taking…　indeed；　seeking　out…so　many　others？
　　Trevor　was　watching　him　closely。　He　looked　as　if　he　wanted　to　say　What　are　you　thinking？　but　didn't。　Zach　was　glad。　He'd　always　hated　that　question；　it　seemed　people　only　asked　it　of　you　when　you　were　thinking　about　something　you　didn't　want　to　share。
　　Instead；　very　hesitantly；　Trevor　asked；　〃Have　we　met　before？　Do　I　know　you？〃　He　frowned　as　if　that　weren't　precisely　the　question　he　wanted　to　ask；　but　he　could　not　find　the　words　for　the　right　one。
　　Zach　shook　his　head。　〃I　don't　think　so。　But　。　。　。〃
　　〃It　feels　like　we　have；〃　Trevor　finished　for　him。
　　Zach　snuffed　the　half…burnt　joint　and　put　it　back　hi　his　pocket。　They　sat　in　silence　for　a　few　minutes。　Neither　wanted　to　be　the　first　to　say　too　much；　to　take　this　strange　new　notion　too　far。　Zach　mused　on　how　irretrievable　words　were　in　the　real　world。　In　many　ways　he　preferred　the　simplicity　of　the　puter　universe；　where　you　could　revise　and　delete　things　at　will；　where　you　acted　and　the　system　could　only　react　in　certain　ways。
　　But　there　you　ran　up　against　an　eventual　wall　of　predictability。　Here　the　slightest　shift　in　semantics　could　make　a　situation　run　wild；　and　that　appealed　to　him　too。
　　The　rain　had　nearly　stopped。　Now　it　began　to　e　down　harder　again；　though　they　were　still　protected　beneath　the　canopy　of　branches　and　vines。　The　sky　rumbled　with　nascent　thunder；　then　erupted。　All　at　once　it　was　pouring。
　　Zach　saw　a　chance　to　defuse　the　awkwardness。　He　caught　Trevor's　arm　and　pulled　him　up；　noticing　how　Trevor's　flesh　seemed　to　simultaneously　cleave　to　and　cringe　from　his　touch。　〃e　on！〃　he　urged。
　　〃Where？〃
　　〃Don't　you　want　a　shower？　This　is　our　chance！〃
　　〃Out　here？〃
　　〃Sure；　why　not？　Nobody　can　see　us　from　the　road。〃　Zach　ducked　out　from　under　the　curtain　of　willow　fronds　and　ran　to　a　clear　patch　in　the　yard。　He　kicked　his　sneakers　off；　pulled　his　shirt　over　his　head；　stuck　his　glasses　in　his　pocket；　and　started　unbuttoning　his　pants。　Trevor　followed；　looking　doubtful。　〃Are　you　going　to　get　naked？〃
　　Zach　undid　the　last　button　and　let　his　cutoffs　fall。　He　wasn't　wearing　any　underwear。　Trevor　raised　his　eyebrows；　then　shrugged；　unbuckled　his　jeans；　and　pushed　them　down　over　his　skinny　hips。　If　he'd　grown　up　in　an　orphanage；　male　nudity　was　probably　no　big　deal　to　him。
　　The　rain　sluiced　over　their　bodies；　washing　away　the　grime　of　the　road　and　the　old　crumbling　house。　Trevor　was　only　a　wet　blur　several　feet　away；　Zach　could　barely　see　him　flinging　his　arms　about　as　if　dancing　or　performing　some　wild　invocation。
　　Zach　raised　his　face　to　the　downpour　and　let　it　fill　the　tired　hollows　of　his　eyes；　wash　the　taste　of　smoke　from　his　lips。　He　was　not　aware　that　he　was　grinning　like　a　fool　until　he　felt　rain　trickling　between　his　teeth；　over　his　tongue；　and　down　his　throat　in　a　little　silver　river。
　　
　　　
　　　Chapter　Eleven
　　
　　Kinsey　was　mopping　up　the　last　of　the　water　as　the　early　evening　barflies　began　to　drift　in。　Terry　was　closing　up　shop　at　the　Whirling　Disc　and　wishing　Steve　Finn　were　in　town。　The　new　guy　had　fucked　up　an　invoice　and　ordered　twenty　copies　of　Louie's　Limbo　Lounge；　an　obscure　album　of　exquisitely　bad　strip…club　music；　instead　of　the　two　Terry　had　meant　to　special…order。　Now　they　could　hear　such　classics　as　〃Torture　Rock；〃　〃Beaver　Shot；〃　and　the　amazing　〃Hooty　Sapper…ticker〃　by　Barbara　&　the　Boys　whenever　they　so　desired。
　　Terry　started　to　call　Poindexter's　in　Durham　to　see　if　they　wanted　any；　but　decided　fuck　it　and　went　instead　to　buy　his　girl　a　beer。　A　gaudy　sunset　bathed　the　downtown　in　red　and　purple　light；　and　the　slowly　darkening　streets　glistened　with　the　rain　that　had　fallen　all　afternoon。
　　One　by　one　the　streetlights　flickered　on。　Terry　remembered　a　summer　two　or　three　years　ago　when　there　had　been　a　plague　of　Luna　moths。　The　huge　insects　beat　against　windows　and　swarmed　around　streetlights；　their　broad　fragile　wings　catching　the　light　and　making　it　shift　strangely；　their　color　like　nothing　else　in　nature…the　palest　silver…green；　the　color　of　ectoplasm　or　the　glow　of　radiation。　You　could　find　drifts　of　them　tattered　and　dead　in　the　gutter；　their　fat　furred　bodies　shriveled　to　husks。
　　Soon　a　flock　of　bats　descended　upon　the　town；　roosting　in　the　treetops　and　church　bell　towers　by　day；　swooping　out　at　night　to　catch　the　Luna　moths　in　their　tiny　razored　jaws。　If　the　show　at　the　Sacred　Yew　was　boring；　the　kids　would　congregate　on　the　street　and　watch　the　shadowplay　of　leathery　and　iridescent　wings；　strain　to　hear　the　high　needling　squeal　of　the　bats　over　the　churn　of　guitars　and　percussion　from　the　club。　One　night　Ghost　had　mused　aloud　that　to　the　bats；　the　moths'　blood　must　taste　like　creme　de　menthe。
　　Terry　wondered　what　had　bee　of　the　new　kids。　He　thought　Zach　might　have　just　hit　the　other　side　of　town　and　kept　driving；　that　boy　looked　like　he　might　have　someplace　to　be　in　a　hurry。　And　he　guessed　Trevor　was　still　out　at　the　murder　house。　Hell　of　a　thing；　Bobby　McGee's　son　ing　back　after　all　these　years。
　　Well；　Kinsey　would　know　the　lowdown。　Terry　hastened　his　step　toward　the　Yew；　toward　friends　and　music　and　the　taste　of　a　cold　beer　in　his　favorite　bar　on　a　summer's　evening。
　　
　　By　ten　o'clock　Terry　had　had　five　cold　beers　and　had　forgotten　all　about　Zach。　But　Zach　had　not　hit　the　other　side　of　town；　had　not　even　returned　to　his　car　except　to　check　the　locks　and　pull　it　around　to　the　side　of　the　house。　He　had　found　a　place　he　liked；　and　he　had　every　intention　of　setting　up　camp　here　for　a　few　days　unless　Trevor　objected。　But　he　didn't　think　Trevor　would。
　　When　they　came　in　from　the　rainstorm；　Trevor　excused　himself　to　put　on　dry　clothes　and　disappeared　down　the　hall。　Zach　followed　a　few　minutes　later　and　found　him　sprawled　on　a　bare　mattress　in　one　of　the　back　bedrooms。　Naked　and　almost　painfully　thin；　long　hair　spread　out　around　his　head　like　a　corona；　he　was　already　deeply　asleep。
　　Zach　watched　him　for　several　moments　but　could　not　disturb　him。　Trevor　had　spent　the　last　three　nights　sleeping　on　a　Greyhound　bus；　a　couch；　and　a　drawing　table；　he　deserved　some　bed　rest。　Zach　got　one　of　Kinsey's　blankets　and　covered　him。　As　he　did　so　he　saw　gooseflesh　shivering　across　Trevor's　chest；　water　droplets　still　caught　in　the　cup　of　his　navel　and　the　damp　tangle　of　his　pubic　hair。　He　imagined　the　salty　taste　those　droplets　would　have　if　he　were　to　bend　down　and　lick　them　away。
　　Now　you　want　to　molest　him　in　his　sleep。　It　was　Eddy's　voice；　out　of　nowhere。　Christ；　Zach；　why　don't　you　just　buy　a　blow…up　love　doll　on　Bourbon　Street　and　be　done　with　it？
　　Fuck　you；　Eddy。
　　As　he　turned　away　from　the　bed　he　noticed　drawings　tacked　to　the　walls。　Monsters　and　fanciful　houses；　unfamiliar　landscapes。　And　faces；　all　kinds　of　faces。　A　child's　drawings…but　a　child　with　obvious　talent；　with　an　eye　for　line　and　proportion；　with　an　untrammeled　imagination。　This　was　Trevor's　own　room。
　　Zach　left　Trevor　to　sleep　and　started　exploring　the　house。　At　the　end　of　the　hall　was　the　bathroom　where　Bobby　had　died。　There　was　no　window　in　this　room；　and　Zach　did　not　think　to　try　the　switch。　He　stood　on　the　threshold　staring　into　the　unlit　chamber；　saw　porcelain　gleaming　dully　beneath　layers　of　dirt　and　cobweb。　The　shower　curtain　rod　was　bent；　almost　buckled。　Zach　wondered　if　Trevor　had　seen　that　yet。
　　Something　about　the　bathroom's　geometry　seemed　wrong；　as　if　the　angle　at　which　walls　met　ceiling　were　slightly　skewed。　It　made　Zach　feel　dizzy；　almost　nauseated。　He　turned　away　and　went　into　the　room　across　the　hall；　which　was　the　studio。　He　saw　Trevor's　sketchbook　lying　open　on　the　drawing　table　and　slowly　flipped　through　the　pages。　The　drawings　were　very　good。　Zach　had　read　one　issue　of　Birdland；　and　he　thought　Trevor's　style　was　already　technically　better　than　Bobby's。　The　lines　were　surer；　the　faces　finer　and　more　subtle；　with　layer　upon　layer　of　nuance　lurking　in　the　expressions　he　captured。
　　But　Bobby's　work　had　always　had　a　certain　fract