pzb.drawingblood-第65部分

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　　Some　kind　of　suit；　he'd　thought　in　the　theater。　But　what　a　suit！　It　was　woven　from　nubbly…textured　cloth　of　the　palest　shell　pink；　cut　loose　and　baggy；　with　vast　lapels。　Underneath　he　had　on　a　cream…colored　shirt　and　an　extravagant　red　silk　tie　with　a　tiny　paisley　figure。　Zach　felt　something　on　his　head；　reached　up　to　investigate。　A　beret。　Wouldn't　you　just　know　it。　Even　the　lenses　of　his　glasses　seemed　to　have　taken　on　a　smoky　hipster　tint。
　　Birdland　might　try　to　fuck　with　you　at　every　turn；　Zach　thought；　but　at　least　you　got　to　dress　cool。
　　He　heard　a　ripple　of　music　nearby。　The　clear　voice　of　a　saxophone；　leisurely　rising；　then　descending。　The　sound　was　getting　closer。　By　this　time　Zach　would　not　have　been　surprised　to　see　Charlie　Parker　（or　his　zombie）　e　swaying　round　the　corner；　eyes　shut　tight　and　forehead　wrinkled；　blowing　the　horn　as　he　walked。　Bird　used　to　e　onstage　like　that；　Trevor　had　told　him；　after　the　rest　of　the　band　had　already　been　playing　for　an　hour　or　so。　He　would　start　somewhere　way　off　in　the　bowels　of　the　club；　and　the　other　musicians　would　gradually　fall　in　with　him　as　they　heard　his　approach；　until　by　the　time　he　walked　onstage　Bird　was　leading　the　band。
　　But　what　rounded　the　corner　instead　was；　in　the　most　literal　sense　of　the　term；　a　solo　instrument。　Walking　on　four　multi…jointed；　chitinous…looking　legs；　depressing　its　own　keys　with　two　equally　insectile　three…fingered　hands；　brass　gleaming　through　a　web　of　scuffs　and　scratches；　came　an　unacpanied　alto　saxophone。
　　〃Oh　now；〃　Zach　muttered；　〃this　is　just　silly。〃
　　The　music　stopped；　and　a　low　fluting　voice　spoke　out　of　the　instrument's　bell。　〃Hey；　cat…you　in　a　cartoon；　dig？　Cartoons　is　s'posed　to　be　silly。　Here；　have　a　stick　of　tea　and　you　be　gettin'　silly　too。〃
　　Zach　could　see　no　speaking　apparatus　anywhere　on　the　thing；　nothing　that　vaguely　resembled　lips　or　vocal　cords；　yet　the　voice　did　not　sound　synthesized。　The　alto　reached　one　of　those　spiny　claws　deep　into　the　curve　of　its　bell　and　pulled　out　a　fat　twisted　cigarette。　This　it　tossed　to　Zach；　who　caught　it　eagerly。
　　〃Pick　up　on　that　tea；〃　the　sax　advised　him。　〃Don't　be　lettin'　zombies　bring　you　down。　They　ain't　cool　or　viperish　neither。　Not　like　us。〃
　　〃Hey；　thanks。〃
　　〃De　nada；〃　said　the　instrument　suavely。　〃Any　descendant　of　Hieronymus　is　a　friend　o'　mine。〃　It　began　to　noodle　off　down　the　street；　playing　a　few　bars　of　〃Ornithology…〃
　　〃Wait！〃　Zach　stuck　the　joint　in　his　pocket　and　hurried　after　it。　〃Do　you　know　where　any　of　the　McGees　are？　Trevor？　Bobby？〃
　　The　alto　switched　to　〃Lullaby　of　Birdland〃　but　did　not　otherwise　reply。　It　had　a　half…block　start　on　Zach；　and　it　always　seemed　to　stay　just　a　little　too　far　ahead　of　him；　dropping　to　all　fours　and　scuttling　like　a　roach　on　those　barbed　legs；　still　playing　itself　with　its　spiky　little　hands；　the　gay　tune　spiraling　behind。　Zach's　fancy　new　shoes　pinched　his　feet　when　he　tried　to　hurry。　He　could　not　catch　up。　Eventually　the　thing　disappeared　down　an　alley　and　lost　him　altogether。
　　Now　Zach　was　in　a　narrow　street　lined　on　both　sides　with　dark　buildings　that　seemed　to　lean　forward　over　the　sidewalk；　swaying　slightly。　Many　of　the　buildings　had　old…fashioned　stoops　and　stairs　leading　up　to　recessed　entryways　that　might　have　once　been　elegant；　but　all　were　in　a　state　of　advanced　decay。　He　saw　fanlights　with　the　stained　glass　broken　out；　only　a　few　shards　remaining　like　jagged　multicolored　teeth　in　the　frames。　Overhead　he　could　barely　make　out　a　purple　slice　of　sky。　The　place　was　deserted。　Zach　reached　into　his　jacket；　knowing　somehow　that　there　would　be　a　streamlined　silver　lighter　tucked　in　a　pocket。　There　was。
　　He　leaned　against　a　stoop；　stuck　the　joint　in　his　mouth；　and　lit　up。　An　acrid；　bitter　taste　filled　his　mouth；　nothing　remotely　like　marijuana。　He　burst　out　coughing。　〃A　stick　of　tea；〃　the　alto　had　said；　and　Zach　assumed　it　was　talking　beatnik　slang。　Now　he　remembered　a　panel　from　Birdland　of　cat…headed　smugglers　at　a　river　dock；　unloading　bales　of　Darjeeling　and　Earl　Grey　under　cover　of　darkest　night。　It　really　was　tea。
　　Well；　fuck　it。　Caffeine　had　started　him　on　this　journey；　maybe　it　would　preserve　him。　Zach　took　another　hit　off　the　stick　of　tea　and　found　himself　getting　a　delicious　dizzy　high；　as　good　as　that　from　the　sticky　green　bud　Dougal　used　to　sell　in　the　French　Market。　He　felt　a　sudden　wave　of　homesickness；　wondered　if　he　would　ever　see　New　Orleans　again。
　　But　if　he　didn't　get　his　ass　moving　and　find　Trevor；　he　might　never　even　see　Missing　Mile　again。　Zach　took　a　couple　more　tokes；　bent　over　to　snuff　the　joint　on　the　sidewalk。　And　then　all　at　once　a　premonition　hit　him；　stronger　than　any　he'd　ever　had　before：　Get　the　fuck　out　of　here。　Now。
　　Zach　began　to　straighten　up；　heard　a　door　slam　and　heavy　footsteps　pounding　down　the　stairs　behind　him。　He　dropped　the　joint；　but　before　he　could　turn；　a　hard　shove　sent　him　sprawling　across　the　sidewalk。　He　managed　to　get　his　hands　under　him　and　his　chin　up　fast　enough　not　to　break　any　teeth；　but　he　felt　the　healing　cut　on　his　lip　burst　open；　saw　fresh　blood　spatter　the　cement。　His　palms　screamed　agony。　He　felt　sidewalk　grit　working　its　way　into　raw　subcutaneous　layers　of　flesh。
　　〃You　stupid　fuckin'　kid！　Leave　you　alone　for　five　minutes　and　I　find　you　smokin'　dope　on　the　street　corner！〃　A　boot　ground　into　the　small　of　his　back。　The　voice　was　familiar；　deep　and　faintly　gravelly。　Shit；　no；　please；　no；　thought　Zach。　Make　me　fuck　a　zombie。　Let　me　watch　my　own　face　rotting　in　the　mirror。　Please；　anything　but　my　dad。
　　Zach　twisted　away　from　the　boot。　A　large　hand　wrapped　around　his　wrist　and　hauled　him　up。　He　found　himself　staring　up　into　the　pale　exasperated　face　of　Joe　Bosch；　and　remembered　one　of　the　scariest　things　about　his　father：　even　when　he　was　beating　the　crap　out　of　someone；　usually　his　wife　or　son；　his　face　never　lost　that　wideeyed；　slightly　harassed　expression。　It　was　as　if　he　sincerely　believed　he　was　inflicting　this　damage　for　the　good　of　all　concerned；　and　was　only　pissed　that　they　couldn't　see　it　that　way。
　　When　Zach　left　home；　his　father　had　been　a　foot　taller　than　he；　skinny　but　muscular。　Since　then　Zach　had　grown　six　inches　and　gained　thirty　pounds。　Joe　must　have　kept　growing　too；　for　he　still　seemed　just　as　big。　Zach　had　always　looked　very　much　like　his　mother。　He　had　her　pallid　coloring；　her　slender　bones；　her　narrow　nose　and　sulky　underlip　and　thick　blue…black　hair。　The　almond　shape　of　his　eyes　was　hers　too。　Joe　didn't　look　so　different；　he　was　fair…skinned　and　dark…haired　with　sharp　intense　features；　and　could　have　been　Evangeline's　brother。　But　Evangeline's　eyes　were　Cajun　black。　Joe's　were　the　color　of　jade。
　　His　father's　relentless　stare　bored　into　him；　dissected　him；　mirrored　him。　Zach　could　not　even　try　to　pull　away。　He　remembered　the　consequences　of　evasive　action　all　too　well。　The　trick　of　being　beaten　up　was　to　take　what　you　couldn't　avoid　and　show　just　enough　pain　to　appease　their　anger；　but　not　enough　to　make　them　want　more。　If　you　awakened　their　lust　for　pain；　they　would　make　you　bleed；　break；　burn。
　　But　there　was　one　thing　Zach　had　never　been　able　to　control；　one　thing　that　had　gotten　him　hurt　more　times　than　he　could　remember；　and　that　was　his　smart　mouth。
　　He　looked　straight　into　Joe's　eyes；　wondering　if　there　was　anything　of　his　real　father　in　there　or　if　this　was　a　phantom　like　Calvin　in　the　movie　theater；　a　distillation　of　Birdland　and　mushrooms　and　his　own　fear。
　　〃I　know　you　can　kick　my　ass；〃　he　said；　〃but　can　you　talk　to　me？〃
　　〃Talk？〃　Joe　sneered。　Zach　saw　a　gold　tooth；　remembered　a　night　when　he　was　four　or　five；　his　father　staggering　in　with　blood　pouring　from　his　mouth。　It　looked　as　if　he　had　been　vomiting　the　stuff。　He'd　been　in　a　bar　fight　over　some　woman；　and　Evangeline　had　screamed　at　him　all　night。
　　〃Sure；　Zach…a…reee。〃　His　mother　had　named　him　after　her　own　grandfather。　Joe　hated　the　name；　always　spoke　it　that　way；　with　a　taunting　twist　to　his　lips。　〃We　can　talk。　What　do　you　wanna　talk　about？〃
　　〃I've　got　all　kinds　of　shit　I　want　to　talk　about。〃　Zach　had　never　dared　say　these　things　to　his　father。　If　he　didn't　say　them　now；　he　never　would。　〃Tell　me　why　you　hate　me　so　much。　Tell　me　why　I　have　belt　scars　on　my　back　that　haven't　faded　in　five　years。　Tell　me　how　e　I　could　leave　home　and　support　myself　at　fourteen　but　you　couldn't　even　deal　with　your　fucking　life　at　thirty…three！〃
　　He　tensed；　expecting　to　get　slapped。　But　Joe　only　smiled。　It　turned　his　eyes　brilliant　and　dangerous。　〃You　wanna　know　all　that？　Then　take　a　look　at　this。〃
　　Joe　stuck　his　free　hand　into　his　shirt　pocket　and　pulled　out　a　used　condom。　Holding　it　by　the　rim　with　thumb　and　forefinger　as　if　his　own　seed　were　distasteful　to　him；　he　thrust　it　in　Zach's　face。　The　reservoir　tip　was　split　open；　and　a　long　thin　string　of　e　dangled　from　it；　glistening　in　the　purple　light。　The　Bosch　family　heirloom。
　　〃This　is　why　I　hate　you；〃　said　Joe。　〃I　didn't　want　a　kid　any　more　than　you　want　one　right　now。　I　could've　done　anything　with　my　life。　Your　momma　didn't　want　you　because　she　was　scared　of　being　pregnant　and　too　lazy　to　take　care　of　you　once　you　got　there。　But　I　had　a　future；　and　you　killed　it