chiaasen.stormyweather-第30部分

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　Something　stung　him　fiercely；　spinning　him　clockwise　and　down。　He　was　still　spinning　when　he　hit　the　warm　water；　and　wondering　why　his　arms　and　legs　weren't　working；　wondering　why　he　hadn't　heard　a　shot　or　seen　a　muzzle　flash；　wondering　if　perhaps　he　was　already　dead。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
　
　
　Late　on　the　night　of　August　27；　with　a　warm　breeze　at　his　back　and　nine　cold　Budweisers　in　his　belly；　Keith　Higs…trom　decided　to　go　hunting。　His　friends　declined　to　acpany　him；　as　Keith　was　as　clumsy　and　unreliable　a　shooter　as　he　was　a　drunk。
　
　Truthfully　there　wasn't　much　to　hunt　in　South　Florida；　the　wild　game　having　long　ago　fled　or　died。　However；　the　hurricane　had　dispersed　throughout　the　suburbs　an　exotic　new　quarry：　livestock。　Mile　upon　mile　of　ranch　posts　in　rural　Dade　County　had　been　uprooted；　freeing　herds　of　cattle　and　horses　to　explore　vistas　beyond　their　mucky　flooded　pastures。　Motivated　more　by　dull　hunger　than　by　native　inquisitiveness；　the　animals　began　appearing　in　places　where　they　were　not　customarily　encountered。　One　such　place　was　Keith　Higstrom's　neighborhood；　a　subdivision　of　indistinguishable　clam…colored　houses；　stacked　twenty　deep　and　twenty…five　across　and　bordered　on　every　side　by　bankrupt　strip　shopping　malls。
　
　It　was　here　Keith　Higstrom　had　spent　his　childhood。　His　father's　family　had　moved　to　Miami　from　northern　Minnesota　in　the　early　1940s　bringing　an　affinity　for　long　guns　and　an　appetite　for　the　great　outdoors。　An　impressionable　boy；　Keith　had　listened　to　hunting　yarns　his　entire　life…timber　wolves　and　trophy　black　bears　in　the　north　woods；　white…tailed　deer　and　wild　turkeys　in　the　Florida　scrub。　The　head　of　an　eight…point　buck；　stoic　but　marble…eyed；　hung　over　the　Higstrom　dinner　table；　the　tawny　pelt　of　a　prized　panther　was　tacked　spread…eagle　on　the　west　wall　of　the　den。　At　age　five；　Keith　began　collecting　in　leatherbound　volumes　each　edition　of　Outdoor　Life；　Field　&　Stream　and　Sports　Afield。　His　most　treasured　possession　was　an　autographed　photo　of　the　famous　Joe　Foss；　standing　over　a　dead　grizzly。　At　age　six；　young　Keith　got　a　Daisy　popgun；　a　BB　pistol　at　age　nine；　a　pellet　rifle　at　age　eleven；　and　his　first　。22　at　thirteen。
　
　Yet　。。。　even　plinking　beer　cans　at　the　local　rock　pit；　the　boy　displayed　an　unfailing　lack　of　proficiency　with　firearms。　His　father　was　more　than　slightly　disappointed。　Young　Keith　was　a　pure　menace　with　a　gun。　Practice　brought　no　improvement；　nor　did　experimenting　with　different　styles　of　weapons。　Scopes　didn't　help。　Tripods　didn't　help。　Recoil　cushions　didn't　help。　Even　goddamn　breathing　exercises　didn't　help。
　
　Often　these　father…son　target　practices　disintegrated　into　sulking　and　tears　until　the　elder　Higstrom　relented；　allowing　young　Keith　to　fire　a　few　rounds　with　a　twelve…gauge　Mossberg；　just　so　he　could　have　the　experience　of　hitting　something。　Clearly　the　family　lineage　of　crack　dead…eye　shots　had　e　to　a　sorry　end。　Keith's　father　returned　from　these　outings　looking　pale　and　shaken；　although　he　said　nothing　to　Keith's　mother　about　what　he'd　witnessed　at　the　rock　pit。
　
　Fortunately；　by　the　time　Keith　was　old　enough　to　go　out　hunting；　there　was　practically　nothing　left　to　shoot　in　Miami　except　for　rats　and　low…flying　seagulls。　Every　autumn；　Keith　badgered　his　father　into　taking　him　to　the　Big　Cypress　Swamp　or　private　hunting　camps　in　the　Everglades；　where　the　deer　were　chased　into　high　water　by　airboats　and　shot　at　point…blank　range。　The　elder　Higstrom　dreaded　these　excursions　and　found　no　sport　in　the　killing；　but　his　son　couldn't　have　been　happier　had　he　been　lobbing　grenades　at　crippled　fawns。
　
　It　was　on　one　such　miserable　morning　that　Keith　Higstrom's　father　swore　off　hunting　forever。　They　were　riding　a　tank…sized　swamp　buggy　in　hot　pursuit　of　a　scraggly；　half…senile　bobcat。　Suddenly　Keith　began　firing　wildly　at　an　object　high　in　the　sky…a　bald　eagle；　it　turned　out；　a　federally　protected　species。　The　attempted　felony　was　not　consummated；　due　to　the　young　man's　shaky　aim；　but　in　the　fever　of　the　moment　he　managed　to　blow　off　his　father's　left　ear。
　
　Deafened；　blood…drenched；　writhing　facedown　in　Everglades　marl；　the　elder　Higstrom　experienced　a　peculiar　catharsis；　an　unexpected　soothing　of　the　soul；　as　if　a　cool　white　sheet　were　slowly　being　drawn　over　his　head。　Yes；　his　injury　was　terrible；　and　the　deafness　would　（if　he　came　clean　about　it）　cost　him　his　job　as　an　air　traffic　controller。　On　the　other　hand；　he　could　never　again　be　forced　to　go　hunting　with　his　excitable　son！
　
　Keith　Higstrom　couldn't　duck　responsibility　for　the　accident；　nor　the　guilt　that　went　with　it。　His　father　recovered　from　the　gunshot　wound；　and　was　kind　enough　not　to　bring　it　up　more　than　once　or　twice　a　day。　Before　long；　Keith's　remorse　gave　way　to　an　unspoken　resentment；　for　he　perceived　that　his　father　was　using　the　missing　ear　as　an　excuse　to　avoid　their　weekend　expeditions。　A　plastic　surgeon　had　attached　a　durable　polyurethane　facsimile　to　the　left　side　of　the　elder　Higstrom's　head；　while　a　high…tech　hearing　aid　had　restored　the　old　man's　auditory　capacity　to　eighty…one　percent　of　what　it　was　before　the　Everglades　mishap。　Yet　he　stubbornly　refused　to　pick　up　a　gun。　Doctor's　orders；　he　squawked。
　
　For　Keith；　outdoor　panionship　was　increasingly　hard　to　e　by。　His　friends　always　seemed　to　have　prior　mitments　whenever　Keith　invited　them　to　go　hunting。　Frustrated　and　restless；　he　spent　long　sullen　weekends　cleaning　his　guns　and　watching　videotapes　of　his　favorite　American　Sportsman　episodes。　Whenever　his　trigger　finger　got　itchy；　he'd　drive　out　the　Tamiami　Trail　and　park　by　the　canal。　As　soon　as　darkness　fell；　Keith　would　load　a　double…barrel　shotgun；　strap　on　a　headlamp　and　stalk　along　the　shoreline。　His　usual　targets　were　turtles　and　opossums；　anything　faster　or　smarter　generally　eluded　him。
　
　Shortly　after　the　hurricane；　Keith　Higstrom　noticed　four　dairy　cows　and　a　palomino　mare　grazing　on　his　neighbor's　front　lawn。　Everyone　on　the　block　was　gathered　on　the　sidewalk；　laughing　and　taking　pictures；　a　light　moment　of　relief　in　the　otherwise　somber　aftermath　of　the　storm。　That　night；　drinking　with　his　buddies　at　an　Irish　bar　on　Kendall　Drive；　Keith　asked：　〃How　much　does　a　cow　weigh？〃
　
　One　of　Keith's　friends　said；　〃I　give　up；　Higstrom。　How　much　does　a　cow　weigh？〃
　
　〃It's　not　a　joke。　More　than　an　elk？　Because　I　got　cows　loose　on　my　street。〃
　
　One　of　his　friends　said；　〃From　the　hurricane。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　but　how　big　do　you　figure？　More　than　a　mulie？〃　Keith　Higstrom　drained　his　Budweiser　and　stood　up。　〃Let's　go　hunting；　boys。〃
　
　〃Sit　down；　Higstrom。〃
　
　〃You　pussies　ing　or　not？〃
　
　〃Have　another　beer；　Keith。〃
　
　With　a　burp；　he　charged　out　the　door。　He　drove　home；　slipped　into　the　den；　and　removed　his　grandfather's　old　。30…06　from　the　maple　gun　cabinet。　He　dropped　a　box　of　bullets；　and　giggled　drunkenly　when　nobody　woke　up。　He　pulled　on　his　boots　and　his　mailorder　camo　jumpsuit；　strapped　on　the　headlamp；　and　went　looking　for　a　cow　to　shoot。
　
　They　were　no　longer　grazing　in　his　neighbor's　front　yard。　Dropping　into　an　exaggerated　half　crouch；　Keith　Higstrom　weaved　down　the　block。　He　felt　light　as　a　feather；　lethal　as　a　snake。　The　rifle　was　slick　and　magnificent　in　his　hands。　His　plan　was　to　tie　the　dead　cow　on　the　front　fender　of　his　Honda　Civic　and　drive　all　the　way　back　to　Kendall；　back　to　the　Irish　bar　where　his　chickenshit　pals　were　drinking。　Keith　Higstrom　chuckled　in　advance　at　the　spectacle。
　
　For　cover　he　used　mounds　of　hurricane　debris；　shuffling　noisily　from　one　to　another。　The　street　was　empty　and　black　and　shadowless；　the　homes　on　the　north　side　still　had　no　electricity。　Passing　the　Ullmans'　house；　Keith　Higstrom　heard　something　in　the　backyard…deep　raspy　snorting。　He　thought　it　might　be　the　runaway　palomino。　As　he　snuck　around　the　corner　of　the　garage；　the　beam　of　Keith　Higstrom's　headlamp　illuminated　a　pair　of　glistening　indigo　eyes；　as　large　as　ashtrays。
　
　〃God　damn；〃　he　exclaimed。
　
　An　enormous　animal　stood　next　to　the　Ullmans'　half…drained　swimming　pool。　The　light　from　Keith's　headlamp　played　up　and　down　its　blue…black　flanks。　This　was　no　ordinary　cow。　For　starters；　it　was　as　big　as　a　tractor。
　
　Its　sharp　horns　were　lavishly　curved　and　downslung；　upside　down　from　those　of　domestic　American　stock。
　
　Keith　Higstrom　knew　exactly　what　he　was　looking　at。　Hadn't　he　watched　Jimmy　Dean　and　Curt　Gowdy　shoot　one　of　the　very　same　majestic　bastards　on　The　American　I　Sportsman？　But　that　was　in　Africa；　for　Christ's　sake。　Not　Miami；　Florida。
　
　It　occurred　to　Keith　that　he　might　be　suffering　the　effects　of　too　much　alcohol；　that　the　gigantic　oval…eyed　ungulate　glaring　at　him　was　merely　a　Budweiser…enhanced　Angus。
　
　Then　it　snorted　again；　expelling　twin　strings　of　dewy　snot。　The　animal　lowered　its　head　and；　with　hooves　the　size　of　laundry　irons；　decisively　pawed　a　trench　in　the　Ullmans'　newly　replanted　Bermuda　sod。
　
　〃Shit　on　a　biscuit；〃　Keith　Higstrom　said；　raising　his　grandfather's　rifle。　〃That's　a　Cape　buffalo！〃
　
　He　fired　and；　naturally；　missed。　Twice。
　
　The　gunshots　awakened　Mr。　Ullman；　a　banker　by　trade　and　a　recent　arrival　from　Copenhagen；　who　looke