sk.thetalisman-第58部分

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erboy！　Get　out！　I've　got　a　wife！　I've　got　kids！　I've　probably　got　bastards　scattered　all　over　New　England！　I'm　not　queer！　You're　the　queer；　not　me；　SO　GET　OUT　OF　MY　CAR！'
　　More　terrified　than　he　had　been　since　his　encounter　with　Osmond；　Jack　had　done　just　that。　Ferguson　tore　out；　spraying　him　with　gravel；　still　raving。　Jack　staggered　over　to　a　rock　wall；　sat　down；　and　began　to　giggle。　The　giggles　became　shrieks　of　laughter；　and　he　decided　right　then　and　there　that　he　would　have　to　develop　A　POLICY；　at　least　until　he　got　out　of　the　boondocks。　'Any　serious　problem　demands　A　POLICY；'　his　father　had　said　once。　Morgan　had　agreed　vigorously；　but　Jack　decided　he　shouldn't　let　that　hold　him　back。
　　His　POLICY　had　worked　well　enough　with　Bob　Darrent；　and　he　had　no　reason　to　believe　it　wouldn't　also　work　with　Emory　Light　。　。　。　but　in　the　meantime　he　was　cold　and　his　nose　was　running。　He　wished　Light　would　head　em　up　and　move　em　out。　Standing　in　the　trees；　Jack　could　see　him　down　there；　walking　back　and　forth　with　his　hands　in　his　pockets；　his　large　bald　head　gleaming　mellowly　under　the　white…out　sky。　On　the　turnpike；　big　semis　droned　by；　filling　the　air　with　the　stink　of　burned　diesel　fuel。　The　woods　here　were　trashed…out；　the　way　the　woods　bordering　any　interstate　rest　area　always　were。　Empty　Dorito　bags。　Squashed　Big　Mac　boxes。　Crimped　Pepsi　and　Budweiser　cans　with　pop…tops　that　rattled　inside　if　you　kicked　them。　Smashed　bottles　of　Wild　Irish　Rose　and　Five　O'Clock　gin。　A　pair　of　shredded　nylon　panties　over　there；　with　a　mouldering　sanitary　napkin　still　glued　to　the　crotch。　A　rubber　poked　over　a　broken　branch。　Plenty　of　nifty　stuff；　all　right；　hey…hey。　And　lots　of　graffiti　jotted　on　the　walls　of　the　men's　room；　almost　all　of　it　the　sort　a　fellow　like　Emory　W。　Light　could　really　relate　to：　I　LIKE　TO　SUK　BIG　FAT　COX。　BE　HERE　AT　4　FOR　THE　BEST　BLOJOB　YOU　EVER　HAD。　REEM　OUT　MY　BUTT。　And　here　was　a　gay　poet　with　large　aspirations：　LET　THE　HOLE　HUMAN　RACE/JERK　OFF　ON　MY　SMILING　FACE。
　　I'm　homesick　for　the　Territories；　Jack　thought；　and　there　was　no　surprise　at　all　in　the　realization。　Here　he　stood　behind　two　brick　outhouses　off　I…70　somewhere　in　western　Ohio；　shivering　in　a　ragged　sweater　he　had　bought　in　a　thrift　store　for　a　buck　and　a　half；　waiting　for　that　large　bald　man　down　there　to　get　back　on　his　horse　and　ride。
　　Jack's　POLICY　was　simplicity　itself：　don't　antagonize　a　man　with　large　bald　hands　and　a　large　bald　voice。
　　Jack　sighed　with　relief。　Now　it　was　starting　to　work。　An　expression　that　was　half…anger；　half…disgust；　had　settled　over　Emory　W。　Light's　large　bald　face。　He　went　back　to　his　car；　got　in；　backed　up　so　fast　he　almost　hit　the　pick…up　truck　passing　behind　him　（there　was　a　brief　blare　of　horns　and　the　passenger　in　the　truck　shot　Emory　W。　Light　the　finger）；　and　then　left。
　　Now　it　was　only　a　matter　of　standing　on　the　ramp　where　the　rest…area　traffic　rejoined　the　turnpike　traffic　with　his　thumb　out　。　。　。　and；　he　hoped；　catching　a　ride　before　it　started　to　rain。
　　Jack　spared　another　look　around。　Ugly；　wretched。　These　words　came　quite　naturally　to　mind　as　he　looked　around　at　the　littery　desolation　here　on　the　rest　area's　pimply　backside。　It　occurred　to　Jack　that　there　was　a　feeling　of　death　here…not　just　at　this　rest　area　or　on　the　interstate　roads　but　pressed　deep　into　all　the　country　he　had　travelled。　Jack　thought　that　sometimes　he　could　even　see　it；　a　desperate　shade　of　hot　dark　brown；　like　the　exhaust　from　the　shortstack　of　a　fast…moving　Jimmy…Pete。
　　The　new　homesickness　came　back…the　wanting　to　go　to　the　Territories　and　see　that　dark　blue　sky；　the　slight　curve　at　the　edge　of　the　horizon
　　But　it　plays　those　Jerry　Bledsoe　changes。
　　Don't　know　nothin　bout　dat　。　。　。　All　I　know　is　you　seem　to　have　this　idear　of　'moider'　a　little　broad
　　Walking　down　to　the　rest　area…now　he　really　did　have　to　urinate…Jack　sneezed　three　times；　quickly。　He　swallowed　and　winced　at　the　hot　prickle　in　his　throat。　Getting　sick；　oh　yeah。　Great。　Not　even　into　Indiana　yet；　fifty　degrees；　rain　in　the　forecast；　no　ride；　and　now　I'm…
　　The　thought　broke　off　cleanly。　He　stared　at　the　parking　lot；　his　mouth　falling　wide　open。　For　one　awful　moment　he　thought　he　was　going　to　wet　his　pants　as　everything　below　his　breastbone　seemed　to　cramp　and　squeeze。
　　Sitting　in　one　of　the　twenty　or　so　slant　parking　spaces；　its　deep　green　surface　now　dulled　with　road…dirt；　was　Uncle　Morgan's　BMW。　No　chance　of　a　mistake；　no　chance　at　all。　California　vanity　plates　MLS；　standing　for　Morgan　Luther　Sloat。　It　looked　as　if　it　had　been　driven　fast　and　hard。
　　But　if　he　flew　to　New　Hampshire；　how　can　his　car　be　here？　Jack's　mind　yammered。　It's　a　coincidence；　Jack；　just　a…
　　Then　he　saw　the　man　standing　with　his　back　to　him　at　the　pay　telephone　and　knew　it　was　no　coincidence。　He　was　wearing　a　bulky　Army…style　anorak；　fur…lined；　a　garment　more　suited　to　five　below　than　to　fifty　degrees。　Back…to　or　not；　there　was　no　mistaking　those　broad　shoulders　and　that　big；　loose；　hulking　frame。
　　The　man　at　the　phone　started　to　turn　around；　crooking　the　phone　between　his　ear　and　shoulder。
　　Jack　drew　back　against　the　brick　side　of　the　men's　toilet。
　　Did　he　see　me？
　　No；　he　answered　himself。　No；　I　don't　think　so。　But…
　　But　Captain　Farren　had　said　that　Morgan…that　other　Morgan…would　smell　him　like　a　cat　smells　a　rat；　and　so　he　had。　From　his　hiding　place　in　that　dangerous　forest；　Jack　had　seen　the　hideous　white　face　in　the　window　of　the　diligence　change。
　　This　Morgan　would　smell　him；　too。　If　given　the　time。　
　　Footfalls　around　the　corner；　approaching。
　　Face　numb　and　twisted　with　fear；　Jack　fumbled　off　his　pack　and　then　dropped　it；　knowing　he　was　too　late；　too　slow；　that　Morgan　would　e　around　the　corner　and　seize　him　by　the　neck；　smiling。　Hi；　Jacky！　Allee…allee…in…free！　Game's　over　now；　isn't　it；　you　little　prick？
　　A　tall　man　in　a　houndstooth…check　jacket　passed　the　corner　of　the　rest…room；　gave　Jack　a　disinterested　glance；　and　went　to　the　drinking　fountain。
　　Going　back。　He　was　going　back。　There　was　no　guilt；　at　least　not　now；　only　that　terrible　trapped　fear　mingling　oddly　with　feelings　of　relief　and　pleasure。　Jack　fumbled　his　pack　open。　Here　was　Speedy's　bottle；　with　less　than　an　inch　of　the　purple　liquid　now　left
　　（no　boy　needs　dat　poison　to　travel　with　but　I　do　Speedy　I　do！）　
　　sloshing　around　in　the　bottom。　No　matter。　He　was　going　back。　His　heart　leaped　at　the　thought。　A　big　Saturday…night　grin　dawned　on　his　face；　denying　both　the　gray　day　and　the　fear　in　his　heart。　Going　back；　oh　yeah；　dig　it。
　　More　footsteps　approaching；　and　this　was　Uncle　Morgan；　no　doubt　about　that　heavy　yet　somehow　mincing　step。　But　the　fear　was　gone。　Uncle　Morgan　had　smelled　something；　but　when　he　turned　the　corner　he　would　see　nothing　but　empty　Dorito　bags　and　crimped　beercans。
　　Jack　pulled　in　breath…pulled　in　the　greasy　stink　of　diesel　fumes　and　car　exhausts　and　cold　autumn　air。　Tipped　the　bottle　up　to　his　lips。　Took　one　of　the　two　swallows　left。　And　even　with　his　eyes　shut　he　squinted　as…
　　
　　　CHAPTER　16
　　　Wolf
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　…the　strong　sunlight　struck　his　closed　lids。　
　　Through　the　gagging…sweet　odor　of　the　magic　juice　he　could　smell　something　else　。　。　。　the　warm　smell　of　animals。　He　could　hear　them；　too；　moving　all　about　him。
　　Frightened；　Jack　opened　his　eyes　but　at　first　could　see　nothing…the　difference　in　the　light　was　so　sudden　and　abrupt　that　it　was　as　if　someone　had　suddenly　turned　on　a　cluster　of　two…hundred…watt　bulbs　in　a　black　room。
　　A　warm；　hide…covered　flank　brushed　him；　not　in　a　threatening　way　（or　so　Jack　hoped）；　but　most　definitely　in　an　I'm…in…a…hurry…to…be…gone…thank…you…very…much　way。　Jack；　who　had　been　getting　up；　thumped　back　to　the　ground　again。
　　'Hey！　Hey！　Get　away　from　im！　Right　here　and　right　now！'　A　loud；　healthy　whack　followed　by　a　disgruntled　animal　sound　somewhere　between　a　moo　and　a　baa。　'God's　nails！　Got　no　sense！　Get　away　from　im　fore　I　bite　your　God…pounding　eyes　out！'
　　Now　his　eyes　had　adjusted　enough　to　the　brightness　of　this　almost　flawless　Territories　autumn　day　to　make　out　a　young　giant　standing　in　the　middle　of　a　herd　of　milling　animals；　whacking　their　sides　and　slightly　humped　backs　with　what　appeared　to　be　great　gusto　and　very　little　real　force。　Jack　sat　up；　automatically　finding　Speedy's　bottle　with　its　one　precious　swallow　left　and　putting　it　away。　He　never　took　his　eyes　from　the　young　man　who　stood　with　his　back　to　him。
　　Tall　he　was…six…five　at　least；　Jack　guessed…and　with　shoulders　so　broad　that　his　across　still　looked　slightly　out　of　proportion　to　his　high。　Long；　greasy　black　hair　shagged　down　his　back　to　the　shoulder　blades。　Muscles　bulged　and　rippled　as　he　moved　amid　the　animals；　which　looked　like　pygmy　cows。　He　was　driving　them　away　from　Jack　and　toward　the　Western　Road。
　　He　was　a　striking　figure；　even　when　seen　from　behind；　but　what　amazed　Jack　was　his　dress。　Everyone　he　had　seen　in　the　Territories　（including　himself）　had　been　wearing　tunics；　jerkins；　or　rough　breeches。
　　This　fellow　appeared　to　be　wearing　Oshkosh　bib　overalls。　
　　Then　he　turned　around　and　Jack　felt　a　horrible　shocked　dismay　well　up　in　his　throat。　He　shot　to　his　feet。