sk.thetalisman-第59部分

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　　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。
　　It　was　the　Elroy…thing。
　　The　herdsman　was　the　Elroy…thing。
　　　
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　　Except　it　wasn't。
　　Jack　perhaps　would　not　have　lingered　to　see　that；　and　everything　that　happened　thereafter…the　movie　theater；　the　shed；　and　the　hell　of　the　Sunlight　Home…would　not　have　happened　（or　would；　at　the　very　least；　have　happened　in　some　pletely　different　way）；　but　in　the　extremity　of　his　terror　he　froze　pletely　after　getting　up。　He　was　no　more　able　to　run　than　a　deer　is　when　it　is　frozen　in　a　hunter's　jacklight。
　　As　the　figure　in　the　bib　overalls　approached；　he　thought：　Elroy　wasn't　that　tall　or　that　broad。　And　his　eyes　were　yellow…The　eyes　of　this　creature　were　a　bright；　impossible　shade　of　orange。　Looking　into　them　was　like　looking　into　the　eyes　of　a　Halloween　pumpkin。　And　while　Elroy's　grin　had　promised　madness　and　murder；　the　smile　on　this　fellow's　face　was　large　and　cheerful　and　harmless。
　　His　feet　were　bare；　huge；　and　spatulate；　the　toes　clumped　into　groups　of　three　and　two；　barely　visible　through　curls　of　wiry　hair。　Not　hooflike；　as　Elroy's　had　been；　Jack　realized；　half…crazed　with　surprise；　fear；　a　dawning　amusement；　but　padlike…pawlike。
　　As　he　closed　the　distance　between　himself　and　Jack；
　　（his？　its？）　
　　eyes　flared　an　even　brighter　orange；　going　for　a　moment　to　the　Day…Glo　shade　favored　by　hunters　and　flagmen　on　road…repair　jobs。　The　color　faded　to　a　muddy　hazel。　As　it　did；　Jack　saw　that　his　smile　was　puzzled　as　well　as　friendly；　and　understood　two　things　at　once：　first；　that　there　was　no　harm　in　this　fellow；　not　an　ounce　of　it；　and　second；　that　he　was　slow。　Not　feeble；　perhaps；　but　slow。
　　'Wolf！'　the　big；　hairy　boy…beast　cried；　grinning。　His　tongue　was　long　and　pointed；　and　Jack　thought　with　a　shudder　that　a　wolf　was　exactly　what　he　looked　like。　Not　a　goat　but　a　wolf。　He　hoped　he　was　right　about　there　not　being　any　harm　in　him。　But　if　I　made　a　mistake　about　that；　at　least　I　won't　have　to　worry　about　making　any　more　mistakes　。　。　。　ever　again。　'Wolf！　Wolf！'　He　stuck　out　one　hand；　and　Jack　saw　that；　like　his　feet；　his　hands　were　covered　with　hair；　although　this　hair　was　finer　and　more　luxuriant…actually　quite　handsome。　It　grew　especially　thick　in　the　palms；　where　it　was　the　soft　white　of　a　blaze　on　a　horse's　forehead。
　　My　God　I　think　he　wants　to　shake　hands　with　me！
　　Gingerly；　thinking　of　Uncle　Tommy；　who　had　told　him　he　must　never　refuse　a　handshake；　not　even　with　his　worst　enemy　（'Fight　him　to　the　death　afterward　if　you　must；　but　shake　his　hand　first；'　Uncle　Tommy　had　said）；　Jack　put　his　own　hand　out；　wondering　if　it　was　about　to　be　crushed　。　。　。　or　perhaps　eaten。
　　'Wolf！　Wolf！　Shakin　hands　right　here　and　now！'　the　boy…thing　in　the　Oshkosh　biballs　cried；　delighted。　'Right　here　and　now！　Good　old　Wolf！　God…pound　it！　Right　here　and　now！　Wolf！'
　　In　spite　of　this　enthusiasm；　Wolf's　grip　was　gentle　enough；　cushioned　by　the　crisp；　furry　growth　of　hair　on　his　hand。　Bib　overalls　and　a　big　handshake　from　a　guy　who　looks　like　an　overgrown　Siberian　husky　and　smells　a　little　bit　like　a　hayloft　after　a　heavy　rain；　Jack　thought。　What　next？　An　offer　to　e　to　his　church　this　Sunday？
　　'Good　old　Wolf；　you　bet！　Good　old　Wolf　right　here　and　now！'　Wolf　wrapped　his　arms　around　his　huge　chest　and　laughed；　delighted　with　himself。　Then　he　grabbed　Jack's　hand　again。
　　This　time　his　hand　was　pumped　vigorously　up　and　down。　Something　seemed　required　of　him　at　his　point；　Jack　reflected。　Otherwise；　this　pleasant　if　rather　simple　young　man　might　go　on　shaking　his　hand　until　sundown。
　　'Good　old　Wolf；'　he　said。　It　seemed　to　be　a　phrase　of　which　his　new　acquaintance　was　particularly　fond。
　　Wolf　laughed　like　a　child　and　dropped　Jack's　hand。　This　was　something　of　a　relief。　The　hand　had　been　neither　crushed　nor　eaten；　but　it　did　feel　a　bit　seasick。　Wolf　had　a　faster　pump　than　a　slot…machine　player　on　a　hot　streak。
　　'Stranger；　ain'tcha？'　Wolf　asked。　He　stuffed　his　hairy　hands　into　the　slit　sides　of　his　biballs　and　began　playing　pocket…pool　with　a　plete　lack　of　self…consciousness。
　　'Yes；'　Jack　said；　thinking　of　what　that　word　meant　over　here。　It　had　a　very　specific　meaning　over　here。　'Yes；　I　guess　that's　just　what　I　am。　A　stranger。'
　　'God…pounding　right！　I　can　smell　it　on　you！　Right　here　and　now；　oh　yeah；　oh　boy！　Got　it！　Doesn't　smell　bad；　you　know；　but　it　sure　is　funny。　Wolf！　That's　me。　Wolf！　Wolf！　Wolf！'　He　threw　back　his　head　and　laughed。　The　sound　ended　being　something　that　was　disconcertingly　like　a　howl。
　　'Jack；'　Jack　said。　'Jack　Saw…'
　　His　hand　was　seized　again　and　pumped　with　abandon。
　　'Sawyer；'　he　finished；　when　he　was　released　again。　He　smiled；　feeling　very　much　as　though　someone　had　hit　him　with　a　great　big　goofystick。　Five　minutes　ago　he　had　been　standing　scrunched　against　the　cold　brick　side　of　a　shithouse　on　I…70。　Now　he　was　standing　here　talking　to　a　young　fellow　who　seemed　to　be　more　animal　than　man。
　　And　damned　if　his　cold　wasn't　pletely　gone。
　　　
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　　'Wolf　meet　Jack！　Jack　meet　Wolf！　Here　and　now！　Okay！　Good！　Oh；　Jason！　Cows　in　the　road！　Ain't　they　stupid！　Wolf！　Wolf！'　
　　Yelling；　Wolf　loped　down　the　hill　to　the　road；　where　about　half　of　his　herd　was　standing；　looking　around　with　expressions　of　bland　surprise；　as　if　to　ask　where　the　grass　had　gone。　They　really　did　look　like　some　strange　cross　between　cows　and　sheep；　Jack　saw；　and　wondered　what　you　would　call　such　a　crossbreed。　The　only　word　to　e　immediately　to　mind　was　creeps…or　perhaps；　he　thought；　the　singular　would　be　more　proper　in　this　case；　as　in　Here's　Wolf　taking　care　of　his　flock　of　creep。　Oh　yeah。　Right　here　and　now。
　　The　goofystick　came　down　on　Jack's　head　again。　He　sat　down　and　began　to　giggle；　his　hands　crisscrossed　over　his　mouth　to　stifle　the　sounds。
　　Even　the　biggest　creep　stood　no　more　than　four　feet　high。　Their　fur　was　woolly；　but　of　a　muddy　shade　that　was　similar　to　Wolf's　eyes…at　least；　when　Wolf's　eyes　weren't　blazing　like　Halloween　jack…o'…lanterns。　Their　heads　were　topped　with　short；　squiggly　horns　that　looked　good　for　absolutely　nothing。　Wolf　herded　them　back　out　of　the　road。　They　went　obediently；　with　no　sign　of　fear。　If　a　cow　or　a　sheep　on　my　side　of　the　jump　got　a　whiff　of　that　guy；　Jack　thought；　it'd　kill　itself　trying　to　get　out　of　his　way。
　　But　Jack　liked　Wolf…liked　him　on　sight；　just　as　he　had　feared　and　disliked　Elroy　on　sight。　And　that　contrast　was　particularly　apt；　because　the　parison　between　the　two　was　undeniable。　Except　that　Elroy　had　been　goatish　while　Wolf　was　。　。　。　well；　wolfish。
　　Jack　walked　slowly　toward　where　Wolf　had　set　his　herd　to　graze。　He　remembered　tiptoeing　down　the　stinking　back　hall　of　the　Oatley　Tap　toward　the　fire…door；　sensing　Elroy　somewhere　near；　smelling　him；　perhaps；　as　a　cow　on　the　other　side　would　undoubtedly　smell　Wolf。　He　remembered　the　way　Elroy's　hands　had　begun　to　twist　and　thicken；　the　way　his　neck　had　swelled；　the　way　his　teeth　had　bee　a　mouthful　of　blackening　fangs。
　　'Wolf？'
　　Wolf　turned　and　looked　at　him；　smiling。　His　eyes　flared　a　bright　orange　and　looked　for　a　moment　both　savage　and　intelligent。　Then　the　glow　faded　and　they　were　only　that　muddy；　perpetually　puzzled　hazel　again。
　　'Are　you　。　。　。　sort　of　a　werewolf　？'
　　'Sure　am；'　Wolf　said；　smiling。　'You　pounded　that　nail；　Jack。　Wolf！'　
　　Jack　sat　down　on　a　rock；　looking　at　Wolf　thoughtfully。　He　believed　it　would　be　impossible　for　him　to　be　further　surprised　than　he　had　already　been；　but　Wolf　managed　the　trick　quite　nicely。
　　'How's　your　father；　Jack？'　he　asked；　in　that　casual；　by…the…way　tone　reserved　for　enquiring　after　the　relatives　of　others。　'How's　Phil　doing　these　days？　Wolf！'
　　　
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　　Jack　made　a　queerly　apt　cross…association：　he　felt　as　if　all　the　wind　had　been　knocked　out　of　his　mind。　For　a　moment　it　just　sat　there　in　his　head；　not　a　thought　in　it；　like　a　radio　station　broadcasting　nothing　but　a　carrier　wave。　Then　he　saw　Wolf's　face　change。　The　expression　of　happiness　and　childish　curiosity　was　replaced　by　one　of　sorrow。　Jack　saw　that　Wolf's　nostrils　were　flaring　rapidly。
　　'He's　dead；　isn't　he？　Wolf！　I'm　sorry；　Jack。　God　pound　me！　I'm　stupid！　Stupid！'　Wolf　crashed　a　hand　into　his　forehead　and　this　time　he　really　did　howl。　It　was　a　sound　that　chilled　Jack's　blood。　The　herd　of　creep　looked　around　uneasily。
　　'That's　all　right；'　Jack　said。　He　heard　his　voice　more　in　his　ears　than　in　his　head；　as　if　someone　else　had　spoken。　'But　。　。　。　how　did　you　know？'
　　'Your　smell　changed；'　Wolf　said　simply。　'I　knew　he　was　dead　because　it　was　in　your　smell。　Poor　Phil！　What　a　good　guy！　Tell　you　that　right　here　and　now；　Jack！　Your　father　was　a　good　guy！　Wolf！'
　　'Yes；'　Jack　said；　'he　was。　But　how　did　you　know　him？　And　how　did　you　know　he　was　my　father？'　
　　Wolf　looked　at　Jack　as　though　he　had　asked　a　question　so　simple　it　barely　needed　answering。　'I　remember　his　smell；　of　course。　Wolfs　remember　all　smells。　You　smell　just　like　him。'　
　　Whack！　The　goofystick　came　down　on　his　head　again。　Jack　felt　an　urge　to　just　roll　back　and　forth　on　the　tough；　springy　turf；