sk.everythingseventual-第76章

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these　periods　that　really　hurt　sometimes；　they　make　her　sick　as　a　dog。　It's　too　bad；　but　I　always　think；　hey；　what's　the　alternative？　No　rag　at　all；　right；　and　then　I'm　in　trouble；　we　both　are。'　He　yapped；　a　humorless　bark　of　sound。　'So　I　went　by　myself。　No　sense　wasting　an　all…day　pass。　You　ever　been　to　Thrill　Village？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。　Once。　When　I　was　twelve。
　　'Who'd　you　go　with？'　he　asked。　'You　didn't　go　alone；　did　you？　Not　if　you　were　only　twelve。'
　　I　hadn't　told　him　that　part；　had　I？　No。　He　was　playing　with　me；　that　was　all；　swatting　me　idly　back　and　forth。　I　thought　about　opening　the　door　and　just　rolling　out　into　the　night；　trying　to　tuck　my　head　into　my　arms　before　I　hit；　only　I　knew　he'd　reach　over　and　pull　me　back　before　I　could　get　away。　And　I　couldn't　raise　my　arms；　anyway。　The　best　I　could　do　was　clutch　my　hands　together。
　　'No；'　I　said。　'I　went　with　my　dad。　My　Dad　took　me。'
　　'Did　you　ride　the　Bullet？　I　rode　that　fucker　four　times。　Man！　It　goes　right　upside　down！'　He　looked　at　me　and　uttered　another　empty　bark　of　laughter。　The　moonlight　swam　in　his　eyes；　turning　them　into　white　circles；　making　them　into　the　eyes　of　a　statue。　And　I　understood　he　was　more　than　dead；　he　was　crazy。　'Did　you　ride　that；　Alan？'
　　I　thought　of　telling　him　he　had　the　wrong　name；　my　name　was　Hector；　but　what　was　the　use？　We　were　ing　to　the　end　of　it　now。
　　'Yeah；'　I　whispered。　Not　a　single　light　out　there　except　for　the　moon。　The　trees　rushed　by；　writhing　like　spontaneous　dancers　at　a　tentshow　revival。　The　road　rushed　under　us。　I　looked　at　the　speedometer　and　saw　he　was　up　to　eighty　miles　an　hour。　We　were　riding　the　bullet　right　now；　he　and　I；　the　dead　drive　fast。　'Yeah；　the　Bullet。　I　rode　it。'
　　'Nah；'　he　said。　He　drew　on　his　cigarette；　and　once　again　I　watched　the　little　trickles　of　smoke　escape　from　the　stitched　incision　on　his　neck。　'You　never。　Especially　not　with　your　father。　You　got　into　the　line；　all　right；　but　you　were　with　your　Ma。　The　line　was　long；　the　line　for　the　Bullet　always　is；　and　she　didn't　want　to　stand　out　there　in　the　hot　sun。　She　was　fat　even　then；　and　the　heat　bothered　her。　But　you　pestered　her　all　day；　pestered　pestered　pestered；　and　here's　the　joke　of　it；　man…when　you　finally　got　to　the　head　of　the　line；　you　chickened。　Didn't　you？'
　　I　said　nothing。　My　tongue　was　stuck　to　the　roof　of　my　mouth。
　　His　hand　stole　out；　the　skin　yellow　in　the　light　of　the　Mustang's　dashboard　lights；　the　nails　filthy；　and　gripped　my　locked　hands。　The　strength　went　out　of　them　when　he　did　and　they　fell　apart　like　a　knot　that　magically　unties　itself　at　the　touch　of　the　magician's　wand。　His　skin　was　cold　and　somehow　snaky。
　　'Didn't　you？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。　I　couldn't　get　my　voice　much　above　a　whisper。　'When　we　got　close　and　I　saw　how　high　it　was　。　。　。　how　it　turned　over　at　the　top　and　how　they　screamed　inside　when　it　did　。　。　。　I　chickened　out。　She　swatted　me；　and　she　wouldn't　talk　to　me　all　the　way　home。　I　never　rode　the　Bullet。'　Until　now；　at　least。
　　'You　should　have；　man。　That's　the　best　one。　That's　the　one　to　ride。　Nothin　else　is　as　good；　at　least　not　there。　I　stopped　on　the　way　home　and　got　some　beers　at　that　store　by　the　state　line。　I　was　gonna　stop　over　my　girlfriend's　house；　give　her　the　button　as　a　joke。'　He　tapped　the　button　on　his　chest；　then　unrolled　his　window　and　flicked　his　cigarette　out　into　the　windy　night。　'Only　you　probably　know　what　happened。'
　　Of　course　I　knew。　It　was　every　ghost　story　you'd　ever　heard；　wasn't　it？　He　crashed　his　Mustang　and　when　the　cops　got　there　he'd　been　sitting　dead　in　the　crumpled　remains　with　his　body　behind　the　wheel　and　his　head　in　the　backseat；　his　cap　turned　around　backward　and　his　dead　eyes　staring　up　at　the　roof　and　ever　since　you　see　him　on　Ridge　Road　when　the　moon　is　full　and　the　wind　is　high；　wheee…oooo；　we　will　return　after　this　brief　word　from　our　sponsor。　I　know　something　now　that　I　didn't　before…the　worst　stories　are　the　ones　you've　heard　your　whole　life。　Those　are　the　real　nightmares。
　　'Nothing　like　a　funeral；'　he　said；　and　laughed。　'Isn't　that　what　you　said？　You　slipped　there；　Al。　No　doubt　about　it。　Slipped；　tripped；　and　fell。'
　　'Let　me　out；'　I　whispered。　'Please。'
　　'Well；'　he　said；　turning　toward　me；　'we　have　to　talk　about　that；　don't　we？　Do　you　know　who　I　am；　Alan？'
　　'You're　a　ghost；'　I　said。
　　He　gave　an　impatient　little　snort；　and　in　the　glow　of　the　speedometer　the　corners　of　his　mouth　turned　down。　'e　on；　man；　you　can　do　better　than　that。　Fuckin　Casper's　a　ghost。　Do　I　float　in　the　air？　Can　you　see　through　me？'　He　held　up　one　of　his　hands；　opened　and　closed　it　in　front　of　me。　I　could　hear　the　dry；　unlubricated　sound　of　his　tendons　creaking。
　　I　tried　to　say　something。　I　don't　know　what；　and　it　doesn't　really　matter；　because　nothing　came　out。
　　'I'm　a　kind　of　messenger；'　Staub　said。　'Fuckin　FedEx　from　beyond　the　grave；　you　like　that？　Guys　like　me　actually　e　out　pretty　often…whenever　the　circumstances　are　just　right。　You　know　what　I　think？　I　think　that　whoever　runs　things…God　or　whatever…must　like　to　be　entertained。　He　always　wants　to　see　if　you'll　keep　what　you　already　got　or　if　he　can　talk　you　into　goin　for　what's　behind　the　curtain。　Things　have　to　be　just　right；　though。　Tonight　they　were。　You　out　all　by　yourself　。　。　。　mother　sick　。　。　。　needin　a　ride　。　。　。'
　　'If　I'd　stayed　with　the　old　man；　none　of　this　would　have　happened；'　I　said。　'Would　it？'　I　could　smell　Staub　clearly　now；　the　needle…sharp　smell　of　the　chemicals　and　the　duller；　blunter　stink　of　decaying　meat；　and　wondered　how　I　ever　could　have　missed　it；　or　mistaken　it　for　something　else。
　　'Hard　to　say；'　Staub　replied。　'Maybe　this　old　man　you're　talking　about　was　dead；　too。'
　　I　thought　of　the　old　man's　shrill　handful…of…glass　voice；　the　snap　of　his　truss。　No；　he　hadn't　been　dead；　and　I　had　traded　the　smell　of　piss　in　his　old　Dodge　for　something　a　lot　worse。
　　'Anyway；　man；　we　don't　have　time　to　talk　about　all　that。　Five　more　miles　and　we'll　start　seeing　houses　again。　Seven　more　and　we're　at　the　Lewiston　city　line。　Which　means　you　have　to　decide　now。'
　　'Decide　what？'　Only　I　thought　I　knew。
　　'Who　rides　the　Bullet　and　who　stays　on　the　ground。　You　or　your　mother。'　He　turned　and　looked　at　me　with　his　drowning　moonlight　eyes。　He　smiled　more　fully　and　I　saw　most　of　his　teeth　were　gone；　knocked　out　in　the　crash。　He　patted　the　steering　wheel。　'I'm　taking　one　of　you　with　me；　man。　And　since　you're　here；　you　get　to　choose。　What　do　you　say？'
　　You　can't　be　serious　rose　to　my　lips；　but　what　would　be　the　point　of　saying　that；　or　anything　like　it？　Of　course　he　was　serious。　Dead　serious。
　　I　thought　of　all　the　years　she　and　I　had　spent　together；　Alan　and　Jean　Parker　against　the　world。　A　lot　of　good　times　and　more　than　a　few　really　bad　ones。　Patches　on　my　pants　and　casserole　suppers。　Most　of　the　other　kids　took　a　quarter　a　week　to　buy　the　hot　lunch；　I　always　got　a　peanut…butter　sandwich　or　a　piece　of　bologna　rolled　up　in　day…old　bread；　like　a　kid　in　one　of　those　dopey　rags…to…riches　stories。　Her　working　in　God　knew　how　many　different　restaurants　and　cocktail　lounges　to　support　us。　The　time　she　took　the　day　off　work　to　talk　to　the　ADC　man；　her　dressed　in　her　best　pants　suit；　him　sitting　in　our　kitchen　rocker　in　a　suit　of　his　own；　one　even　a　nine…year…old　kid　like　me　could　tell　was　a　lot　better　than　hers；　with　a　clipboard　in　his　lap　and　a　fat；　shiny　pen　in　his　fingers。　Her　answering　the　insulting；　embarrassing　questions　he　asked　with　a　fixed　smile　on　her　mouth；　even　offering　him　more　coffee；　because　if　he　turned　in　the　right　report　she'd　get　an　extra　fifty　dollars　a　month；　a　lousy　fifty　bucks。　Lying　on　her　bed　after　he'd　gone；　crying；　and　when　I　came　in　to　sit　beside　her　she　had　tried　to　smile　and　said　ADC　didn't　stand　for　Aid　to　Dependent　Children　but　Awful　Damn　Crapheads。　I　had　laughed　and　then　she　laughed；　too；　because　you　had　to　laugh；　we'd　found　that　out。　When　it　was　just　you　and　your　fat　chain…smoking　Ma　against　the　world；　laughing　was　quite　often　the　only　way　you　could　get　through　without　going　insane　and　beating　your　fists　on　the　walls。　But　there　was　more　to　it　than　that；　you　know。　For　people　like　us；　little　people　who　went　scurrying　through　the　world　like　mice　in　a　cartoon；　sometimes　laughing　at　the　assholes　was　the　only　revenge　you　could　ever　get。　Her　working　all　those　jobs　and　taking　the　overtime　and　taping　her　ankles　when　they　swelled　and　putting　her　tips　away　in　a　jar　marked　ALAN'S　COLLEGE　FUND…just　like　one　of　those　dopey　rags…to…riches　stories；　yeah；　yeah…and　telling　me　again　and　again　that　I　had　to　work　hard；　other　kids　could　maybe　afford　to　play　Freddy　Fuckaround　at　school　but　I　couldn't　because　she　could　put　away　her　tips　until　doomsday　cracked　and　there　still　wouldn't　be　enough；　in　the　end　it　was　going　to　e　down　to　scholarships　and　loans　if　I　was　going　to　go　to　college　and　I　had　to　go　to　college　because　it　was　the　only　way　out　for　me　。　。　。　and　for　her。　So　I　had　worked　hard；　you　want　to　believe　I　did；　because　I　wasn't　blind…I　saw　how　heavy　she　was；　I　saw　how　much　she　smoked　（it　was　her　only　private　pleasure　。　。　。　her　only　vice；　if　you're　one　of　those　who　must　take　that　view）；　and　I　knew　that　someday　our　positions　would　reverse　and　I'd　be　the　one　taking　care　of　her。　With　a　college　education　and　a　good　job；　maybe　I　could　do　that。　I　wanted　to　do　that。　I　loved　her。　She　had　a　fierce　temper　and　an　ugly　mouth　on　her…that　day　we　waited　for　the　Bullet　and　then　I　chickened　out　wasn't　the　only　time　she　ever　yelled　at　me　and　then　swatted　me…but　I　loved　her　in　spite　of　it。　Partly　even　because　of　it。　I　loved　her　when　she　hit　me　as　much　as　when　she　kissed　me。　Do　you　understand　that？　Me　either。　And　that's　all　right。　I　don't　think　you　can　sum　up　lives　or　explain　families；　and　we　were　a　family；　she　and　I；　the　smallest　family　there　is；　a　shared　secret。　If　you　had　asked；　I　would　have　said　I'd　do　anything　for　her。　And　now　that　was　exactly　what　I　was　being　asked　to　do。　I　was　being　asked　to　die　for　her；　to　die　in　her　place；　even　though　she　had　lived　half　her　life；　probably　a　lot　more。　I　had　hardly　begun　mine。
　　'What　say；　Al？'　George　Staub　asked。　'Time's　wasting。'
　　'I　can't　decide　something　like　that；'　I　said　hoarsely。　The　moon　sailed　above　the　road；　swift　and　brilliant。　'It's　not　fair　to　ask　me。'
　　'I　know；　and　believe　me；　that's　what　they　all　say。'　Then　he　lowered　his　voice。　'But　I　gotta　tell　you　something…if　you　don't　decide　by　the　time　we　get　back　to　the　first　house…lights；　I'll　have　to　take　you　both。'　He　frowned；　then　brightened　again；　as　if　remembering　there　was　good　news　as　well　as　bad。　'You　could　ride　together　in　the　back…seat　if　I　took　you　both；　talk　over　old　times；　there's　that。'
　　'Ride　to　where？'
　　He　didn't　reply。　Perhaps　he　didn't　know。
　　The　trees　blurred　by　like　black　ink。　The　headlights　rushed　and　the　road　rolled。　I　was　twenty…one。　I　wasn't　a　virgin　but　I'd　only　been　with　a　girl　once　and　I'd　been　drunk　and　couldn't　remember　much　of　what　it　had　been　like。　There　were　a　thousand　places　I　wanted　to　go…Los　Angeles；　Tahiti；　maybe　Luckenbach；　Texas…and　a　thousand　things　I　wanted　to　do。　My　mother　was　forty…eight　and　that　was　old；　goddammit。　Mrs。　McCurdy　wouldn't　say　so　but　Mrs。　McCurdy　was　old　herself。　My　mother　had　done　right　by　me；　worked　all