sk.thegunslinger-第7章

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d　stood　staring　out　at　the　morning；　at　the　silent　battalions　of　slow…moving　clouds。
〃It's　going　to　dust　up　today。　〃
〃I'm　not　surprised。〃
〃Are　you　ever？〃　She　asked　ironically；　and　turned　to　watch　him　get　his　hat。　He　clapped　it　on　his　head　and　brushed　past　her。
〃Sometimes；〃　he　told　her。　He　only　saw　her　once　more　alive。
　
　
XV
　
　
By　the　time　he　reached　Sylvia　Pittston's　shack；　the　wind　had　died　utterly　and　the　whole　world　seemed　to　wait。　He　had　been　in　desert　country　long　enough　to　know　that　the　longer　the　lull；　the　harder　the　wind　would　blow　when　it　finally　decided　to　start　up。　A　queer；　flat　light　hung　over　everything。
There　was　a　large　wooden　cross　nailed　to　the　door　of　the　place；　which　was　leaning　and　tired。　He　rapped　and　waited。　No　answer。　He　rapped　again。　No　answer。　He　drew　back　and　kicked　in　the　door　with　one　hard　shot　of　his　right　boot。　A　small　bolt　on　the　inside　ripped　free。　The　door　banged　against　a　haphazardly　planked　wall　and　scared　rats　into　skittering　flight　Sylvia　Pittston　sat　in　the　hall；　sat　in　a　mammoth　darkwood　rocker；　and　looked　at　him　calmly　with　those　great　and　dark　eyes。　The　stormlight　fell　on　her　cheeks　in　terrifying　halftones。　She　wore　a　shawl。　The　rocker　made　tiny　squeaking　noises。
They　looked　at　each　other　for　a　long；　clockless　moment。
〃You　will　never　catch　him；〃　she　said。　〃You　walk　in　the　way　of　evil。〃
〃He　came　to　you；〃　the　gunslinger　said。
〃And　to　my　bed。　He　spoke　to　me　in　the　Tongue。　He　　〃
〃He　screwed　you。　〃
She　did　not　flinch。　〃You　walk　an　evil　way；　gunslinger。　You　stand　in　shadows。　You　stood　in　the　shadows　of　the　holy　place　last　night　Did　you　think　I　couldn't　see　you？〃
〃Why　did　he　heal　the　weedeater？〃
〃He　was　an　angel　of　God。　He　said　so。〃
〃I　hope　he　smiled　when　he　said　it。〃
She　drew　her　lip　back　from　her　teeth　in　an　unconsciously　feral　gesture。　〃He　told　me　you　would　follow。　He　told　me　what　to　do。　He　said　you　are　the　Antichrist〃
The　gunslinger　shook　his　head。　〃He　didn't　say　that。〃
She　smiled　up　at　him　lazily。　〃He　said　you　would　want　to　bed　me。　Do　you？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃The　price　is　your　life；　gunslinger。　He　has　got　me　with　child。。。　the　child　of　an　angel。　If　you　invade　me　　〃　She　let　the　lazy　smile　plete　her　thought　At　the　same　time　she　gestured　with　her　huge；　mountainous　thighs。　They　stretched　beneath　her　garment　like　pure　marble　slabs。　The　effect　was　dizzying。
The　gunslinger　dropped　his　hands　to　the　butts　of　his　pistols。　〃You　have　a　demon；　woman。　I　can　remove　it〃
The　effect　was　instantaneous。　She　recoiled　against　the　chair；　and　a　weasel　look　flashed　on　her　face。　〃Don't　touch　me！　Don't　e　near　me！　You　dare　not　touch　the　Bride　of　God！〃
〃Want　to　bet？〃　the　gunslinger　said；　grinning。　He　stepped　toward　her。
The　flesh　on　the　huge　frame　quaked。　Her　face　had　bee　a　caricature　of　crazed　terror；　and　she　stabbed　the　sign　of　the　Eye　at　him　with　pronged　fingers。
〃The　desert；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃What　after　the　desert？〃
〃You'll　never　catch　him！　Never！　Never！　You'll　burn！　He　told　me　so！〃
〃I'll　catch　him；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃We　both　know　it。　What　is　beyond　the　desert？〃
〃No！〃
〃Answer　me！〃
〃No！〃
He　slid　forward；　dropped　to　his　knees；　and　grabbed　her　thighs。　Her　legs　locked　like　a　vise。　She　made　strange；　lustful　keening　noises。
〃The　demon；　then；〃　he　said。
〃No　　〃
He　pried　the　legs　apart　and　upholstered　one　of　his　guns。
〃No！　No！　No！〃　Her　breath　came　in　short；　savage　grunts。
〃Answer　me。　〃
She　rocked　in　the　chair　and　the　floor　trembled。　Prayers　and　garbled　bits　of　jargon　flew　from　her　lips。
He　rammed　the　barrel　of　the　gun　forward。　He　could　feel　the　terrified　wind　sucked　into　her　lungs　more　than　he　could　hear　it　Her　hands　beat　at　his　head；　her　legs　drummed　against　the　floor。　And　at　the　same　time　the　huge　body　tried　to　take　the　invader　and　enwomb　it。　Outside　nothing　watched　them　but　the　bruised　sky。
She　screamed　something；　high　and　inarticulate。
〃What？〃
〃Mountains！〃
〃What　about　them？〃
〃He　stops。。。　on　the　other　side。。。　sssweet　Jesus！。。。　to　inmake　his　strength。　Medinmeditation；　do　you　understand？　Oh　。　。。　I'm　。　。。　I'm　。　。　。　〃
The　whole　huge　mountain　of　flesh　suddenly　strained　forward　and　upward；　yet　he　was　careful　not　to　let　her　secret　flesh　touch　him。
Then　she　seemed　to　wilt　and　grow　smaller；　and　she　wept　with　her　hands　in　her　lap。
〃So；〃　he　said；　getting　up。　〃The　demon　is　served；　eh？〃
〃Get　out。　You've　killed　the　child。　Get　out　Get　out。〃
He　stopped　at　the　door　and　looked　back。　〃No　child；〃　he　said　briefly。　〃No　angel；　no　demon。〃
〃Leave　me　alone。〃
He　did。
　
　
XVI
　
　
By　the　time　he　arrived　at　Kennerly's；　a　queer　obscurity　had　e　over　the　northern　horizon　and　he　knew　it　was　dust。　Over　Tull　the　air　was　still　dead　quiet。
Kennerly　was　waiting　for　him　on　the　chaffstrewn　stage　that　was　the　floor　of　his　barn。　〃Leaving？〃　He　grinned　abjectly　at　the　gunslinger。
〃Yes。〃
〃Not　before　the　storm？〃
〃Ahead　of　it〃
〃The　wind　goes　faster　than　a　man　on　a　mule。　In　the　open　it　can　kill　you。〃
〃I'll　want　the　mule　now；〃　the　gunslinger　said　simply。
〃Sure。〃　But　Kennerly　did　not　turn　away；　merely　stood　as　if　searching　for　something　further　to　say；　grinning　his　groveling；　hatefilled　grin；　and　his　eyes　flicked　up　and　over　the　gunslinger's　shoulder。
The　gunslinger　sidestepped　and　turned　at　the　same　time；　and　the　heavy　stick　of　stovewood　that　the　girl　Soobie　held　swished　through　the　air；　grazing　his　elbow　only。　She　lost　hold　of　it　with　the　force　of　her　swing　and　it　clattered　over　the　floor。　In　the　explosive　height　of　the　loft；　barn　swallows　took　shadowed　wing。
The　girl　looked　at　him　bovinely。　Her　breasts　thrust　with　overripe　grandeur　at　the　washfaded　shirt　she　wore。　One　thumb　sought　the　haven　of　her　mouth　with　dreamlike　slowness。
The　gunslinger　turned　back　to　Kennerly。　Kennerly's　grin　was　huge。　His　skin　was　waxy　yellow。　His　eyes　rolled　in　their　sockets。　〃I　　〃　he　began　in　a　phlegmfilled　whisper　and　could　not　continue。
〃The　mule；〃　the　gunslinger　prodded　gently。
〃Sure；　sure；　sure；〃　Kennerly　whispered；　the　grin　now　touched　with　incredulity。　He　shuffled　after　it。
He　moved　to　where　he　could　watch　Kennerly；　The　hostler　brought　the　mule　back　and　handed　him　the　bridle。
〃You　get　in　an　tend　your　sister；〃　he　said　to　Soobie。
Soobie　tossed　her　head　and　didn't　move。
The　gunslinger　left　them　there；　staring　at　each　other　across　the　dusty；　droppingsstrewn　floor；　he　with　his　sick　grin；　she　with　dumb；　inanimate　defiance。　Outside　the　heat　was　still　like　a　hammer。
　
　
XVII
　
　
He　walked　the　mule　up　the　center　of　the　street；　his　boots　sending　up　squirts　of　dust　His　waterbags　were　strapped　across　the　mule's　back。
He　stopped　at　Sheb's；　and　Allie　was　not　there。　The　place　was　deserted；　battened　for　the　storm；　but　still　dirty　from　the　night　before。　She　had　not　begun　her　cleaning　and　the　place　was　as　fetid　as　a　wet　dog。
He　filled　his　tote　sack　with　corn　meal；　dried　and　roasted　corn；　and　half　of　the　raw　hamburg　in　the　cooler。　He　left　four　gold　pieces　stacked　on　the　planked　counter。　Allie　did　not　e　down。　Sheb's　piano　bid　him　a　silent；　yellowtoothed　goodby。　He　stepped　back　out　and　cinched　the　tote　sack　across　the　mule's　back。　There　was　a　tight　feeling　in　his　throat。　He　might　still　avoid　the　trap；　but　the　chances　were　small。　He　was；　after　all；　the　interloper。
He　walked　past　the　shuttered；　waiting　buildings；　feeling　the　eyes　that　peered　through　cracks　and　chinks。　The　man　in　black　had　played　God　in　Tull。　Was　it　only　a　sense　of　the　cosmic　ic；　or　a　matter　of　desperation？　It　was　a　question　of　some　importance。
There　was　a　shrill；　harried　scream　from　behind　him；　and　doors　suddenly　threw　themselves　open。　Forms　lunged。　The　trap　was　sprung；　then。　Men　in　long　handles　and　men　in　dirty　dungarees。　Women　in　slacks　and　in　faded　dresses。
Even　children；　tagging　after　their　parents。　And　in　every　hand　there　was　a　chunk　of　wood　or　a　knife。
His　reaction　was　automatic；　instantaneous；　inbred。　He　whirled　on　his　heels　while　his　hands　pulled　the　guns　from　their　holsters；　the　hafts　heavy　and　sure　in　his　hands。　It　was　Allie；　and　of　course　it　had　to　be　Allie；　ing　at　him　with　her　face　distorted；　the　scar　a　hellish　purple　in　the　lowering　light　He　saw　that　she　was　held　hostage；　the　distorted；　grimacing　face　of　Sheb　peered　over　her　shoulder　like　a　witch's　familiar。　She　was　his　shield　and　sacrifice。　He　saw　it　all；　clear　and　shadowless　in　the　frozen　deathless　light　of　the　sterile　calm；　and　heard　her：
〃He's　got　me　O　Jesus　don't　shoot　don't　don't　don't　　〃
But　the　hands　were　trained。　He　was　the　last　of　his　breed　and　it　was　not　only　his　mouth　that　knew　the　High　Speech。　The　guns　beat　their　heavy；　atonal　music　into　the　air。　Her　mouth　flapped　and　she　sagged　and　the　guns　fired　again。　Sheb's　head　snapped　back。　They　both　fell　into　the　dust。
Sticks　flew　through　the　air；　rained　on　him。　He　staggered；　fended　them　off。　One　with　a　nail　pounded　raggedly　through　it　ripped　at　his　arm　and　drew　blood。　A　man　with　a　beard　stubble　and　sweatstained　armpits　lunged　flying　at　him　with　a　dull　kitchen　knife　held　in　one　paw。　The　gunslinger　shot　him　dead　and　the　man　thumped　into　the　street。　His　teeth　clicked　audibly　as　his　chin　struck。
〃SATAN！〃　Some　was　screaming：　〃THE　ACCURSED！　BRING　HIM　DOWN！〃
〃THE　INTERLOPER！〃　Another　voice　cried。　Sticks　rained　on　him。　A　knife　struck　his　boot　and　bounced。　〃THE
INTERLOPER！　THE　ANTICHRIST！〃
He　blasted　his　way　through　the　middle　of　them；　running　as　the　bodies　fell；　his　hands　picking　the　targets　with　dreadful　accuracy。　Two　men　and　a　woman　went　down；　and　he　ran　through　the　hole　they　left。
He　led　them　a　feverish　parade　across　the　street　and　toward　the　rickety　general　store/barber　shop　that　faced　Sheb's。　He　mounted　the　boardwalk；　turned　again；　and　fired　the　rest　of　his　loads　into　the　charging　crowd。　Behind　them；　Sheb　and　Allie　and　the　others　lay　crucified　in　the　dust。
They　never　hesitated　or　faltered；　although　every　shot　he　fired　found　a　vital　spot　and　although　they　had　probably　never　seen　a　gun　except　for　pictures　in　old　magazines。
He　retreated；　moving　his　body　like　a　dancer　to　avoid　the　flying　missiles。　He　reloaded　as　he　went；　with　a　rapidity　that　had　also　been　trained　into　his　fingers。　They　shuttled　busily　between　gunbelts　and　cylinders。　The　mob　came　up　over　the　boardwalk　and　he　stepped　into　the　general　store　and　rammed　the　door　closed。　The　large　display　window　to　the　right　shattered　inward　and　three　men　crowded　through。　Their　faces　were　zealously　blank；　their　eyes　filled　with　bland　fire。　He　shot　them　all；　and　the　two　that　followed　them。　They　fell　in　the　window；　hung　on　the　jutting　shards　of　glass；　choking　the　opening。
The　door　crashed　and　shuddered　with　their　weight　and　he　could　hear　her　voice：　〃THE　KILLER！　YOUR　SOULS！　THE　CLOVEN　HOOF！〃
The　door　ripped　off　its　hinges　and　fell　straight　in；　making　a　flat　handclap。　Dust　puffed　up　from　the　floor。　Men；　women；　and　children　charged　him。　Spittle　and　stove　wood　flew。　He　shot　his　guns　empty　and　they　fell　like　ninepins。　He　retreated；　shoving　over　a　flour　barrel；　rolling　it　at　them；　into　the　barbershop；　throwing　a　pan　of　boiling　water　that　contained　two　nicked　straightrazors。　They　came　on；　screaming　with　frantic　incoherency。　From　somewhere；　Sylvia　Pittston　exhorted　them；　her　voice　rising　and　falling　on　blind　inflections。　He　pushed　shells　into　hot　chambers；　smelling　the　smells　of　shave　and　tonsure；　smelling　his　own　flesh　as　the　calluses　at　the　tips　of　his　fingers　singed。
He　went　through　the　back　door　and　onto　the　porch