pzb.drawingblood-第1节

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　　Missing　Mile；　North　Carolina；　in　the　summer　of　1972　was　scarcely　more　than　a　wide　spot　in　the　road。　The　main　street　was　shaded　by　a　few　great　spreading　pecans　and　oaks；　flanked　by　a　few　even　larger；　more　sprawling　Southern　homes　too　far　off　any　beaten　path　to　have　fallen　to　the　scourge　of　the　Civil　War。　The　ravages　and　triumphs　of　the　past　decade　seemed　to　have　touched　the　town　not　at　all；　not　at　first　glance。　You　might　think　that　here　was　a　place　adrift　in　a　gentler　time；　a　place　where　Peace　reigned　naturally；　and　did　not　have　to　be　blazoned　on　banners　or　worn　around　the　neck。
　　You　might　think　that；　if　you　were　just　driving　through。　Stay　long　enough；　and　you　would　begin　to　see　signs。　Literal　ones　like　the　posters　in　the　window　of　the　record　store　that　would　later　bee　the　Whirling　Disc；　but　was　now　still　known　as　the　Spin'n'Spur。　Despite　the　name　and　the　plywood　cowboy　boot　above　the　door；　those　who　wanted　songs　about　God；　guns；　and　glory　went　to　Ronnie's　Record　Barn　down　the　highway　in　Corinth。　The　Spin'n'Spur　had　been　taken　over；　and　the　posters　in　the　window　swarmed　with　psychedelic　patterns　and　colors；　shouted　crazy；　angry　words。
　　And　the　graffiti：　STOP　WAR　with　a　lurid　red　fist　thrusting　halfway　up　the　side　of　a　building；　HE　IS　RISEN　with　a　sketchy；　sulkily　sensual　face　beneath　that　might　have　been　Jesus　Christ　or　Jim　Morrison。　Literal　signs。
　　Or　figurative　ones；　like　the　shattered　boy　who　now　sat　with　the　old　men　outside　the　Farmers　Hardware　Store　on　clear　days。　In　another　life　his　name　had　been　Johnny　Wiegers；　and　he　had　been　an　open…faced；　sweet…natured　kid；　most　of　the　old…timers　remembered　buying　him　a　candy　bar　or　a　soda　at　some　point　over　the　years；　or　later；　cadging　him　a　couple　of　beers。　Now　his　mother　wheeled　him　down　Firehouse　Street　every　day　and　propped　him　up　so　he　could　hear　their　talk　and　watch　the　endless　rounds　of　checkers　they　played　with　a　battered　board　and　a　set　of　purple　and　orange　Nehi　caps。　So　far　none　of　them　had　had　the　heart　to　ask　her　not　to　do　it　anymore。
　　Johnny　Wiegers　sat　quietly。　He　had　to。　He　had　stepped　on　a　Vietcong　land　mine；　and　breathed　fire；　which　took　out　his　tongue　and　his　vocal　cords。　His　face　was　gone　to　unrecognizable　meat；　save　for　one　eye　glittering　mindlessly　in　all　that　ruin；　like　the　eye　of　a　bird　or　a　reptile。　Both　arms　and　his　right　leg　were　gone；　the　left　leg　ended　just　above　the　knee；　and　Miz　Wiegers　would　insist　on　rolling　his　trouser　cuff　up　over　it　to　air　out　the　fresh　scar。　The　old…timers　hunched　over　their　checkers　game；　talking　less　than　usual；　glancing　every　now　and　then　at　the　raw；　pitiful　stump　or　the　gently　heaving　torso；　never　at　the　mangled　face。　All　of　them　hoped　Johnny　Wiegers　would　die　soon。
　　Literal　signs　of　the　times；　and　figurative　ones。　The　decade　of　love　was　gone；　its　gods　dead　or　disillusioned；　its　fury　beginning　to　mutate　into　a　kind　of　self…absorbed　unease。　The　only　constant　was　the　war。
　　If　Trevor　McGee　knew　any　of　this；　it　was　only　in　the　fuzziest　of　ways；　sensing　it　through　osmosis　rather　than　any　conscious　effort。　He　had　just　turned　five。　He　had　seen　Vietnam　broadcasts　on　the　news；　though　his　family　did　not　now　have　a　TV。　He　knew　that　his　parents　believed　the　war　was　wrong；　but　they　spoke　of　it　as　something　that　could　not　be　changed；　like　a　rainy　day　when　you　wanted　to　play　outside　or　an　elbow　already　skinned。
　　Momma　told　stories　of　peace　marches　she'd　gone　to　before　the　boys　were　born。　She　listened　to　records　that　reminded　her　of　those　days；　made　her　happy。　When　Daddy　listened　to　his　records　now；　they　seemed　to　make　him　sad。　Trevor　liked　all　the　music；　especially　the　jazz　saxophonist　Charlie　Parker；　who　Daddy　always　called　Bird。　And　the　song　Janis　Joplin　sang　with　his　daddy's　name　in　it。　〃Me　and　Bobby　McGee。〃
　　Trev　wished　he　could　remember　all　the　words；　and　sing　the　song　himself。　Then　he　could　pretend　it　was　just　him　and　his　daddy　driving　along　this　road；　without　Momma　or　Didi；　just　the　two　of　them。　Then　he　could　ride　up　front　with　Daddy；　not　stuck　in　the　back　with　Didi　like　a　baby。
　　He　made　himself　stop　thinking　that。　Where　would　Momma　and　Didi　be；　if　not　here？　Back　in　Texas；　or　the　place　they　had　left　two　days　ago；　New　Orleans？　If　he　wasn't　careful　he　would　make　himself　cry。　He　didn't　want　his　mother　or　his　little　brother　to　be　in　New　Orleans。　That　city　had　given　him　a　bad　feeling。　The　streets　and　the　buildings　were　dark　and　old；　the　kind　of　place　where　ghosts　could　live。　Daddy　said　there　were　real　witches　there；　and　maybe　zombies。
　　And　Daddy　had　gotten　drunk。　Momma　had　sent　him　out　alone　to　do　it；　said　it　might　be　good　for　him。　But　Daddy　had　e　back　with　blood　on　his　T…shirt　and　a　sick　smell　about　him。　And　while　Trev　huddled　in　the　hotel　bed　with　his　arms　around　his　brother　and　his　face　buried　in　Didi's　soft　hair；　Daddy　had　put　his　head　in　Momma's　lap　and　cried。
　　Not　just　a　few　tears　either；　the　way　he'd　done　when　their　old　dog　Flakey　died　back　in　Austin。　Big　gulping；　trembling　sobs　that　turned　his　face　bright　red　and　made　snot　run　out　of　his　nose　onto　Momma's　leg。　That　was　the　way　Didi　cried　when　he　was　hurt　or　scared　really　bad。　But　Didi　was　only　three。　Daddy　was　thirty…five。
　　No；　Trev　didn't　want　to　go　back　to　New　Orleans；　and　he　didn't　want　Momma　or　Didi　to　be　there　either。　He　wanted　them　all　with　him；　going　wherever　they　were　going　right　now。　When　they　passed　the　sign　that　said　MISSING　MILE　TOWN　LIMITS；　Trevor　read　it　out　loud。　He'd　learned　to　read　last　year　and　was　teaching　Didi　now。
　　〃Great；〃　said　Daddy。　〃Fucking　great。　We　did　better　than　miss　the　highway　by　a　mile…we　found　the　goddamn　mile。〃　Trevor　wanted　to　laugh；　but　Daddy　didn't　sound　as　if　he　were　joking。　Momma　didn't　say　anything　at　all；　though　Trev　knew　she　had　lived　around　here　when　she　was　a　little　girl　his　age。　He　wondered　if　she　was　glad　to　be　back。　He　thought　North　Carolina　was　pretty；　all　the　giant　trees　and　green　hills　and　long；　curvy　roads　like　black　ribbons　unwinding　beneath　the　wheels　of　their　Rambler。
　　Momma　had　told　him　about　a　place　she　remembered；　though；　something　called　the　Devil's　Tramping　Ground。　Trevor　hoped　they　wouldn't　see　it。　It　was　a　round　track　in　a　field　where　no　grass　or　flowers　grew；　where　animals　wouldn't　go。　If　you　put　trash　or　sticks　in　the　circle　at　night；　they　would　be　gone　hi　the　morning；　as　if　a　cloven　hoof　had　kicked　them　out　of　its　way　and　they　had　landed　all　the　way　down　in　hell。　Momma　said　it　was　supposed　to　be　the　place　where　the　Devil　walked　round　and　round　all　night；　plotting　his　evil　for　the　next　day。
　　（〃That's　right；　teach　them　the　fucking　Christian　dichotomy；　poison　their　brains；〃　Daddy　had　said；　and　Momma　had　flipped　him　The　Bird。　For　a　long　time　Trevor　had　thought　The　Bird　was　something　like　the　peace　sign…it　meant　you　liked　Charlie　Parker；　maybe…and　he　had　gone　around　happily　flipping　people　off　until　Momma　explained　it　to　him。）
　　But　Trevor　couldn't　blame　even　the　Devil　for　wanting　to　live　around　here。　He　thought　it　was　the　prettiest　place　he　had　ever　seen。
　　Now　they　were　driving　through　the　town。　The　buildings　looked　old；　but　not　scary　like　the　ones　in　New　Orleans。　Most　of　these　were　built　of　wood；　which　gave　them　a　soft…edged；　friendly　look。　He　saw　an　old…fashioned　gas　pump　and　a　fence　made　out　of　wagon　wheels。　On　the　other　side　of　the　street；　Momma　spied　a　group　of　teenagers　in　beads　and　ripped　denim。　One　of　them；　a　boy；　flipped　back　long　luxuriant　hair。　The　kids　paused　on　the　sidewalk　for　a　moment　before　entering　the　record　store；　and　Momma　pointed　them　out　to　Daddy。　〃There　must　be　some　kind　of　a　scene　here。　This　might　be　a　good　place　to　stop。〃
　　Daddy　scowled。　〃This　is　Buttfuckville。　I　hate　these　little　Southern　towns…you　move　in；　and　three　days　later　everybody　knows　where　you　came　from　and　how　you　make　a　living　and　who　you're　sleeping　with。〃　He　caressed　the　steering　wheel；　then　his　fingers　tightened　convulsively　around　it。　〃I　think　we　can　make　it　through　to　New　York。〃
　　〃Bobby；　no！〃　Momma　reached　over；　put　a　hand　on　his　shoulder。　Her　silver　rings　caught　the　sunlight。　〃You　know　the　car　can't　do　it。　Let's　not　get　stranded　on　the　highway　somewhere。　I　don't　want　to　hitch　with　the　kids。〃
　　〃No？　You'd　rather　be　stranded　here？〃　Now　Daddy　looked　away　from　the　road　to　glare　at　Momma　through　the　black　sunglasses　that　hid　his　pale　blue　eyes；　so　like　Trevor's　eyes。　Didi　had　eyes　like　Momma's；　huge　and　nearly　black。　〃What　would　we　do　here；　Rosena？　Huh？　What　would　I　do？〃
　　〃The　same　thing　you　do　anywhere。　You'd　draw。〃　Momma　wasn't　looking　at　Daddy；　her　hand　still　rested　on　his　shoulder；　but　her　head　was　turned　toward　the　window；　looking　out　at　Missing　Mile。　〃We'd　find　a　place　to　rent　and　I'd　get　a　job　somewhere。　And　you'd　stay　at　home　with　the　kids；　and　there'd　be　nowhere　to　get　drunk；　and　you'd　start　doing　ics　again。〃
　　At　one　time　Trev　would　have　chimed　in　his　support　for　Momma；　perhaps　even　tried　to　enlist　Didi's　help。　He　wanted　to　stay　here。　Just　looking　at　the　place　made　him　feel　relaxed　inside；　not　cramped　up　and　hurting　the　way　New　Orleans　and　sometimes　Texas　had　made　him　feel。　He　could　tell　it　made　Momma　happy　too；　at　least　as　happy　as　she　ever　felt　anymore。
　　But　he　knew　better　than　to　interrupt　his　parents　while　they　were　〃discussing。〃　Instea