pzb.drawingblood-第4节

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e　other　models　one　night；　going　to　someone's　apartment　to　get　stoned　the　next。　Daddy　didn't　like　that；　had　even　refused　to　smoke　the　joint　she　brought　him　as　a　present　from　her　friends。　She　said　they　wanted　to　meet　him　and　the　kids；　but　Daddy　told　her　not　to　invite　them　out。
　　Trevor　had　gone　into　Raleigh　with　Momma　one　day。　He　brought　his　sketchbook　and　sat　in　a　corner　of　the　big　airy　studio　that　smelled　of　paint　thinner　and　charcoal　dust。　Momma　stood　gracefully　naked　on　a　wooden　podium　at　the　front　of　the　room；　joking　with　the　students　when　she　took　her　breaks。　Some　of　them　laughed　at　him；　bent　over　his　sketchbook　so　quiet　and　serious。　Their　laughter　faltered　when　they　saw　the　likenesses　he　had　produced　of　them　during　the　class　period：　the　stringy…haired　girl　whose　granny　glasses　pinched　her　beaky　nose　like　some　torture　device　made　of　wire；　the　droopy…eyed　boy　whose　patchy　beard　grew　straight　down　into　the　collar　of　his　black　turtleneck　because　he　had　no　chin。
　　But　on　this　day　Trevor　had　stayed　home。　Daddy　sat　in　the　living　room　all　evening；　sprawled　in　a　threadbare　recliner　that　had　e　with　the　house；　his　feet　tapping　out　a　meaningless　tattoo　on　the　warped　floorboards。　He　had　the　turntable　hooked　up　and　kept　playing　record　after　record；　anything　that　his　hand　fell　upon；　Sarah　Vaughan；　Country　Joe　and　the　Fish；　frenetic　band　music　from　the　twenties　that　sounded　like　something　skeletons　might　jitterbug　to…it　all　ran　together　in　one　long　musical　cry　of　pain。　Most　of　all　Trevor　remembered　Daddy　searching　obsessively　for　a　set　of　Charlie　Parker　records：　Bird　with　Miles；　Bird　on　Fifty…second　Street；　Bird　at　Birdland。　He　found　them；　slammed　one　onto　the　turntable。　The　saxophone　spiraled　through　the　old　house；　found　the　cracks　in　the　walls　and　spun　out　into　the　night；　an　exalted　sound；　terribly　sad　but　somehow　free。　Free　as　a　bird　in　Birdland。
　　Daddy　hefted　the　bottle　and　chugged　bourbon　straight　from　it。　A　moment　later　he　let　out　a　long；　wet；　rippling　belch。　Trevor　got　up　from　the　corner　where　he'd　been　sitting；　keeping　an　eye　out　for　Momma's　headlights；　and　started　to　leave　the　room。　He　didn't　want　to　see　Daddy　get　sick。　He'd　seen　it　before　and　it　had　nearly　made　him　sick　too；　not　even　so　much　the　sight　of　the　thin；　stringy　whiskey…vomit　as　that　of　his　father's　helplessness　and　shame。
　　His　foot　struck　a　loose　piece　of　wood　and　sent　it　skittering　across　the　floor。　Daddy　had　been　doing　repairs　around　the　house　a　few　days　earlier；　nailing　down　a　board　that　had　begun　to　curl　away　from　the　wall。　Long　silver　nails　and　a　hammer　were　still　scattered　around　the　hall　doorway。　Trevor　began　to　gather　up　the　nails；　thinking　Didi　might　step　on　one；　then　stopped。　Didi　was　smart　enough　not　to　go　around　the　house　barefoot；　with　all　the　splinters　in　the　floorboards。　Maybe　Daddy　would　need　the　nails。　Maybe　he　would　still　finish　the　repairs。
　　At　the　sound　of　the　nails　chinking　together；　Daddy　looked　up　from　his　bottle。　His　eyes　focused　on　Trevor；　pinned　him　to　the　spot　where　he　stood。　〃Trev。　What're　you　doin'？〃
　　〃Going　to　bed。〃
　　〃Thass　good。　I'll　fixyer　juice。〃　Momma　usually　gave　the　boys　fruit　juice　to　take　to　bed　with　them；　when　there　was　any　in　the　house。　Daddy　got　up　and　stumbled　past　Trevor　into　the　kitchen；　slapping　one　hand　against　the　door　frame　to　support　himself。　Trevor　heard　the　refrigerator　opening；　bottles　rattling。　Daddy　came　back　in　and　handed　him　a　glass　of　grapefruit　juice。　A　few　drops　sloshed　over　the　side；　trickled　over　Trevor's　fingers。　He　put　his　hand　to　his　mouth　and　licked　them　away。　Grapefruit　was　his　favorite；　because　of　the　interestingly　sour；　almost　salty　taste。　But　there　was　an　extra　bitterness　to　this　juice；　as　if　it　had　begun　to　spoil　in　the　bottle。
　　He　must　have　made　a　face；　because　Daddy　kept　staring　at　him。　〃Something　wrong？〃
　　Trevor　shook　his　head。
　　〃You　gonna　drink　that　or　not？〃
　　He　raised　the　glass　to　his　lips　and　drank　half　of　it；　took　a　deep　breath；　and　finished　it　off。　The　bitter　taste　shivered　over　his　tongue；　lingered　in　the　back　of　his　throat。
　　〃There　you　go。〃　Daddy　reached　out；　pulled　Trevor　into　his　embrace。　Daddy　smelled　of　stinging　liquor　and　old　sweat　and　dirty　clothes。　Trevor　hugged　back　anyway。　As　the　side　of　his　head　pressed　against　Daddy's；　a　panicky　terror　flooded　through　him；　though　he　didn't　know　why。　He　clutched　at　Daddy's　shoulders；　tried　to　wrap　his　arms　around　Daddy's　neck。
　　But　after　a　moment；　Daddy　pried　him　off　and　gently　pushed　him　away。
　　Trevor　went　down　the　hall；　glancing　into　Didi's　dark　bedroom。　Sometimes　Didi　got　scared　at　night；　but　now　he　was　fast　asleep　despite　the　punishing　volume　Of　the　music；　his　face　burrowed　into　his　pillow；　the　faint　light　from　the　hallway　casting　a　halo　on　his　pale　hair。　Back　in　Austin　the　brothers　had　shared　a　room；　this　was　the　first　time　they　had　slept　apart。　Trevor　missed　waking　up　to　the　soft　sound　of　Didi's　breathing；　to　the　scent　of　talcum　powder　and　candy　when　Didi　crawled　in　bed　with　him。　For　a　moment　he　thought　he　might　sleep　with　Didi　tonight；　might　wrap　his　arms　around　his　brother　and　not　have　to　fall　asleep　alone。
　　But　he　didn't　want　to　wake　Didi。　Daddy　was　being　too　scary。　Instead　Trevor　walked　down　the　hall　to　his　own　bedroom；　trailing　his　hand　along　the　wall。　The　old　boards　were　damp；　faintly　sticky。　He　wiped　his　fingers　on　the　front　of　his　T…shirt。
　　His　own　room　was　nearly　as　bare　as　Didi's。　They　had　been　able　to　bring　none　of　their　furniture　from　Austin；　and　hardly　any　of　their　toys。　Trevor's　mattress　lay　flat　on　the　floor；　a　rumpled　blanket　thrown　over　it。　He　had　pinned　up　some　of　his　drawings　on　the　walls；　though　he　hadn't　put　up　Skeletal　Sammy　and　he　hadn't　tried　to　draw　any　of　Daddy's　other　characters。　More　drawings　lay　scattered　on　the　floor；　along　with　the　ics　he　had　scrounged　from　Daddy。　He　picked　up　a　Fabulous　Furry　Freak　Brothers　book；　thinking　he　might　read　it　in　bed。　The　antics　of　those　friendly　fools　might　make　him　forget　Daddy　sprawled　in　the　chair；　pouring　straight　whiskey　on　top　of　his　pain。
　　But　he　was　too　tired；　his　eyes　were　already　closing。　Trevor　turned　off　his　bedside　lamp　and　crawled　under　the　blanket。　The　familiar　contours　of　his　mattress　cradled　him　like　a　weling　hand。　From　the　living　room　he　heard　Charlie　Parker　run　down　a　shimmering　scale。　Birdland；　he　thought　again。　That　was　the　place　where　you　could　work　magic；　the　place　where　no　one　else　could　touch　you。　It　might　be　an　actual　spot　in　the　world；　it　might　be　a　place　deep　down　inside　you。　Daddy　could　only　reach　his　Birdland　by　drinking　now。　Trevor　had　begun　to　believe　his　own　Birdland　might　be　the　pen　moving　over　the　paper；　the　weight　of　the　sketchbook　in　his　hands；　the　creation　of　worlds　out　of　ink　and　sweat　and　love。
　　He　slept；　and　the　music　wove　uneasily　in　and　out　of　his　dreams。　He　heard　Janis　Joplin　singing　〃Me　and　Bobby　McGee；〃　and　remembered　suddenly　that　she　had　died　last　year。　From　drugs；　Momma　had　told　him；　taking　care　to　explain　that　the　drugs　Janis　had　been　using　were　much　worse　than　the　pot　she　and　Daddy　sometimes　smoked。　An　image　came　to　him　of　Daddy　walking　hand　in　hand　with　a　girl　shorter　and　more　rounded　than　Momma；　a　girl　who　wore　bright　feathers　in　her　hair。　She　turned　to　Daddy　and　Trevor　saw　that　her　face　was　a　swollen　purple　mass　of　flesh；　the　holes　of　her　eyes　black　and　depthless　behind　the　big　round　glasses；　her　ruined　features　split　in　the　semblance　of　a　smile　as　she　leaned　in　to　give　his　father　a　deep　soul　kiss。
　　And　Daddy　kissed　back　。　。　。
　　
　　Sunlight　woke　him；　streaming　through　the　dirty　panes　of　his　window；　trickling　into　the　corners　of　his　eyes。　His　head　ached　slightly；　felt　somehow　too　heavy　on　his　neck。　Trevor　rolled　over；　stretched；　and　looked　around　the　room；　silently　greeting　his　drawings。　There　was　one　of　the　house；　one　of　Momma　holding　Didi；　a　whole　series　of　ones　that　he　was　pretty　sure　were　going　to　turn　into　a　ic。　He　knew　he　could　never　draw　the　slick；　tawdry　world　of　Birdland　the　way　Daddy　had；　but　he　could　make　his　own　world。　He　needed　to　practice　writing　smaller　so　he　could　do　the　letters。
　　His　head　slightly　logy　but　full　of　ideas；　Trevor　rolled　off　the　mattress；　pushed　open　the　door　of　his　room；　and　walked　down　the　hall　toward　the　kitchen。
　　He　saw　the　blood　on　the　walls　before　he　saw　Momma。
　　It　would　e　out　in　the　autopsy　report…which　Trevor　did　not　read　until　years　later…that　Daddy　had　attacked　her　near　the　front　door；　that　they　must　have　argued；　that　there　had　been　a　struggle　and　he　had　driven　her　back　toward　the　hall　before　he　killed　her。　That　was　where　he　would　have　picked　up　the　hammer。
　　Momma　was　crumpled　in　the　doorway　that　led　from　the　living　room　into　the　hall。　Her　back　rested　against　the　frame。　Her　head　lolled　on　the　fragile　stem　of　her　neck。　Her　eyes　were　open；　and　as　Trevor　edged　around　her　body；　they　seemed　to　fix　on　him。　For　a　heart…stopping　second　he　thought　she　was　alive。　Then　he　saw　that　the　eyes　were　cloudy；　and　filmed　with　blood。
　　Her　arms　were　a　mass　of　blood　and　bruise；　silver　rings　sparkling　amid　the　ruin　of　her　hands。　（Seven　fingers　broken；　the　autopsy　report　would　say；　along　with　most　of　the　small　bones　in　her　palms；　as　she　raised　her　hands　to　ward　off　the　blows　of　the　hammer。）　There　was　a　deep　gouge　in　her　lef