pzb.lostsouls-第19节
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ng； something to carry him away； to blot out his thoughts for a while。 He knew he didn't really have to watch for his parents。 They'd never miss him。 He had heard them e in sometime after ten； boozed up on expensive wine and stuffed with French food； arguing about him。 〃You want him to follow any asinine whim that catches his fancy；〃 Father had said； and Mother replied； 〃He has to find himself；〃 but she didn't sound as serene as usual。 They'd gone into their bedroom and shut the door。 Nothing lay in bed and thought about going south where he could follow his whims； asinine or not。 Where no one would ever have to argue about him again。
He put on the Lost Souls？ cassette。 The music was soft and wailing； the singer's voice pulling him down south； down along the ways the trains travelled； down through the green land。 Nothing wondered whether these musicians might be his family； his long…lost brothers。 He thought again of the eerie…sounding town where they lived。 Maybe he would go there。
What the hell； he decided； and lit a cigarette。 Its red firefly glow would pick him out of the darkness if anyone was looking for him。 But no one was。 He knew that。 Even if his parents missed him； they would figure he'd sneaked out to party with his friends。 We'll cancel his allowance for a week； they'd say； and then they'd roll over and sleep their dreamless sleep。 When he didn't e home the next day； they would call the police and set up a halfhearted search for him； but perhaps they would be secretly relieved。 Now they could live their fortable lives with no strange son to look at them and silently judge them。 Now they need no longer wonder what they had raised； why their child had disappointed them so； whether they might have been happier if he had not been left on their doorstep that cold morning。 Now he was on the road。 He would smoke Lucky Strikes and wander； and he would find his home。 He was on his way already。
Skittle's was almost empty when Nothing walked in。 The cuffs of his jeans were wet with night…dew。 The fresh cut on his wrist throbbed in time with his heartbeat。 He saw Jack in a corner booth with four other kids； two boys and two girls。 One of the boys was Laine。 The table was littered with empty wax cups and half…eaten pizza； the ashtray choked with butts。
Nothing looked at Jack。 〃Can you still drive me to Columbia？〃
〃I said I would； dude。 Since when do I go back on my word？ I need the five dollars if you have it。〃 Nothing handed him a bill； and Jack tucked it into his pack of Marlboros。
〃I have to be at the bus station by one；〃 Nothing said pointedly。 〃The bus leaves then。〃
Jack heaved a great sigh。 〃Okay。 Okay。 Let's peel out。〃 He stood up； the chains on his boots jangling。
The others stood too； Laine slipped out of the booth and pressed up close to Nothing。 His breath； sweet with cloves； tickled Nothing's ear。 〃Where are you gonna go？〃
〃I don't know。 South。〃
〃How e you didn't tell me？〃
〃I didn't know until tonight。〃
Laine took Nothing's hand between both of his； twined his fingers into Nothing's。 〃You should've called me。 I would have gone with you。 I hate it here too。〃
Nothing looked at Laine。 Laine's lips were smeared with black lipstick； his feathery white…blond hair hid his eyes。 Nothing wanted to brush the hair away； but he couldn't。 He slid his hand out of Laine's and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans。 〃I thought you were going out with Julie；〃 he said。
Laine shrugged； an unconcerned； eloquent gesture。 〃We broke up。 She's such a damn poser。〃
〃She's all right；〃 said Nothing。 〃She gave me her Lost Souls？ tape。〃
〃Yeah； well； she never listened to it anyway。 She doesn't listen to anything but English fashion bands。〃 Laine sneered。 Nothing wondered whether Julie had dumped Laine this afternoon； or possibly even earlier tonight。 The wounds seemed fresh。
If Laine wanted Nothing to lick them； though； he was out of luck。 Laine wasn't getting an invitation to go south with him。 No way。 Nothing was leaving all this behind tonight… the school； the parents； and this goddamn pizza joint where the kids sat and smoked and talked about how great their lives would be if only they lived anywhere but here。
Jack and the others were heading for the parking lot。 Laine grabbed Nothing's hand and pulled him along。 〃You don't want to get left； do you？ You're getting the hell out of here！〃 Laine's voice was exalted； envious。
The ride to Columbia seemed to take no lime at all。 Guardrails； underpasses； dead orange sodium lights flashed past at a great speed。 Skinny Puppy played on Jack's tape deck； so loud that the notes were mangled beyond recognition。 Someone passed around a flask of cheap vodka； and Jack drank most of it in one long gurgling swallow…like the Irishman chauffeur in a story Nothing had read； Jack could not drive unless he was blind drunk。
Nothing was squeezed in the backseat between Laine and a diminutive purple…haired girl who called herself Sioux。 Sioux pulled a little knife from her boot and passed it over to Laine。 〃See what Veronica traded me for that Cramps poster？ It's fucking sharp！〃
Laine fingered the tip of the knife and yelped as the blade pierced his skin。 〃Seriously！ That hurt。〃
A spot of blood glistened on Laine's fingertip； wet and black in the orange light of the highway。 Nothing bent and took Laine's finger into his mouth and licked the blood away。 Laine lay back smiling。 Nothing touched his tongue to the spot； questing for more； but Laine slid his other hand under Nothing's chin； tilted Nothing's face up； and kissed him deeply； wetly； hugging him close。
〃I'll miss you；〃 said Laine into Nothing's mouth； and pushed Nothing against the back of the seat and kissed him again。
Then Sioux leaned over and licked Nothing's throat； and Laine's hands were in his hair and Sioux's hands were on his thighs； sliding up under his shirt。 Nothing closed his eyes and smiled into the darkness。 His friends had disappointed him in every other way； but they certainly knew how to give a good send…off。
The others waited at the bus station with him until Jack put a nickel in the gum machine and kicked it over when no gum came out。 Then the old man who sold tickets made them all leave； and Nothing sat alone in the dark waiting room； looking at the frosted glass of the ticket window； the dingy scrolled ceiling high above； the shiny pink bald spot on the back of the old man's head and the way his ivory…colored hair straggled over the buckle of his dirty visor。
Nothing took out his Dylan Thomas book； but there was no light to read by。 He looked at his hands in his lap。 Two weeks ago he'd put on some of Laine's black nail polish； but most of it was gone now。 He examined the chips and flecks that were left。 They looked like shapes on a map； like tiny states。 Maybe like the places be was going。 He cupped his hands over his face。 'They were scented with vodka and smoke； with Laine and Sioux。 He felt his eyes closing。
The old man's bawling voice woke him a few minutes later。 〃Coach boarding for Silver Spring Fairfax； Wash'ton DC； Fredericksburg 。 。 。〃 Nothing felt for his backpack and stood up。 Now he could get started。
The bus smelled of cigarettes and prickly upholstery and some heavy sweet disinfectant。 Nothing decided he liked the odor。 A few heads lifted to stare blearily at him； then drooped back against the dark windows。 He took a seat in the back and lit a cigarette。 The bus shuddered； heaved a sigh； and pulled away from the station。
Nothing smiled at himself in the window。 He was on his way。 His journey had begun； lie was already a little closer to home。
Chapter 11
Several hours after Nothing climbed the steps of a Greyhound bus in Maryland； Christian opened his eyes and saw dawn bleeding palely across the New Orleans sky。 At first he could not remember why he was lying on the riverbank； why his clothes were wet with mist and his limbs so stiff and cold。 He could not think why it seemed strange to see another dawn； why he had never expected to open his eyes again；
Then the whole night came rushing back； and he gave an involuntary shudder and let the relief and the fury wash over him。 Relief because he had not wanted to die at the hands of one like Wallace； so clumsy and drained of passion； fury because Wallace should not have been able to defeat him； Wallace with his tired； ancient eyes。 Christian's belly should be warm and heavy with Wallace's blood now； Wallace should be drifting away along the river bottom； the water filling his eyes； the creatures of the mud beginning to nibble at his hands。
Christian sat up and examined himself。 There was a scorched hole in the fine black cloth of his shirt； its edges perfectly round。 He undid the top two buttons。 The bullet had shattered the third one。 In the center of his chest was a shiny pink sear； the skin pulled tight and slightly rippled。 There would be no matching scar on his back； Wallace's bullet was still in him； and there it would stay。 It was not the first。
He had bled only a little。 There was a crust of dried blood on his skin； ringing the scar； and the ground where he had lain all night was stained dark red。 But the
