pzb.lostsouls-第25节

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s　hoarse　as　if　he　had　just　smoked　a　whole　pack　of　Luckies。　If　the　albino　was　going　to　kill　him　and　dump　him　in　a　ditch　somewhere；　they　might　as　well　get　it　over　with。　If　he　stopped　now；　maybe　he'd　still　be　able　to　scream。
　　〃I　can't　go　any　more；〃　he　said；　afraid　to　look　at　the　albino。　Instead　he　stared　out　the　window。　The　countryside　was　dark。　Rain　had　begun　to　speckle　the　windshield；　streaking　down　through　a　patina　of　dust　and　highway　grit。　There　was　no　light　anywhere；　not　by　the　side　of　the　road；　not　on　the　horizon。　Heavy　clouds　blotted　out　the　moon。
　　The　Lincoln's　one　working　headlight　picked　out　a　line　of　bright　orange　cones　by　the　side　of　the　road。　Highway　work。　The　cones　flashed　by　slower　。　。　。　slower。　Gravel　crunched　beneath　the　wheels。　The　car　came　to　a　full　stop。
　　The　albino　cut　the　ignition　and　turned　to　Nothing。　The　only　light　came　from　the　glowing　green　Jesus　on　the　dash；　a　ghostly　light；　faint　and　phosphorescent。　The　painted　eyes　stood　out　like　holes　in　the　tiny　mournful　face。　The　albino　stared　at　Nothing；　his　face　shadowed；　his　own　eyes　glittering　flatly。　When　the　craziness　in　his　face　was　not　showing；　he　looked　like　a　sick　child。　One　of　the　white　spiders　touched　Nothing's　leg。
　　Nothing　glanced　at　the　door。　The　button　was　pushed　down。　Locked。　Would　he　be　able　to　open　it　and　jump　out　before　the　driver　could　grab　him？　The　man　was　bigger；　though　his　body　looked　sickly　and　loose…jointed　under　the　white　robe。　Rain　dashed　against　the　window。　Nothing　peered　out　through　streaks　of　dirt　and　swashes　of　clean　black　night。　What　was　out　there？　If　he　made　a　dash　for　it；　would　anybody　help　him；　or　would　the　albino　run　him　down？　He　stared　at　the　milk　cartons；　saw　again　the　eyes　of　the　missing　children。　Little　dark　smudges　in　a　sea　of　red　and　white；　utterly　helpless。
　　The　white　spider　was　crawling　up　his　thigh；　squeezing。　
　　〃Now　we're　gonna　go　over　what　you　learned；〃　the　man　said　again。　Suddenly　Nothing　wasn't　scared　anymore。　This　situation　was　familiar。
　　'Why　didn't　you　just　tell　me　what　you　wanted；　instead　of　making　me　read　all　that　crap？〃
　　〃It's　my　duty；〃　the　man　said；　but　his　voice　shook；　and　his　hand　tightened　on　Nothing's　leg。
　　Nothing　didn't　care　what　he　had　to　do。　Whatever　it　was；　it　would　be　worth　it　to　get　away　from　this　sour…smelling　car；　those　lonely　cardboard　smiles。　The　albino's　jewel…pink　eyes　slipped　shut　as　Nothing　bent　over　his　lap　and　pulled　his　robes　aside。　This　was　clumsy　magic；　but　it　was　so　easy；　he　had　learned　it　in　a　hundred　drunken　backseats；　in　Laine's　bedroom　on　lazy　afternoons　laying　out　from　school。　Sometimes　older　men　in　fancy　cars　would　cruise　past　the　schoolyard　and　park　near　the　curb；　out　behind　the　cafeteria　dumpsters。　Some　of　the　boys；　if　they　were　saving　up　for　a　guitar　or　hurting　for　a　bag　of　pot；　would　go　out　there　and　blow　them　for　twenty　dollars　a　throw。　That　was　what　the　sour…milk　odor　reminded　him　of。　Nothing　had　done　it　a　couple　of　times　back　then；　and　he　guessed　he　could　manage　now。
　　The　albino　had　a　huge　erection　that　pulsed　vivid　red　against　all　the　whiteness。　Even　his　pubic　hair　was　like　coarse　cotton。　Nothing　had　to　stretch　his　mouth　open　until　he　thought　his　jaws　would　crack。　The　white　spiders　twined　in　Nothing's　hair　and　stroked　Nothing's　throat　and　shoulders　with　a　careful；　psychotic　tenderness。　〃I　got　to　do　it；〃　he　said　as　he　came。　〃I　got　to　do　it。〃
　　His　sperm　was　thin　and　milky；　and　burned　Nothing's　raw　throat　as　it　went　down。　But　Nothing　had　never　minded　swallowing　e。　Something　about　it　settled　his　stomach　and　made　his　whole　body　feel　good。
　　The　albino　gave　Nothing　five　dollars…five　lousy　dollars；　Nothing　amended　silently。　But　the　night　air　refreshed　him　as　he　pushed　open　the　heavy　door；　and　he　got　out　fast；　before　the　man　could　decide　that　he　wasn't　quite　saved　yet；　that　another　round　of　tract…reading　and　blowjobbing　might　do　the　trick。　The　salmon…pink　Continental　rolled　slowly　away；　the　stained　rope　trailing　from　its　rear　bumper；　leaving　Nothing　alone　on　the　roadside。　The　albino　had　forgotten　to　turn　his　single　headlight　back　on；　but　as　the　ear　crested　a　hill　and　disappeared；　Nothing　glimpsed　a　tiny　green　phosphorescence　through　the　back　window。　The　red…eyed　plastic　Jesus；　lighting　the　way　through　the　night。
　　Nothing　licked　his　lips。　The　taste　of　the　man's　sperm；　still　fresh　and　raw；　reminded　him　of　something　Laine　had　once　told　him。　Did　you　know；　Laine　had　asked　with　innocent　lasciviousness；　that　e　has　almost　exactly　the　same　chemical　makeup　as　human　blood？
　　
　　The　countryside　was　hilly；　sodden；　absolutely　black。　Nothing　tore　the　back　of　his　hand　on　a　barbed…wire　fence。　Tears　of　pain　made　his　eyes　glisten　as　he　sucked　at　the　blood。　I'm　alone　now；　all　right；　he　thought。　Nobody　in　the　whole　world　knows　where　I　am。　His　sneakers　were　soaked　with　cold　rain；　and　his　toes　ached　to　the　bone。　Long　slick　grass　squeaked　under　his　feet。　At　last　he　staggered　into　an　abandoned　barn。　Great　pronged　shapes　loomed　around　him　abandoned　farm　machinery；　heavy　and　rusted。　It　might　fall　on　him　in　the　night；　pin　him　to　the　musty　floor；　leave　him　to　struggle　and　die　alone。　He　didn't　care。
　　The　rain　raised　dust　and　cobwebby　chaff　in　the　barn。　Nothing　sneezed　once；　twice；　three　times…hard；　choking　spasms　that　bent　him　double。　The　third　sneeze　turned　into　a　loud　sob。　He　curled　up　beneath　the　loft　and　sucked　at　the　blood　on　his　hand。　His　tears　soaked　into　the　dirty　wooden　floor。
　　During　the　night；　while　Nothing　dreamed　uneasy　dreams；　a　small　spider　climbed　delicately　through　his　wet　black　hair。　It　let　itself　down　along　the　smooth　line　of　his　jawbone；　lingered　briefly　on　his　lips；　and　ran　away　over　the　damp　red…streaked　fingers　that　Nothing　pressed　to　his　mouth；　his　tongue　darting　out　to　lick　the　blood　away　as　he　slept。
　　
　　　Chapter　14
　　
　　It　was　still　hot　when　Christian　drove　into　Missing　Mile。
　　He　did　not　know　he　was　in　Missing　Mile；　not　yet；　for　the　road　he　came　in　on　had　no　town　limits　sign。　The　sign；　a　splintered　pine　plank　with　its　painted　letters　aged　to　translucence；　had　been　knocked　down　twenty　years　ago　by　a　man　who　decided　to　take　two　lovers　that　night；　his　head　lay　against　Vodka's　breast　and　his　hand　was　on　Whiskey's　thigh　when　he　lost　control　of　his　car。　The　sign　lay　several　feet　from　the　road；　swathed　in　kudzu；　stained　brown　with　blood　long　dry。
　　So　Christian　did　not　know　he　was　in　the　town；　not　yet。　He　knew　only　that　he　was　almost　out　of　money　somewhere　in　North　Carolina；　that　his　fuel　gauge　was　hovering　on　empty；　and　that　all　day　the　sun　had　threatened　to　emerge　from　low…hanging　clouds。　This；　then；　was　where　he　would　stop　for　a　while。
　　He　came　in　on　Highway　42　and　took　a　left；　which　brought　him　into　town　by　way　of　Violin　Road。　He　looked　at　the　trailers　and　broken…backed　shacks；　the　weed…choked　family　graveyards；　the　heaps　of　rusted　scrap　metal；　as　he　drove　slowly　past。　Christian　felt　no　dread；　no　excitement；　it　did　not　really　matter　where　he　lived。　I　might　have　gone　all　the　way　to　San　Francisco；　he　thought；　and　when　I　saw　the　Golden　Gate　Bridge　and　the　glitter　of　Chinatown；　I　would　feel　this　way　still。　He　could　not　go　back　to　New　Orleans；　so　any　other　place　in　the　world　would　do　for　now。
　　A　small　child　stood　by　the　side　of　the　road；　a　girl　seven　or　eight　years　old　but　as　thin　as　an　old　woman；　dressed　in　a　blue　smock　far　too　large　for　her。　One　sleeve　dangled；　half　torn　off。　The　child　was　swinging　something　in　her　hand。　Christian　drew　the　car　up　next　to　her　and　rolled　his　window　down。　The　girl　stared　up　at　him。　Her　eyes　were　gray；　as　washed　out　as　the　sky。
　　〃Can　you　tell　me　where　I　am？〃　he　asked。
　　The　girl　lifted　one　knobby　shoulder；　then　let　it　drop。　From　her　hand　the　object　still　swung…a　rat；　its　fur　matted　with　the　dust　of　the　road；　its　head　and　forequarters　mangled；　dried。
　　Christian　made　himself　look　back　at　the　girl's　face。　Her　pale　eyes　seemed　depthless；　he　could　hardly　tell　where　the　irises　faded　into　the　whites。　He　caught　the　sour　brown　odor　of　death　from　the　rat；　the　faint　tang　of　dried　blood。　〃What's　the　name　of　the　town？〃
　　The　girl　regarded　him　with　her　bottomless　gaze。　There　was　something　wrong　with　the　symmetry　of　her　face。　Her　eyes　were　unevenly　spaced；　her　forehead　too　low；　the　line　of　her　brow　crooked。　Christian　realized　he　was　looking　into　the　face　of　profound　retardation。　This　was　one　of　the　few　gazes　that　could　meet　his　own：　it　did　not　fear；　because　it　did　not　know。
　　He　thought　briefly　of　taking　her　into　the　car。　The　smell　of　roadkill；　dry　and　fetid　as　it　was；　made　him　edgy　with　hunger。　The　nourishment　from　the　boy　at　the　river's　edge　was　fading　out　of　him。　But　he　disliked　the　sight　of　her　crooked　mouth　and　the　various　knobs　of　her　body。　Christian　had　often　gone　hungry　because　of　his　weakness　for　beauties。
　　Wanting　to　leave　the　little　girl　behind；　he　touched　the　toe　of　his　boot　to　the　gas　pedal。　But　in　the　rearview　mirror　he　saw　her　empty　eyes　staring　after　him。　The　mangled　rat　swung　from　her　hand。
　　The　town　was　a　few　miles　down　the　read。　In　parison　to　the　trailers　and　scrubby　dirt　yards　of　Violin　Road；　the　buildings　here　looked　square　and　sturdy。　The　shops　on　the　main　street　were　colorful　in　the　lethargic　heat　of　the　day。　A　boarded…up　storefront　cast　a　baleful