pzb.lostsouls-第6节

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gnation　and　fortable　death　drifted　before　his　face；　whispering　their　agreement。
　　
　　In　Nothing's　English　class　the　next　day；　Mrs。　Margaret　Peebles　plunged　her　hypodermic　of　higher　learning　into　Lord　of　the　Flies　and　sucked　out　every　drop　of　its　primal　magic；　every　trace　of　its　adolescent　wonder。　Nothing　knew　haft　the　class　hadn't　even　read　the　book。　If　they　were　judging　it　by　what　the　teacher　said；　he　could　hardly　blame　them。　But　he'd　read　it　three　years　ago；　one　summer　afternoon　in　bed　with　a　fever；　and　when　he　had　put　the　book　down；　his　hands　had　been　shaking。　Those　wild　salty…skinned　little　boys　had　tumbled　through　his　head；　and　he　had　cried　for　them；　so　young；　grown　old　so　fast。
　　He　looked　at　the　blank　page　of　notebook　paper　in　front　of　him。　Pink　and　blue　lines；　neatly　ruled。　He　began　to　count　them　but　lost　track　of　the　number。　The　clock　said　9：10。　Twenty　more　minutes　left　of　class。　His　head　ached　from　last　night's　whiskey；　and　he　wanted　to　sleep。　He　began　drawing　in　his　notebook。　Swirls。　The　first　vestiges　of　a　face。　An　eye；　green　because　his　pen　was　green。　A　tooth。
　　〃Jason〃
　　Outside；　far　away　across　the　wide　green　front　lawn；　past　the　pink　granite　sign　that　looked　like　a　gravestone　except　for　the　snarling　tiger　carved　on　top　（Gift　of　the　Senior　Class；　1972）；　a　black　van　sped　by。　The　road　past　the　school　was　long　and　straight；　and　the　van　was　going　too　fast　for　Nothing　to　catch　more　than　a　snatch　of　the　singing　that　blew　back　on　the　wind　out　the　open　windows　of　the　van；　borne　on　the　wings　of　the　sweet　September　day。　But　he　was　sure　it　was　Bowie。　Someone　in　that　van　was　singing　a　song　by　David　Bowie。　The　voices　were　clear　and　loud　and　drunken。　Nothing　watched　the　van　disappear　and　wished　more　than　anything　else　in　the　world　that　he　were　going　with　it；　going　with　those　happy　singers；　drinking　and　singing　and　going　away　on　the
　　open　road。
　　〃Jason。〃
　　He　sighed。　Peebles　was　staring　at　him。　The　rest　of　the　class　paid　no　attention；　they　were　elsewhere　too；　in　their　own　worlds；　driving　away　on　their　own　roads。　〃What？〃　he　said。
　　〃We　were　discussing　William　Golding's　Lord　of　the　Flies。　You　have　read　the　book？〃
　　〃I　have。〃
　　〃Then　perhaps　you　can　tell　me　about　the　rivalry　between　Jack　and　Ralph。　What　allows　it　to　grow　so　bitter？〃
　　〃Their　attraction　for　each　other；〃　Nothing　said。　'Their　love　for　each　other。　They　had　this　fierce　love；　they　wanted　to　be　each　other。　And　only　when　you　love　someone　that　much　can　you　hate　them　too…〃
　　A　ripple　of　laughter　went　through　the　class。　A　couple　of　boys　rolled　their　eyes　at　one　another…what　a　fag！
　　Peebles　pressed　her　thin　lips　together。　〃If　you　had　been　paying　attention；　instead　of　doodling　and　staring　out　the　window…〃
　　Suddenly　he　was　too　tired　to　care　what　happened　to　him。　This　was　empty；　all　empty　useless　crap。　〃Oh　fuck　you；〃　he　said；　and　felt　the　class　suck　in　its　breath　and　silently　cheer　him　on。
　　Half　an　hour　later；　sitting　in　the　principal's　office　waiting　for　the　hand　of　petty　academic　fate　to　descend　upon　him；　he　thought　again　of　the　ghosts　that　had　visited　him　last　night。　Visions；　or　whiskey　vapors？　It　didn't　matter。　You've　got　to　get　out　of　here；　they'd　told　him。　You've　got　to　get　out　of　here。
　　
　　After　school；　a　bunch　of　kids　met　in　the　parking　lot　and　went　over　to　Laine　Petersen's　house　to　get　stoned。　Laine's　older　brother　had　gone　off　to　college　and　left　behind　his　water…bong；　an　elaborate　ceramic　affair　shaped　like　a　skull　with　worms　twining　in　and　out　of　the　empty　eye　sockets。　You　put　your　finger　over　one　of　the　nostrils　to　hold　the　smoke　in。
　　Laine's　girlfriend　Julie　had　a　bag　of　pot；　real　ragweed；　the　kind　of　stuff　that　scoured　your　throat　and　made　your　lungs　feel　like　parchment　if　you　held　the　smoke　in　too　long。　Still；　it　was　all　these　kids　knew；　and　within　fifteen　minutes　they　were　stoned　out　of　their　minds；　Someone　put　a　Bauhaus　tape　on　and　turned　it　all　the　way　up。　Laine　and　Julie　rolled　around　on　the　bed；　pretending　to　make　out。
　　Nothing　had　his　doubts　about　how　much　Laine　really　liked　girls。　The　walls　of　his　room　were　plastered　with　posters　of　the　Cure；　he　had　seen　them　in　concert　three　times；　and　once　he　had　sneaked　backstage　to　present　Robert　Smith；　the　singer；　with　a　bouquet　of　blood…red　roses　into　which　he　had　tucked　two　hits　of　blotter　acid。　Julie　wore　her　hair　wildly　teased　in　all　directions；　and　she　favored　lots　of　black　eyeliner　and　smudged　red　lipstick。　Nothing　suspected　that　Laine　liked　her　mainly　because　of　her　superficial　resemblance　to　Robert　Smith。
　　He　looked　around　the　room。　Several　of　the　kids　were　groping　each　other　ineptly；　kissing　each　other　with　sloppy　wet　mouths。　Veronica　Aston　had　pulled　Lily　Hartung's　skirt　up　and　had　two　fingers　inside　the　elastic　of　Lily's　panties。　Nothing　stared　at　this　for　several　minutes；　dully　interested。　Bisexuality　was　much　in　vogue　among　this　crowd。　It　was　one　of　the　few　ways　they　could　feel　daring。　Nothing　himself　had　made　out　with　several　of　these　kids；　but　though　he　had　tasted　theft　mouths　and　touched　their　most　tender　parts；　none　of　them　really　interested　him。　The　thought　made　him　sad；　though　he　wasn't　sure　why。
　　He　lay　back　on　the　floor　and　stared　up　at　a　poster　tacked　on　the　ceiling　above　Laine's　bed：　Robert　Smith's　lips　enlarged　several　thousand　limes；　smeared　with　hot　orange…red　lipstick；　shiny　and　sexual。　Nothing　wished　he　could　fall　into　them；　could　slide　down　Robert　Smith's　throat　and　curl　up　stile　in　his　belly。　The　marijuana　made　him　feel　restless；　he　wanted　to　do　a　hundred　things　at　once；　but　none　of　them　here。　He　realized　that　among　these　kids　he　called　his　friends　he　felt　much　more　alone　than　he　had　felt　in　his　room　last　night。
　　The　Bauhaus　tape　ended；　and　no　one　put　anything　else　on。　The　party　began　to　break　up。　A　hippie…looking　girl　Nothing　didn't　know　flashed　a　peace　sign　at　Laine　as　she　left。　Julie　got　up　to　leave　too；　she　was　supposed　to　be　grounded；　she　explained；　because　her　mother　had　smelled　beer　on　her　breath　when　she　came　home　from　a　party　last　weekend。　〃Bummer；〃　said　Laine；　not　sounding　as　if　he　cared　very　much。
　　Nothing　stared　at　the　floor；　feeling　depressed。　He　had　seen　Julie　so　strung　out　on　acid　that　she　thought　the　flesh　was　melting　from　her　bones；　and　her　parents　couldn't　even　deal　with　her　drinking　beer。
　　As　she　was　about　to　leave；　Julie　reached　into　her　purse。　〃You　can　have　this；〃　she　told　Nothing。　〃You　said　you　liked　it；　and　I　never　listen　to　it…sounds　like　shitkicker　music　to　me。〃　She　handed　him　a　cheap　home…produced　cassette　tape。　The　crayon　writing　on　the　liner　said　LOST　SOULS？
　　Nothing's　heart　quickened。　When　he　had　heard　this　tape　at　Julie's　house；　something　in　it　had　sung　out　to　him。　He　remembered　a　snatch　of　lyrics：　〃We　are　not　afraid　。　。　。　let　the　night　e　。　。　。　we　are　not　afraid。〃　The　singer's　golden　voice　chanting　those　words　had　awakened　in　him　a　courage　he　didn't　know　he　had；　a　belief　that　someday　his　life　would　be　more　than　this。　But　to　show　an　excess　of　feeling　in　this　crowd　was　considered　uncool；　as　far　as　Nothing　could　tell；　you　were　supposed　to　act　bored　all　the　time。　He　only　smiled　at　Julie；　said　〃Thanks；〃　and　stuck　the　cassette　in　his　backpack。
　　As　soon　as　Julie　was　gone；　Laine　got　up　and　put　on　a　Cure　tape。　Then　he　came　and　lay　beside　Nothing　on　the　floor。　His　bleached　white…blond　hair　fell　in　long　strands　over　his　eyes。　His　hand　found　Nothing's　and　squeezed。　Nothing　didn't　squeeze　back；　but　he　didn't　pull　away。
　　〃Do　you　want　a　blowjob？〃　said　Laine。　He　was　one　of　the　youngest　of　the　crowd；　only　fourteen；　but　he　cultivated　arcane　talents。　Nothing　had　seen　the　legend　Laine　Gives　Killer　Head　inscribed　on　more　than　one　bathroom　wall　at　school。　
　　〃What　about　Julie？〃
　　〃Julie　doesn't　turn　me　on　much；〃　said　Laine。　〃I　like　you；　though。　I　think　you're　really　cool。〃　lazily　he　propped　himself　on　his　elbow　and　reached　over　to　touch　Nothing's　face。　Nothing　closed　his　eyes　and　let　himself　be　touched。　The　contact　felt　good。　Laine　hugged　him；　buried　his　face　in　Nothing's　shoulder；　he　smelled　of　shampoo　and　clove　cigarettes。
　　〃Seriously；〃　he　said。　〃I　haven't　given　you　a　blowjob　since　August。　I　want　to。〃
　　〃Okay；〃　Nothing　told　him。　He　pulled　Laine's　face　to　his　and　kissed　him；　nudging　his　mouth　gently　open。　Laine's　mouth　tasted　delicately　salty；　like　tears。　He　suddenly　felt　terribly　sad　for　Laine；　who　was　too　young　to　know　so　much。　He　wanted　to　show　Laine　some　gesture　of　tenderness；　something　that　might　make　them　both　feel　as　young　as　they　really　were。
　　But　Laine's　tongue　was　already　tracing　a　wet　path　down　Nothing's　chest；　Laine's　hands　were　already　unfastening　Nothing's　jeans　and　tugging　them　open。　Nothing　stared　up　at　Robert　Smith's　magnified　mouth。　The　singer's　lush　clotted　voice　surrounded　him；　making　him　feel　again　as　if　he　were　tumbling　between　those　lips。　Laine's　hands　and　tongue　worked　him　with　a　skill　born　of　practice。　Nothing　felt　something　twist　inside　him。　He　put　his　hand　down　to　　touch　Laine's　brittle　hair；　and　Laine　looked　up　at　him　with　clear；　guileless　eyes。
　　As　he　began　to　e；　Nothing　thought　again　of　the　black　van　that　had　driven　past　the　school　today；　of　the　snatch　of　song　he　had　heard　trailing　from　its　windows。　He　wondered　where　the　van　was　now。
　　Whe