cb.booksofblood2-第24节

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　Eugene　dragged　Aaron's　face　from　his　crotch　and　sneered　down　at　his　pale　face。
　'Don't　we？'
　'Yes；　Papa。'
　'Yes；　Papa。　Oh　yes　indeed；　Papa。'
　Lucy　left　the　house　and　retired　into　the　cool　darkness　of　the　shack；　where　she　prayed　for　Aaron；　named　after　the　brother　of　Moses。　Aaron；　whose　name　meant　'exalted　one'；　she　wondered　how　long　he　could　survive　the　brutalities　the　future　would　provide。
　The　boy　was　stripped　now。　He　stood　white　in　front　of　his　father。　He　wasn't　afraid。　The　whipping　that　would　be　meted　out　to　him　would　pain　him；　but　this　was　not　true　fear。
　'You're　sickly；　lad；'　said　Eugene；　running　a　huge　hand　over　his　son's　abdomen。　'Weak　and　sickly　like　a　runty　hog。　If　I　was　a　farmer；　and　you　were　a　hog；　boy；　you　know　what　I'd　do？'
　Again；　he　took　the　boy　by　the　hair。　The　other　hand；　between　the　legs。
　'You　know　what　I'd　do；　boy？'
　'No；　Papa。　What　would　you　do？'
　The　scored　hand　slid　up　over　Aaron's　body　while　his　father　made　a　slitting　sound。
　'Why；　I'd　cut　you　up　and　feed　you　to　the　rest　of　the　litter。　Nothing　a　hog　likes　better　to　eat；　than　hog…meat。　How'd　you　like　that？'
　'No；　Papa。'
　'You　wouldn't　like　that？'
　'No　thank　you；　Papa。'
　Eugene's　face　hardened。
　'Well　I'd　like　to　see　that；　Aaron。　I'd　like　to　see　what　you'd　do　if　I　was　to　open　you　up　and　have　a　look　inside　you。'
　There　was　a　new　violence　in　his　father's　games；　which　Aaron　couldn't　understand：　new　threats；　new　intimacy。　Unfortable　as　he　was　the　boy　knew　the　real　fear　was　felt　not　by　him　but　by　his　father；　fear　was　Eugene's　birthright；　just　as　it　was　Aaron's　to　watch；　and　wait；　and　suffer；　until　the　moment　came。　He　knew　（without　understanding　how　or　why）；　that　he　would　be　an　instrument　in　the　destruction　of　his　father。　Maybe　more　than　an　instrument。
　Anger　erupted　in　Eugene。　He　stared　at　the　boy；　his　brown　fists　clenched　so　tight　that　the　knuckles　burned　white。　The　boy　was　his　ruin；　somehow；　he'd　killed　the　good　life　they'd　lived　before　he　was　born；　as　surely　as　if　he'd　shot　his　parents　dead。　Scarcely　thinking　of　what　he　was　doing；　Eugene's　hands　closed　around　the　back　of　the　boy's　frail　neck。
　Aaron　made　no　sound。
　'I　could　kill　you　boy。'
　'Yes；　sir。'
　'What　do　you　say　to　that？'
　'Nothing；　sir。'
　'You　should　say　thank　you；　sir。'
　'Why？'
　'Why；　boy？　'Cause　this　life's　not　worth　what　a　hog　can　shit；　and　I'd　be　doing　you　a　loving　service；　as　a　father　should　a　son。'
　'Yes；　sir。'
　
　In　the　shack　behind　the　house　Lucy　had　stopped　crying。　There　was　no　purpose　in　it；　and　besides；　something　in　the　sky　she　could　see　through　the　holes　in　the　roof　had　brought　memories　to　her　that　wiped　the　tears　away。　A　certain　sky：
　pure　blue；　sheeny…clear。　Eugene　wouldn't　harm　the　boy。　He　wouldn't　dare；　ever　dare；　harm　that　child。　He　knew　what　the　boy　was；　though　he'd　never　admit　to　it。
　She　remembered　the　day；　six　years　ago　now；　when　the　sky　had　been　sheened　like　today；　and　the　air　had　been　livid　with　the　heat。　Eugene　and　she　had　been　just　about　as　hot　as　the　air；　they　hadn't　taken　their　eyes　off　each　other　all　day。　He　was　stronger　then：　in　his　prime。　A　soaring；　splendid　man；　his　body　made　heavy　with　work；　and　his　legs　so　hard　they　felt　like　rock　when　she　ran　her　hands　over　them。　She　had　been　quite　a　looker　herself；　the　best　damn　backside　in　Wele；　firm　and　downy；　a　divide　so　softly　haired　Eugene　couldn't　keep　from　kissing　her；　even　there；　in　the　secret　place。　He'd　pleasure　her　all　day　and　all　night　sometimes；　in　the　house　they　were　building；　or　out　on　the　sand　in　the　late　afternoon。　The　desert　made　a　fine　bed；　and　they　could　lie　uninterrupted　beneath　the　wide　sky。
　That　day　six　years　ago　the　sky　had　darkened　too　soon；　long　before　night　was　due。　It　had　seemed　to　blacken　in　a　moment；　and　the　lovers　were　suddenly　cold　in　their　hurried　nakedness。　She　had　seen；　over　his　shoulder；　the　shapes　the　sky　had　taken：　the　vast　and　monumental　creatures　that　were　watching　them。　He；　in　his　passion；　still　worked　at　her；　thrust　to　his　root　and　out　the　length　again　as　he　knew　she　delighted　in；　'til　a　hand　the　colour　of　beets　and　the　size　of　a　man　pinched　his　neck；　and　plucked　him　out　of　his　wife's　lap。　She　watched　him　lifted　into　the　sky　like　a　squirming　jack…rabbit；　spitting　from　two　mouths；　North　and　South；　as　he　finished　his　thrusts　on　the　air。　Then　his　eyes　opened　for　a　moment；　and　he　saw　his　wife　twenty　feet　below　him；　still　bare；　still　spread　butterfly　wide；　with　monsters　on　every　side。　Casually；　without　malice；　they　threw　him　away；　out　of　their　ring　of　admiration；　and　out　of　her　sight。
　She　remembered　so　well　the　hour　that　followed；　the　embraces　of　the　monsters。　Not　foul　in　any　way；　not　gross　or　harmful；　never　less　than　loving。　Even　the　machineries　of　reproduction　that　they　pierced　her　with；　one　after　the　other；　were　not　painful；　though　some　were　as　large　as　Eugene's　fisted　arm；　and　hard　as　bone。　How　many　of　those　strangers　took　her　that　afternoon　…　three；　four；　five？　Mingling　their　semen　in　her　body；　fondly　teasing　joy　from　her　with　their　patient　thrusts。　When　they　went　away；　and　her　skin　was　touched　with　sunlight　again；　she　felt；　though　on　reflection　it　seemed　shameful；　a　loss；　as　though　the　zenith　of　her　life　was　passed；　and　the　rest　of　her　days　would　be　a　cold　ride　down　to　death。
　She　had　got　up　at　last；　and　walked　over　to　where　Eugene　was　lying　unconscious　on　the　sand；　one　of　his　legs　broken　by　the　fall。　She　had　kissed　him；　and　then　squatted　to　pass　water。　She　hoped；　and　hope　it　was；　that　there　would　be　fruit　from　the　seed　of　that　day's　love；　and　it　would　be　a　keepsake　of　her　joy。
　
　In　the　house　Eugene　struck　the　boy。　Aaron's　nose　bled；　but　he　made　no　sound。
　'Speak；　boy。'
　'What　shall　I　say？'
　'Am　I　your　father　or　not？'
　'Yes；　father。'
　'Liar！'
　He　struck　again；　without　warning；　this　time　the　blow　carried　Aaron　to　the　floor。　As　his　small；　uncalloused　palms　flattened　against　the　kitchen　tiles　to　raise　himself　he　felt　something　through　the　floor。　There　was　a　music　in　the　ground。
　'Liar！'　his　father　was　saying　still。
　There　would　be　more　blows　to　e；　the　boy　thought；　more　pain；　more　blood。　But　it　was　bearable；　and　the　music　was　a　promise；　after　a　long　wait；　of　an　end　to　blows　once　and　for　all。
　
　Davidson　staggered　into　the　main　street　of　Wele。　It　was　the　middle　of　the　afternoon；　he　guessed　（his　watch　had　stopped；　perhaps　out　of　sympathy）；　but　the　town　appeared　to　be　empty；　until　his　eye　alighted　on　the　dark；　smoking　mound　in　the　middle　of　the　street；　a　hundred　yards　from　where　he　stood。
　If　such　a　thing　had　been　possible；　his　blood　would　have　run　cold　at　the　sight。
　He　recognized　what　that　bundle　of　burned　flesh　had　been；　despite　the　distance；　and　his　head　spun　with　horror。　It　had　all　been　real　after　all。　He　stumbled　on　a　couple　more　steps；　fighting　the　dizziness　and　losing；　until　he　felt　himself　supported　by　strong　arms；　and　heard；　through　a　fuzz　of　head…noises；　reassuring　words　being　spoken　to　him。　They　made　no　sense；　but　at　least　they　were　soft　and　human：　he　could　give　up　any　pretence　to　consciousness。　He　fainted；　but　it　seemed　there　was　only　a　moment　of　respite　before　the　world　came　back　into　view　again；　as　odious　as　ever。
　He　had　been　carried　inside　and　was　lying　on　an　un…fortable　sofa；　a　woman's　face；　that　of　Eleanor　Kooker；　staring　down　at　him。　She　beamed　as　he　came　round。
　'The　man'll　survive；'　she　said；　her　voice　like　cabbage　going　through　a　grater。
　She　leaned　further　forward。
　'You　seen　the　thing；　did　you？'
　Davidson　nodded。
　'Better　give　us　the　low…down。'
　A　glass　was　thrust　into　his　hand　and　Eleanor　filled　it　generously　with　whisky。
　'Drink；'　she　demanded；　'then　tell　us　what　you　got　to　tell　…'
　
　He　downed　the　whisky　in　two；　and　the　glass　was　immediately　refilled。　He　drank　the　second　glass　more　slowly；　and　began　to　feel　better。
　The　room　was　filled　with　people：　it　was　as　though　all　of　Wele　was　pressing　into　the　Kooker　front　parlour。　Quite　an　audience：　but　then　it　was　quite　a　tale。　Loosened　by　the　whisky；　he　began　to　tell　it　as　best　he　could；　without　embellishment；　just　letting　the　words　e。　In　return　Eleanor　described　the　circumstances　of　Sheriff　Packard's　'accident'　with　the　body　of　the　car…wrecker。　Packard　was　in　the　room；　looking　the　worse　for　consoling　whiskies　and　pain　killers；　his　mutilated　hand　bound　up　so　well　it　looked　more　like　a　club　than　a　limb。
　'It's　not　the　only　devil　out　there；'　said　Packard　when　the　stories　were　out。
　'So's　you　say；'　said　Eleanor；　her　quick　eyes　less　than　convinced。
　'My　Papa　said　so；'　Packard　returned；　staring　down　at　his　bandaged　hand。　'And　I　believe　it；　sure　as　Hell　I　believe　it。'
　'Then　we'd　best　do　something　about　it。'
　'Like　what？'　posed　a　sour　looking　individual　leaning　against　the　mantelpiece。　'What's　to　be　done　about　the　likes　of　a　thing　that　eats　automobiles？'
　Eleanor　straightened　up　and　delivered　a　well…aimed　sneer　at　the　questioner。
　'Well　let's　have　the　benefit　of　your　wisdom；　Lou；'　she　said。　'What　do　you　think　we　should　do？'
　'I　think　we　should　lie　low　and　let　'em　pass。'
　'I'm　no　ostrich；'　said　Eleanor；　'but　if　you　want　to　go　bury　your　head；　I'll　lend　you　a　spade；　Lou。　I'll　even　dig　you　the　hole。'
　General　laughter。　The　cynic；　disforted；　fell　silent　and　picked　at　his　nails。
　'We　can't　sit　here　and　let　th