sk.theshining-第47节
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Beyond the grounds the highway had disappeared under an even blanket of white。
The hedge animals were also gone； but when Wendy and Danny had gotten home； she had mended him on the good job he had done。 Do you think so？ he had asked； and said no more。 Now the hedges were buried under amorphous white cloaks。
Curiously； all of them were thinking different thoughts but feeling the same emotion： relief。 The bridge had been crossed。
〃Will it ever be spring？〃 Wendy murmured。
Jack squeezed her tighter。 〃Before you know it。 What do you say we go in and have some supper？ It's cold out here。〃 She smiled。 All afternoon Jack had seemed distant and 。 。 。 well； odd。 Now he sounded more like his normal self。 〃Fine by me。 How about you； Danny？〃
〃Sure。〃 So they went in together； leaving the wind to build to the low…pitched scream that would go on all night…a sound they would get to know well。 Flakes of snow swirled and danced across the porch。 The Overlook faced it as it had for nearly three quarters of a century； its darkened windows now bearded with snow； indifferent to the fact that it was now cut off from the world。 Or possibly it was pleased with the prospect。 Inside its shell the three of them went about their early evening routine； like microbes trapped in the intestine of a monster。
》
INSIDE 217
A week and a half later two feet of snow lay white and crisp and even on the grounds of the Overlook Hotel。 The hedge menagerie was buried up to its haunches； the rabbit； frozen on its hind legs； seemed to be rising from a white pool。 Some of the drifts were over five feet deep。 The wind was constantly changing them； sculpting them into sinuous； dunelike shapes。 Twice Jack had snowshoed clumsily around to the equipment shed for his shovel to clear the porch； the third time he shrugged； simply cleared a path through the towering drift lying against the door； and let Danny amuse himself by sledding to the right and left of the path。 The truly heroic drifts lay against the Overlook's west side； some of them towered to a height of twenty feet； and beyond them the ground was scoured bare to the grass by the constant windflow。 The first…floor windows were covered； and the view from the dining room which Jack had so admired on closing day was now no more exciting than a view of a blank movie screen。 Their phone had been out for the last eight days； and the CB radio in Ullman's office was now their only munications link with the outside world。
It snowed every day now； sometimes only brief flurries that powdered the glittering snow crust； sometimes for real； the low whistle of the wind cranking up to a womanish shriek that made the old hotel rock and groan alarmingly even in its deep cradle of snow。 Night temperatures had not gotten above 10°； and although the thermometer by the kitchen service entrance sometimes got as high as 25° in the early afternoons； the steady knife edge of the wind made it unfortable to go out without a ski mask。 But they all did go out on the days when the sun shone； usually wearing two sets of clothing and mittens on over their gloves。 Getting out was almost a pulsive thing； the hotel was circled with the double track of Danny's Flexible Flyer。 The permutations were nearly endless： Danny riding while his parents pulled； Daddy riding and laughing while Wendy and Danny tried to pull （it was just possible for them to pull him on the icy crust； and flatly impossible when powder covered it）； Danny and Mommy riding； Wendy riding by herself while her menfolk pulled and puffed white vapor like drayhorses； pretending she was heavier than she was。 They laughed a great deal on these sled excursions around the house； but the whooping and impersonal voice of the wind； so huge and hollowly sincere； made their laughter seem tinny and forced。
They had seen caribou tracks in the snow and once the caribou themselves； a group of five standing motionlessly below the security fence。 They had all taken turns with Jack's Zeiss…Ikon binoculars to see them better； and looking at them had given Wendy a weird； unreal feeling： they were standing leg…deep in the snow that covered the highway； and it came to her that between now and the spring thaw； the road belonged more to the caribou than it did to them。 Now the things that men had made up here were neutralized。 The caribou understood that； she believed。 She had put the binoculars down and had said something about starting lunch and in the kitchen she had cried a little； trying to rid herself of the awful pent…up feeling that sometimes fell on her like a large； pressing hand over her heart。 She thought of the caribou。 She thought of the wasps Jack had put out on the service entrance platform； under the Pyrex bowl； to freeze。
There were plenty of snowshoes hung from nails in the equipment shed； and Jack found a pair to fit each of them； although Danny's pair was quite a bit outsized。 Jack did well with them。 Although he had not snowshoed since his boyhood in Berlin； New Hampshire； he retaught himself quickly。 Wendy didn't care much for it…even fifteen minutes of tramping around on the outsized laced paddles made her legs and ankles ache outrageously…but Danny was intrigued and working hard to pick up the knack。 He still fell often； but lack was pleased with his progress。 He said that by February Danny would be skipping circles around both of them。
* * *
This day was overcast； and by noon the sky had already begun to spit snow。 The radio was promising another eight to twelve inches and chanting hosannas to Precipitation； that great god of Colorado skiers。 Wendy； sitting in the bedroom and knitting a scarf； thought to herself that she knew exactly what the skiers could do with all that snow。 She knew exactly where they could put it。
Jack was in the cellar。 He had gone down to check the furnace and boiler…such checks had bee a ritual with him since the snow had closed them in…and after satisfying himself that everything was going well he had wandered through the arch； screwed the lightbulb on； and had seated himself in an old and cobwebby camp chair he had found。 He was leafing through the old records and papers； constantly wiping his mouth with his handkerchief as he did so。 Confinement had leached his skin of its autumn tan； and as he sat hunched over the yellowed； crackling sheets； his reddish…blond hair tumbling untidily over his forehead； he looked slightly lunatic。 He had found some odd things tucked in among the invoices； bills of lading； receipts。 Disquieting things。 A bloody strip of sheeting。 A dismembered teddy bear that seemed to have been slashed to pieces。 A crumpled sheet of violet ladies' stationery； a ghost of perfume still clinging to it beneath the musk of age； a note begun and left unfinished in faded blue ink： 〃Dearest Tommy； I can't think so well up here as I'd hoped； about us I mean； of course； who else？ Ha。 Ha。 Things keep getting in the way。 I've had strange dreams about things going bump in the night； can you believe that and〃 That was all。 The note was dated June 27； 1934。 He found a hand puppet that seemed to be either a witch or a warlock 。 。 。 something with long teeth and a pointy hat； at any rate。 It had been improbably tucked between a bundle of natural…gas receipts and a bundle of receipts for Vichy water。 And something that seemed to be a poem； scribbled on the back of a menu in dark pencil：
〃Medoc/are you here？/I've been sleepwalking again； my dear。/The plants are moving under the rug。〃 No date on the menu； and no name on the poem； if it was a poem。 Elusive； but fascinating。 It seemed to him that these things were like pieces in a jigsaw； things that would eventually fit together if he could find the right linking pieces。 And so he kept looking； jumping and wiping his lips every time the furnace roared into life behind him。
* * *
Danny was standing outside Room 217 again。
The passkey was in his pocket。 He was staring at the door with a kind of drugged avidity； and his upper body seemed to twitch and jiggle beneath his flannel shirt。 He was humming softly and tunelessly。
He hadn't wanted to e here； not after the fire hose。 He was scared to e here。 He was scared that he had taken the passkey again； disobeying his father。
He had wanted to e here。 Curiosity （killed the cat； satisfaction brought him back） was like a constant fishhook in his brain； a kind of nagging siren song that would not be appeased。 And hadn't Mr。 Hallorann said； 〃I don't think there's anything here that can hurt you〃？
（You promised。） （Promises were made to be broken。） He jumped at that。 It was as if that thought had e from outside； insectile； buzzing； softly cajoling。
（Promises were made to be broken my dear redrum； to be broken。 splintered。
shattered。 hammered apart。 FORE！） His nervous humming broke into low； atonal song： 〃Lou； Lou； skip to m' Lou； skip to m' Lou my daaarlin。 。 。〃 Hadn't Mr。 Hallorann been right？ Hadn't that been； in the end； the reason why he had kept silent and allowed the snow to close them in？
Just close your eyes and it will be gone。
What he had seen in the Presidential Sweet had gone away。 And the snake had only been a f
