sk.theshining-第62节

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ite　smoke。　He　bad　made　a　plete　circuit　of　the　shed　and　the　thing　wasn't　there。　Maybe　somebody　had　lifted　it。　Maybe　Watson　had。　He　laughed　aloud。　The　old　office　bootleg　trick。　A　few　paperclips；　a　couple　of　reams　of　paper；　nobody　will　miss　this　tablecloth　or　this　Golden　Regal　place　setting　。　。　。　and　what　about　this　fine　snowmobile　battery？　Yes；　that　might　e　in　handy。　Toss　it　in　the　sack。
　　White…collar　crime；　Baby。　Everybody　has　sticky　fingers。　Under…the…jacket　discount；　we　used　to　call　it　when　we　were　kids。
　　He　walked　back　to　the　snowmobile　and　gave　the　side　of　it　a　good　healthy　kick　as　he　went　by。　Well；　that　was　the　end　of　it。　He　would　just　have　to　tell　Wendy　sorry；　baby；　but…　There　was　a　box　sitting　in　the　corner　by　the　door。　The　stool　bad　been　right　over　it。　Written　on　the　top；　in　pencil；　was　the　abbreviation　Skid。
　　He　looked　at　it；　the　smile　drying　up　on　his　lips。　Look；　sir；　it's　the　cavalry。
　　Looks　like　your　smoke　signals　must　have　worked　after　all。
　　It　wasn't　fair。
　　Goddammit；　it　just　wasn't　fair。
　　Something…luck；　fate；　providence…had　been　trying　to　save　him。　Some　other　luck；　white　luck。　And　at　the　last　moment　bad　old　Jack　Torrance　luck　had　stepped　back　in。　The　lousy　run　of　cards　wasn't　over　yet。
　　Resentment；　a　gray；　sullen　wave　of　it；　pushed　up　his　throat。　His　hands　had　clenched　into　fists　again。
　　（Not　fair；　goddammit；　not　fair！）　Why　couldn't　he　have　looked　someplace　else？　Anyplace！　Why　hadn't　he　had　a　crick　in　his　neck　or　an　itch　in　his　nose　or　the　need　to　blink？　Just　one　of　those　little　things。　He　never　would　have　seen　it。
　　Well；　he　hadn't。　That　was　all。　It　was　an　hallucination；　no　different　from　what　had　happened　yesterday　outside　that　room　on　the　second　floor　or　the　goddam　hedge　menagerie。　A　momentary　strain；　that　was　all。　Fancy；　I　thought　I　saw　a　snowmobile　battery　in　that　corner。　Nothing　there　now。　bat　fatigue；　I　guess；　sir。　Sorry。
　　Keep　your　pecker　up；　son。　It　happens　to　all　of　us　sooner　or　later。
　　He　yanked　the　door　open　almost　hard　enough　to　snap　the　binges　and　pulled　his　snowshoes　inside。　They　were　clotted　with　snow　and　he　slapped　them　down　hard　enough　on　the　floor　to　raise　a　cloud　of　it。　He　put　his　left　foot　on　the　left　shoe　。　。　。　and　paused。
　　Danny　was　out　there；　by　the　milk　platform。　Trying　to　make　a　snowman；　by　the　looks。　Not　much　luck；　the　snow　was　too　cold　to　stick　together。　Still；　he　was　giving　it　the　old　college　try；　out　there　in　the　flashing　morning；　a　speck　of　a　bundled…up　boy　above　the　brilliant　snow　and　below　the　brilliant　sky。　Wearing　his　hat　turned　around　backward　like　Carlton　Fiske。
　　（What　in　the　name　of　God　were　you　thinking　of？）　The　answer　came　back　with　no　pause。
　　（Me。　I　was　thinking　of　me。）　He　suddenly　remembered　lying　in　bed　the　night　before；　lying　there　and　suddenly　he　had　been　contemplating　the　murder　of　his　wife。
　　In　that　instant；　kneeling　there；　everything　came　clear　to　him。　It　was　not　just　Danny　the　Overlook　was　working　on。　It　was　working　on　him；　too。　It　wasn't　Danny　who　was　the　weak　link；　it　was　him。　He　was　the　vulnerable　one；　the　one　who　could　be　bent　and　twisted　until　something　snapped。
　　（until　i　let　go　and　sleep　。　。　。　and　when　i　do　that　if　i　do　that）　He　looked　up　at　the　banks　of　windows　and　the　sun　threw　back　an　almost　blinding　glare　from　their　many…paned　surfaces　but　he　looked　anyway。　For　the　first　time　he　noticed　how　much　they　seemed　like　eyes。　They　reflected　away　the　sun　and　held　their　own　darkness　within。　It　was　not　Danny　they　were　looking　at。　It　was　him。
　　In　those　few　seconds　he　understood　everything。　There　was　a　certain　black…and…　white　picture　he　remembered　seeing　as　a　child；　in　catechism　class。　The　nun　had　presented　it　to　them　on　an　easel　and　called　it　a　miracle　of　God。　The　class　had　looked　at　it　blankly；　seeing　nothing　but　a　jumble　of　whites　and　blacks；　senseless　and　patternless　Then　one　of　the　children　in　the　third　row　had　gasped；
　　〃It's　Jesus！〃　and　that　child　had　gone　home　with　a　brand…new　Testament　and　also　a　calendar　because　he　had　been　first。　The　others　stared　even　harder；　Jacky　Torrance　among　them。　One　by　one　the　other　kids　had　given　a　similar　gasp；　one　little　girl　transported　in　near…ecstasy；　crying　out　shrilly：　〃I　see　Him！　I　see　Him！〃　She　had　also　been　rewarded　with　a　Testament。　At　last　everyone　had　seen　the　face　of　Jesus　in　the　jumble　of　blacks　and　whites　except　Jacky。　He　strained　harder　and　harder；　scared　now；　part　of　him　cynically　thinking　that　everyone　else　was　simply　putting　on　to　please　Sister　Beatrice；　part　of　him　secretly　convinced　that　he　wasn't　seeing　it　because　God　had　decided　he　was　the　worst　sinner　in　the　class。　〃Don't　you　see　it；　Jacky？〃　Sister　Beatrice　had　asked　him　in　her　sad；　sweet　manner。　I　see　your　tits；　he　had　thought　in　vicious　desperation。　He　began　to　shake　his　head；　then　faked　excitement　and　said：　〃Yes；　I　do！　Wow！　It　is　Jesus！
　　〃　And　everyone　in　class　had　laughed　and　applauded　him；　making　him　feel　triumphant；　ashamed；　and　scared。　Later；　when　everyone　else　had　tumbled　their　way　up　from　the　church　basement　and　out　onto　the　street　he　had　lingered　behind；　looking　at　the　meaningless　black…and…white　jumble　that　Sister　Beatrice　had　left　on　the　easel。　He　hated　it。　They　had　all　made　it　up　the　way　he　had；　even　Sister　herself。　It　was　a　big　fake。　〃Shitfire…hellfire…shitfire；〃　he　had　whispered　under　his　breath；　and　as　he　turned　to　go　he　bad　seen　the　face　of　Jesus　from　the　corner　of　his　eye；　sad　and。　wise。　He　turned　back；　his　heart　in　his　throat。　Everything　had　suddenly　clicked　into　place　and　he　had　stared　at　the　picture　with　fearful　wonder；　unable　to　believe　he　had　missed　it。　The　eyes；　the　zigzag　of　shadow　across　the　care…worn　brow；　the　fine　nose；　the　passionate　lips。　Looking　at　Jack　Torrance。　What　had　only　been　a　meaningless　sprawl　had　suddenly　been　transformed　into　a　stark　black…and…white　etching　of　the　face　of　ChristOur…Lord。
　　Fearful　wonder　became　terror。　He　had　cussed　in　front　of　a　picture　of　Jesus。　He　would　be　damned。　He　would　be　in　hell　with　the　sinners。　The　face　of　Christ　had　been　in　the　picture　all　along。　All　along。
　　Now；　kneeling　in　the　sun　and　watching　his　son　playing　in　the　shadow　of　the　hotel；　he　knew　that　it　was　all　true。　The　hotel　wanted　Danny；　maybe　all　of　them　but　Danny　for　sure。　The　hedges　had　really　walked。　There　was　a　dead　woman　in　217；　a　woman　that　was　perhaps　only　a　spirit　and　harmless　under　most　circumstances；　but　a　woman　who　was　now　an　active　danger。　Like　some　malevolent　clockwork　toy　she　had　been　wound　up　and　set　in　motion　by　Danny's　own　odd　mind　。　。　。　and　his　own。
　　Had　it　been　Watson　who　had　told　him　a　man　had　dropped　dead　of　a　stroke　one　day　on　the　roque　court？　Or　had　it　been　Ullman？　It　didn't　matter。　There　had　been　an　assassination　on　the　third　floor。　How　many　old　quarrels；　suicides；　strokes？　How　many　murders？　Was　Grady　lurking　somewhere　in　the　west　wing　with　his　ax；　just　waiting　for　Danny　to　start　him　up　so　he　could　e　back　out　of　the　woodwork？
　　The　puffed　circle　of　bruises　around　Danny's　neck。
　　The　twinkling；　half…seen　bottles　in　the　deserted　lounge。
　　The　radio。
　　The　dreams。
　　The　scrapbook　he　had　found　in　the　cellar。
　　（Medoc；　are　you　here？　I've　been　sleepwalking　again；　my　dear　。　。　。　）　He　got　up　suddenly；　thrusting　the　snowshoes　back　out　the　door。　He　was　shaking　all　over。　He　slammed　the　door　and　picked　up　the　box　with　the　battery　in　it。　It　slipped　through　his　shaking　fingers　（oh　christ　what　if　i　cracked　it）　and　thumped　over　on　its　side。　He　pulled　the　flaps　of　the　carton　open　and　yanked　the　battery　out；　heedless　of　the　acid　that　might　be　leaking　through　the　battery's　casing　if　it　had　cracked。　But　it　hadn't。　It　was　whole。　A　little　sigh　escaped　his　lips。
　　Cradling　it；　he　took　it　over　to　the　Skidoo　and　put　it　on　its　platform　near　the　front　of　the　engine。　He　found　a　small　adjustable　wrench　on　one　of　the　shelves　and　attached　the　battery　cables　quickly　and　with　no　trouble。　The　battery　was　live；　no　need　to　use　the　charger　on　it。　There　had　been　a　crackle　of　electricity　and　a　small　odor　of　ozone　when　he　slipped　the　positive　cable　onto　its　terminal。
　　The　job　done；　he　stood　away；　wiping　his　hands　nervously　on　his　faded　denim　jacket。　There。　It　should　work。　No　reason　why　not。　No　reason　at　all　except　that　it　was　part　of　the　Overlook　and　the　Overlook　really　didn't　want　them　out　of　here。　Not　at　all。　The　Overlook　was　having　one　hell　of　a　good　time。　There　was　a　little　boy　to　terrorize　a　man　and　his　woman　to　set　one　against　the　other；　and　if　it　played　its　cards　right　they　could　end　up　flitting　through　the　Overlook's　halls　like　insubstantial　shades　in　a　Shirley　Jackson　novel；　whatever　walked　in　Hill　House　walked　alone；　but　you　wouldn't　be　alone　in　the　Overlook；　oh　no；　there　would　be　plenty　of　pany　here。　But　there　was　really　no　reason　why　the　snowmobile　shouldn't　start。　Except　of　course　（Except　he　still　didn't　really　want　to　go。）　yes；　except　for　that。
　　He　stood　looking　at　the　Skidoo；　his　breath　puffing　out　in　frozen　little　plumes。　He　wanted　it　to　be　the　way　it　had　been。　When　he　had　e　in　here　he'd　had　no　doubts。　Going　down　would　be　the　wrong　decision；　he　had　known　that　then。
　　Wendy　was　only　scared　of　the　boogeyman　summoned　up　by　a　single　hysterical　little　boy。　Now　suddenly；　he　could　see　her　side。　It　was　like　his　play；　his　damnable　pla