sk.thewastelands-第22节

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ing　to　Piper。　Best　Damned　School　In　The　Country　For　A　Boy　His　Age。　Money　won't　buy　you　into　that　school；　you　know；　for　Piper；　it's　brains　or　nothing。
　　Jake　was　perfectly　aware　that　in　the　fierce　furnace　of　Elmer　Cham…bers's　mind；　the　gross　carbon　of　wish　and　opinion　was　often　blasted　into　the　hard　diamonds　which　he　called　facts。　。。。　or；　in　more　informal　circumstances；　〃factoids。〃　His　favorite　phrase；　spoken　often　and　with　rev…erence；　was　the　fact　is；　and　he　used　it　every　chance　he　got。
　　The　fact　is；　money　doesn't　get　anyone　into　The　Piper　School；　his　father　had　told　him　during　that　Bicentennial　Summer；　the　summer　of　blue　skies　and　bunting　and　Tall　Ships；　a　summer　which　seemed　golden　in　Jake's　mem…ory　because　he　had　not　yet　begun　to　lose　his　mind　and　all　he　had　to　worry　about　was　whether　or　not　he　could　cut　the　mustard　at　The　Piper　School；　which　sounded　like　a　nest　for　newly　hatched　geniuses。　The　only　thing　that　gets　you　into　a　place　like　Piper　is　what　you've　got　up　here。　Elmer　Chambers　had　reached　over　his　desk　and　tapped　the　center　of　his　son's　forehead　with　a　hard；　nicotine…stained　finger。　Get　me；　kid？
　　Jake　had　nodded。　It　wasn't　necessary　to　talk　to　his　father；　because　his　father　treated　everyone…including　his　wife…the　way　he　treated　his　underlings　at　the　TV　network　where　he　was　in　charge　of　programming　and　an　acknowledged　master　of　The　Kill。　All　you　had　to　do　was　listen；　nod　in　the　right　places；　and　after　a　while　he　let　you　go。
　　Good；　his　father　said；　lighting　one　of　the　eighty　Camel　cigarettes　he　smoked　each　and　every　day。　We　understand　each　other；　then。　You're　going　to　have　to　work　your　buttsky　off；　but　you　can　cut　it。　They　never　would　have　sent　us　this　if　you　couldn't。　He　picked　up　the　letter　of　acceptance　from　The　Piper　School　and　rattled　it。　There　was　a　kind　of　savage　triumph　in　the　gesture；　as　if　the　letter　was　an　animal　he　had　killed　in　the　jungle；　an　animal　he　would　now　skin　and　eat。　So　work　hard。　Make　your　grades。　Make　your　mother　and　me　proud　of　you。　If　you　end　the　year　with　an　A　average　in　your　courses。　there's　a　trip　to　Disney　World　in　it　for　you。　That's　something　to　shoot　for；　right；　kiddo？
　　Jake　had　made　his　grades…A's　in　everything　（until　the　last　three　weeks；　that　was）。　He　had；　presumably；　made　his　mother　and　father　proud　of　him；　although　they　were　around　so　little　that　it　was　hard　to　tell。　Usually　there　was　nobody　around　when　he　came　home　from　school　except　for　Greta　Shaw…the　housekeeper…and　so　he　ended　up　showing　his　A　papers　to　her。　After　that；　they　migrated　to　a　dark　corner　of　his　room。　Sometimes　Jake　looked　through　them　and　wondered　if　they　meant　any…thing。　He　wanted　them　to；　but　he　had　serious　doubts。
　　Jake　didn't　think　he　would　be　going　to　Disney　World　this　summer；　A　average　or　no　A　average。
　　He　thought　the　nuthouse　was　a　much　better　possibility。
　　As　he　walked　in　through　the　double　doors　of　The　Piper　School　at　8：45　on　the　morning　of　May　31st；　a　terrible　vision　came　to　him。　He　saw　his　father　in　his　office　at　70　Rockefeller　Plaza；　leaning　over　his　desk　with　a　Camel　jutting　from　the　corner　of　his　mouth；　talking　to　one　of　his　underlings　as　blue　smoke　wreathed　his　head。　All　of　New　York　was　spread　out　behind　and　below　his　father；　its　thump　and　hustle　silenced　by　two　layers　of　Thermopane　glass。
　　The　fact　is；　money　doesn't　get　anyone　into　Sunnyvale　Sanitarium；　his　father　was　telling　the　underling　in　a　tone　of　grim　satisfaction。　He　reached　out　and　tapped　the　underling's　forehead。　The　only　thing　that　gets　you　into　a　place　like　that　is　when　something　big…time　goes　wrong　up　here　in　the　attic。　That's　what　happened　to　the　kid。　But　he's　working　his　goddam　buttsky　off。　Makes　the　best　fucking　baskets　in　the　place；　they　tell　me。　And　when　they　let　him　out…if　they　ever　do…there's　a　trip　in　it　for　him。　A　trip　to…
　　〃…the　way　station；〃　Jake　muttered；　then　touched　his　forehead　with　a　hand　that　wanted　to　tremble。　The　voices　were　ing　back。　The　yelling；　conflicting　voices　which　were　driving　him　mad。
　　You're　dead；　Jake。　You　were　run　over　by　a　car　and　you're　dead。
　　Don't　be　stupid！　Look…see　that　poster？　REMEMBER　THE　CLASS　ONE　PICNIC；　it　says。　Do　you　think　they　have　Class　Picnics　in　the　afterlife？
　　I　don't　know。　But　I　know　you　were　run　over　by　a　car。
　　No！
　　Yes。　It　happened　on　May　9th；　at　8：25　AM　You　died　less　than　a　minute　later。
　　No！　No！　No！
　　〃John？〃
　　He　looked　around；　badly　startled。　Mr。　Bissette；　his　French　teacher；　was　standing　there；　looking　a　little　concerned。　Behind　him；　the　rest　of　the　student　body　was　streaming　into　the　mon　Room　for　the　morning　assembly。　There　was　very　little　skylarking；　and　no　yelling　at　all。　Presumably　these　other　students；　like　Jake　himself；　had　been　told　by　their　parents　how　lucky　they　were　to　be　attending　Piper；　where　money　didn't　matter　（although　tuition　was　22；000　a　year）；　only　your　brains。　Presumably　many　of　them　had　been　promised　trips　this　summer　if　their　grades　were　good　enough。　Presumably　the　parents　of　the　lucky　trip…winners　would　even　go　along　in　some　cases。　Presumably…
　　〃John；　are　you　okay？〃　Mr。　Bissette　asked。
　　〃Sure；〃　Jake　said。　〃Fine。　I　overslept　a　little　this　morning。　Not　awake　yet；　I　guess。〃
　　Mr。　Bissette's　face　relaxed　and　he　smiled。　〃Happens　to　the　best　of　us。〃
　　Not　to　my　dad。　The　master　of　The　Kill　never　oversleeps。
　　〃Are　you　ready　for　your　French　final？〃　Mr。　Bissette　asked。　〃Voulez…vous　faire　I'examen　cet　apres…midi？〃
　　〃I　think　so；〃　Jake　said。　In　truth　he　didn't　know　if　he　was　ready　for　the　exam　or　not。　He　couldn't　even　remember　if　he　had　studied　for　the　French　final　or　not。　These　days　nothing　seemed　to　matter　much　except　for　the　voices　in　his　head。
　　〃I　want　to　tell　you　again　how　much　I　enjoyed　having　you　this　year；　John。　I　wanted　to　tell　your　folks；　too；　but　they　missed　Parents'　Night…〃
　　〃They're　pretty　busy；〃　Jake　said。
　　Mr。　Bissette　nodded。　〃Well；　I　have　enjoyed　you。　I　just　wanted　to　say　so　。。。　and　that　I'm　looking　forward　to　having　you　back　for　French　II　next　year。〃
　　〃Thanks；〃　Jake　said；　and　wondered　what　Mr。　Bissette　would　say　if　he　added；　But　I　don't　think　I'll　be　taking　French　II　next　year；　unless　I　can　get　a　correspondence　course　delivered　to　my　postal　box　at　good　old　Sunnyvale。
　　Joanne　Franks；　the　school　secretary；　appeared　in　the　doorway　of　the　mon　Room　with　her　small　silver…plated　bell　in　her　hand。　At　The　Piper　School；　all　bells　were　rung　by　hand。　Jake　supposed　that　if　you　were　a　parent；　that　was　one　of　its　charms。　Memories　of　the　Little　Red　Schoolhouse　and　all　that。　He　hated　it　himself。　The　sound　of　that　bell　seemed　to　go　right　through　his　head…
　　I　can't　hold　on　much　longer；　he　thought　despairingly。　I'm　sorry；　but　I'm　losing　it。　I'm　really；　really　losing　it。
　　Mr。　Bissette　had　caught　sight　of　Ms。　Franks。　He　turned　away；　then　turned　back　again。　〃Is　everything　all　right；　John？　You've　seemed　preoccupied　these　last　few　weeks。　Troubled。　Is　something　on　your　mind？〃
　　Jake　was　almost　undone　by　the　kindness　in　Mr。　Bissette's　voice；　but　then　he　imagined　how　Mr。　Bissette　would　look　if　he　said：　Yes。　Something　is　on　my　mind。　One　hell　of　a　nasty　little　factoid。　I　died；　you　see；　and　I　went　into　another　world。　And　then　I　died　again。　You're　going　to　say　that　stuff　like　that　doesn't　happen；　and　of　course　you're　right；　and　part　of　my　mind　knows　you're　right；　but　most　of　my　mind　knows　that　you're　wrong。　It　did　happen。　I　did　die。
　　If　he　said　something　like　that；　Mr。　Bissette　would　be　on　the　phone　to　Elmer　Chambers　at　once；　and　Jake　thought　that　Sunnyvale　Sanitarium　would　probably　look　like　a　rest…cure　after　all　the　stuff　his　father　would　have　to　say　on　the　subject　of　lads　who　started　having　crazy　notions　just　before　Finals　Week。　Kids　who　did　things　that　couldn't　be　discussed　over　lunch　or　cocktails。　Kids　Who　Let　Down　The　Side。
　　Jake　forced　himself　to　smile　at　Mr。　Bissette。　〃I'm　a　little　worried　about　exams；　that's　all。〃
　　Mr。　Bissette　winked。　〃You'll　do　fine。〃
　　Ms。　Franks　began　to　ring　the　Assembly　Bell。　Each　peal　stabbed　into　Jake's　ears　and　then　seemed　to　flash　across　his　brain　like　a　small　rocket。
　　〃e　on；〃　Mr。　Bissette　said。　〃We'll　be　late。　Can't　be　late　on　the　first　day　of　Finals　Week；　can　we？〃
　　They　went　in　past　Ms。　Franks　and　her　clashing　bell。　Mr。　Bissette　headed　toward　the　row　of　seats　called　Faculty　Choir。　There　were　lots　of　cute　names　like　that　at　Piper　School；　the　auditorium　was　the　…mon　Room；　lunch…hour　was　Outs；　seventh…　and　eighth…graders　were　Upper　Boys　and　Girls；　and；　of　course；　the　folding　chairs　over　by　the　piano　（which　Ms。　Franks　would　soon　begin　to　pound　as　mercilessly　as　she　rang　her　silver　bell）　was　Faculty　Choir。　All　part　of　the　tradition；　Jake　supposed。　If　you　were　a　parent　who　knew　your　kid　had　Outs　in　the　mon　Room　at　noon　instead　of　just　slopping　up　Tuna　Surprise　in　the　caff；　you　relaxed　into　the　assurance　that　everything　was　A…OK　in　the　education　department。
　　He　slipped　into　a　seat　at　the　rear　of　the　room　and　let　the　morn…ing's　announcements　wash　over　him。　The　terror　ran　endlessly　on　in　his　mind；　making　him　feel　like　a　rat　trapped　on　an　exercise　wheel。　And　when　he　tried　to　look　ahead　to　some　better；　brighter　time；　he　could　see　only　darkness。
　　The　ship　was　his　sanity；　and　it　was　sinking。
　　Mr。　Harley；　the　headmaster；