sk.thewastelands-第78节

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　　〃There　must　be　thousands；〃　Eddie　said。　〃Men；　women；　and　kids。〃
　　〃Yes。〃　Susannah's　calm　voice　sounded　distant　and　strange　to　her　own　ears。　〃They've　had　a　lot　of　time　to　kill。　And　they've　used　it　to　kill　each　other。〃
　　〃Bring　on　those　wise　fuckin　elves！〃　Eddie　said；　and　the　laugh　that　followed　sounded　suspiciously　like　a　sob。　He　thought　he　was　at　last　begin…ning　to　fully　understand　what　that　innocuous　phrase…the　world　has　moved　on…really　meant。　What　a　breadth　of　ignorance　and　evil　it　covered。
　　And　what　a　depth。
　　The　speakers　were　a　wartime　measure；　Susannah　thought。　Of　course　they　were。　God　only　knows　which　war；　or　how　long　ago；　but　it　must　have　been　a　doozy。　The　rulers　of　Lud　used　the　speakers　to　make　city…wide　announcements　from　some　central；　bomb…proof　location…a　bunker　like　the　one　Hitler　and　his　high　mand　retreated　to　at　the　end　of　World　War　II。
　　And　in　her　ears　she　could　hear　the　voice　of　authority　which　had　e　rolling　out　of　those　speakers…could　hear　it　as　clearly　as　she　had　heard　the　creak　of　the　wagons　passing　through　River　Crossing；　as　clearly　as　she　had　heard　the　crack　of　the　whip　above　the　backs　of　the　straining　oxen。
　　Ration　centers　A　and　D　will　be　closed　today；　please　proceed　to　cen…ters　B；　C；　E；　and　F　with　proper　coupons。
　　Militia　squads　Nine；　Ten；　and　Twelve　report　to　Sendside。
　　Aerial　bombardment　is　likely　between　the　hours　of　eight　and　ten　of　the　clock。　All　nonbatant　residents　should　report　to　their　designated　shelters。　Bring　your　gas　masks。　Repeat；　bring　your　gas　masks。
　　Announcements；　yes　。　。　。　and　some　garbled　version　of　the　news…a　propagandized；　militant　version　George　Orwell　would　have　called　double…speak。　And　in　between　the　news　bulletins　and　the　announcements；　squall…ing　military　music　and　exhortations　to　respect　the　fallen　by　sending　more　men　and　women　into　the　red　throat　of　the　abattoir。
　　Then　the　war　had　ended　and　silence　had　fallen　。。。　for　a　while。　But　at　some　point；　the　speakers　had　begun　broadcasting　again。　How　long　ago？　A　hundred　years？　Fifty？　Did　it　matter？　Susannah　thought　not。　What　mattered　was　that　when　the　speakers　were　reactivated；　the　only　thing　they　broadcast　was　a　single　tape…loop　。　。　。　the　loop　with　the　drum…track　on　it。　And　the　descendents　of　the　city's　original　residents　had　taken　it　for　。。。　what？　The　Voice　of　the　Turtle？　The　Will　of　the　Beam？
　　Susannah　found　herself　remembering　the　time　she　had　asked　her　father；　a　quiet　hut　deeply　cynical　man；　if　he　believed　there　was　a　God　in　heaven　who　guided　the　course　of　human　events。　Well；　he　had　said；　I　think　it's　sort　of　half　'n　half；　Odetta。　I'm　sure　there's　a　God；　but　I　don't　think　He　has　much　if　anything　to　do　with　us　these　days；　I　believe　that　after　we　killed　His　son；　He　finally　got　it　through　His　head　that　there　wasn't　nothing　to　be　done　with　the　sons　of　Adam　or　the　daughters　of　Eve；　and　He　washed　His　hands　of　us。　Wise　fella。
　　She　had　responded　to　this　（which　she　had　fully　expected；　she　was　eleven　at　the　time；　and　knew　the　turn　of　her　father's　mind　quite　well）　by　showing　him　a　squib　on　the　munity　Churches　page　of　the　local　newspaper。　It　said　that　Rev。　Murdock　of　the　Grace　Methodist　Church　would　that　Sunday　elucidate　on　the　topic　〃God　Speaks　to　Each　of　Us　Every　Day〃…with　a　text　from　First　Corinthians。　Her　father　had　laughed　over　that　so　hard　that　tears　had　squirted　from　the　corners　of　his　eyes。　Well；　I　guess　each　of　us　hears　someone　talking；　he　had　said　at　last；　and　you　can　bet　your　bottom　dollar　on　one　thing；　sweetie：　each　of　us…includ…ing　this　here　Reverend　Murdock…hears　that　voice　say　just　exactly　what　he　wants　to　hear。　It's　so　convenient　that　way。
　　What　these　people　had　apparently　wanted　to　hear　in　the　recorded　drum…track　was　an　invitation　to　mit　ritual　murder。　And　now；　when　the　drums　began　to　throb　through　these　hundreds　or　thousands　of　speak…ers…a　hammering　back…beat　which　was　only　the　percussion　to　a　Z。Z。　Top　song　called　〃Velcro　Fly；〃　if　Eddie　was　right…it　became　their　signal　to　unlimber　the　hangropes　and　run　a　few　folks　up　the　nearest　speaker…posts。
　　How　many？　she　wondered　as　Eddie　rolled　her　along　in　her　wheel…chair；　its　nicked　and　dented　hard　rubber　tires　crackling　over　broken　glass　and　whispering　through　drifts　of　discarded　paper。　How　many　have　been　killed　over　the　years　because　some　electronic　circuit　under　the　city　got　the　hiccups？　Did　it　start　because　they　recognized　the　essential　alienness　of　the　music；　which　came　somehow…like　us；　and　the　airplane；　and　some　of　the　cars　along　these　streetsfrom　another　world？
　　She　didn't　know；　but　she　knew　she　had　e　around　to　her　father's　cynical　point　of　view　on　the　subject　of　God　and　the　chats　He　might　or　might　not　have　with　the　sons　of　Adam　and　the　daughters　of　Eve。　These　people　had　been　looking　for　a　reason　to　slaughter　each　other；　that　was　all；　and　the　drums　had　been　as　good　a　reason　as　any。
　　She　found　herself　thinking　of　the　hive　they　had　found…the　mis…shapen　hive　of　white　bees　whose　honey　would　have　poisoned　them　if　they　had　been　foolish　enough　to　eat　of　it。　Here；　on　this　side　of　the　Send；　was　another　dying　hive；　more　mutated　white　bees　whose　sting　would　be　no　less　deadly　for　their　confusion；　loss；　and　perplexity。
　　And　how　many　more　will　have　to　die　before　the　tape　finally　breaks？
　　As　if　her　thoughts　had　caused　it　to　happen；　the　speakers　suddenly　began　to　transmit　the　relentless；　syncopated　heartbeat　of　the　drums。　Eddie　yelled　in　surprise。　Susannah　screamed　and　clapped　both　hands　to　her　ears…but　before　she　did；　she　could　faintly　hear　the　rest　of　the　music：　the　track　or　tracks　which　had　been　muted　decades　ago　when　someone　（probably　quite　by　accident）　had　bumped　the　balance　control；　knocking　it　all　the　way　to　one　side　and　burying　both　the　guitars　and　the　vocal。
　　Eddie　continued　to　push　her　along　The　Street　of　the　Turtle　and　the　Path　of　the　Beam；　trying　to　look　in　all　directions　at　once　and　trying　not　to　smell　the　odor　of　putrefaction。　Thank　God　for　the　wind；　he　thought。
　　He　began　to　push　the　wheelchair　faster；　scanning　the　weedy　gaps　between　the　big　white　buildings　for　the　graceful　sweep　of　an　overhead　monorail　track。　He　wanted　to　get　out　of　this　endless　aisle　of　the　dead。　As　he　took　yet　another　deep　breath　of　that　speciously　sweet　cinnamon　smell；　it　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　never　wanted　anything　so　badly　in　his　whole　life。
　　
　　　19
　　JAKE'S　DAZE　WAS　BROKEN　abruptly　when　Gasher　grabbed　him　by　the　collar　and　yanked　with　all　the　force　of　a　cruel　rider　braking　a　galloping　horse。　He　stuck　one　leg　out　at　the　same　time　and　Jake　went　crashing　backward　over　it。　His　head　connected　with　the　pavement　and　for　a　moment　all　the　lights　went　out。　Gasher；　no　humanitarian；　brought　him　around　quickly　by　seizing　Jake's　lower　lip　and　yanking　it　upward　and　outward。
　　Jake　screamed　and　bolted　to　a　sitting　position；　striking　out　blindly　with　his　fists。　Gasher　dodged　the　blows　easily；　hooked　his　other　hand　into　Jake's　armpit；　and　yanked　him　to　his　feet。　Jake　stood　there；　rocking　drunkenly　back　and　forth。　He　was　beyond　protest　now；　almost　beyond　understanding。　All　he　knew　for　sure　was　that　every　muscle　in　his　body　felt　sprung　and　his　wounded　hand　was　howling　like　an　animal　caught　in　a　trap。
　　Gasher　apparently　needed　a　breather；　and　this　time　he　was　slower　getting　his　wind　back。　He　stood　bent　over　with　his　hands　planted　on　the　knees　of　his　green　trousers；　panting　in　fast　little　whistling　breaths。　His　yellow　headscarf　had　slipped　askew。　His　good　eye　glittered　like　a　trum…pery　diamond。　The　white　silk　eyepatch　was　now　wrinkled；　and　curds　of　evil…looking　yellow　muck　oozed　onto　his　cheek　from　beneath　it。
　　〃Take　a　look　over　your　head；　cully；　and　you'll　see　why　I　brung　you　up　short。　Get　an　eyeful！〃
　　Jake　tilted　his　head　upward；　and　in　the　depths　of　his　shock　he　was　not　at　all　surprised　to　see　a　marble　fountain　as　big　as　a　house…trailer　dangling　eighty　feet　above　them。　He　and　Gasher　were　almost　below　it。　The　fountain　was　held　suspended　by　two　rusty　cables　which　were　mostly　hidden　within　huge；　unsteady　stacks　of　church　pews。　Even　in　his　less…than…acute　state；　Jake　saw　that　these　cables　were　more　seriously　frayed　than　the　remaining　hangers　on　the　bridge　had　been。
　　〃See　it？〃　Gasher　asked；　grinning。　He　raised　his　left　hand　to　his　covered　eye；　scooped　a　mass　of　the　pussy　material　from　beneath　it；　and　flicked　it　indifferently　aside。　〃Beauty；　ain't　it？　Oh；　the　Tick…Tock　Man's　a　trig　cove；　all　right；　and　no　mistake。　（Where's　those　goat…fucking　drums？　They　should　have　started　by　now…if　Copperhead's　forgot　em；　I'll　ram　a　stick　so　far　up　his　arse　he'll　taste　bark。）　Now　look　ahead　of　you；　my　delicious　little　squint。〃
　　Jake　did；　and　Gasher　immediately　clouted　him　so　hard　that　he　stag…gered　backward　and　almost　fell。
　　〃Not　across；　idiot　child！　Down！　See　them　two　dark　cobblestones？〃
　　After　a　moment；　Jake　did。　He　nodded　apathetically。
　　〃Yer　don't　wanter　step　on　em；　for　that'd　bring　the　whole　works　down　on　your　head；　cully；　and　anybody　who　wanted　yer　after　that'd　have　to　pick　yer　up　with　a　blotter。　Understand？〃
　　Jake　nodded　again。
　　〃Good。〃　Gasher　took　a　final　deep　breath　and　slapped　Jake's　shoulder。　〃Go　on；　then；　whatcher　waitin　for？　Hup！〃
　　Jake　stepped　over　the　first　of　the　discolored　stones　and　saw　it　wasn't　really　a