sk.thewastelands-第99节

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　　〃Andrew！〃　the　voice　insisted。
　　It　came　from　far　away。　It　came　from　outside　the　cider…press　that　had　once　been　his　head。
　　Once　there　had　been　a　boy　named　Andrew；　and　his　father　had　taken　that　boy　to　a　park　on　the　far　western　side　of　Lud；　a　park　where　there　had　been　apple　trees　and　a　rusty　tin　shack　that　looked　like　hell　and　smelled　like　heaven。　In　answer　to　his　question；　Andrew's　father　had　told　him　it　was　called　the　cider　house。　Then　he　gave　Andrew　a　pat　on　the　head；　told　him　not　to　be　afraid；　and　led　him　through　the　blanket…covered　doorway。
　　There　had　been　more　apples…baskets　and　baskets　of　them…stacked　against　the　walls　inside；　and　there　had　also　been　a　scrawny　old　man　named　Dewlap；　whose　muscles　writhed　beneath　his　white　skin　like　worms　and　whose　job　was　to　feed　the　apples；　basket　by　basket；　to　the　loose…jointed；　clanking　machine　which　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　room。　What　came　out　of　the　pipe　jutting　from　the　far　end　of　the　machine　was　sweet　cider。　Another　man　（he　no　longer　remembered　what　this　one's　name　might　have　been）　stood　there；　his　job　to　fill　jug　after　jug　with　the　cider。　A　third　man　stood　behind　him；　and　his　job　was　to　clout　the　jug…filler　on　the　head　if　there　was　too　much　spillage。
　　Andrew's　father　had　given　him　a　glass　of　the　foaming　cider；　and　although　he　had　tasted　a　great　many　forgotten　delicacies　during　his　years　in　the　city；　he　had　never　tasted　anything　finer　than　that　sweet；　cold　drink。　It　had　been　like　swallowing　a　gust　of　October　wind。　Yet　what　he　remembered　even　more　clearly　than　the　taste　of　the　cider　or　the　wormy　shift　and　squiggle　of　Dewlap's　muscles　as　he　dumped　the　baskets　was　the　merciless　way　the　machine　reduced　the　big　red…gold　apples　to　liquid。　Two　dozen　rollers　had　carried　them　beneath　a　revolving　steel　drum　with　holes　punched　in　it。　The　apples　had　first　been　squeezed　and　then　actually　popped；　spilling　their　juices　down　an　inclined　trough　while　a　screen　caught　the　seeds　and　pulp。
　　Now　his　head　was　the　cider…press　and　his　brains　were　the　apples。　Soon　they　would　pop　as　the　apples　had　popped　beneath　the　roller；　and　the　blessed　darkness　would　swallow　him。
　　〃Andrew！　Raise　your　head　and　look　at　me。〃
　　He　couldn't　。　。　。　and　wouldn't　even　if　he　could。　Better　to　just　lie　here　and　wait　for　the　darkness。　He　was　supposed　to　be　dead；　anyway；　hadn't　the　hellish　squint　put　a　bullet　in　his　brain？
　　〃It　didn't　go　anywhere　near　your　brain；　you　horse's　ass；　and　you're　not　dying。　You've　just　got　a　headache。　You　will　die；　though；　if　you　don't　stop　lying　there　and　puling　in　your　own　blood　。　。　。　and　I　will　make　sure；　Andrew；　that　your　dying　makes　what　you　are　feeling　now　seem　like　bliss。〃
　　It　was　not　the　threats　which　caused　the　man　on　the　floor　to　raise　his　head　but　rather　the　way　the　owner　of　that　penetrating；　hissing　voice　seemed　to　have　read　his　mind。　His　head　came　up　slowly；　and　the　agony　was　excruciatingheavy　objects　seemed　to　go　sliding　and　careering　around　the　bony　case　which　contained　what　was　left　of　his　mind；　ripping　bloody　channels　through　his　brain　as　they　went。　A　long；　syrupy　moan　escaped　him。　There　was　a　flapping；　tickling　sensation　on　his　right　cheek；　as　if　a　dozen　flies　were　crawling　in　the　blood　there。　He　wanted　to　shoo　them　away；　but　he　knew　that　he　needed　both　hands　just　to　support　himself。
　　The　figure　standing　on　the　far　side　of　the　room　by　the　hatch　which　led　to　the　kitchen　looked　ghastly；　unreal。　This　was　partly　because　the　overhead　lights　were　still　strobing；　partly　because　he　was　seeing　the　new…er　with　only　one　eye　（he　couldn't　remember　what　had　happened　to　the　other　and　didn't　want　to）；　but　he　had　an　idea　it　was　mostly　because　the　creature　was　ghastly　and　unreal。　It　looked　like　a　man　。　。　。　but　die　fellow　who　had　once　been　Andrew　Quick　had　an　idea　it　really　wasn't　a　man　at　all。
　　The　stranger　standing　in　front　of　the　hatch　wore　a　short；　dark　jacket　belted　at　the　waist；　faded　denim　trousers；　and　old；　dusty　boots…the　boots　of　a　countryman；　a　range…rider；　or…
　　〃Or　a　gunslinger；　Andrew？〃　the　stranger　asked；　and　tittered。
　　The　Tick…Tock　Man　stared　desperately　at　the　figure　in　the　doorway；　trying　to　see　the　face；　but　the　short　jacket　had　a　hood；　and　it　was　up。　The　stranger's　countenance　was　lost　in　its　shadows。
　　The　siren　stopped　in　mid…whoop。　The　emergency　lights　stayed　on；　but　they　at　least　stopped　flashing。
　　〃There；〃　the　stranger　said　in　his…or　its…whispery；　penetrating　voice。　〃At　last　we　can　hear　ourselves　think。〃
　　〃Who　are　you？〃　the　Tick…Tock　Man　asked。　He　moved　slightly；　and　more　of　those　weights　went　sliding　through　his　head；　ripping　fresh　chan…nels　in　his　brain。　As　terrible　as　that　feeling　was；　the　awful　tickling　of　the　flies　on　his　right　cheek　was　somehow　worse。
　　〃I'm　a　man　of　many　handles；　pardner；〃　the　man　said　from　inside　the　darkness　of　his　hood；　and　although　his　voice　was　grave；　Tick…Tock　heard　laughter　lurking　just　below　the　surface。　〃There's　some　that　call　me　Jimmy；　and　some　that　call　me　Timmy；　some　that　call　me　Handy　and　some　that　call　me　Dandy。　They　can　call　me　Loser；　or　they　can　call　me　Winner；　just　as　long　as　they　don't　call　me　in　too　late　for　dinner。〃
　　The　man　in　the　doorway　threw　back　his　head；　and　his　laughter　chilled　the　skin　of　the　wounded　man's　arms　and　back　into　lumps　of　gooseflesh；　it　was　like　the　howl　of　a　wolf。
　　〃I　have　been　called　the　Ageless　Stranger；〃　the　man　said。　He　began　to　walk　toward　Tick…Tock；　and　as　he　did；　the　man　on　die　floor　moaned　and　tried　to　scrabble　backward。　〃I　have　also　been　called　Merlin　or　Maerlyn…and　who　cares；　because　I　was　never　that　one；　although　I　never　denied　it；　either。　I　am　sometimes　called　the　Magician　。。。　or　the　Wizard　。　。　。　but　I　hope　we　can　go　forward　together　on　more　humble　terms；　Andrew。　More　human　terms。〃
　　He　pushed　back　the　hood；　revealing　a　fair；　broad…browed　face　that　was　not；　for　all　its　pleasant　looks；　in　any　way　human。　Large　hectic　roses　rode　the　Wizard's　cheekbones；　his　blue…green　eyes　sparkled　with　a　gusty　joy　far　too　wild　to　be　sane；　his　blue…black　hair　stood　up　in　zany　clumps　like　the　feathers　of　a　raven；　his　lips；　lushly　red；　parted　to　reveal　the　teeth　of　a　cannibal。
　　〃Call　me　Fannin；〃　the　grinning　apparition　said。　〃Richard　Fannin。　That's　not　exactly　right；　maybe；　but　I　reckon　it's　close　enough　for　govern…ment　work。〃　He　held　out　a　hand　whose　palm　was　utterly　devoid　of　lines。　〃What　do　you　say；　pard？　Shake　the　hand　that　shook　the　world。〃
　　The　creature　who　had　once　been　Andrew　Quick　and　who　had　been　known　in　the　halls　of　the　Grays　as　the　Tick…Tock　Man　shrieked　and　again　tried　to　wriggle　backward。　The　flap　of　scalp　peeled　loose　by　the　low…caliber　bullet　which　had　only　grooved　his　skull　instead　of　penetrating　it　swung　back　and　forth；　the　long　strands　of　gray…blonde　hair　continued　to　tickle　against　his　cheek。　Quick；　however；　no　longer　felt　it。　He　had　even　forgotten　the　ache　in　his　skull　and　the　throb　from　the　socket　where　his　left　eye　had　been。　His　entire　consciousness　had　fused　into　one　thought：　I　must　get　away　from　this　beast　that　looks　like　a　man。
　　But　when　the　stranger　seized　his　right　hand　and　shook　it　that　thought　passed　like　a　dream　on　waking。　The　scream　which　had　been　locked　in　Quick's　breast　escaped　his　lips　in　a　lover's　sigh。　He　stared　dumbly　up　at　the　grinning　newer。　The　loose　flap　of　his　scalp　swung　and　dangled。
　　〃Is　that　bothering　you？　It　must　be。　Here！〃　Fannin　seized　the　hanging　flap　and　ripped　it　briskly　off　Quick's　head；　revealing　a　bleary　swatch　of　skull。　There　was　a　noise　like　heavy　cloth　tearing。　Quick　shrieked。
　　〃There；　there；　it　only　hurts　for　a　second。〃　The　man　was　now　squat…ting　on　his　hunkers　before　Quick　and　speaking　as　an　indulgent　parent　might　speak　to　a　child　with　a　splinter　in　his　finger。　〃Isn't　that　so？〃
　　〃Y…Y…Yes；〃　Quick　muttered。　And　it　was。　Already　the　pain　was　fading。　And　when　Fannin　reached　toward　him　again；　caressing　the　left　side　of　his　face；　Quick's　jerk　backward　was　only　a　reflex；　quickly　mastered。　As　the　lineless　hand　stroked；　he　felt　strength　flowing　back　into　him。　He　looked　up　at　the　newer　with　dumb　gratitude；　lips　quivering。
　　〃Is　that　better；　Andrew？　It　is；　isn't　it？〃
　　〃Yes！　Yes！〃
　　〃If　you　want　to　thank　me…as　I'm　sure　you　do…you　must　say　some…thing　an　old　acquaintance　of　mine　used　to　say。　He　ended　up　betraying　me；　but　he　was　a　good　friend　for　quite　some　time；　anyway；　and　I　still　have　a　soft　spot　in　my　heart　for　him。　Say；　'My　life　for　you；'　Andrew…can　you　say　that？〃
　　He　could　and　he　did；　in　fact；　it　seemed　he　couldn't　stop　saying　it。　〃My　life　for　you！　My　life　for　you！　My　life　for　you！　My　life…〃
　　The　stranger　touched　his　cheek　again；　but　this　time　a　huge　raw　bolt　of　pain　blasted　across　Andrew　Quick's　head。　He　screamed。
　　〃Sorry　about　that；　but　time　is　short　and　you　were　starting　to　sound　like　a　broken　record。　Andrew；　let　me　put　it　to　you　with　no　bark　on　it：　how　would　you　like　to　kill　the　squint　who　shot　you？　Not　to　mention　his　friends　and　the　hardcase　who　brought　him　here…him；　most　of　all。　Even　the　mutt　that　took　your　eye；　Andrew…would　you　like　that？〃
　　〃Yes！〃　the　former　Tick…Tock　Man　gasped。　His　hands　clenched　into　bloody　fists。　〃Yes！〃
　　〃That's　good；〃　the　stranger　said；　and　helped　Quick　to　his　feet；　〃because　they　have　to　die…they're　meddling　with　things　they　have　no