js&cs.thebridge-第15节

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　　The　cameraman's　name　was　Gary　Taylor。
　　And　the　rest；　as　they　say；　was　history　。。。
　　Gwen　blushed　with　the　memory。　It　was　a　long　way　from　Atlanta　to　here；　sometimes　she　could　scarcely　believe　that　she　was　the　same　person　at　all。　She　and　Gary　had　bopped　around　a　lot；　going　from　Atlanta　to　Chicago　to　the　Big　Apple；　always　following　Gary's　gigs。　Some　places　she　liked　better　than　others；　all　of　them　were　ripe　for　learning　and　growing。
　　But　none　of　them　felt　like　home。
　　It　was　a　simple　need；　if　an　all…consuming　one。　Home　began　to　call　to　them　from　the　pages　of　magazines；　from　the　gushings　of　friends　who　lived　upstate；　riding　a　clear　whiff　of　breeze　in　the　stale　summer　air　of　their　too…small　Chelsea　apartment。
　　That　one　simple　need　had　gotten　to　them　both；　after　a　while：　New　York　was　too　expensive；　too　dirty；　and　too　crowded　to　grow　old　or　raise　kids　in。　Gary　had　no　real　hometown　to　speak　of；　that　pretty　much　narrowed　it　down。
　　Exodus。
　　She'd　been　happier；　in　all：　a　lot　less　angry；　a　lot　less　stressed。　The　house　was　wonderful；　and　she　loved　fixing　it　up。　She　hiked　and　went　to　the　farmer's　market；　and　lived　an　altogether　kinder　and　gentler　existence。　With　the　ing　of　the　Spikester；　her　world　seemed　to　be　nearing　pletion。　What　more　could　anyone　truly　want？
　　But　still；　sometimes　it　chafed。　She　felt　so　。。。　so　normal　here。　She　didn't　trust　it。　It　was　clean　here；　yes；　with　an　immeasurably　lower　crime　rate　and　a　cost　of　living　cheaper　by　half　。。。　what　LifeStyle　magazine　called　a　real　〃quality　of　life〃　area。　But　there　was　no　art　scene　to　speak　of；　a　lame　nightlife；　a　meager　handful　of　restaurants　worth　eating　in。　She　felt　torn　between　the　two　Gwens　inside　her：　the　wildass　and　the　earth　mother；　the　hellion　and　the　homebody。
　　And　now　a　third；　on　top　of　it。　The　Gwen/not　Gwen　nesting　in　her　belly。　The　one　that　was　so　much　a　part　of　her　and　Gary；　yet　so　ultimately　other。　The　one　that　was　so　much　more　than　the　sum　of　its　parts。
　　The　one　that　would　call　her　mommy。
　　She　worried　if　that　were　such　a　good　thing；　like　she　worried　about　routine　and　responsibility　and　all　the　trap…pings　of　adult　life。　She　worried　that　the　day…to…day　of　it　all　would　siphon　off　her　imagination；　steal　her　weirdness　by　degrees。　Leave　her　cut　off　from　the　essence　of　the　Mystery。
　　Inside；　she　knew　differently。　Her　inner　voice　told　her　so。　Mystery　is　more　than　a　fashion　or　a　lifestyle；　it　said；　Mystery　is　a　state　of　mind。
　　Gwen　wanted　to　trust　her　inner　voice。　She　always　had。　But　lately　she'd　been　wondering；　there　was　something　about　ing　back　here　that　blew　through　her　like　a　bad　wind　every　once　in　a　while。　Saying　being　here　is　the　kiss　of　death；　it'll　suck　the　life　right　out　of　you；　it'll　steal　your　sense　of　the　Mystery　。。。
　　Gwen　shuddered。　〃Stop　it；〃　she　told　herself。　〃You're　being　stupid。〃
　　On　the　wall；　the　Faery　Queen　smiled　knowingly；　being　more　real　with　every　stroke。　Gwen　was　ninety…nine　percent　finished　with　the　mural；　and　was　determined　to　lay　down　the　hundredth　stroke　before　Micki　hit　town。　Or　Spike。
　　Whichever　came　first。
　　Gwen　genuinely　loved　her　work；　which　was　a　rarity　by　anybody's　standard。　Over　the　years　she　had　persevered；　parlaying　her　penchant　for　weird　vision　into　a　somewhat　successful　illustration　career；　doing　fantasy　and　sf　and　the　occasional　horror　paperback；　but　most　notably　covers　for　Micki　Bridges's　Bob…Ramtha！　series。　Micki's　contracts　always　had　a　rider　that　specified　Gwen　Taylor　covers；　and　with　over　eight　million　copies　in　print　her　publishers　were　perfectly　willing　to　humor　her。　Thus　did　a　lifelong　friendship　get　the　added　perk　of　professional　fruition。
　　Plus　we　get　to　write　of　our　lunches　together；　Micki　always　reminded　her。　Gwen　smiled　and　swirled　mottled　streaks　of　jet　black　and　neon　green　into　the　fabric　of　the　cape。
　　The　Faery　Queen　was　one　of　the　archetypal　figures　detailed　in　Micki's　books；　which　was　a　big　reason　why　Gwen　had　decided　to　put　her　on　the　nursery　wall。　No　Smurfs　for　the　Spikester；　Gary　and　Gwen　had　agreed　long　ago。　They　wanted　their　child　to　grow　up　fortable　in　the　lap　of　the　Mystery。
　　Part　animal；　part　insect；　part　fish；　part　fowl；　the　Faery　Queen　was　a　regal　being　who　embodied　the　Spirit　of　the　Living　Earth。　Her　robes　were　a　lush　drapery　of　green　living　plants；　her　hair　a　cascade　of　feathery　plumage。　Her　features　were　arthropodal；　elegantly　humanoid　but　rendered　in　chitinous　exoskeleton。　Her　body　was　wasp…waisted　and　segmented；　the　thorax　swelling　into　fully　human　breasts。　Her　feet　were　softly　cloven；　doe's　feet；　her　fingers　were　long　and　delicate。
　　In　her　left　hand　she　held　a　white　candle。　In　her　right　glowed　a　tiny　star。　A　rainbow　of　sleek　scales　covered　her　throat　and　neck；　a　precious　amulet　hung　there；　glistening　on　a　fine　golden　chain。
　　In　other　illustrations　she　looked　fierce；　imperious；　sometimes　even　cruel；　here；　Gwen　deliberately　softened　the　effect；　giving　her　a　wise　smile　and　warm　blue　eyes　and　surrounding　her　with　birds　and　rabbits　and　all　manner　of　gentle　creatures；　making　her　a　benign　sort　of　otherworldly　übermother。
　　But　with　cheekbones；　Gwen　added　as　an　afterthought。　Great　cheekbones。
　　Gwen　stepped　back　and　surveyed　her　work；　her　brow　knitted　fretfully。　This　was　the　biggest　project　she'd　undertaken　during　the　pregnancy。　She　wanted　it　to　be　perfect。
　　〃Something's　off；〃　she　said；　and　the　moment　she　said　it；　the　answer　came　clear。　〃A…HA！〃
　　She　took　a　fine　brush；　dabbed　it　in　the　paint；　and　added　a　carefully　placed　dot　of　white　to　the　blue　of　the　Faery　Queen's　eyes。
　　Adding　the　spark　of　life。
　　〃There　you　go；〃　Gwen　said；　satisfied　for　now。　She　checked　her　watch。　〃Oh；　shit；　how's　that　for　timing；〃　she　said　to　her　work。　〃We've　got　to　get　a　move　on。〃
　　She　scooped　up　her　brushes　and　headed　for　the　sink。
　　While　on　the　wall；　the　Faery　Queen　watched　her　go。
　　
　　Meanwhile；　Gary　crouched　in　the　garage；　practicing　his　own　gentle　art　of　motorcycle　maintenance。
　　His　scoot　was　an　'88　Harley…Davidson　custom　softtail；　and　it　was　his　pride　and　joy。　He'd　personally　torn　it　down　in　the　winter　of　'89；　putting　in　a　ninety…six…inch　S&S　stroker　kit；　transforming　it。　Gary　had　an　innate　sense　about　tools　and　technology。　Mechanical；　electrical；　digital；　if　it　got　up　and　ran；　Gary　Taylor　could　figure　out　what　made　it　tick。
　　He　was　bench　engineer　for　WPAL。　Mostly；　he　did　equipment　repairs；　transformer　maintenance；　a　monthly　checkup　of　the　broadcast　tower　and　the　microwave　uplink；　but　he　was　pretty　much　qualified　to　handle　any　broadcast　situation。
　　It　was　a　good　gig；　as　gigs　go。　But　it　was　still　just　a　job。
　　Gary　worked　to　live；　and　not　vice　versa。
　　He'd　grown　up　on　farms；　the　son　of　migrant　workers；　which　was　a　romantic　way　to　say　he'd　grown　up　hard。　A　lot　of　drifting；　a　lot　of　backbreaking；　monotonous　scrabbling　in　the　dirt；　with　very　little　return　to　speak　of。　On　more　than　one　occasion　he'd　had　to　lend　a　hand　in　birthing　cattle　and　then　drown　a　batch　of　kittens　in　the　very　same　day。　He'd　known　hunger…not　the　what's　for　supper　not　hamburger　again　kind　but　the　real　thing；　the　bottomless　dull…knife　gnawing　in　your　belly　that's　the　last　thing　you　feel　at　night　and　the　first　thing　that　greets　you　in　the　morning。　He'd　known　hardship　and　hopelessness　and　despair；　and　by　his　own　bootstraps　he'd　hauled　himself　out　of　all　of　it。
　　The　experience　had；　if　nothing　else；　given　him　a　useful　perspective。　When　life　deals　you　shit；　make　fertilizer。　If　the　nukes　hit　tomorrow；　and　they　survived；　he'd　raise　mutant　cows　with　Gwen　and　be　just　as　happy。
　　Gary　reached　under　the　block　and　freed　the　crankcase　bolt；　nudging　the　catch　pan　under　the　engine　block　with　his　knee。　On　the　outside　the　softtail　looked　bone…stock；　but　he'd　tweaked　and　cranked　it　until　it　was　two…hundred　and　forty　horses　of　flat…out　drag　bike；　street　legal　but　just　barely。　It　could　do　a　buck　and　a　half　without　even　breaking　a　sweat；　though　Gary'd　never　really　cranked　it　past　one…twenty；　and　not　much　over　ninety　since　Gwen　put　the　bun　in　the　oven。
　　Oh　well　。。。　；　he　thought。　Must　be　gettin'　conservative　in　my　old　age。
　　Little　Feat　was　on　the　radio。　Let　It　Roll。　The　garage　door　was　open；　and　bright　streamers　of　light　filtered　in。　The　day　had　turned　Indian　summer…warm；　and　Gary　was　looking　forward　to　one　last　ride　before　the　cold：　burning　down　some　back　roads；　heading　nowhere　and　loving　every　minute　of　it。
　　〃Hey；　Dad；〃　Gwen　said；　appearing　behind　him；　a　steaming　mug　already　in　her　hands。　〃Want　some　coffee？〃
　　〃Thanks；　Mom。〃　Gary　stood　and　turned　toward　her；　accepting　the　Java　and　a　kiss。
　　〃Ick；　you're　all　slimy；〃　she　said；　pulling　away。
　　〃Thought　you　liked　slimy；〃　he　said；　nuzzling　her。
　　〃Not　like　that；〃　she　said；　pushing　away　and　moseying　over　to　the　door。　〃Better　get　cleaned　up；　babe。　We　gotta　be　at　the　airport　by　eleven　。。。　〃
　　〃Blech！〃　Gary　cut　in。　He　made　a　sour　face　and　stared　at　his　cup。　〃What's　with　this　coffee？〃
　　〃I　just　made　it；〃　Gwen　said；　perplexed。　〃What's　wrong？〃
　　〃It　tastes　like　shit。　That's　all。〃　He　held　out　the　cup　to　Gwen；　she　sniffed　it。　There　was　an　ugly；　bitter　taint。
　　Gwen　shrugged；　hurt。　〃I　don't　know；　I　got　it　at　a　little　shop　at　the　Galleria。　It's　expensive　enough。〃
　　〃Yeah；　well；〃　Gary