sk.thegunslinger-第14章

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e　was　a　small　pile　of　white　hay　in　the　corner；　and　a　neatly　folded　blanket；　but　there　was　no　smell　of　horse。　There　was　no　smell　of　anything　in　the　stable。　The　sun　had　bled　away　every　smell　and　left　nothing。　The　air　was　perfectly　neutral。
At　the　back　of　the　stable　was　a　small；　dark　room　with　a　stainless　steel　machine　in　the　center。　It　was　untouched　by　rust　or　rot。　It　looked　like　a　butter　churn。　At　the　left；　a　chrome　pipe　jutted　from　it；　terminating　over　a　drain　in　the　floor。　The　gunslinger　had　seen　pumps　like　it　in　other　dry　places；　but　never　one　so　big。　He　could　not　contemplate　how　deep　they　must　have　drilled　before　they　struck　water；　secret　and　forever　black　under　the　desert
Why　hadn't　they　removed　the　pump　when　the　way　station　had　been　abandoned？
Demons；　perhaps。
He　shuddered　abruptly；　an　abrupt　twisting　of　his　back。　Heatflesh　poked　out　on　his　skin；　then　receded。　He　went　to　the　control　switch　and　pushed　the　ON　button。　The　machine　began　to　hum。　After　perhaps　half　a　minute；　a　stream　of　cool；　clear　water　belched　from　the　pipe　and　went　down　the　drain　to　be　recirculated。　Perhaps　three　gallons　flowed　out　of　the　pipe　before　the　pump　shut　itself　down　with　a　final　click。　It　was　a　thing　as　alien　to　this　place　and　time　as　true　love；　and　yet　as　concrete　as　a　Judgment；　a　silent　reminder　of　the　time　when　the　world　had　not　yet　moved　on。　It　probably　ran　on　an　atomic　slug；　as　there　was　no　electricity　within　a　thousand　miles　of　here　and　even　dry　batteries　would　have　lost　their　charge　long　ago。　The　gunslinger　didn't　like　it
He　went　back　and　sat　down　beside　the　boy；　who　had　put　one　hand　under　his　cheek。　Nice…looking　boy。　The　gunslinger　drank　some　more　water　and　crossed　his　legs　so　he　was　sitting　Indian　fashion。　The　boy；　like　the　squatter　on　the　edge　of　the　desert　who　kept　the　bird　（Zoltan；　the　gunslinger　remembered　abruptly；　the　bird's　name　was　Zoltan）；　had　lost　his　sense　of　time；　but　the　fact　that　the　man　in　black　was　closer　seemed　beyond　doubt　Not　for　the　first　time；　the　gunslinger　wondered　if　the　man　in　black　was　letting　him　catch　up　for　some　reason　of　his　own。　Perhaps　the　gunslinger　was　playing　into　his　hands。　He　tried　to　imagine　what　the　confrontation　might　be　like；　and　could　not
He　was　very　hot；　but　he　no　longer　felt　sick。　The　nursery　rhyme　occurred　to　him　again；　but　this　time　instead　of　his　mother；　he　thought　of　Cort　　Cort；　with　his　face　hem…stitched　with　the　scars　of　bricks　and　bullets　and　blunt　instruments。　The　scars　of　war。　He　wondered　if　Cort　had　ever　had　a　love　to　match　those　monumental　scars。　He　doubted　it　He　thought　of　Aileen；　and　of　Marten；　that　inplete　enchanter。
The　gunslinger　was　not　a　man　to　dwell　on　the　past；　only　a　shadowy　conception　of　the　future　and　of　his　own　emotional　make…up　saved　him　from　being　a　creature　without　imagination；　a　dullard。　His　present　run　of　thought　therefore　rather　amazed　him。　Each　name　called　up　others　　Cuthbert；　Paul；　the　old　man　Jonas；　and　Susan；　the　lovely　girl　at　the　window。
The　piano　player　in　Tull　（also　dead；　all　dead　in　Tull；　and　by　his　hand）　had　been　fond　of　the　old　songs；　and　the　gunslinger　hummed　one　tunelessly　under　his　breath：
Love　o　love　o　careless　love
See　what　careless　love　has　done。
The　gunslinger　laughed；　bemused。　Jam　the　last　of　that　green　and　warm…hued　world。　And　for　all　his　nostalgia；　he　felt　no　self…pity。　The　world　had　moved　on　mercilessly；　but　his　legs　were　still　strong；　and　the　man　in　black　was　closer。　The　gunslinger　nodded　out　
When　he　woke　up　it　was　almost　dark　and　the　boy　was　gone。　The　gunslinger　got　up；　hearing　his　joints　pop；　and　went　to　the　stable　door。　There　was　a　small　flame　dancing　in　darkness　on　the　porch　of　the　inn。　He　walked　toward　it；　his　shadow　long　and　black　and　trailing　in　the　ochre　light　of　the　sunset。
Jake　was　sitting　by　a　kerosene　lamp。　〃The　oil　was　in　a　drum；〃　he　said；　〃but　I　was　scared　to　burn　it　in　the　house。　Everything's　so　dry　〃
〃You　did　just　right。〃　The　gunslinger　sat　down；　seeing　but　not　thinking　about　the　dust　of　years　that　puffed　up　around　his　rump。　The　flame　from　the　lamp　shadowed　the　boy's　face　with　delicate　tones。　The　gunslinger　produced　his　poke　and　rolled　a　cigarette。
〃We　have　to　talk；〃　he　said。
Jake　nodded。
〃I　guess　you　know　I'm　on　the　prod　for　that　man　you　saw。〃
〃Are　you　going　to　kill　him？〃
〃I　don't　know。　I　have　to　make　him　tell　me　something。　I　may　have　to　make　him　take　me　someplace。〃
〃Where？〃
〃To　find　a　tower；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　He　held　his　cigarette　over　the　chimney　of　the　lamp　and　drew　on　it；　the　smoke　drifted　away　on　the　rising　night　breeze。　Jake　watched　it。　His　face　showed　neither　fear　nor　curiosity；　certainly　not　enthusiasm。
〃So　I'm　going　on　tomorrow；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　〃You'll　have　to　e　with　me。　How　much　of　that　meat　is　left？〃
〃Only　a　handful。〃
〃Corn？〃
〃A　little。〃
The　gunslinger　nodded。　〃Is　there　a　cellar？〃
〃Yes。〃　Jake　looked　at　him。　The　pupils　of　his　eyes　had　grown　to　a　huge；　fragile　size。　〃You　pull　up　on　a　ring　in　the　floor；　but　I　didn't　go　down。　I　was　afraid　the　ladder　would　break　and　I　wouldn't　be　able　to　get　up　again。　And　it　smells　bad。　It's　the　only　thing　around　here　that　smells　at　all。〃
〃We'll　get　up　early　and　see　if　there's　anything　down　there　worth　taking。　Then　we'll　bug　out〃
〃All　right〃　The　boy　paused　and　then　said；　〃I'm　glad　I　didn't　kill　you　when　you　were　sleeping。　I　had　a　pitchfork　and　I　thought　about　doing　it。　But　I　didn't；　and　now　I　won't　have　to　be　afraid　to　go　to　sleep。〃
〃What　would　you　be　afraid　of？〃
The　book　looked　at　him　ominously。　〃Spooks。　Of　him　ing　back。〃
〃The　man　in　black；〃　the　gunslinger　said。　Not　a　question。
〃Yes。　Is　he　a　bad　man？〃
〃That　depends　on　where　you're　standing；〃　the　gunslinger　said　absently。　He　got　up　and　pitched　his　cigarette　out　onto　the　hardpan。　〃I'm　going　to　sleep。〃
The　boy　looked　at　him　timidly。　〃Can　I　sleep　in　the　stable　with　you？〃
〃Of　course。〃
The　gunslinger　stood　on　the　steps；　looking　up；　and　the　boy　joined　him。　Polaris　was　up　there；　and　Mars。　It　seemed　to　the　gunslinger　that；　if　he　closed　his　eyes　he　would　be　able　to　hear　the　croaking　of　the　first　spring　peepers；　smell　the　green　and　almost…summer　smell　of　the　court　lawns　after　their　first　cutting　（and　hear；　perhaps；　the　indolent　click　of　croquet　balls　as　the　ladies　of　the　East　Wing；　attired　only　in　their　shifts　as　dusk　glimmered　toward　dark；　played　at　Points）；　could　almost　see　Aileen　as　she　came　through　the　break　in　the　hedges　It　was　not　like　him　to　think　so　much　of　the　past。
He　turned　back　and　picked　up　the　lamp。　〃Let's　go　to　sleep；〃　he　said。
They　crossed　to　the　stable　together。
The　next　morning　he　explored　the　cellar。
Jake　was　right；　it　smelled　bad。　It　had　a　wet；　swampy　smell　that　made　the　gunslinger　feel　nauseous　and　a　little　lightheaded　after　the　antiseptic　odorlessness　of　the　desert　and　the　stable。　The　cellar　smelled　of　cabbages　and　turnips　and　potatoes　with　long；　sightless　eyes　gone　to　everlasting　rot　The　ladder；　however；　seemed　quite　sturdy；　and　he　climbed　down。
The　floor　was　earthen；　and　his　head　almost　touched　the　overhead　beams。　Down　here　spiders　still　lived；　disturbingly　big　ones　with　mottled　gray　bodies。　Many　of　them　had　mutated。　Some　had　eyes　on　stalks；　some　had　what　might　have　been　as　many　as　sixteen　legs。
The　gunslinger　peered　around　and　waited　for　his　nighteyes。
〃You　all　right？〃　Jake　called　down　nervously。
〃Yes。　He　focused　on　the　corner。　〃There　are　cans。　Wait〃
He　went　carefully　to　the　corner；　ducking　his　head。　There　was　an　old　box　with　one　side　folded　down。　The　cans　were　vegetables　　green　beans；　yellow　beans。。。　and　three　cans　of　corned　beef。
He　scooped　up　an　armload　and　went　back　to　the　ladder。　He　climbed　halfway　up　and　handed　them　to　Jake；　who　knelt　to　receive　them。　He　went　back　for　more。
It　was　on　the　third　trip　that　he　heard　the　groaning　in　the　foundations。
He　turned；　looked；　and　felt　a　kind　of　dreamy　terror　wash　over　him；　a　feeling　both　languid　and　repellent；　like　sex　in　the　water　　one　drowning　within　another。
The　foundation　was　posed　of　huge　sandstone　blocks　that　had　probably　been　evenly　cornered　when　the　way　station　was　new；　but　which　were　now　at　every　zigzag；　drunken　angle。　It　made　the　wall　look　as　if　it　were　inscribed　with　strange；　meandering　hierogliphics。　And　from　the　joining　of　two　of　these　abstruse　cracks；　a　thin　spill　of　sand　was　running；　as　if　something　on　the　other　s