sk.thegunslinger-第3章

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Brown　nodded。　〃The　water　does　that。　The　corn；　please？〃
〃Sure。〃
He　went　up　the　stairs　and　out　into　the　dark。　The　stars　glittered　overhead　in　a　mad　splash。　The　wind　pulsed　steadily。　His　urine　arched　out　over　the　powdery　cornfield　in　a　wavering　stream。　The　man　in　black　had　sent　him　here。　Brown　might　even　be　the　man　in　black　himself。　It　might　be　He　shut　the　thoughts　away。　The　only　contingency　he　had　not　learned　how　to　bear　was　the　possibility　of　his　own　madness。　He　went　back　inside。
〃Have　you　decided　if　I'm　an　enchantment　yet？〃　Brown　asked；　amused。
The　gunslinger　paused　on　the　tiny　landing；　startled。　Then　he　came　down　slowly　and　sat
〃I　started　to　tell　you　about　Tull。〃
〃Is　it　growing？〃
〃It's　dead；〃　the　gunslinger　said；　and　the　words　hung　in　the　air。
Brown　nodded。　〃The　desert。　I　think　it　may　strangle　everything　eventually。　Did　you　know　that　there　was　once　a　coach　road　across　the　desert？〃
The　gunslinger　closed　his　eyes。　His　mind　whirled　crazily。
〃You　doped　me；〃　he　said　thickly。
〃No。　I've　done　nothing。〃
The　gunslinger　opened　his　eyes　warily。
〃You　won't　feel　right　about　it　unless　I　invite　you；〃　Brown　said。　〃And　so　I　do。　Will　you　tell　me　about　Tull？〃
The　gunslinger　opened　his　mouth　hesitantly　and　was　surprised　to　find　that　this　time　the　words　were　there。　He　began　to　speak　in　flat　bursts　that　slowly　spread　into　an　even；　slightly　toneless　narrative。　The　doped　feeling　left　him；　and　he　found　himself　oddly　excited。　He　talked　deep　into　the　night。　Brown　did　not　interrupt　at　all。　Neither　did　the　bird。
V
He　had　bought　the　mule　in　Pricetown；　and　when　he　reached　Tull；　it　was　still　fresh。　The　sun　had　set　an　hour　earlier；　but　the　gunslinger　had　continued　traveling；　guided　by　the　town　glow　in　the　sky；　then　by　the　uncannily　clear　notes　of　a　honky…tonk　piano　playing　Hey　Jude。　The　road　widened　as　it　took　on　tributaries。
The　forests　had　been　gone　long　now；　replaced　by　the　monotonous　flat　country：　endless；　desolate　fields　gone　to　timothy　and　low　shrubs；　shacks；　eerie；　deserted　estates　guarded　by　brooding；　shadowed　mansions　where　demons　undeniably　walked；　leering；　empty　shanties　where　the　people　had　either　moved　on　or　had　been　moved　along；　an　occasional　dweller's　hovel；　given　away　by　a　single　flickering　point　of　light　in　the　dark；　or　by　sullen；　inbred　clans　toiling　silently　in　the　fields　by　day。　Corn　was　the　main　crop；　but　there　were　beans　and　also　some　peas。　An　occasional　scrawny　cow　stared　at　him　lumpishly　from　between　peeled　alder　poles。　Coaches　had　passed　him　four　times；　twice　ing　and　twice　going；　nearly　empty　as　they　came　up　on　him　from　behind　and　bypassed　him　and　his　mule；　fuller　as　they　headed　back　toward　the　forests　of　the　north。
It　was　ugly　country。　It　had　showered　twice　since　he　had　left　Pricetown；　grudgingly　both　times。　Even　the　timothy　looked　yellow　and　dispirited。　Ugly　country。　He　had　seen　no　sign　of　the　man　in　black。　Perhaps　he　had　taken　a　coach。
The　road　made　a　bend；　and　beyond　it　the　gunslinger　clucked　the　mule　to　a　stop　and　looked　down　at　Tull。　It　was　at　the　floor　of　a　circular；　bowl…shaped　hollow；　a　shoddy　jewel　in　a　cheap　setting。　There　were　a　number　of　lights；　most　of　them　clustered　around　the　area　of　the　music。　There　looked　to　be　four　streets；　three　running　at　right　angles　to　the　coach　road；　which　was　the　main　avenue　of　the　town。　Perhaps　there　would　be　a　restaurant。　He　doubted　it；　but　perhaps。　He　clucked　at　the　mule。
More　houses　sporadically　lined　the　road　now；　most　of　them　still　deserted。　He　passed　a　tiny　graveyard　with　moldy；　leaning　wooden　slabs　overgrown　and　choked　by　the　rank　devil…grass。　Perhaps　five　hundred　feet　further　on　he　passed　a　chewed　sign　which　said：　TULL
The　paint　was　flaked　almost　to　the　point　of　illegibility。　There　was　another　further　on；　but　the　gunslinger　was　not　able　to　read　that　one　at　all。
A　fool's　chorus　of　half…stoned　voices　was　rising　in　the　final　protracted　lyric　of　Hey　Jude　　〃Naa…naa…naa　naa…na…na…na。。。　hey；　Jude。。。〃　　as　he　entered　the　town　proper。　It　was　a　dead　sound；　like　the　wind　in　the　hollow　of　a　rotted　tree。　Only　the　prosaic　thump　and　pound　of　the　honky…tonk　piano　saved　him　from　seriously　wondering　if　the　man　in　black　might　not　have　raised　ghosts　to　inhabit　a　deserted　town。　He　smiled　a　little　at　the　thought。
There　were　a　few　people　on　the　streets；　not　many；　but　a　few。　Three　ladies　wearing　black　slacks　and　identical　middy　blouses　passed　by　on　the　opposite　boardwalk；　not　looking　at　him　with　pointed　curiosity。　Their　faces　seemed　to　swim　above　their　all…but…invisible　bodies　like　huge；　pallid　baseballs　with　eyes。　A　solemn　old　man　with　a　straw　hat　perched　firmly　on　top　of　his　head　watched　him　from　the　steps　of　a　boarded…up　grocery　store。　A　scrawny　tailor　with　a　late　customer　paused　to　watch　him　by；　he　held　up　the　lamp　in　his　window　for　a　better　look。　The　gunslinger　nodded。　Neither　the　tailor　nor　his　customer　nodded　back。　He　could　feel　their　eyes　resting　heavily　against　the　low…slung　holsters　that　lay　against　his　hips。　A　young　boy；　perhaps　thirteen；　and　his　girl　crossed　the　street　a　block　up；　pausing　imperceptibly。　Their　footfalls　raised　little　hanging　clouds　of　dust。　A　few　of　the　street　side　lamps　worked；　but　their　glass　sides　were　cloudy　with　congealed　oil。　Most　had　been　crashed　out。　There　was　a　livery；　probably　
The　gunslinger　led　his　mule　past　them　and　looked　into　the　dim　depths　of　the　barn。　One　lamp　glowed　sunkenly；　and　a　shadow　jumped　and　flickered　as　a　gangling　old　man　in　bib　overalls　forked　loose　timothy　hay　into　the　hay　loft　with　huge；　grunting　swipes　of　his　fork。
〃Hey！〃　the　gunslinger　called。
The　fork　faltered　and　the　hostler　looked　around　waspishly。　〃Hey　yourself！〃
〃I　got　a　mule　here。〃
〃Good　for　you。〃
The　gunslinger　flicked　a　heavy；　unevenly　milled　gold　piece　into　the　semi　dark。　It　rang　on　the　old；　chaff…drifted　boards　and　glittered。
The　hostler　came　forward；　bent；　picked　it　up；　squinted　at　the　gunslinger。　His　eyes　dropped　to　the　gunbelts　and　he　nodded　sourly。
〃How　long　you　want　him　put　up？〃
〃A　night。　Maybe　two。　Maybe　longer。〃
〃I　ain't　got　no　change　for　gold。〃
〃I'm　not　asking　for　any。〃
〃Blood　money；〃　the　hostler　muttered。
〃What？〃
〃Nothing。〃　The　hostler　caught　the　mule's　bridle　and　led　him　inside。
〃Rub　him　down！〃　the　gunslinger　called。　The　old　man　did　not　turn。
The　gunslinger　walked　out　to　the　boys　crouched　around　the　marble　ring。　They　had　watched　the　entire　exchange　with　contemptuous　interest
〃How　they　hanging？〃　the　gunslinger　asked　conversationally。
No　answer。
〃You　dudes　live　in　town？〃
No　answer。
One　of　the　boys　removed　a　crazily　tilted　twist　of　corn…shuck　from　his　mouth；　grasped　a　green　cat's…eye　marble；　and　squirted　it　into　the　dirt　circle。　It　struck　a　croaker　and　knocked　it　outside。　He　picked　up　the　cat's…eye　and　prepared　to　shoot　again。
〃There　a　restaurant　in　this　town？〃　the　gunslinger　asked。
One　of　them　looked　up；　the　youngest　There　was　a　huge　cold…sore　at　the　corner　of　his　mouth；　but　his　eyes　were　still　ingenuous。　He　looked　at　the　gunslinger　with　hooded　brimming　wonder　that　was　touching　and　frightening。
〃Might　get　a　burger　at　Sheb's。〃
〃That　the　honky…tonk？〃
The　boy　nodded　but　didn't　speak。　The　eyes　of　his　playmates　had　turned　ugly　and　hostile。
The　gunslinger　touched　the　brim　of　his　hat。　〃I'm　grateful。　It's　good　to　know　someone　in　this　town　is　bright　enough　to　talk。〃
He　walked　past；　mounted　the　boardwalk　and　started　down　toward　Sheb's；　hearing　the　clear；　contemptuous　voice　of　one　of　the　others；　hardly　more　than　a　childish　treble：
〃Weed…eater！　How　long　you　been　screwin'　your　sister；　Charlie？　Weed…eater！〃
There　were　three　flaring　kerosene　lamps　in　front　of　Sheb's；　one　to　each　side　and　one　nailed　above　the　drunk…hung　batwing　doors。　The　chorus　of　Hey　Jude　had　petered　out；　and　the　piano　was　plinking　some　other　old　ballad。　Voices　murmured　like　broken　threads。　The　gunslinger　paused　outside　for　a　moment；　looking　in。　Sawdust　floor；　spittoons　by　the　tipsy…legged　tables。　A　plank　bar　on　saw…horses。　A　gummy　mirror　behind　it；　reflecting　the　piano　player；　who　wore　an　inevitable　piano…stool　slouch。　The　front　of　the　piano　had　been　removed　so　you　could　watch　the　wooden　keys　whonk　up　and　down　as　the　contraption　was　played。　The　bartender　was　a　straw…haired　woman　wearing　a　dirty　blue　dress。　One　strap　was　held　with　a　safety　pin。　There　were　perhaps　six　townies　in　the　bac