sk.everythingseventual-第33章

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　　Fletcher　stopped　in　front　of　Heinz's　machine。　What　was　the　word　Heinz　had　used？　Atavism；　wasn't　it？
　　The　machine　on　the　trolley　looked　much　too　simple　for　a　man　of　Heinz's　intelligence…three　dials；　one　switch　marked　ON　and　OFF　（now　in　the　OFF　position）；　and　a　rheostat　which　had　been　turned　so　the　white　line　on　it　pointed　to　roughly　eleven　o'clock。　The　needles　on　the　dials　all　lay　flat　on　their　zeroes。
　　Fletcher　picked　up　the　stylus　and　held　it　out　to　Heinz。　Heinz　made　a　wet　sound；　shook　his　head；　and　took　another　step　backward。　His　face　would　lift　and　pull　together　in　a　kind　of　grief…struck　sneer；　then　loosen　again。　His　forehead　was　wet　with　sweat；　his　cheeks　with　tears。　This　second　backward　step　took　him　almost　beneath　one　of　the　caged　lights；　and　his　shadow　puddled　around　his　feet。
　　'Take　it　or　I'll　kill　you；'　Fletcher　said。　'And　if　you　take　another　step　backward　I'll　kill　you。'　He　had　no　time　for　this　and　it　felt　wrong　in　any　case；　but　Fletcher　could　not　stop　himself。　He　kept　seeing　that　picture　of　Tomás；　the　open　eyes；　the　little　scorched　mark　like　a　powder　burn。
　　Sobbing；　Heinz　took　the　blunt　fountain…pen…shaped　object；　careful　to　hold　it　only　by　the　rubber　insulated　sleeve。
　　'Put　it　in　your　mouth；'　Fletcher　said。　'Suck　on　it　like　it　was　a　lollipop。'
　　'No！'　Heinz　cried　in　a　weepy　voice。　He　shook　his　head　and　water　flew　off　his　face。　His　face　was　still　going　through　its　contortions：　cramp　and　release；　cramp　and　release。　There　was　a　green　bubble　of　snot　at　the　entrance　to　one　of　his　nostrils；　it　expanded　and　contracted　with　Heinz's　rapid　breathing　but　didn't　break。　Fletcher　had　never　seen　anything　quite　like　it。　'No；　you　can't　make　me！'
　　But　Heinz　knew　Fletcher　could。　The　Bride　of　Frankenstein　might　not　have　believed　it；　and　Escobar　likely　hadn't　had　time　to　believe　it；　but　Heinz　knew　he　had　no　more　right　of　refusal。　He　was　in　Tomás　Herrera's　position；　in　Fletcher's　position。　In　one　way　that　was　revenge　enough；　but　in　another　way　it　wasn't。　Knowing　was　an　idea。　Ideas　were　no　good　in　here。　In　here　seeing　was　believing。
　　'Put　it　in　your　mouth　or　I'll　shoot　you　in　the　head；'　Fletcher　said；　and　shoved　the　empty　gun　at　Heinz's　face。　Heinz　recoiled　with　a　wail　of　terror。　And　now　Fletcher　heard　his　own　voice　drop；　bee　confidential；　bee　sincere。　In　a　way　it　reminded　him　of　Escobar's　voice。　We　are　havin　an　area　of　low　bressure；　he　thought。　We　are　havin　the　steenkin　rain…showers。　'I'm　not　going　to　shock　you　if　you　just　do　it　and　hurry　up。　But　I　need　you　to　know　what　it　feels　like。'
　　Heinz　stared　at　Fletcher。　His　eyes　were　blue　and　red…rimmed；　swimming　with　tears。　He　didn't　believe　Fletcher；　of　course；　what　Fletcher　was　saying　made　no　sense；　but　Heinz　very　clearly　wanted　to　believe　it　anyway；　because；　sense　or　nonsense；　Fletcher　was　holding　out　the　possibility　of　life。　He　just　needed　to　be　pushed　a　single　step　further。
　　Fletcher　smiled。　'Do　it　for　your　research。'
　　Heinz　was　convinced…not　pletely；　but　enough　to　believe　Fletcher　could　be　Mr。　Maybe　He　Will　after　all。　He　put　the　steel　rod　into　his　mouth。　His　bulging　eyes　stared　at　Fletcher。　Below　them　and　above　the　jutting　stylus…which　looked　not　like　a　lollipop　but　an　old…fashioned　fever　thermometer…that　green　bubble　of　snot　swelled　and　retreated；　swelled　and　retreated。　Still　pointing　the　gun　at　Heinz；　Fletcher　flicked　the　switch　on　the　control　panel　from　OFF　to　ON　and　gave　the　rheostat　a　hard　turn。　The　white　line　on　the　knob　went　from　eleven　in　the　morning　to　five　in　the　afternoon。
　　Heinz　might　have　had　time　to　spit　the　stylus　out；　but　shock　caused　him　to　clamp　his　lips　down　on　the　stainless　steel　barrel　instead。　The　snapping　sound　was　louder　this　time；　like　a　small　branch　instead　of　a　twig。　Heinz's　lips　pressed　down　even　tighter。　The　green　mucus　bubble　in　his　nostril　popped。　So　did　one　of　his　eyes。　Heinz's　entire　body　seemed　to　vibrate　inside　his　clothes。　His　hands　were　bent　at　the　wrists；　the　long　fingers　splayed。　His　cheeks　went　from　white　to　pale　gray　to　a　darkish　purple。　Smoke　began　to　pour　out　of　his　nose。　His　other　eye　popped　out　on　his　cheek。　Above　the　dislocated　eyes　there　were　now　two　raw　sockets　that　stared　at　Fletcher　with　surprise。　One　of　Heinz's　cheeks　either　tore　open　or　melted。　A　quantity　of　smoke　and　a　strong　odor　of　burned　meat　came　out　through　the　hole；　and　Fletcher　observed　small　flames；　orange　and　blue。　Heinz's　mouth　was　on　fire。　His　tongue　was　burning　like　a　rug。
　　Fletcher's　fingers　were　still　on　the　rheostat。　He　turned　it　all　the　way　back　to　the　left；　then　flicked　the　switch　to　OFF。　The　needles；　which　had　swung　all　the　way　to　the　＋50　marks　on　their　little　dials；　immediately　fell　dead　again。　The　moment　the　electricity　left　him；　Heinz　crashed　to　the　gray　tile　floor；　trailing　smoke　from　his　mouth　as　he　went。　The　stylus　fell　free；　and　Fletcher　saw　there　were　little　pieces　of　Heinz's　lips　on　it。　Fletcher's　gorge　gave　a　salty；　burping　lurch；　and　he　closed　his　throat　against　it。　He　didn't　have　time　to　vomit　over　what　he　had　done　to　Heinz；　he　might　consider　vomiting　at　a　later　time。　Still；　he　lingered　a　moment　longer；　leaning　over　to　look　at　Heinz's　smoking　mouth　and　dislocated　eyes。　'How　do　you　describe　it？'　he　asked　the　corpse。　'Now；　while　the　experience　is　still　fresh？　What；　nothing　to　say？'
　　Fletcher　turned　and　hurried　across　the　room；　detouring　around　Ramón；　who　was　still　alive　and　moaning。　He　sounded　like　a　man　having　a　bad　dream。
　　He　remembered　that　the　door　was　locked。　Ramón　had　locked　it；　the　key　would　be　on　the　ring　hanging　at　Ramón's　belt。　Fletcher　went　back　to　the　guard；　knelt　beside　him；　and　tore　the　ring　off　his　belt。　When　he　did；　Ramón　groped　out　and　seized　Fletcher　by　the　ankle　again。　Fletcher　was　still　holding　the　gun。　He　rapped　the　butt　down　on　the　top　of　Ramón's　head。　For　a　moment　the　hand　on　his　ankle　gripped　even　tighter；　and　then　it　let　go。
　　Fletcher　started　to　get　up　and　then　thought；　Bullets。　He　must　have　more。　The　gun's　empty。　His　next　thought　was　that　he　didn't　need　no　steenkin　bullets；　Ramón's　gun　had　done　all　that　it　could　for　him。　Shooting　outside　this　room　would　bring　the　ordinaries　like　flies。
　　Even　so；　Fletcher　felt　along　Ramón's　belt；　opening　the　little　leather　snap　pouches　until　he　found　a　speed…loader。　He　used　it　to　fill　up　the　gun。　He　didn't　know　if　he　could　actually　bring　himself　to　shoot　ordinaries　who　were　only　men　like　Tomás；　men　with　families　to　feed；　but　he　could　shoot　officers　and　he　could　save　at　least　one　bullet　for　himself。　He　would　very　likely　not　be　able　to　get　out　of　the　building…that　would　be　like　rolling　a　second　300　game　in　a　row…but　he　would　never　be　brought　back　to　this　room　again；　and　set　in　the　chair　next　to　Heinz's　machine。
　　He　pushed　the　Bride　of　Frankenstein　away　from　the　door　with　his　foot。　Her　eyes　glared　dully　at　the　ceiling。　Fletcher　was　ing　more　and　more　to　understand　that　he　had　survived　and　these　others　had　not。　They　were　cooling　off。　On　their　skin；　galaxies　of　bacteria　had　already　begun　to　die。　These　were　bad　thoughts　to　be　having　in　the　basement　of　the　Ministry　of　Information；　bad　thoughts　to　be　in　the　head　of　a　man　who　had　bee…perhaps　only　for　a　little　while；　more　likely　forever…a　desaparecido。　Still；　he　couldn't　help　having　them。
　　The　third　key　opened　the　door。　Fletcher　stuck　his　head　out　into　the　hall…cinder…block　walls；　green　on　the　bottom　half　and　a　dirty　cream…white　on　the　top　half；　like　the　walls　of　an　old　school　corridor。　Faded　red　lino　on　the　floor。　No　one　was　in　the　hall。　About　thirty　feet　down　to　the　left；　a　small　brown　dog　lay　asleep　against　the　wall。　His　feet　were　twitching。　Fletcher　didn't　know　if　the　dog　was　dreaming　about　chasing　or　being　chased；　but　he　didn't　think　he　would　be　asleep　at　all　if　the　gunshots…or　Heinz's　screaming…had　been　very　loud　out　here。　If　I　ever　get　back；　he　thought；　I'll　write　that　soundproofing　is　the　great　triumph　of　dictatorship。　I'll　tell　the　world。　Of　course　I　probably　won't　get　back；　those　stairs　down　to　the　right　are　probably　as　close　to　Forty…third　Street　as　I'm　ever　going　to　get；　but　…
　　But　there　was　Mr。　Maybe　I　Can。
　　Fletcher　stepped　into　the　hall　and　pulled　the　door　of　the　death…room　shut　behind　him。　The　little　brown　dog　lifted　its　head；　looked　at　Fletcher；　puffed　its