pzb.drawingblood-第86章
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tands of cypress and oak。 Out back in a large cleared area was the runway。 It was built atop the mud； Zach thought； on the same basic principle as a cracker balanced on toothpicks sunk into a dish of thick pudding。 On the runway sat Colin's plane； so small and spindly it looked like a toy。 They would be taking off in the morning。 They stared at the ramshackle contraption； then at each other。 〃Adventure；〃 Zach murmured； and Trevor nodded。
Colin was a wiry； jet…black Rastafarian with dreadlocks hanging halfway to his waist。 The inside of his shack was a single large room with sleeping bags on the floor。 Trevor and Zach crawled into a single bag and fell asleep。 Dougal and Colin sat up most of the night； talking and smoking。
They climbed the steps into the cargo hold at dawn。 Zach's stomach dropped as he felt the wheels leave the ground。 But once they were in the air the motion was soothing； lulling him back to sleep with the weight of America lifting off his back。
He woke up once on the flight to the sound of someone gagging； realized it was himself。 Trevor was awkwardly holding his head up while Dougal offered him a neat little plastic…lined bag to puke in。 〃Colin keep these in de plane；〃 Dougal explained。 〃It's jus' de Bermuda Triangle make some people sick a little。 Soon pass。〃
Zach felt horrible。 His food…deprived body must have sucked up the goat stew already； he only had the dry heaves。 Soon the nausea subsided a little。 Dougal handed him a smoldering joint and he dragged on it gratefully。 〃We're over the Bermuda Triangle？〃
〃Jus' a little on de edge。〃
Zach handed the joint back to Dougal； who crawled up to the cockpit to pass it to Colin。 He closed his eyes and leaned back against Trevor。 〃What do you think； Trev？〃 he whispered。 〃Am I a fun date or what？〃
He was pretty sure he knew the answer。 But he fell back asleep before he could hear it。
Sometime later Trevor shook him awake and gripped his hand。 The plane was full of light。 Dougal motioned them toward the cockpit。 Peering over the pilot's mass of dreadlocks； Zach could see a calm clear expanse of water the color of turquoise； a stretch of beach like a wide white ribbon unfurling out of sight； a lush green country in the distance。
The place he had seen in his dreams。 A place for him and his lover to get lost together。
〃Wele home；〃 said the Rasta man。
One Month Later
The asphalt of Firehouse Street had begun to soften in the July heat by the time Kinsey let himself into the Sacred Yew。 The summer had gotten hotter and wetter until all the days seemed to run together in a long soggy blur。 It would continue like this straight on through September。 Kinsey could not bring himself to concoct any dinner specials； one did not want to cook in this weather； did not even want to eat。
The Secret Service agents had e back at the end of June to ask more questions。 It seemed they had been mistaken about the car Zach drove； and were now looking for a tan Malibu registered in his name。 Of course； no one in Missing Mile knew anything。 None of the kids had ever seen that pallid raven…haired boy whose picture the agent kept flashing around。 No one remembered the night Gumbo had had a guest singer； especially not the ones who had been in the crowd at that show； galvanized by a wild voice now tragic； now raucous； now joyous。
Kinsey grabbed a Natty Boho from the cooler and stood at the bar sorting through the day's mail。 Electric bill； surprisingly low 。 。 。 gas bill 。 。 。 collection agency notice 。 。 。 and two postcards。 One was postmarked Flagstaff； Arizona； and read KINSEY； YOU FORGOT TO PAY THE PHONE BILL。 LOVE； STEVE。 Below that was scrawled Krazy Kat lived here and an amorphous swirl that might have been a G。
The other card was creased； smudged； ragged at the edges。 But Kinsey thought it still bore a faint breath of sun and salt。 The picture side was a closeup photograph of some ackee； the peculiar Jamaican fruit that was deadly poison before it burst open； but could be scrambled like eggs afterward。 Creamy yellow curds of flesh bulged from dusky pink three…lobed skins。 Embedded in each fruit were three glistening black seeds as large and round as eyeballs。 Kinsey had read about ackee in his cookbooks； but never actually tasted any。 He imagined it would be rather like brains。
The other side of the card was bordered with tiny faces and hands： graceful； gnarled； screaming； grinning； serene； all sorts of hands and faces exquisitely drawn in ink of black ballpoint。 The postmark was too smudged to read； but the message said K： I drew for 3 hours today。 It hurts like hell…but who cares？ And Dario is growing dreads。 Play some Bird for me。 Your Friend； T。
Kinsey put on his favorite Charlie Parker tape； propped open the doors； and let Bird go soaring out over Missing Mile for the rest of the afternoon。
Trevor opened his eyes late one night and found himself staring at a vivid green lizard on the wall inches from his face。 The shack was so bright that its scales seemed to shimmer。
Trevor blinked； and the creature was gone in an iridescent skirl。
He turned his head and looked at Zach； asleep on the narrow mattress beside him； naked atop sweat…dampened sheets in the steamy tropical night。 The moonlight turned Zach's skin pale blue； his knotty hair and the shadows of his face a deeper indigo。 The nights here were as blue as the days； the sky deepened in color but never truly darkened。
They were living in the countryside near Negril； which was something of a hippie mecca on the western coast of the island； deep in the heart of ganja country。 They had no electricity； no plumbing； and they didn't care。 When they missed these forts； they hitchhiked into Negril and spent a night or two in a luxurious hotel room for about twenty dollars American。
Sometimes they visited Colin's friend's farm way up in the hills and spent a couple of days getting ridiculously stoned。 Zach would amaze everyone by eating fresh scotch bonnet peppers right off the bush。 The Jamaicans thought he was showing off； but Trevor knew Zach loved the pretty little globes of fire。 Trevor himself had already put away gallons of Blue Mountain coffee。 But not as much as he used to drink。 He didn't have to keep himself awake anymore。
More often they lounged on the small cove of white sand beach a few hundred yards from their shack。 Zach lathered himself with the strongest sunscreen he could buy； then lay for hours in the brilliant blue water； his head cushioned in the soft sand。 He stayed as pale as ever； but his cheeks took on a faint tinge of color； and some of the dark smudges around his eyes began to fade。 He wanted to learn to sing reggae。
The sun had bleached Trevor's hair pale blond。 He had to tuck it up under a hat when they went into town； else Jamaican women would descend on him stroking it； praising its beauty； wanting to braid it。 The first time this happened； Trevor had endured the reaching； grasping fingers for about ten seconds； then flailed out from under them with an enraged snarl that sent the ladies scattering and left Zach sprawled on the ground； helpless with laughter。
His right hand ached all the time； but it was a healing ache； the feel of bones knitting back together and muscles remembering how to move。 He drew every day for as long as he could stand it。 Then Zach massaged the stiffness from his hand； gently tugging the knots out of his fingers； rubbing the cramps out of his palm。 The muscle at the base of his thumb sometimes throbbed until Trevor wanted to drive his fist through the wall again。 But he was through hitting things forever。
He sent a postcard to Steve Bissette asking him to donate payment for 〃Incident in Birdland〃 to the production of Taboo or other ics。
They talked intimately and obsessively； fucked as often as their bodies could stand it； sometimes bined the two。 It was difficult to remember how short a time they had known each other。 But at the same time； they were starting to realize how much they had yet to learn。 They began to unlock each other like puzzles of astonishing intricacy； to open each other like marvelous gifts discovered under the Chris
