dk.intensity-第39章

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　Because　Tilsiter　appears　to　be　confused；　Vess　places　his　hand　on　the　back　of　the　dog's　head　and　presses　his　muzzle　into　one　of　the　tracks。
　The　Doberman　catches　a　scent　at　last；　sniffs　eagerly；　whimpers　with　excitement　then　decides　that　he　doesn't　like　what　he　smells。　He　squirms　out　from　under　his　master's　hand　and　backs　off；　looking　sheepish。
　〃What？〃　says　Vess。
　The　dog　licks　his　chops。　He　looks　away　from　Vess；　surveys　the　meadows；　the　lane；　the　yard。　He　glances　at　Vess　again；　but　then　he　trots　off　to　the　south；　returning　to　patrol。
　The　trees　still　dripping。　The　mists　rising。　The　spent　clouds　scudding　fast　toward　the　southeast。
　Mr。　Vess　decides　to　kill　Chyna　Shepherd　immediately。　He　will　haul　her　into　the　yard；　make　her　lie　facedown　on　the　grass；　and　put　a　couple　of　bullets　in　the　back　of　her　skull。　He　has　to　go　to　work　this　evening；　and　before　that　he　has　to　get　some　sleep；　so　he　won't　have　time　to　enjoy　a　slow　kill。
　Later；　when　he　gets　home；　he　can　bury　her　in　the　meadow　with　the　four　dogs　watching；　insects　singing　and　feeding　on　one　another　in　the　tall　grass；　and　Ariel　forced　to　kiss　each　of　the　corpses　before　it　goes　forever　into　the　ground…all　this　in　moonlight　if　there　is　any。
　Quickly　now；　finish　her　and　sleep。　As　he　hurries　toward　the　house；　he　realizes　that　the　screwdriver　is　still　in　his　hand；　which　might　be　more　interesting　than　using　the　pistol；　yet　just　as　quick。
　Up　the　flagstone　steps；　onto　the　front　porch；　where　the　finger　of　the　Seattle　attorney　hangs　silent　among　the　seashells　in　the　cool　windless　air。
　He　doesn't　bother　to　wipe　his　feet；　a　rare　breach　of　pulsive　procedure。
　The　ratcheting　hinge　is　matched　by　the　sound　of　his　own　ragged　breathing　as　he　opens　the　door　and　steps　into　the　house。　When　he　closes　the　door；　he　is　startled　to　hear　his　thudding　heartbeats　chasing　one　another。
　He　is　never　afraid；　never。　With　this　woman；　however；　he　has　been　unsettled　more　than　once。
　A　few　steps　into　the　room；　he　halts；　getting　a　grip　on　himself　Now　that　he　is　inside　again；　he　doesn't　understand　why　killing　her　seemed　to　be　such　an　urgent　priority。
　Intuition。　But　never　has　his　intuition　delivered　such　a　clamorous　message　that　has　left　him　this　conflicted。　The　woman　is　special；　and　he　so　badly　wants　to　use　her　in　special　ways。　Merely　pumping　two　shots　into　the　back　of　her　head　or　sticking　the　screwdriver　into　her　a　few　times　would　be　such　a　waste　of　her　potential。
　He　is　never　afraid。　Never。　Even　being　unsettled　like　this　is　a　challenge　to　his　dearest　image　of　himself。　The　poet　Sylvia　Plath；　whose　work　leaves　Mr。　Vess　uncharacteristically　ambivalent；　once　said　that　the　world　was　ruled　by　panic；　〃panic　with　a　dog…face；　devil…face；　hag…face；　whore…face；　panic　in　capital　letters　with　no　face　at　all…the　same　Johnny　Panic；　awake　or　asleep。〃　But　Johnny　Panic　does　not　rule　Edgler　Vess　and　never　will；　because　Mr。　Vess　has　no　illusions　about　the　nature　of　existence；　no　doubts　about　his　purpose；　and　no　moments　of　his　life　that　ever　require　reinterpretation　when　he　has　the　time　for　quiet　reflection。
　Sensation。
　Intensity。　He　cannot　live　with　intensity　if　he　is　afraid；　because　Johnny　Panic　inhibits　spontaneity　and　experimentation。　Therefore；　he　will　not　allow　this　woman　of　mysteries　to　spook　him。
　As　both　his　breathing　and　his　heartbeat　subside　to　normal　rates；　he　turns　the　rubberized　handle　of　the　screwdriver　around　and　around　in　his　hand；　staring　at　the　short　blunt　blade　at　the　end　of　the　long　steel　shank。
　The　moment　Vess　entered　the　kitchen；　before　he　spoke；　Chyna　sensed　he　had　changed　from　the　man　that　she　had　known　thus　far。　He　was　in　a　different　mood　from　any　that　had　previously　possessed　him；　although　the　precise　difference　was　so　subtle　that　she　was　not　able　to　define　it。
　He　approached　the　table　as　if　to　sit　down；　then　stopped　short　of　his　chair。　Frowning　and　silent；　he　stared　at　her。
　In　his　right　hand　was　a　screwdriver。　Ceaselessly　he　rolled　the　handle　through　his　fingers；　as　if　tightening　an　imaginary　screw。
　On　the　floor　behind　him　were　crumbling　chunks　of　mud。　He　had　e　inside　with　dirty　shoes。
　She　knew　that　she　must　not　speak　first。　They　were　at　a　strange　juncture　where　words　might　not　mean　what　they　had　meant　before；　where　the　most　innocent　statement　might　be　an　incitement　to　violence。
　A　short　while　ago；　she　had　half　preferred　to　be　killed　quickly；　and　she　had　tried　to　trigger　one　of　his　homicidal　impulses。　She　had　also　considered　ways　that；　although　shackled；　she　might　be　able　to　mit　suicide。　Now　she　held　her　tongue　to　avoid　inadvertently　enraging　him。
　Evidently；　even　in　her　desolation；　she　continued　to　harbor　a　small　but　stubborn　hope　that　was　camouflaged　in　the　grayness　where　she　could　not　see　it。　A　stupid　denial。　A　pathetic　longing　for　one　more　chance。　Hope；　which　had　always　seemed　ennobling　to　her；　now　seemed　as　dehumanizing　as　feverish　greed；　as　squalid　as　lust；　just　an　animal　hunger　for　more　life　at　any　cost。
　She　was　in　a　deep；　bleak　place。
　Finally　Vess　said；　〃Last　night。〃
　She　waited。
　〃In　the　redwoods。〃
　〃Yes？〃
　〃Did　you　see　anything？〃　he　asked。
　〃See　what？〃
　〃Anything　odd？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃You　must　have。〃
　She　shook　her　head。
　〃The　elk；〃　he　said。
　〃Oh。　Yes；　the　elk。〃
　〃A　herd　of　them。〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃You　didn't　think　they　were　peculiar？〃
　〃Coastal　elk。　They　thrive　in　that　area。〃
　〃These　seemed　almost　tame。〃
　〃Maybe　because　tourists　drive　through　there　all　the　time。〃
　Slowly　turning　and　turning　the　screwdriver；　he　considered　her　explanation。　〃Maybe。〃
　Chyna　saw　that　the　fingers　of　his　right　hand　were　covered　with　a　film　of　dry　mud。
　He　said；　〃I　can　smell　the　musk　of　them　now；　the　texture　of　their　eyes；　hear　the　greenness　of　the　ferns　swaying　around　them；　and　it's　a　cold　dark　oil　in　my　blood。〃
　No　reply　was　possible；　and　she　didn't　try　to　make　one。　Vess　lowered　his　gaze　from　Chyna's　eyes　to　the　turning　point　of　the　screwdriver…and　then　to　his　shoes。　He　looked　over　his　shoulder　and　saw　the　mud　on　the　floor。　〃This　won't　do；〃　he　said。
　He　put　the　screwdriver　on　a　nearby　counter。
　He　took　off　his　shoes　and　carried　them　into　the　laundry　room；　where　he　left　them　to　be　cleaned　later。
　He　returned　in　his　bare　feet　and；　using　paper　towels　and　a　bottle　of　Windex；　cleaned　every　crumb　of　mud　from　the　tiles。　In　the　living　room；　he　used　a　vacuum　cleaner　to　sweep　the　mud　out　of　the　carpet。　J　These　domestic　chores　occupied　him　for　almost　fifteen　minutes；　and　by　the　time　he　finished；　he　was　no　longer　in　the　mood　that　had　possessed　him　when　he'd　entered　the　kitchen。　Housework　seemed　to　scrub　away　his　blues。　
　〃I'm　going　to　go　upstairs　and　sleep　now；〃　he　said。　〃You'll　be　quiet　and　not　rattle　your　chains　much。〃
　She　said　nothing。
　〃You'll　be　quiet；　or　I'll　e　down　and　shove　five　feet　of　the　chain　up　your　ass。〃
　She　nodded。
　〃Good　girl。〃
　He　left　the　room。　The　difference　between　Vess's　usual　demeanor　and　his　recent　mood　no　longer　eluded　Chyna。　For　a　few　minutes；　he　had　lacked　his　usual　self…confidence。　Now　he　had　it　back。
　Mr。　Vess　always　sleeps　in　the　nude　to　facilitate　his　dreams。
　In　slumberland；　all　the　people　whom　he　encounters　are　naked；　whether　they　are　being　torn　asunder　beneath　him　in　glorious　wetness　or　are　running　in　a　pack　with　him　through　high　shadowed　places　and　down　into　moonlight。　There　is　a　heat　in　his　dreams　that　not　only　makes　clothes　superfluous　but　burns　from　him　the　very　concept　of　clothes；　so　going　naked　is　more　natural　in　the　dreamworld　than　in　the　real　one。
　He　never　suffers　from　nightmares。　This　is　because；　in　his　daily　life；　he　confronts　the　sources　of　his　tensions　and　deals　with　them。　He　is　never　dragged　down　by　guilt。　He　is　not　judgmental　of　others　and　is　never　affected　by　what　they　think　of　him。　He　knows　that　if　something　he　wishes　to　do　feels　right；　then　it　is　right。　He　always　looks　out　for　number　one；　because　to　be　a　successful　human　being；　he　must　first　like　himself。　Consequently；　he　always　goes　to　his　bed　with　a　clear　mind　and　an　untroubled　heart。
　Now；　within　seconds　of　resting　his　head　on　his　pillow；　Mr。　Vess　is　asleep。　From　time　to　time　his　legs　cycle　beneath　the　covers；　as　if　he　is　chasing　something。
　Once；　in　his　sleep；　he　says；　〃Father；〃　almost　reverentially；　and　the　word　hangs　like　a　bubble　on　the　air…which　is　odd；　because　when　Edgler　Vess　was　nine　years　old；　he　burned　his　father　to　death。
　Chains　rattling；　Chyna　leaned　down　and　picked　up　the　spare　cushion　from　the　floor　beside　her　chair。　She　put　it　on　the　table；　slumped　forward；　and　rested　her　head　on　it。
　According　to　the　kitchen　clock；　it　was　a　quarter　till　twelve。　She　had　been　awake　well　over　twenty…four　hours；　except　when　she　had　dozed　in　the　motor　home　and　when　she　had　sat　here　unconscious　after　Vess　clubbed　her。
　Although　exhausted；　and　numb　with　despair；　she　did　not　expect　to　be　able　to　sleep。　But　she　hoped　that　by　keeping　her　eyes　closed　and　letting　her　thoughts　drift　to　more　pleasant　times；　she　might　be　able　to　take　her　mind　off　her　mild　but　gradually　increasing　urge　to　pee　and　off　the　pain　in　her　neck　and　trigger　finger。
　She　was　walking　in　a　wind　full　of　torn　red　blossoms；　curiously　unafraid　of　the　darkness　and　of　the　lightning　that　sometimes　split　it；　when　she　was　awakened　not　by　thunder　but　by　the　sound　of　scissors　clipping　through　paper。
　She　lifted　her　head　from　the　pillow　and　sat　up　straight。　The　fluorescent　light　stung　her　eyes。
　Edgler　Vess　was　standing　at　the　sink；　cutting　open　a　large　bag　of　potato　chips。
　He　said；　〃Ah；　you're　awake；　you　sleepyhead。〃
　Chyna　looked　at　the　clock。　Twenty　minutes　till　five。
　He　said；　〃I　thought　it　might　take　a　brass　band　to　bring　you　around。〃
　She　had　been　asleep　almost　five　hours。　Her　eyes　were　grainy。　Her　mouth　was　sour。　She　could　smell　her　body　odor；　and　she　felt　greasy。
　She　had　not　wet　herself　in　her　sleep；　and　she　was　briefly　lifted　by　an　absurd　sense　of　triumph　that　she　had　not　yet　been　reduced　to　that　lower　level　of　humiliation。　Then　she　realized　how　pathetic　she　was；　priding　herself　on　her　continence；　and　her　internal　grayness　darkened　by　a　degree　or　two。
　Vess　was　wearing　black　boots；　khaki　slacks；　a　black　belt；　and　a　white　T…shirt。
　His　arms　were　muscular；　enormous。　She　would　never　be　able　to　struggle　successfully　against　those　arms。
　He　brought　a　plate　to　the　table。　He　had　made　a　sandwich　for　her。　〃Ham　and　cheese　with　mustard。〃　A　ruffle　of　lettuce　showed　at　the　edges　of　the　bread。　He　had　placed　two　dill　pickle　spears　beside　the　sandwich。
　As　Vess　put　the　bag　of　potato　chips　on　the　table；　Chyna　said；　〃I　don't　want　it。〃
　〃You　have　to　eat；〃　he　said。
　She　looked　out　the　window　at　the　deep　yard　in　late…aftemoon　light。
　〃If　you　don't　eat；〃　he　said；　〃I'll　eventually　have　to　force…feed　you。〃　
　He　picked　up　the　bottle　of　aspirin　and　shook　it　to　get　her　attention。　〃Tasty？〃
　〃I　didn't　take　any；〃　she　said。　〃Ah；　then　you're　learning　to　enjoy　your　pain。〃
　He　seemed　to　win　either　way。　He　took　away　the　aspirin　and　returned　with　a　glass　of　water。　Smiling；　he　said；　〃You've　got　to　keep　those　kidneys　functioning　or　they'll　atrophy。〃
　As　Vess　cleaned　the　counter　where　he'd　made　the　sandwich；　Chyna　said；　〃Were　you　abused　as　a　child？〃　and　hated　herself　for　asking　the　question；　for　still　trying　to　understand。
　Vess　laughed　and　shook　his　head。　〃This　isn'