Chapter 44 Chapter 43

A dead body lies motionless in the middle of Mayne Avenue in Maytown, Oklahoma. Nick wasn't surprised.Since leaving New York, he had seen countless dead bodies.He suspects more than 1,000 dead people along the way, and there may be others he hasn't seen.There is a strong smell of dead bodies in the air, which can make you faint on the spot.One more dead person, more or less, makes little difference. But when the corpse suddenly sat up, his heart suddenly "boomed", and the extreme panic made him unable to control the bicycle again.There was a slight jolt, then a violent jerk, and finally he fell to the ground with a crash, throwing Nick hard on the sidewalk on 3rd Street in Oklahoma.His hands were bruised and his forehead was chipped.

"Great chap, oh sir, you've stumbled," said the corpse, staggering towards Nick with what might be called a friendly step. "You're not racing? Oh my god!" Nick didn't hear the words.He stared at the spot on the pavement between his hands, where blood dripped from a cut on his forehead, not knowing how badly he was hurt.When the hands fell on his shoulders, he suddenly remembered the dead body, and struggling to get up on the palms and heels of his shoes, his eyes looked up from the spot, full of fear. "Don't be so afraid," said the corpse.It was then that Nick saw that he was not a corpse at all, but a young lad, looking at himself happily, clutching a bottle of whiskey in one hand.Now Nick understood.It's not a dead body, it's an alcoholic passed out in the middle of the road.

Nick nodded at him, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger.At this moment, a drop of warm liquid slowly trickled into Ray Booth's tortured eye, causing a sting.He lifted the blindfold and wiped it with his forearm.Today, he regained some vision, but when he closed his good eye, the world became a mottled chaos again.He put his blindfold back on, walked slowly to the side of the road, and sat down next to a Plymouth car with Kansas City license plates. He could see the cut on his forehead reflected in the bumper of the car, horrific but not deep.He should find a hospital, sterilize the wound, and put a Bundy on it.He thought that the remaining penicillin in his tissues would protect against any infection.At the thought of the gunshot wound on his thigh, he was immediately frightened again.He picked out some gravel in his palm and grinned in pain.

The man with the whiskey bottle in his hand watched all this impassively.If Nick looked up, he would immediately feel dizzy and very uncomfortable.When he turned his head to look carefully at the wound reflected from the bumper of the car, the man's neat, unwrinkled face was lifeless and expressionless.He wore faded "Billy" pants and a pair of heavy work boots.He was 5 feet 9 inches tall, with blond hair, bright eyes, pure blue, and cornrow-like eyelashes.There is no doubt that he must have Swedish or Norwegian ancestry.Look no older than 23. He stood there with his expressionless face like an unplugged robot.After that, gradually, blood began to turn, and the eyes that were soaked in whiskey began to shine brightly.he smiles.He already remembered what happened before his eyes.

"Hey, sir, you stumbled. Didn't you stumble just now? My God!" He was surprised at the profuse blood pouring from Nick's forehead. Nick retrieved a note and a pen from his shirt pocket; they didn't fall when they fell.He wrote: "You just freaked me out. I thought you were dead until you sat up. I'm fine. Is there a pharmacy in this town?" He showed the paper to the man in the overalls.He took it, looked at it, handed it back with a smile, and said, "I'm Tom Curran. I can't read. I only went to the third grade, and I was 16 years old. Dad dropped me out of school." , Said I was too old."

What about it, Nick thought.I can't speak and he can't read.For a while, he didn't know what to do. "Dear sir, you've stumbled," Tom Curran shouted at Nick.This is the first conversation between them. "My God, did you stumble just now?" Nick nodded and put away the paper and pen.He put a hand over his mouth and shook his head.He put both hands upright in the shape of a trumpet, put them behind his ears, and shook his head.He put his left hand to his throat again and shook his head. Coren grinned, puzzled. "Toothache? I had it once. Oops, it hurts. Doesn't it? Oh my God!"

Nick shook his head, then resumed his gesture.This time Colum guessed he had an earache.Nick held out his hand, toward his bike.The paint has chipped off a lot, but it doesn't look like a major problem.He got on his bike and took a few steps towards the street.Very good, the car is fine.Coron staggered along, smiling happily.He never took his eyes off Nick.For nearly a week, he hadn't seen a single person. "You don't want to talk?" he asked.Nick didn't look back, as if he didn't hear what he said.Tom grabbed his sleeve and repeated his question. The man on the bike put his hand to his mouth and shook his head again.Tom frowned.Now the man had set up his bicycle and was staring at the storefront.He seemed to see what he was looking for, for he crossed the sidewalk to Mr. Norton's pharmacy.If he wants to go in, probably not.Mr. Norton had long since left town because the pharmacy was closed.It seemed like everyone locked their doors and left town.Except Mum and her friend Mrs. Blakely.They are all dead.

Now, the man who didn't speak is trying to knock on the door.Tom would have liked to tell him that the "Open" sign on the door was of no use at all.The signage is deceiving.Tom really wants an ice cream soda.It's much better than whiskey.The whiskey was pleasant at first, then made him drowsy, and finally gave him a splitting headache.He had slept for a long time, had a headache, and had wild dreams, always of a man dressed in black and dressed like Walter Defombeck.The man in black chased him in the dream, he was a demon.He drank and drank like hell, mainly because his father had never let him drink in the past.Mom didn't let him drink either.But now, everyone is gone, who cares about him?He can drink as much as he wants.

But what is that silent guy doing?Picking up the dumpster on the sidewalk, he was about to... what?Shatter the glass at Mr. Norton's Drugstore?Bang, boom!God, damn it, he did it!Now, he's going to jump through the window and open the door... "Hey, sir, you can't do that!" cried Tom, his voice shaking with anger and excitement. "That's against the law! It's against the law to rob a house. Did you know that?  … But that person had already gone in, and he didn't look back at all. "What's the matter with you, you? Deaf?" cried Tom angrily. "My God, you're going to-"

His voice gradually lowered, and the excited expression on his face disappeared.He became an unplugged robot again.Every May, people often see the look of a weak Tom.There was a perpetually happy expression on that slightly round, Scandinavian face.He would look from shop window to shop window, and suddenly he would stop like a corpse with a bewildered expression on his face.At this time, someone will shout: "Tom is here!" Immediately there is a burst of laughter.If Dad was around, he'd scowl, punch him with his arms, and even pound his shoulders with his fists until he came to himself.But since the first half of 1988, his father spent less and less time by his side.Because he was always accompanied by a red-cheeked waitress who worked at Booms Gurley's bar.Her name is Dee Dee Pacaloday (there are some jokes about it).She eloped with Tom's father about a year ago.They were seen only once in a cheap motel in Slabut, not far from here.This is the last time people see them.

Most people took Tom's sudden loss of memory as a sign of further development of mental retardation.But in fact, this is a display of near-normal thinking.The human thinking process is based on inference and induction. (Psychologists tell us so).Mentally retarded people are incapable of the two thought acts of inference and induction.Tom Curran is not very dull, he can make some simple associations.During the period of brain amnesia, he was able to carry out more complex inferential thinking or inductive thinking from time to time.His feeling of carrying out the above-mentioned thinking activities is the same as that of a normal person who sometimes feels that a name is on his lips but can't remember it.When this feeling came, Tom would feel that the whole world was but a burst of sensory stimulation.He would leave the world behind.He seemed to be in a strange dark room, holding the plug of the electric light cord with one hand, while stumbling on the floor, he fumbled for the power socket with the other hand.If he found it--which was rare--there would be a sudden light in the room, and he could see the room (or the idea) clearly.Tom was a sensitive man, and his favorite things included drinking ice-cream soda that Mr. Norton made from spring water, standing in a corner and waiting to see a pretty girl in a short dress cross the road, or smelling the scent of lilacs and holding hands with him. Touch the silk and more.But what he loves the most is that hazy, impalpable feeling, that once the thought is suddenly connected, the thought is suddenly unimpeded (at least momentarily), and the dark room is full of light.This situation is not common.Often fleeting.But not this time. "What the hell are you doing? Deaf?" he remembered him saying. The man didn't seem to hear him except for looking back at him a few times.Ignore him, not even hum.Sometimes people dismissed Tom's questions because the look on his face showed that his mind was blank and lost.But when this happens, the reticent person always seems to blush with anger or pity or embarrassment.This one didn't, however—he made a circle with his thumb and middle finger, which Tom knew meant good, great.But he still didn't speak. He put his hands over his ears and shook his head. He put his hands to his mouth again and shook his head again. He folded his hands around his neck and shook his head again. The dark room suddenly lit up, and his thoughts suddenly became clear. "My God," said Tom, and the life came back to his face.His bloodshot eyes gleamed.He stormed Mr. Norton's pharmacy, forgetting that it was against the law to do so.The guy who didn't talk was spraying something that smelled like scarc tincture on a cotton ball and rubbing it on his forehead. "Hello, sir," said Tom, rushing in.The silent guy didn't look back.Tom froze for a moment, then remembered what he was going to do.He patted Nick on the shoulder lightly with his hand.Nick turned his head. "You're deaf and dumb, aren't you? You can't speak and you can't hear, can you?" Nick nodded.Tom's reaction almost took him by surprise.Tom jumped up and slapped his palms hard. "I figured it out, it's great, I figured it out myself. Tom Curran, you're great!" Nick had to purse his lips in delight.He couldn't think of a time when his disability had made others so happy. In the square in front of the courthouse stands a Marine in World War II-era weaponry.A plaque in the lower corner of the sculpture states that the sculpture commemorates a group of boys from Harper County.They made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. In the shadow of the memorial statue sat Nick Andros and Tom Curran, eating chilli ham and chilli chicken wrapped in potato chips.Nick has a Bundy Band-Aid taped to his forehead above his left eye to make a cross.He was staring at Tom's mouth (Tom was stuffing food into his mouth while he was talking. Hence the grotesque appearance of his lips), and a flash in his head was that he hated canned food.What he really loves is a large steak with all the toppings. Tom had been talking on and on since they sat down.His words are always the same over and over again, and there are many "My God", "Isn't that right" and other mantras mixed in from time to time.Nick didn't mind.Before he met Tom, he was looking forward to seeing other people.He has always had a worry in his heart that he may be the only survivor in the world.It even came to mind that disease might kill everyone but the deaf.Now, laughing to himself, he wondered if he could deduce how likely it was that disease would kill all but the deaf and dumb and mentally handicapped.It was ridiculous to think so at two o'clock in the middle of summer.But at nightfall, when the idea came back to mind, it seemed less fun. He wondered where Tom thought everyone would go.He heard from Tom that his father had eloped with a waitress 12 years his junior.He also heard that Tom worked as a handyman on Mr. Robert's farm and that two years ago, Mr. Robert thought Tom was doing such a good job that he could safely let him work with an axe.Also heard that a group of "big boys" kicked Tom at night, and Tom "fought them with all his strength until they were dying and injured. One of them was taken to the hospital with his ass blown out" That's what Tom Curran did." He also heard how Tom found his mother in Mrs. Blakely's house, found them both dead in the sitting room, and Tom stole away. "Jesus wouldn't have come and taken the dead to heaven if people were watching," Tom said. (Nick argues, on the contrary, that Tom's Jesus is actually a sort of Santa Claus. He brings the dead down chimneys, not down with presents.) But he doesn't mention the lack of people in May, or The streets leading into the town were also empty, with nothing coming and going. He put his hand lightly on Tom's chest, stopping him from eloquently. "What?" asked Tom. Nick drew his arm in a wide circle toward the downtown buildings, made a funny look of bewilderment on his face, frowned, hooked his head, and scratched the back of his head with his hands.Then he made a walking motion across the grass with his fingers, and at last he raised his head and looked at Tom questioningly. What he saw was terrifying.Tom sat with a stiff expression on his face, like a zombie.His eyes, which had blinked a moment ago when he was eloquent and unrestrained, were now as dull as blue moiré marble.With his mouth half open, Nick could see slivers of potato chips mixed with saliva on his tongue.His hands hung limply at his waist. Nick reached out to pat him concerned.Just before he shot, Tom's body twitched violently.His eyelids fluttered, and a stream of spiritual energy filled his eyes like a stream of clear water.He began to grin, and if the light that said "I figured it out" flickered in his head, nothing in the outside world could make him moan. "You want to know where people go?" asked Tom. Nick nodded emphatically. "I think they might have gone to Kansas City," Tom replied. "My God, yes, everyone says this town is too small and dull. Even the roller skating rink is closed. Now there's only That left the drive-thru. Mom always said, people go and no one comes back, just like Dad. He ran away with a waitress from Booms Gray's bar, and her name was Mo-en , named Dee Dee Pacaloday. I think everyone got tired of being here and then they all left at the same time, must have gone to Kansas City. My God, did they just go? There is Where they had to go, except for Mrs. Blakely and my mother. Jesus took them to heaven so that they would never be harmed." Tom resumed his solitary monologue. "Going to Kansas City," Nick thought, "probably so, as far as I know. God has done for every human being left on this poor, wretched planet, either by leaving them permanently unharmed, or by resettle them in Kansas City. He leaned back, eyelids fluttering.In this way, Tom's words gradually became a modern poem, without capital letters separating sentences, like Kat Cummings' modern poems. mom said do not go And I said to them, I said You had better stay out of this The night before had been a nightmare, when he had taken refuge in a stable.Now, his stomach is full, what he wants to do most now is... My goodness, that's how mo-en is spelled I do want to... Nick fell asleep. When he woke up, he was in a daze, just like the feeling you get after a sweet afternoon nap.The first thing he wondered was why he was sweating so much.After sitting up, he understood.It's 3:45 p.m. and he's been asleep for two and a half hours.The sunlight has moved out from behind the war memorial.However, these reasons are not the only ones.Tom Curran, out of concern for him, covered him with a thick covering to keep him from catching a cold.It's two blankets and a quilt. He pushed them aside, stood up, and stretched.Tom wasn't around.Nick walked slowly towards the main gate of the square, thinking what he was going to do to Tom, or what he would make Tom do. The unresponsive guy was coming out of the supermarket on the side of the town square after a full meal.He feels no guilt about going out there and messing around, just picking what he likes based on the pictures on the can labels.Because according to him, the door of the supermarket has been pried open. Nick wondered idly what Tom might do if there was no food.He thought that when Tom was hungry enough, he would have no scruples, or put them aside for a while.But what would he be like without these foods? This was not really what troubled Tom most.What troubled him most was Tom's lovable attachment to him.He may have some dementia, but not so demented that he doesn't feel alone.Both his mother and the woman who was his de facto caretaker were dead.His father eloped with a woman a long time ago.His boss, Mr. Robert, and everyone else in May had sneaked off to Kansas City overnight, leaving him wandering the streets like a deranged ghost.So he became addicted to something that left him with nothing to do, like whiskey.If he gets drunk again, his body will definitely not be able to bear it.And if he is not in good health and no one takes care of him, it may mean that his life will end. But to be with a deaf and dumb person with a mentally retarded person?In what way can they communicate with each other?A person cannot speak with his mouth, and a person cannot think with his brain.this is not fair.Tom should at least be able to think something, but he can't read.How long, Nick wondered, would he be patient with this guessing conversation with Tom?Of course Tom didn't get tired of it.God, he never will. He stopped on the sidewalk, just at the gate of the park.He put his hands in his pockets.Well, he decides "I can stay here with him tonight. One night doesn't matter. At least I'll cook him a pretty good dinner." Thinking of this, his spirit lifted, and he began to look for Tom. Nick slept in the park that night.He doesn't know where Tom sleeps.When he woke up the next morning, although there was a little dew on his body, he felt extraordinarily refreshed.He crossed the town square, and the first thing he saw was Tom.Tom was curled up on top of the toy truck and a large plastic model station. Tom must have figured out that if it was okay for Nick to break into Norton's, it would be all right for him to break into another.He was sitting on the curb in front of the $5/10 store with his back to Nick.About 40 toy cars are lined up along the sidewalk.Next to the model is the screwdriver Tom used to pry open the display case in the toy store. The pile of models included a Jaguar, a Mercedes, a Rolls-Royce, a scaled-down Bentley with an extended turquoise shell, a Lambo, a Court, and a 4-inch custom-built Pontiah Ke Ben Aville, a frigate, a Meserati and a 1933 model Moen.Meticulously, Tom hunched over, pushing the cars in and out of the toy garage, filling them up with the toy pump.A crane in the repair station is also working.Now and then Nick saw Tom hoist a car and pretend to do some repairs under it.If he had hearing, he might have heard, in the silence around him, the sounds Tom Curran imagined at work—like the "bouncing" of his lips as he drove down the tarmac. The sound of "jumping...": the sound of "ta-ta-ta-ding" when the fuel pump is working; the sound of "hissing..." when the crane starts up and down.In fact, he might even have overheard some of the gas station attendant's conversations with the little man in the car: "Is it full, sir?" "Standard gasoline, can you guarantee it?" "Let me take off the cowling. I think there's something wrong with your carburetor. I'll take it out and look at the oil float." "Are you sure?" "Where's the toilet?" "It's near the fence." After saying these words, he took the toy car around in all directions, imagining that this small place was the whole world. I can't leave him alone, Nick thought.I can't do that.He felt a sudden pang of sadness, a sudden surge of sadness in his heart.The feeling was so strong that he thought he might burst into tears in just a few moments. "They've all gone to Kansas City," he thought. "That's the way it is. They've all gone to Kansas City." Nick crossed the street and patted Tom on the arm.Tom jumped to his feet.He turned his head and smiled exaggeratedly and apologetically with his big mouth.His face was red up to the base of his neck. "I know it's a kid's game, not an adult's game. I know, Dad told me." Nick shrugged, smiled and held out his hand.Tom's expression became more natural, "They're mine now. If I want them, they're mine. You can go into the drugstore and get something, and I can get something in the $5 and $10 toy store. My God, am I doing something wrong? You're not going to let me put them back, are you?" Nick shook his head. "It's mine!" exclaimed Tom happily, and turned back to the garage.Nick patted him lightly again, and Tom turned around and asked, "What's the matter?" Nick tugged at his sleeve, and Tom obediently stood up.Nick led him down the street to where he had parked his bicycle.He pointed at himself, then at the bicycle.Tom nodded. "Of course, that bike is yours. The toy garage is mine. I don't want your bike, but you don't want my garage either. Okay?" Nick shook his head.He pointed to himself, then to the bicycle.Then he walked to the street, waved his hand, and made a gesture of goodbye. Tom fell silent.Nick waited.Tom stammered, "Are you going, sir?" Nick nodded. "I won't let you go!" cried Tom suddenly.His eyes widened and tears welled up in the corners, "I like you. I won't let you go to Kansas City!" Nick drew Tom close to him, put his arm around his waist, and pointed to himself, then to Tom, then to the bicycle.Meaning we're going out of town together. "I can't guess it," said Tom. Nick patiently did it again.This time he added a gesture of waving goodbye.In desperation, he raised Tom's hand and waved it as a gesture of goodbye. "Would you like me to come with you?" Tom asked, with an incredibly happy smile on his face. Nick nodded in relief. "Of course!" exclaimed Tom. "Collen wants to go! Tom Collen..." He stopped suddenly, the joy disappearing from his face, and looked at Nick cautiously. "Can I take my garage?" Nick thought for a moment, then nodded. "Great!" Tom grinned again, as bright as sunlight peeking through dark clouds. "Tom Curran is leaving!" Nick led him to the bike.He pointed to Tom, then to the bicycle. "I've never ridden a bike like this before," said Tom incredulously, eyeing the shifter and the tall, thin seat. "I guess I'd better not ride it. Tom Curran would fall off such a beautiful ride!" But Nick took encouragement from his words. "I've never ridden anything like that" means he's ridden some kind of bike.The only problem is to find a simple car.Tom may not ride fast, that is inevitable, but not too much slower after all.Anyway, what was he in a hurry for?Dreams are just dreams after all.He did, however, feel an anxiety deep within him, a strong, indescribable anxiety.This anxiety turned into a subconscious order. He led Tom back to where the toy gas station was.He pointed to them and smiled at Tom and nodded.Tom crouched eagerly, then, just as his hands were reaching for the pile of toy cars, he stopped in the air.He raised his head and looked at Nick, with a look of obvious confusion and suspicion on his face: "You won't leave Tom Curran alone, will you?" Nick shook his head affirmatively. "Excellent," said Tom, turning to look confidently at his pile of toys.Nick got annoyed, then got himself under control.Tom looked up and smiled shyly at him.Nick smiled at him too.No, he won't leave him alone.That's for sure. By noon he hadn't found the bike he thought would fit Tom.He had no illusions that he could find the car in the nearest place.But to his surprise, the vast majority of people locked their houses, garages and other structures.Most of the time, he had to peer into the shadowy house through the dirty, cobweb-strewn windows, hoping to spot the car he was looking for inside.It took him about three hours to walk from one street to another, walking heavily, sweating, and the sun shining on his back was burning.He went back to re-examine a "western auto shop" and came back disappointed: the two bikes in the window were unisex three-speeds, and everything else was kit. Finally, he found the car he was looking for in a small detached garage on the southernmost tip of town.The garage door was locked, but there was a window through which a man could slip.Nick broke the glass with a stone and carefully picked out the remaining shards of glass from the worn putty.A heat wave came head-on from the garage, mixed with a strong smell of dust and engine oil.The car, an old Schwinn men's, was next to a wheelbarrow about ten years old with worn tires and thin panels. "Maybe I'm unlucky again, and this car's a wreck," thought Nick. "There's no chain, and a flat tire, or something." But this time he was very lucky.The car runs perfectly, the tires are well-inflated, even the tire treads are new, and all the bolts and gears are tight.Just no baskets.He has to make one for himself.However, the car is equipped with a transmission chain guard.Among the rakes and snow shovels hanging on the wall, he was overjoyed by something: a nearly new Briggs hand pump. He searched further and found another tube of 3-in-1 motor oil on the shelf.Nick sat down on the cracked concrete floor.Regardless of the heat, he carefully lubricated the chain and gears.After refueling, he recapped the oil tank and carefully put it in his trousers pocket. He strapped the hand pump to the rack above the bike's rear fender, opened the garage door, and rode out.He had never felt the fresh air outside was so sweet.Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he pedaled his bicycle on the road until he reached Main Street.The car is very comfortable to ride.It was really meant for Tom, if Tom could ride it. He parked his bike alongside his own Laleif and walked into the Five Dollar and Dime Store.Among the clutter of sporting goods in the back of the warehouse, a perfectly sized wire bicycle basket was found.As he was turning away with it under his arm, something caught his attention.It was a Cresson trumpet with a chrome bell and red rubber ball.Nick grinned and put it in the basket as he smiled.He went to the hardware section again, where he found a screwdriver and an adjustable pipe wrench.He went back outside.Tom was lying in the shade under the battered bronze statue of a World War II marine in the town square, sprawled and dozing lazily. Nick attached the basket to the handlebar of the Schwinn and strapped the Cresson horn to the side of the basket.He returned to the "five yuan and ten yuan store" and walked out with a large-sized backpack. He came to the food store with his backpack in his hand, and filled the bag with canned meat, fruits and vegetables.When he was standing in front of a can of curry beans, he suddenly saw a figure flickering in the opposite corridor.Had he still had his sense of hearing, he would have known that Tom had found the bike meant for him.The Cresson horn was pressed hard by him, and it made a sound of "oh-ah-oh", as if it was squeezed out of the throat.The car was riding up and down the street, accompanied by Tom Curran's "giggle" hearty laughter from time to time. When Nick came out of the supermarket gate, he saw Tom riding his bicycle very fast on Main Street.His blond hair and the back collar of his shirt were blown up and snapped.He pressed hard on the rubber ball on the horn to make it blast as loud as it could.At the station that marked the end of the business district, he made a circle, turned around again, and rode back.He had an irrepressible, triumphant smile all over his face.That cheap toy garage sits in the front basket of the bike.His trouser pockets and khaki shirt pockets bulged with his model cars.The spokes of the bicycle turned into a bright halo in the bright sun.Nick wished he could hear the horn, just wondering if the sound would give him as much pleasure as it did for Tom. Tom waved to him and continued riding down the street.At the edge of the business district in the distance, he suddenly turned around again, turned around and rode back.He honked his horn vigorously.Nick held out his hand, signaling a policeman to stop.Tom's car rattled, skidded, and stopped in front of him.There were big drops of sweat on his face.He was out of breath and grinning silly. Nick pointed to the town and waved his hand in a farewell gesture. "Can I bring my toy car?" Nick nodded, slipping the straps of his pack around Tom's bull neck. "Are we leaving now?" Nick nodded again.He draws a circle in the air with his thumb and middle finger. "To Kansas City?" Nick shook his head. "Wherever we want?" Nick nodded. "Yeah, anywhere they want to go," he thought, "but anywhere could be like some places in Nebraska." "Oh!" Tom exclaimed excitedly. "Great! Oh, oh!" They rode north on Route 283.Two and a half hours later, large swaths of dark clouds began to build up in the west.Soon, the torrential rain poured down, weaving into a translucent dense rain curtain.They continued driving through the rain curtain.Nick couldn't hear the thunder, but he could see the streaks of lightning streaking between the clouds.雪亮的闪电过后，眼前是一片绛紫色的残影，令人眩晕。当他们到达罗斯通的郊区时，尼克示意向东拐到64号公路上，雨渐渐的停下来，天空一片寂静，变成了令人惊奇的黄色，似乎是不祥之兆。左颊上那股凉风也渐渐消逝了。他不知道这是什么原因，开始感到极度不安，身子也感到奇特的笨拙。没有人告诉过他，人的本能和低等动物是一样的，会对气压的突然和大幅度的降低作出一致的反应。 之后，汤姆拉了拉他的衣袖，非常用力。 尼克转过来看他。他吃惊地发现，汤姆的面无血色，眼睛瞪得滚圆。 “龙卷风！”汤姆尖叫着，“龙卷风就要来了！” 尼克开始寻找漏斗云，却什么也没有发现。他转过头来，心里想着得找一个办法安慰汤姆一下。回头时，发现汤姆已不在身后了。他正骑着自行车向公路右边的田野里一阵狂奔。高高的草地被车子压出一道深深的、蜿蜒的车辙。 “真他妈的一个蠢蛋！”尼克气愤地想，“你会把该死的车轴弄断的！” 汤姆飞速地向1／4英里外的一个带地窖的马厩骑去。尼克心中不安，骑着车也下了高速公路。他把车子举过牲口门，然后沿着土路骑向那个马厩。汤姆的车子扔在了外面的一个土丘上。他甚至没有想着要把自行车的车支子放下来。如果不是看见汤姆用过几次话，尼克肯定会把这件事归为汤姆的健忘。尼克想，他那思维简单的脑袋已经给吓坏了。 内心中的一阵不安，使他不由自主地回过头，向着身后的方向望最后一眼。眼前的场景使他像雕塑一样呆呆地愣在那里。 西部是一片可怖的黑暗。这不是云；它更像是阳光被完全吞噬的感觉。呈漏斗形，一眼望去约有1000英尺高。上部比底部要宽得多，底部并没有完全地与地面相接触。在它的顶部，仿佛有一股神秘的斥力，将云朵从它的里面推了出来。 在尼克望着它的时候，它在大约3／4英里的地方落了下来。一个长方形的波纹金属建筑物——可能是个自动粮仓或是木材储存库——“砰”地一声炸开了。当然，他听不见这一声响。然而，他感觉到了这股震颤。他不禁向后退了两步。那座建筑物似乎是从内部炸开的，仿佛漏斗云吸空了里面所有的空气。紧接着，马口铁的屋顶断成了两截。断裂的屋顶向上翻滚着，旋转着，像一个失去头脑的疯子。尼克被这一幅场景迷住了，他伸长了脖子，等着看下面将要发生的事。 “我要看一看最骇人的景象究竟是什么样子？”尼克想，“尽管它有时看起来像一位巨人，可它根本就不是一个人。它是龙卷风。一个从西方天空中掉下来的巨大的、黑色的、无所不能的风柱。它可以将任何东西都吸上天空，所有挡道的东西都是那么地不幸！它是……” 正在他想的时候，他的两只胳膊被人抓住，整个身子结结实实地被抱起来，然后进了马厩。他转过头来，看见了汤姆·科伦。瞬间，他非常惊讶。当他呆愣愣地痴迷于龙卷风的时候，他已经完完全全地忘记了汤姆·科伦的存在。 “下来！”汤姆喘着粗气，“快点下来！快！哦，我的天啊，是龙卷风，龙卷风！” 尼克潜意识里升起一阵特别的恐惧。直到他从半痴迷半清醒状态清醒过来，他才意识到自己所处的地方和身边的人是谁。当他沿楼梯下到地窖时，他开始感到一种奇怪的、节奏乱七八糟的震颤。这种震颤他从来没有经历过，它来自离他最近的物体，仿佛是他头脑里面那种持续不断的疼痛。之后，当他跟在汤姆后面下楼梯的时候，他看到了他永远也不能忘记的情景：马厩四周用作栅栏的厚木板被一块接一块地连根拔起，彻底地被拔了出来，旋转着升入空中，就像腐坏的牙齿被一种无形的力量一颗一颗拔出的一样。散落在地面上的干草也开始上升，在数十个小型龙卷风漏斗中旋转，上下摇摆，时而骤然降落，时而忽地升起。那种乱七八糟的颤动持续得更久了。 汤姆推开一扇沉重的大门，将他塞了进去。尼克闻到了一股潮湿和腐烂的味道。借着最后一缕光线，他发现他们正和几个被老鼠咬过的死尸共处一室。汤姆砰地一声将大门关上。屋子里顿时一片漆黑。震颤减弱了，但却并没有完全消失。 他心底里一阵恐慌。由于黑暗，他的触觉和味觉都减弱了，这两种感觉中没有一种令他感到舒服。他能感到脚下地板不断震动。那是死亡的气息。 汤姆胡乱地抓着他的手。尼克把这个反应迟钝的家伙拽到了身边。他感觉到汤姆的身体在不断地颤抖。他想汤姆是否在哭或是可能要对他说些什么。这种想法减弱了他自身的恐惧。他用一只胳膊搂住汤姆的两只肩膀。汤姆也用胳膊搂住他。他们在黑暗中浑身绷得笔直，紧紧地偎依在一起。 那股震颤在尼克的脚下变得更强烈了，甚至他面前的空气也在轻微地抖动。汤姆把他抱得更紧了。他耳不能听，眼不能看，只等待着下面可能发生的事。这时他的脑海里翻来覆去的是，雷·布思是否弄瞎了他的一只眼。如果那样的话，那他的整个生活就可能会和现在的感觉完全一样了。真要是这样，他相信，几天前他就应用枪射中自己的脑袋，而且他也会早就这样做了。 后来，他几乎不敢相信自己的手表。手表显示出他们在地窖的黑暗中仅仅才呆了15分钟。尽管理智告诉他表一直在走，时间肯定是对的，可是他一生中从没有体验过时间是如此容易被人想当然地臆断。似乎时间至少过去了1个小时，可能是2个或3个小时。紧张过后，他渐渐相信，他和汤姆在这里并不孤单。哦，里面还有尸体。一些穷人把全家带到这里，可能是出于这样一种过高的推测：既然他们在这里曾经历过其他的自然灾难，他们也就能安然地度过这一次。然而，他指的不是这些尸体与他相伴。对他来说，尸体就是一件物品，与一把椅子，或一台打字机或是一块小地毯等东西没有什么区别。一具尸体只是一件占用了空间的没有生命力的东西。他感觉到的是一件活的东西的存在。他越来越相信，它（或他）是存在的。 那个黑衣人，那个在他的梦中出现的人，那个他从旋风中曾嗅到气息的家伙，正在某一个地方……在拐角或正在他身后——他正在注视着他。等待着。在某一时刻，他就会触摸到他和汤姆。他们两个会同时……什么？恐惧得发疯吗？certainly.他能看见他们。尼克确信他能看见他们。他有一双猫眼，像超自然的外星生物一样，能看清黑夜里的东西。可能就像那部《捕食者》电影里的那个外星生物一样。对，就像那个外星生物一样。那个在黑衣人能看见而常人眼睛看不见的光谱，对他来说，任何事物看起来都是暗淡发红的，就仿佛整个世界在鲜血的染缸里已经被手工浸染了一遍。 最初，尼克能把现实与想象区分开来，但随着时间的推移，他越来越确信，他的想象就是现实。他认为他能感觉到那个黑衣人在脖子后面的呼吸。 他要冲到门口去，打开门逃到楼梯上。那只搂在尼克的肩膀上的胳膊突然无影无踪。紧接着地窖的门“砰”地一声开了，一股刺眼的阳光射了进来，尼克不得不举起手来挡住他的眼睛。他一眼瞥到如幽灵般晃动的汤姆跌跌撞撞地向着楼梯跑去。他跟着跑了出去，在刺眼的光线中摸索着。当他到达顶部的时候，眼睛已经调整过来了。 他想，在他们下到地窖的时候，阳光还没有这么强烈。而后，他一眼就知道为什么会这样了。马厩的房顶已经被掀走了。房顶像是做过外科手术一般被切掉了。手术做得如此干净彻底，没有任何碎片，原先堆满杂物的地板上也几乎看不到任何零碎的东西了。屋梁从柱子的两侧垂了下来，原先围栏上的木板已经被拔得一块也不剩了。站在这里，就如同站在一具刚被挖掘出的史前怪物的骷髅前一样。 汤姆没有停下来检查所受的损失。他正逃离马厩，仿佛魔怪就在他身后。他只回过头望了一次，眼睛瞪得大大的，充满了恐惧，样子真令人好笑。尼克禁不住回过头，看了一眼地窖里面。楼梯一头倾斜，向下滑落到暗影中，破旧的木料裂成碎片，散落在每个撑柱的中间。他看见了地板上散乱的稻草和从阴暗处伸出的两具尸体的手。尸体的手指已经被老鼠啃得露出了骨头。 如果还有其他人在下面的话，尼克也也看不见。 他也不想看见。 他跟着汤姆出去了。 汤姆正站在他的自行车旁，一个劲地颤抖。瞬间，尼克也被飓风任性的举动逗乐了。狂风卷走了所有的马厩，对他们的自行车却不屑一顾。他看见汤姆在抹眼泪。尼克走到他身边，用胳膊搂住他的肩膀。汤姆的眼睛睁得大大的，盯着马厩那被吹塌了的两扇门。尼克用大拇指和中指划了一个圈。汤姆的眼睛立刻被吸引了过来，但汤姆的脸上并没有出现尼克所希望见到的笑容。他又转过头去盯着那扇门，眼神中一片迷茫，呆愣愣地盯着一处一动也不动。尼克不喜欢这种眼神。 “有人在这里。”汤姆出其不意地说道。 尼克微笑着，但很快微笑就僵滞在他的嘴唇间。他不知道自己强作的微笑有什么效果，却自己也觉得很无聊。他指了指汤姆，又指了指自己，之后一甩手，在空中作了一个快速横切的手势。 “不，”汤姆说道，“不只是我们两人，还有另外一个人。有人从旋风中出来。” Nick shrugged. “我们现在就走？好吗？” Nick nodded. 他们骑着自行车压着被飓风连根拔起的草，穿过坑坑洼洼的土地，回到了高速公路上。风在罗斯通的西部停留过，切断了东西走向的283号道路。公路护栏和钢丝缆绳像钢琴的弦线一样被乱七八糟地抛向空中。飓风还绕过马厩的左侧，将前面的矗立着——曾经矗立的房屋，夷为平地。向前再走400码，飓风穿过野地的痕迹意外地减弱了许多。现在，那朵云已经开始上升（尽管它尚未平息，但已经减弱了许多），鸟儿正在若无其事地放声鸣叫。 尼克望着汤姆的衬衫下那健壮的肌肉。汤姆正在举起他的自行车跨过高速公路边缘的护栏板和缆绳。 “那个家伙救了我的命，”他想，“我从没见过龙卷风。如果按照我以前的想法，把这个家伙留在梅镇，我现在肯定已经变成一具尸体。” 他将自己的自行车举过破碎的缆绳，拍了拍汤姆的后背，冲他笑着。 我们一定要找到其他的人，尼克想，我们一定要找到其他的人，这样我就可以向他道谢，并告诉他我的名字。他现在甚至还不知道我的名字，因为他不识字。 他在那站了一会儿，被这一想法逗乐了。然后他们跨上自行车，上了路。 那天晚上，他们在罗斯通青年商会的少年球队棒球场的左场地宿下营。夜空晴朗无云，满天星星。尼克的睡意很快就来了，一夜无梦。第二天清晨醒来时，他又想，有一个人在身边是多好的一件事啊，它与一个人孤零零的大不一样。 这确确实实是内布拉斯加州的波克县。他肯定与某个人交谈过，那个人提起过波克县，或是他出自波克县。而他的意识中却恰恰忘记了它。这里也有30号公路。但他实在不能相信——至少在这样一个明朗的一个早晨——他不能相信，他们事实上要找一位坐在玉米地中间、身边放着一把吉它、嘴里哼着歌的一位黑人老妇女。他不相信预知或是预见。但似乎重要的是，他们要去一个地方寻找人类。他与法兰妮·戈德史密斯和斯图·雷德曼急于聚集在一起的想法一致。在这种想法能够被实现之前，任何事情都是奇异的和互不相连的。四处布满危险。你看不见它们，但你能感觉到。这种想法就和他昨天在地窖里觉得黑衣人存在的那种感觉有些相似。你感觉到危险四伏，无处不在，房中、高速路的下一个拐弯处，甚至可能在遍布公路的卧车和卡车里面。如果危险不在那里的话，它就在日历中，藏在两页或三页纸的下面。存在的任何迹象，都似乎在低声诉说危险的存在。桥断了。40英里长的坏路。它仿佛在说：“我们对那些从这个地方继续向前走的人们不负责任。” 产生这种感觉部分原因可能是因乡村这种空旷和寂寥而使心理受到一种强烈的震惊。只要在纽约，就可能部分地受到保护。这与硕尤是否空无一人毫无关系，至少影响不很大，因为纽约在一系列的事件中是微不足道的。但如果四处游荡，危险就仿佛……。他记起小时候他曾看过的迪斯尼电影里的一个镜头。一支郁金香占据了整个屏幕。漂亮得令人不禁为之窒息。之后，镜头突然以极快的速度拉回，你看到了遍地的郁金香。它使你泄气，感到无聊。它造成一种感觉上的压抑和沉重，仿佛在你的内心世界与外部世界之间有一个断路器在“咝咝”熔断，断开了你的内心与外部世界的交流。这太令人难受了。而这种感觉却正是这一旅行的真实体验。硕尤已经人去城空，他能对此处之泰然；但马克那波、特克萨卡那、斯潘塞维尔也是人走城空；阿德莫尔却化为灰烬，这简直令人无法忍受。他沿着81号公路向北走，只见到了鹿。他曾两次见到可能有人存在的痕迹：一堆可能是两天前燃着的篝火，一只被射杀并被掏空洗净的鹿。但却不见人的踪影。这足以令你心情紧张，因为你正在渐渐地察觉这场灾难和危险是多么的巨大！它不仅仅是硕尤或马克那波城或特克斯卡那城受灾；灾害袭卷了整个国家。美国像一只被抛弃的巨大的空锡铁罐头盒，只有几粒被人遗忘的豌豆在底部滚来滚去。而在美国之外，整个世界也可能都如此。想到这里，尼克心中不禁泛起一阵阵的寒意，他不得不放弃了这种想法。 他弯腰伏在地图上沉思。如果继续骑下去的话，他们的队伍可能像雪球一样越滚越大。幸运的话，他们可能会在这里到内布拉斯加的路途上遇上别人（或者说如果他们遇到大群人的话，他们自己可能会被收容。）到内布拉斯加后，他想他们应再到另一个地方。就像一种没有结果的追寻——他们永远不会找到梦寐以求的东西，所有美好的希望都可能是竹篮打水一场空。 他们可以从东北方向插到堪萨斯城。沿着35号高速公路，他们可能会到81号公路的另一条支线上，而沿着81号公路他们就会到达内布拉斯加州的斯韦德霍尔姆市。那里是81号公路与内布拉斯加的92号公路的十字交叉口。另一条高速公路——30号公路，与这两条路都相连，恰好构成直角三角形的一条斜边。而在那个三角形的某个地方，正是他梦寐以求的地方。 想到这里，他浑身不由得一阵颤栗。 视线的顶端的一丝动静，引得他抬起了头。汤姆坐在那里，两只拳头揉着眼睛。深深的一个哈欠似乎盖住了整张脸的下半部分。尼克冲他笑了笑，他也对着尼克咧嘴一笑。 “我们明天会走得更远吗？”汤姆问道。Nick nodded. “嗯，太好了。我喜欢骑我的自行车。天啊，是的。我真希望我们永远骑下去！” 尼克把地图推在一边，想：天知道会不会这样？可能真要满足你的愿望呢。 那天早晨，他们向东拐，在离俄克拉荷马州和堪萨斯城边境处不远的一个十字路口吃午餐。这一天是7月7日，天气并不热。 停车吃饭前，汤姆注意到一个半截埋在路肩中的水泥墩座上的路标。尼克也看了看它。路标上写着：您正在离开俄克拉荷马州的哈泊县，进入俄克拉何马州的伍兹县。 “我能认得它们，”汤姆说。如果尼克能听到的话，他可能会被汤姆高扬的、细长尖锐的朗诵式的声调所感染。“您正在离开哈珀县，进入伍兹县。”他转过头来，对着尼克，“你知道吗？先生？” Nick shook his head. “我一生中从没有离开过哈珀县。是的，汤姆·科伦从没有离开过。但有一次爸爸带我离开过这里，把路标指给我看。他说，如果他要是在路标的另一侧抓到我的话，就会狠狠地揍我一顿。我特别希望别在伍兹县被抓到。你认为他会吗？” 尼克重重地摇了摇头。 “堪萨斯城在伍兹县里面吗？” 尼克又一次摇了摇头。 “但我们去其他地方前，正在进入伍兹县，对不对？” Nick nodded. 汤姆的眼睛闪着光：“这里就是世界吗？” 尼克并没有理解他的话。他皱起了眉头……锁起了他的眉毛……耸了耸肩。 “我指的是世界，”汤姆说，“我们正在进入世界，是吗，先生？”汤姆迟疑着，之后又犹犹豫豫地问道：“伍兹就是'世界'这个词所指的地方？” 慢慢地，尼克点了点头。 “好吧，”汤姆说道。他盯着路标看了一会儿，然后擦了擦明亮的大眼睛，滚出了一大滴泪。然后他跳上自行车。“好吧，我们走！”他一声不吭地骑过县界，尼克跟在他的后面。 天黑之前，他们拐进了堪萨斯城。饭后，汤姆变得闷闷不乐，无精打采。他想玩他的车库；他想看电视。他不想再往前骑了。因为他的屁股被车座磨坏了。他对州界毫无概念，当他们经过另一块路标时，他丝毫没有尼克那种欢快的心情。这块路标上写着：“您现在进入堪萨斯城。”那时，天色已经非常昏暗，在夜色中，白色的字母似乎是漂浮在棕色的路标上，如同幽灵一般。 他们在离边境约1／4英里的钢架水塔下面宿了营。汤姆一爬进睡袋就睡着了。尼克躺了一会儿，望着夜空出现的星星。对他们来说，这块地方非常黑，也太过安静。他刚想爬进自己的睡袋，一只乌鸦落在附近的围墙上，似乎在盯着他。它的黑眼睛中间有一圈半圆形的血色——那是已经悄悄升起的夏日桔黄色月光的反射。乌鸦令尼克不安。他找到一块土疙瘩，冲着乌鸦扔了过去。乌鸦扇了扇它的翅膀，似乎对他怒目而视地盯了一阵儿，然后飞入夜空。 晚上，他梦见那个没有面孔的黑衣人站在高高的屋顶上，手伸向东方；后来又梦见玉米——玉米比他的头还高——之后是音乐。只有在这个时候，他才知道这是音乐，而且这时他才知道，它是吉它的声音。临近天亮的时候，他被一股尿意憋醒，他的耳边响着她的那句话：他们叫我阿巴盖尔妈妈……你什么时候来看我。 下午晚些时候，当他们沿着160号高速公路向东穿过科曼奇县时，发现一群水牛——一共约有12头——正悠然地在公路上走来走去，寻找肥美的草地。路北，有一排安着倒钩的护路栏，但似乎已经被牛撞开了。 “它们是什么？”汤姆害怕地问，“那些不是黄牛！” 因为尼克不能说话，而汤姆又不识字，尼克无法告诉他这是什么。 这一天是1990年7月8日，他们睡在迪尔海德以西40英里的一个乡村的开阔地上。 这一天是7月9日，他们在一家农舍小院前的老榆树下吃午饭。汤姆一手拿着罐装香肠，大口大口地咀嚼，一边把他的小汽车一辆接一辆地从他的加油站拖出来。他嘴里反复地哼唱着一支流行歌的调子。 尼克根据汤姆的嘴唇形状知道他在说什么：“宝贝，你满意你的男人吗？他是一个正直的人——宝贝，你满意你的男人吗？” 这个县太大了，尼克有些沮丧，还有些害怕。以前真是没意识到，在知道迟早会有一辆车停下来让你搭便车的时候，伸出大拇指该是多么简单。一辆轿车会停下来，通常是一个男人开着车，他的胯部大多时候总是挂着一听啤酒。他想知道你要去多远的地方，这时你就会递给他一张藏在胸前口袋里的纸片，纸片上这样写着“你好，我叫尼克·安德罗斯。对不起，我又聋又哑。我将去某某地。非常感谢您让我搭一会儿便车。我能唇读。”事情就这么简单。除非那家伙歧视聋哑人（一些人可能会这样，但是少数），这时你就可能跳进车里，去你想去的地方，或是到那个方向上的某个地方。汽车在路上飞奔，眨眼间，几英里在排气管下一闪而过。汽车是心灵运输的一种形式。它对地图不屑一顾。然而，现在没有汽车，如果你细心的话，你会发现，在这种公路上，轿车是最实用的运输工具，它一口气就可以奔上70或80英里。如果受阻的话，你只需把你的车子放在一边，换乘另一辆。然而没有汽车，就像在一座巨人身上慢悠悠地爬，艰难地从一个乳头到另一个乳头。尼克半是期望，半是幻想，他们最终能遇到其他的人（他一直认为会这样），这样他们就可以仍旧像以往那些无忧无虑的搭乘一样：在下一个小山山头上会闪现出熟悉的铬的光芒，金属反射的阳光照得你睁不开眼，令你眩晕又心喜。这可能是相当普通的美国车，一辆雪佛莱或一辆坦博斯特，转动着令人喜爱的底特律车轮。在他的梦想中，从来不是本田或是马自达或是斯拉夫牌汽车。漂亮的美国车出现后，他会看到车上的小伙子。小伙子大摇大摆地伸着被阳光晒得黝黑的臂肘，逞能地探出窗外。他可能会笑着对你说：“嘿，你好，哥们！我他妈的遇见了你这家伙。来，上车！上来，告诉我你要去哪里！” 但那天，他们没有见到一个人，直到第10天，他们遇见了朱丽叶·劳里。 那是一个大热天。他们骑了大半个下午，浑身湿透，衬衫紧贴在腰上。皮肤也被晒得像印第安人一样变成了棕色。他们没把时间都用来骑车，主要是因为那些苹果，那些绿色的苹果。 他们在一个农家小院的老苹果树上，发现了这些苹果。它们青绿青绿，又小又酸。他们很久没尝过新鲜水果的滋味，尼克吃了2个，汤姆却贪婪地吃了6个，一个接一个，吃得只剩个核。尼克示意他不要再吃，他却置之不理；他要是有了一个主意，就会像个4岁的任性儿童一样可爱。 这样，从上午11点开始，一直持续了一个下午，汤姆一直拉肚子。汗水不住地从他的身上流下来。他呻吟着，哼哼着。他不得不从车上下来，推车前进。除了对他浪费时间有些恼火外，看着他那样子，尼克禁不住又怜惜又感到好笑。 下午4点左右，他们到了柏拉德小镇。尼克决定今天就到这儿。汤姆感激地一屁股瘫在树荫下的公交车站的候车长椅上，立刻打起了瞌睡。尼克离开他，沿着空无一人的大街去商业区找药店。他要找一些派朴多（一种肠胃药）。汤姆醒来的时候，无论他是否愿意，都要逼着他喝下去。如果需要一瓶的药才能控制住汤姆的病情，他就得找到一瓶药。尼克想在明天，自己得配一点儿药。 他在柏拉德剧院和挪威人家之间找到一家药店。他通过开着的大门溜了进去，站了一会儿，闻到了那股熟悉的陈腐气味，混杂着其他一股令人发腻的刺鼻味道。香水味最浓烈。也许是因为天气热，有些瓶子可能炸裂了。 尼克扫了两眼，搜寻着肠胃药，试图回忆起派朴多在高温下会不会融化。标签上都标明了。目光掠过一个人体模特和右面的两排架子，看到了他要找的东西。他向前走了两步，突然意识到以前从没在药店里见到过人体模特。 他回过头来，看到的是朱丽叶·劳里。 她安详地站着，一手拿着香水，一手拿着通常用来涂香水用的细玻璃棒。浅蓝色的眼睛瞪得又圆又大，布满了惊讶和难以置信的神情。一头棕色的秀发飘洒下来，系在发梢上的丝巾也垂在她的后背。她穿着一件粉红色的迷你汗衫，下身是一件非常短的以至常被误认为是短衬裤的蓝色工装短裙。前额上有一小块皮疹，下巴正中间也长了一个很大的脓疱。 她和尼克之间隔着半个店堂，彼此注视着，都愣住了。紧接着，那瓶香水从她指间滑落，像枚炸弹般“砰”地炸开了，散发着一股臭味，屋子里闻起来俨然像座停尸间。 “主啊，你真是人吗？”她的声音有些颤抖。 尼克的心又开始跳动起来。他能感觉到太阳穴的血管一个劲地砰砰直撞。目光也开始有些颤动了，视野里一片色彩斑斓。 He nodded. “你不是鬼魂吧？” He shrugged. “那么你开口。如果你不是鬼，你就开口说句话。” 尼克把一只手放在嘴上，然后又放在喉咙上。 “你这是什么意思呢？”声音里有种歇斯底里的腔调。尼克听不到。但他能通过看她脸上的表情，感觉到这句话的意思。他不再走近一步，因为这样的话，她会跑开。他认为她不害怕见到人。她担心见到的是一种幻觉。那样她的精神就会崩溃。他再一次感到很沮丧。要是他能开口说话该多好！ 他又开始了他的手语。毕竟，这是他唯一能做的事情。这一次，姑娘理解了。 “你不能说话？你是一位哑巴？” Nick nodded. 她大声地笑了起来，更多的是失望。“你是谁？好不容易出现了一个人，却是一个哑巴？” 尼克不以为然地耸耸肩，冲着她歪嘴一笑。 “嗯，”她说道，从走廊中走了过来。“你的样子还不算难看。是这样。”她把一只手放在尼克的胳膊上，鼓胀的胸脯几乎要碰着他。他能闻到她身上三种不同香水的味道，以及夹杂着难闻的汗味。 “我叫朱丽叶。朱丽叶·劳里。你叫什么名字？”她咯咯地一乐。“你不会告诉我，对不对？可怜的你！”她靠着他更近了，胸脯贴在他的身上。他开始感到热乎乎的。天啊，他想，她还是一个孩子呀！ 他挣脱了她的身体，从口袋里掏出一张纸片，开始写字。他写下了一行左右的字，她依在他的肩上，看他在写什么。God.她没戴胸罩。他确信她已经完全从刚才的惊吓中恢复过来了。 “哦，喔。”在他写的时候她叫了起来，仿佛他是一只能做特别复杂把戏的猴子。尼克低下头看他的纸片：没有“读”她所说的话，但能感觉到她那吐气时的那股痒酥酥的温暖。 “我是尼克·安德罗斯。我又聋又哑。我与一位叫汤姆·科伦的人一起旅行。他有些迟钝。他不识字也不懂许多我能示意的事情，除了特别简单的事。我们正在向内布拉斯加前进，因为我想人们可能在那里。你愿意的话，和我们一起走吧。” “当然，”她立刻说，之后立刻记起他是一个聋子，于是非常认真地做出每个字的口型。她问道，“你能读唇语吗？” Nick nodded. “好，”她说，“只要能见到人我就非常高兴，管他是又聋又哑还是傻子呢。这个怪地方，自从电厂爆炸之后，每晚我都不能入睡。”脸上因痛苦而布满皱纹，使她看起来不像一个真正的人，更像肥皂剧里的女主人公。“妈妈和爸爸两个星期前就死了，你知道。每个人都死了，只有我还活着。我非常孤独。”她抽泣着扑进尼克的臂膀里，在他怀里颤动着，一副强作痛苦令人作呕的样子。 当她从尼克的怀里抽出头时，她的眼角是干的，一闪一闪的。 “哎，不提这件事了。”她说，“你真是一个聪明的家伙。” 尼克直勾勾地盯着她。我才不信她的鬼话呢，他想。 但这绝对是真实的。她拽着他的腰带。“来吧，我吃过药，很安全。”她停了一会儿，“你行吗？我是说，虽然你不能说话，但不一定你就不能……” 他伸出他的手，仿佛是伸向她的肩膀，但事实上他发现摸到了她的乳房。这意味着他可能有过的抗拒就到此结束。他只好听从感觉的安排。他把她放倒在地板上，占有了她。 事后，他来到门口，边系着腰带，边向外张望，查看汤姆的动静。他还在停车场的长椅上无动于衷地呆坐着。朱丽叶拥着他，不经意地摆弄着一个新的香水瓶。 “就是那个迟钝的家伙？”她问。