cb.coldheart canyon-第56部分

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its　body　rolled　up　onto　the　hood；　momentarily　sprawling　over　the　windshield。　For　a　few　seconds；　Tammy　was　driving　blind；　with　the　face　of　the　beast　grotesquely　plastered　against　the　glass。　Then　one　of　her　more　suicidal　swerves　threw　the　thing　off；　leaving　just　a　smudge　of　its　pale　yellow　fluids　on　the　glass。
　 Very　quietly　Todd　said：　〃What　the　fuck　was　that？〃
　 〃I'll　tell　you　some　other　time；〃　Tammy　said。　And　leaving　the　explanation　there　she　proceeded　down　the　winding　road　in　uncontested　silence；　bringing　them　finally　to　some　anonymous　but　lamplit　street；　and　so；　out　of　the　entrails　of　Coldheart　Canyon；　and　back　into　the　City　of　Angels。
　
　
　PART　SEVEN
　THE　A…LIST
　
　ONE
　 In　March　of　1962　Jerry　Brahms　had　bought　a　small　two　bedroom　apartment　a　block　or　two　within　the　gates　of　Hollywoodland；　a　neighborhood　created　in　the　twenties　which　enpassed　a　large　parcel　of　land　in　the　vicinity　of　the　Hollywood　sign。　The　house　had　cost　him　nineteen　thousand　seven　hundred　dollars；　a　relatively　modest　sum　for　a　place　so　pleasantly　situated。　Back　then；　he'd　still　indulged　the　fantasy　that　one　day　he'd　meet　a　soul…mate　with　whom　he　would　one　day　share　the　house；　but　somehow　his　romantic　entanglements　had　always　ended　poorly；　and　despite　three　attempts　to　bring　someone　in；　the　chemistry　had　failed　miserably；　and　each　time　he'd　sent　the　man　to　be　on　his　way；　and　he'd　ended　up　alone。　He　no　longer　hoped　for　an　end　to　his　solitude：　even　the　most　optimistic　of　the　cancer　doctors　who'd　seen　him　gave　him　at　best　a　year。　The　tumor　in　his　prostate　was　now　inoperable；　and　spreading。
　 For　all　his　love　of　the　dreamy　far…off　days　of　Hollywood；　Jerry　was　a　practical　man；　and…at　least　when　it　came　to　himself…remarkably　unsentimental。　The　prospect　of　dying　did　not　move　him　particularly　one　way　or　another：　he　was　not　afraid　of　it；　nor　did　he　wele　the　eventuality。　It　would　simply　happen…　sooner　rather　than　later。　Sometimes；　when　he　got　melancholy；　he　contemplated　suicide；　and　in　preparation　for　such　a　moment　had　amassed　a　considerable　number　of　sleeping　pills；　sufficient；　he　felt　sure；　to　do　the　job。　But　though　he　had　very　bad　days　now；　when　the　pain　（and；　for　a　man　as　fastidious　as　himself；　the　practical　problems　of　advanced　bowel　disorders）　were　so　nearly　overwhelming　that　he　thought　hard　about　tying　up　all　the　loose　ends　of　his　life　and　simply　knocking　back　the　pills　with　a　strong　Bloody　Mary；　somehow　he　could　never　bring　himself　to　do　it。
　 He　had　a　sense　of　unfinished　business；　though　he　could　not　quite　work　out　what　the　business　might　be。　His　parents　were　long　since　dead；　his　only　sibling；　a　sister；　also　passed　away；　tragically　young。　Of　his　few　friends　there　were　few　that　he　cared　to　say　anything　of　any　great　profundity　to。　If　he　slipped　away；　there'd　be　little　by　way　of　tears：　just　some　fighting　over　his　collection　of　movie　memorabilia…which　he'd　never　had　evaluated；　but　was　probably　worth　half　a　million　dollars　at　auction…and　a　few　tear…sodden；　bitchy　remarks　at　Mickey's　（his　favorite　bar）　when　he　was　gone。　Lord　knows；　he'd　made　enough　of　those　kinds　of　remarks　in　his　life：　he'd　been　the　kind　of　queen　with　a　feline　answer　to　just　about　anything　in　his　heyday。　But　there　was　no　joy　in　that　kind　of　thing　anymore。　His　style　of　queendom　was　long　out　of　fashion。　He　was　a　dinosaur　with　prostate　cancer；　soon　to　be　extinct。
　 Lately　he'd　found　that　his　condition　made　him　vulnerable　to　every　little　sadness　that　touched　his　world。　The　passing　of　Todd's　dog；　Dempsey；　had　left　him　in　tears　all　day；　though　he　barely　knew　the　animal。　And　then　the　death　of　Marco　Caputo：　such　a　senseless　waste　of　life。　He　hadn't　ever　been　close　friends　with　Caputo；　but　on　those　few　occasions　when　he'd　met　the　man；　Caputo　had　always　been　polite　and　professional；　rare　enough　in　these　days　of　mediocrity。
　 The　funeral　had　not　done　justice　to　the　man；　in　Jerry's　opinion。　It　had　been　small　（there　were　a　couple　of　family　members　in　from　Chicago；　but　they　looked　as　though　they　were　more　interested　in　what　his　will　would　say　than　in　mourning　their　brother）。　Todd；　of　course；　was　not　on　hand；　though　Maxine　was　there　as　his　representative。　Jerry　took　the　opportunity　to　ask　her　how　much　longer　she　thought　the　stalker　business　would　be　going　on　for。　Were　the　police　trying　to　catch　this　woman；　and　prosecute　her；　or　was　poor　Todd　just　going　to　have　to　sit　it　out？　Maxine　said　she　didn't　know。　She　wouldn't　be　dealing　with　Todd's　affairs　for　very　much　longer；　she　told　him：　it　was　a　waste　of　time　and　energy。
　 The　conversation；　the　tiny；　disinterested　congregation；　the　coffin　and　the　thought　of　its　unviewable　contents；　all　sent　Jerry　back　home　to　his　apartment　in　a　blacker　mood　than　usual。　But　even　so；　even　on　a　day　when　it　seemed　that　all　decency　and　all　hope　had　gone　from　the　world；　he　found　it　impossible　to　take　his　stash　of　pills　and　finish　the　business。
　 Why；　for　God's　sake？　Something　nagged　at　him；　that　was　all　he　knew。　Something　told　him：　wait；　just　a　little　longer。
　 〃It's　not　over；〃　the　opera…queens　of　his　acquaintance　used　to　say；　〃'til　the　fat　lady　sings。〃
　 Well；　somewhere　deep　in　his　soul；　he　knew　that　the　fat　woman　still　had　an　aria　up　her　sleeve。
　 So　he　kept　on　living；　which　was　often　a　wearisome　business；　all　the　while　waiting　for　whatever　it　was　that　was　nagging　at　him　to　make　itself　apparent。
　
　 Finally；　on　the　night　of　March　31st；　it　did。
　 The　circumstances　were　peculiar：　he　had　a　dream　so　powerful　that　it　woke　him。　This　in　itself　was　odd；　because　he　usually　went　to　bed　with　a　couple　of　scotches　to　wash　down　his　sleeping　pills；　and　as　a　consequence　seldom　woke。
　 But　he　woke　tonight；　and　the　dream　he'd　dreamed　was　crystal　clear。
　 He　had　dreamed　that　he　was　sitting　on　the　toilet；　of　all　places；　in　a　state　of　agonizing　constipation　（which　was　in　his　waking　life　a　consequence　of　the　pain…killers　his　doctor　prescribed）。　As　he　sat　there　he　realized　that　there　were　wooden　boards　on　the　floor　of　his　toilet；　not　tiles　as　there　were　in　life；　and　the　cracks　between　the　boards　were　so　wide　that　he　could　see　right　down　into　the　apartment　below。　Except　that　it　wasn't　another　apartment；　it　was…in　the　strange　logic　of　this　dream…another　house。　Nor　was　it　just　any　house。　It　was　Katya's　dream　palace　that　was　spread　below　him。　And　as　he　realized　this；　the　gaps　between　the　boards　grew　wider；　so　that　he　dropped　down　between　them；　slowly；　as　though　he　were　feather…light。
　 And　there　he　was；　in　Katya's　house；　in　Coldheart　Canyon。　He　pulled　up　his　pants　and　looked　around。
　 The　dream　palace　was　in　a　state　of　considerable　disrepair。　The　windows　were　broken；　and　birds　flew　in　and　out；　shitting　on　the　fancy　furniture。　A　coyote　skulked　around　in　the　kitchen；　looking　for　scraps。　And　outside　in　the　tree　there　were　dozens　of　little　red…and…black…striped　monkeys；　chattering　and　screeching。　This　was　not　so　fanciful　a　detail　as　it　might　have　seemed　to　someone　who'd　not　known　the　house；　as　he　had；　in　its　heyday。　There　had　been　monkeys　there…escapees　from　Katya's　private　menagerie；　and　for　a　while　it　seemed　the　climate　suited　them　and　they　would　proliferate；　but　after　a　year　or　two　some　virus　had　decimated　them。
　 Something　about　the　place　in　its　present　condition　made　him　want　to　leave。　He　knew；　however；　that　he　couldn't。　Not　without　paying　his　respects　to　the　lady　of　the　house。　So　rather　than　wait　for　her　to　show　herself；　he　went　to　look　for　her；　figuring　that　the　sooner　he　found　her　the　sooner　he'd　be　released　from　this　dream。　He　started　up　the　stairs。　There　were　flies　crawling　on　the　ground　beneath　his　feet；　so　densely　assembled　and　so　sluggish　that　they　refused　to　move　as　he　ascended；　obliging　him　to　crush　them　under　his　bare　feet　as　he　climbed。
　 The　door　to　the　master　bedroom　was　open。　He　stepped　inside；　somewhat　tentatively。　He　had　only　been　into　the　room　once　before。　He　remembered　it　as　being　large；　but　here　in　his　dream　it　was　immense。　The　drapes　were　partially　drawn；　and　the　sunlight　that　streamed　between　them　was　a　curious　color；　almost　lilac。
　 There　was　an　enormous；　but　extremely　plain；　bed　in　the　room。　And　sitting　on　the　bed　was　the　only　woman；　besides　his　mother；　whom　Jerry　had　loved：　Katya。　She　was　naked；　or…more　correctly　stated…unclothed。　Ninety　percent　of　her　body's　surface　was　covered　with　large　snails；　the　mon　tortoiseshell　variety　that　every　gardener　curses。　They　were　moving　all　over　her　skin。　They　were　on　her　face；　on　her　breasts　and　belly；　on　her　thighs　and　shins。　Her　hair　was　matted　with　their　silvery　trails；　and　thirty　or　forty　of　them　were　arranged　on　her　head　like　a　grotesque　crown。　Her　legs　were　open；　and　they　were　also　investigating　the　crevice　between　her　thighs。　As　is　so　often　the　case　in　dreams　he　saw　all　this　with　horrid　particularity。　Saw　the　way　their　boneless　grey…green　bodies　extended　from　their　shells　as　they　moved　over　Katya's　skin；　their　horns　extending　tentatively　as　they　advanced；　then　retracting　as　they　encountered　an　obstacle…a　nipple；　an　ear；　the　knuckle　of　her　thumb…only　to　stretch　out　again　when　they　were　certain　there　was　no　danger　in　the　encounter。
　 Without　speaking；　Katya　looked　down　and　very　delicately　plucked　one　of　the　creatures　off　her　breast。　Then　she　spread　her　legs　a　little　wider；　so　that　Jerry　had　an　even　more　intimate　view　of　her　private　parts。　He　was　no　connoisseur；　but　even　he　could　see　that　there　was　a　certain　prettiness　to　the　configuration　of　her　labia；　she　had　the　pussy　of　a　young　girl。　Putting　her　hands　down　between　her　legs　she　spread　her　lips　and　delicately　applied　the　snail　she'd　taken　from　her　breast　the　flesh　there。
　 Jerry　watched　with　a　kind　of　appalled　fascination　as　it　responded　to　its　new　perch；　expanding　its　horns　and　investigating　her。
　 Katya　sighed。　Her　eyes　fluttered　closed。　Then；　suddenly；　they　opened　again。　When　they　did　they　were　fixed　on　him；　with　startling　fierceness。
　 〃There　you　are；　Jerry；〃　she　said；　her　voice　full　of　the　music　he　remembered　from　his　childhood：　the　kind　of　bitter…sweet　music　by　which　he　had　judged　the　voice　of　every　woman　he'd　met　since。
　 Later　he'd　learned　that　silent　movie　stars　had　been　notorious　for　having　voices　that　precluded　them　from　careers　in　the　sound　cinema：　but　Katya　had　been　one　of　the　exceptions　to　that　rule。　She　had　the　slightest　foreign　inflection　（nothing　recognizable；　just　enough　to　add　a　certain　poignancy　to　her　sentences）；　otherwise　she　spoke　with　a　beguiling　elegance。
　 〃I　need　help；〃　she　said　to　him。　〃Jerry；　will　you　e　to　the　house？　Please。　I　am　alone　here。　Utterly　alone。〃
　 〃What　happened　to　Todd？〃　he　said　to　her。
　 〃He　walked　out　on　me。〃
　 〃I　can't　believe　that。〃
　 〃Well　it's　true。　He　did。　Are　you　going　to　choose　between　him　and　me？〃
　 〃No；　of　course　not。〃
　 〃He　was　just　another　empty　shell；　Jerry。　There　was　no　substance　to　him。　And　now　I'm　alone；　and　it's　worse　than　death。〃
　 His　dream…self　was　about　to　get　clever　and　ask　her　how　she　could　possibly　know　what　death　felt　like；　but　then　he　thought　better　of　asking　her。　Perhaps　she　did　indeed　know。　It　wasn't　beyond　the　bounds　of　possibility。　He'd　never　understood　exactly　how　her　life　had　worked；　up　there　in　the　house　in　the　Canyon；　but　he　suspected　there　were　terrible　secrets　in　that　place。
　 〃What　do　you　want　me　to　do？〃　he　asked　her。
　 〃e　back　up　to　the　Canyon；〃　she　s