第15部分(第2/8 頁)

our　hands　off　him。〃

〃Aw；　blow　it　out；〃　Percy　said；　but　he　stepped　back　uneasily　when　Brutal　moved　toward　him；　shadow　rising　behind　him　like　the　shadow　of　that　ape　in　the　story　about　the　Rue　Morgue。　But　instead　of　grabbing　at　Percy；　Brutal　grabbed　hold　of　the　gurney　and　began　pushing　Arlen　Bitterbuck　slowly　toward　the　far　end　of　the　tunnel；　where　his　last　ride　was　waiting；　parked　on　the　soft　shoulder　of　the　highway。　The　gurney's　hard　rubber　wheels　moaned　on　the　boards；　its　shadow　rode　the　bulging　brick　wall；　waxing　and　waning；　Dean　and　Harry　grasped　the　sheet　at　the　foot　and　pulled　it　up　over　The　Chief's　face；　which　had　already　begun　to　take　on　the　waxy；　characterless　cast　of　all　dead　faces；　the　innocent　as　well　as　the　guilty。

6。

When　I　was　eighteen；　my　Uncle　Paul　…　the　man　I　was　named　for　…　died　of　a　heart　attack。　My　mother　and　dad　took　me　to　Chicago　with　them　to　attend　his　funeral　and　visit　relatives　from　my　father's　side　of　the　family；　many　of　whom　I　had　never　met。　We　were　gone　almost　a　month。　In　some　ways　that　was　a　good　trip；　a　necessary　and　exciting　trip；　but　in　another　way　it　was　horrible。　I　was　deeply　in　love；　you　see；　with　the　young　woman　who　was　to　bee　my　wife　two　weeks　after　my　nieenth　birthday。　One　night　when　my　longing　for　her　was　like　a　fire　burning　out　of　control　in　my　heart　and　my　head　（oh　yes；　all　right；　and　in　my　balls；　as　well）；　I　wrote　her　a　letter　that　just　seemed　to　go　on　and　on　…　I　poured　out　my　whole　heart　in　it；　never　looking　back