Folks are friendlier to me on the afternoon of my death. The cons1 are friendlier by not hassling, especially the one I gave my clacker-balls to. Everybody else quietly avoids the issue. It's a busy-feeling day, like one of your mom's urgent baking days gone wrong, with feelings left unattended, a sense that somehow I forgot something, left the oven on, didn't lock the door. A sense that I can do it when I get back.
When my belongings3 are neatly4 folded on the table, and my bunk5 is stripped clean, four executives arrive with a cameraman. My row-mates wave fingers through their grilles, and holler good wishes as I shuffle6 down the row. 'Yo, Burnem - fuck 'em up man, piss on those muthas …'
Bless them. We pass down the hallway Lasalle disappeared from, not for the ride to the Huntsville unit, but to the new Events Suite8 here at Ellis, right downstairs. It's a one-stop shop now, carpeted and all, with artwork on the walls. I miss the chance of a last drive, but at least the Suite has windows. It seems gray and cool out, with just a few bugs9 clicking. A part of me is disappointed there ain't tornadoes10 and firestorms for the night of my death, but then - who do I think I am, right?
Just like she promised, Pam supervised my last meal. Chik'n'Mix Choice Supreme11, with fries, rib-rings, corn relish12, and two tubs of coleslaw. How smart she is - she had the kitchen people stuff bread in the tub, to absorb any excess steam, and keep the bottom pieces crisp. You figure the coleslaw ain't Pam though - that'll be Ma, on account of it's healthy. Those gals14 will be eating the same thing this evening, when I'm on the gurney. It's what they want, to imagine I'm just out and about on my bike, instead of being put to death.
At four-thirty I get to evacuate15 my tracts16 in a private restroom. They even give me a copy of Newsweek to read, and a Marlboro to suck on. I'm numb17, like anesthetized or something, but I still appreciate these little touches. Newsweek says Martirio has the fastest economic growth rate in the world, with more new millionaires than even California. The cover shows a bunch of Guries throwing banknotes into the air and laughing. It ain't all roses, though: if you read farther down it says they're getting sued by the California tragedy, over the use of their statistics. Typical Martirio, I have to say.
An hour before my execution, I get to make some private phone calls. First I try home, then Pam's. There's no answer, I must've missed them already. Ma's been through a lot, and so's Pam, I guess. Bless them. They don't have answering machines, so I can't just say 'I love you' or something. In a way, though, it gives me the courage to make some other calls.
First I try Lally, to get it over with. His secretary almost hangs up, until I tell her why I'm calling. Lally's in a meeting at the new Martirio mall. She connects me to his phone. 'Big man!' he says when the phone answers. I give him what he wants, and tell him where my gun is stashed18. He seems to accept the gesture gracefully19.
Next I call Mrs Lechuga. Boy is she surprised, she even tries to change her voice so I'll think it's a wrong number. 'Oh my God,' she says.
'Yes?' I answer. She's been through a lot, bless her. In the end I think she's glad I called. Knowing her love of information, and her ole position as president of the douche-brigade, I'm sure she just loves the want I grant her. In a way, I designated her the command center for this evening's wants.
The next brainwave is to call Vaine Gurie, on her way to meet Mom and Pam at the Barn. I give her just what she really wants - just what she really needs, actually, if you think about it. She ends up being real touched to hear from me, and promises to pass my love on to the gals. I guess it is love after all, in that zany way we humans have.
Finally, for my last call in the world, I try Taylor Figueroa. She answers her phone personally, and her voice immediately takes me back to another time and place - a moist, fruity place, if it's not too smutty to say. And guess what: I give her the break she's been waiting for. She squeals21 with delight, and says to look after myself. Sounds like she means it too.
When I hang up the phone, two guards appear with a chaplain, and escort me to the make-up suite.
'Don't you worry darlin,' says a make-up lady, 'a little blush'll perk22 you up.'
Another lady whispers, 'You want toothpaste, or you think you can make it on your own?' I snort when she says it, and she looks at me, confused. Then she kind of gets it, and laughs along too. Not everybody gets the irony23 of things, that's what I learned.
Next, a girl with a clipboard arrives and makes me sign a waiver for my final statement. I'm going out quietly, just like Lasalle. I ask her one special favor in return. She calls a producer to check it out, then says it's okay. I can take my shirt off for the Event. She leads the pastor24, the officers, and me down a bright hallway to the execution chamber25. My knees go weak with the kind of swooniness you get from hospital smells; the pastor even takes hold of my arm when I hear the tune26 playing down the hall.
'Galveston, oh Galves-ton - I am so afraid of dying …'
We pass the broadcast control room, and guess what: they must've licensed27 the TV weather theme for the show. I hate that theme. I close my ears until we reach this simple white room with a window along one wall, and theater-like seats beyond.
'Before I dry the tears she's crying …'
I take off my shirt. My skin is mostly healed now, from my art project. Tattooed28 in big blue letters across my chest are the words 'Me ves y sufres' - 'See me and suffer.' A medical orderly helps me climb onto the gurney, which is kind of person-shaped, like the hole left after a cartoon character crashes through a wall. I catch a glimpse of Jonesy in a room at the back. He must be manning the governor's phone. The governor is the only man who can stop this now. He'd need some damn convincing evidence to do that. Jonesy just turns away when he sees me. He doesn't stand near the phone.
Guards secure me to the gurney using thick cowhide straps29 with metal buckles30, then the orderly raises a vein31 in my arm, and gives me a tiny shot, of anesthetic32 I guess. He fixes a long needle onto a tube that runs through the wall from the back room. I look away as he slides the needle into my vein. After a moment, cool solution begins to flow.
An usherette appears behind the glass that separates me from the witness area, and people start filing into their seats. Fragile Mrs Speltz is the only person I recognize. Aside from the wave of sadness I get from her haunted eyes, I actually feel relieved that she's the highlight of the witness area. Nothing in there suggests I'll be missing any parties when I'm gone. Then, just as I'm thinking that, the darnedest thing happens: a tall, beautiful young woman in a pale blue suit squeezes along the back row to her seat, kindling34 my groin out of retirement35. Even the guards turn to watch as she sits, modestly tugging36 down the hem7 of her skirt. Then she looks at me. It's Ella Bouchard. Boy did her equipment arrive. Bluebonnet eyes call to me through the glass.
'Sailing' starts to play now, because when Fate opens up, it opens up with both barrels. I try to swallow, but my mouth is woody. A terminal learning comes to me: that for all the sirens, game-show buzzers37, and drum-rolls of life, it is the nature of men to die quietly. I mean, what kind of life was that? - a bunch of movies, and people talking about movies, and shows about people talking about movies. Still, I guess I asked for it. By being negative, destructive. I remember once calling my daddy to collect me from a place, but was sad when he came because I'd since grown to love the place. Death takes me like that.
I feel an itch13 around the needle, and close my eyes. Voices in the chamber soften38, and I feel myself slipping away, up and over the gurney, into a reverie. I look down on myself, but instead of panic, instead of sudden death, I float out of the chamber, and over the landscape outside, where my senses are filled with the scent39 of lawn-clippings. I'm transported, clear as day, back home to Beulah Drive. There's Mrs Porter's, and there's my front yard. It's today, it's right now. The mantis40 pumpjack beats with my soul as a black Mercedes-Benz sweeps into my driveway. Mrs Lechuga's drape twitches41. Mom ain't home this evening, which is unusual. She's eating out with Pam. I watch Lally climb out of the car. Bless the motherfucker to hell. Bless his bones smashed and stuffed through the ligaments of his puking fucked eyes, bless his mouth to suck me off, take my bile so it kills him dead to a place where he stays conscious and fucken broken and cold, shivering fucken worms and slime from organs that pop and fucken waste as I laugh.
He seems excited by the want I granted. I know the question of the second firearm always plagued him. He lets himself into the house through the kitchen, and moves to my bedroom closet, where he finds the shoebox containing the padlock key, just like I told him. Next to it lays a bottle of ginseng. You can't even see the LSD pearls I stuffed in it all those moons ago. He smiles, and picks it up.
An unmistakable sound draws me back out of the house. It's the Eldorado, idling up the street. For the first time in Leona's life, she parks at the unfashionable end of Beulah Drive. Neither she nor George or Betty talk, or adjust their make-up. They don't even breathe. They sit parked under a willow43 and wait. Nobody, but nobody, overrides44 Nancie Lechuga's instructions. I watch with the ladies as Lally climbs into his car and drives away. They follow at a discreet45 distance. Mrs Lechuga's drapes twitch42 shut behind them. She's back in charge of the brigade, bless her.
Mom and Pam are fretting46 over the chicken by now, as Muzak boils the life out of some ole song. A two-inch pile of napkins sits soggy with their tears, under a sprinkling of salt and crumbs47. I'm touched that my spirit is with them, just like the ole days, when hanging out together was like playing a favorite ole disc, reliving the tickles48 you got when you first heard it. Neither Pam nor my mom is saying anything relevant, that's the beauty of it. I don't know if it's on purpose, or if it's like a genetic49 kind of thing that folk just cruise into comfortable, meaningless ole routines when the shit hits the fan.
Mom just says, 'Well but they've moved things around since last time.'
Pam says, 'Lord, you're right, the cashier used to be over there.'
All I can say is they must've moved it in about five seconds, for the time these gals spend out of the joint50. But where's Vaine? She's usually so punctual when it comes to chicken.
I race like a breeze over my ole stomping51 grounds, through Crockett Park towards Keeter's. Lally can't help chuckling52 when he reaches Keeter's corner. He can't stop laughing as he bounces up the track, and he's positively53 howling by the time the den20 comes into view, as the elephant dose of hallucinogens starts to warp54 his perception. His last steady action is to fit the key into the den padlock, pull back the hatch, and haul out my daddy's rifle. My ole lady bequeathed me that rifle, on condition I never bring it near the house. I had to act fast the day Daddy disappeared. Mom was real antsy. She got over it by shopping for garden furniture - go figure.
Thunder from an approaching helicopter nudges the acid in Lally's bloodstream to a peak. The vista55 starts to liquefy before his eyes. He's a drug-crazed, homicidal maniac56, loose in our community. He turns his back on sunlight beaming low over the escarpment, only to find a spotlight57 pinning him from the other side.
'Drop it!' barks a voice. It's Vaine with her SWAT team. She shields her eyes against dust from the settling chopper.
Lally reels in a wild circle, confused, caressing58 the rifle, erasing59 Mom's fingerprints60, and her worries, forever. As Taylor Figueroa ducks out of the helicopter with a news cameraman, Lally raises the rifle and cries in an unearthly tone. 'Ma-mi,' he bawls61, finding the trigger with both hands. 'Mamá!'
Watch out Taylor, like - oh my God!
'Open fire!' Vaine screams to her team.
Lally's face is a mask I fucken adore, suspended in time forever as slugs whistle and pierce the evening sky. He dances mid-air as chunks62 of his body pelt33 down like rain, before the bulk of him thuds twitching63 to the ground. Leona Dunt's Eldorado has to swerve64 off the track to avoid him.
'Wow, but is it supposed to be hidden, like - in the shit?' asks Leona, pouring out of the car in a cloud of tobacco smoke.
'I think Nancie means the story about the shit is what's valuable,' coughs Betty, ashing a cigarette into the dust. 'Just the evidence of the shit, the story rights …'
'Honey,' says George, 'a bonanza65 is a bonanza, whether it's in or on or about the shit, now hand me that flashlight …'
'Golly,' says Betty, scraping through the bushes around my den. 'Looks like somebody's been here already …'
My vision dissolves, my mind shimmers66 back to the gurney and I find myself still alive, teeth clenched67 into a smile. That's some fucken anesthetic, boy. I look over to see the guards nod to each other in readiness. As the day's first thunder crackles outside, I turn to wink68 at Ella through the glass. Then I close my eyes. I wait for the deep to claim me, for the cool in my arm to turn icy, or not to turn at all, to just vanish through the glare with everything around, including lumpy ole asshole me.
Sailing
Takes me away
To where I've always heard it could be
Just a dream and the wind to carry me
And soon I will be free …
Suddenly, a cannonade of noise swells69 through the windows and cracks, down the stairs and ducts of the jail, a thousand voices and fists and feet triggered by some invisible cue. My eyes pop open to see if God, or the devil, has come to claim my slimy soul. Instead, Abdini bursts into the witness area, followed be a horde70 of cameramen. The whole jail must be watching it live on TV. Abdini has a dirty brown ball of paper in one hand, and a melted candle in the other. He holds them up to the glass, singing, jumping. It's Nuckles's notes, the ones I used to wipe my ass2 that fateful day. 'Test prove it!' he cries.
A phone rings out back. After a moment I crane to see Jonesy toddle71 into the chamber, shaking his head. He leans over the end of the gurney, cups his hands to his mouth.
'Little - your pardon came through.'
收听单词发音 |
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cons
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| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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tornadoes
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| n.龙卷风，旋风( tornado的名词复数 ) | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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evacuate
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| v.遣送；搬空；抽出；排泄；大(小)便 | |
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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stashed
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| v.贮藏( stash的过去式和过去分词 )；隐藏；藏匿；藏起 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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perk
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| n.额外津贴；赏钱；小费； | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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anesthetic
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| n.麻醉剂，麻药；adj.麻醉的，失去知觉的 | |
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pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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buzzers
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| n.门铃( buzzer的名词复数 )；蜂音器（的声音）；发嗡嗡声的东西或人；汽笛 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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mantis
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| n.螳螂 | |
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twitches
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| n.（使）抽动， （使）颤动， （使）抽搐( twitch的名词复数 ) | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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44
overrides
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| 越控( override的第三人称单数 )； （以权力）否决； 优先于； 比…更重要 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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46
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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tickles
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| （使）发痒( tickle的第三人称单数 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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genetic
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| adj.遗传的，遗传学的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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51
stomping
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的现在分词 ) | |
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52
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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spotlight
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| n.公众注意的中心，聚光灯，探照灯，视听，注意，醒目 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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erasing
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| v.擦掉( erase的现在分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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60
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bawls
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的第三人称单数 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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64
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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65
bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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66
shimmers
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| n.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的名词复数 )v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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69
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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70
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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71
toddle
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| v.（如小孩）蹒跚学步 | |
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