raymondchandler.farewellmylovely- 第30节

　
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　The　room　was　full　of　smoke。
　The　smoke　hung　straight　up　in　the　air；　in　thin　lines；　straight　up　and　down　like　a　curtain　of　small　clear　beads。　Two　windows　seemed　to　be　open　in　an　end　wall；　but　the　smoke　didn't　move。　I　had　never　seen　the　room　before。　There　were　bars　across　the　windows。
　I　was　dull；　without　thought。　I　felt　as　if　I　had　slept　for　a　year。　But　the　smoke　bothered　me。　I　lay　on　my　back　and　thought　about　it。　After　a　long　time　I　took　a　deep　breath　that　hurt　my　lungs。
　I　yelled：　〃Fire！〃
　That　made　me　laugh。　I　didn't　know　what　was　funny　about　it　but　I　began　to　laugh。　I　lay　there　on　the　bed　and　laughed。　I　didn't　like　the　sound　of　the　laugh。　It　was　the　laugh　of　a　nut。
　The　one　yell　was　enough。　Steps　thumped　rapidly　outside　the　room　and　a　key　was　jammed　into　a　lock　and　the　door　swung　open。　A　man　jumped　in　sideways　and　shut　the　door　after　him。　His　right　hand　reached　toward　his　hip。
　He　was　a　short　thick　man　in　a　white　coat。　His　eyes　had　a　queer　look；　black　and　flat。　There　were　bulbs　of　gray　skin　at　the　outer　corners　of　them。
　I　turned　my　head　on　the　hard　pillow　and　yawned。
　〃Don't　count　that　one；　Jack。　It　slipped　out；〃　I　said。　He　stood　there　scowling；　his　right　hand　hovering　towards　his　right　hip。　Greenish　malignant　face　and　flat　black　eyes　and　gray　white　skin　and　nose　that　seemed　just　a　shell。
　〃Maybe　you　want　some　more　strait…jacket；〃　he　sneered。　
　〃I'm　fine；　Jack。　Just　fine。　Had　a　long　nap。　Dreamed　a　little；　I　guess。　Where　am　I？〃
　〃Where　you　belong。〃
　〃Seems　like　a　nice　place；〃　I　said。　〃Nice　people；　nice　atmosphere。　I　guess　I'll　have　me　a　short　nap　again。〃
　〃Better　be　just　that；〃　he　snarled。
　He　went　out。　The　door　shut。　The　lock　clicked。　The　steps　growled　into　nothing。
　He　hadn't　done　the　smoke　any　good。　It　still　hung　there　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　all　across　the　room。　Like　a　curtain。　It　didn't　dissolve；　didn't　float　off；　didn't　move。　There　was　air　in　the　room；　and　I　could　feel　it　on　my　face。　But　the　smoke　couldn't　feel　it。　It　was　a　gray　web　woven　by　a　thousand　spiders。　I　wondered　how　they　had　got　them　to　work　together。
　Cotton　flannel　pajamas。　The　kind　they　have　in　the　County　Hospital。　No　front；　not　a　stitch　more　than　is　essential。　Coarse；　rough　material。　The　neck　chafed　my　throat。　My　throat　was　still　sore。　I　began　to　remember　things。　I　reached　up　and　felt　the　throat　muscles。　They　were　still　sore。　Just　one　Indian；　pop。　Okey；　Hemingway。　So　you　want　to　be　a　detective？　Earn　good　money。　Nine　easy　lessons。　We　provide　badge。　For　fifty　cents　extra　we　send　you　a　truss。
　The　throat　felt　sore　but　the　fingers　feeling　it　didn't　feel　anything。　They　might　just　as　well　have　been　a　bunch　of　bananas。　I　looked　at　them。　They　looked　like　fingers。　No　good。　Mail　order　fingers。　They　must　have　e　with　the　badge　and　the　truss。　And　the　diploma。
　It　was　night。　The　world　outside　the　windows　was　a　black　world。　A　glass　porcelain　bowl　hung　from　the　middle　of　the　ceiling　on　three　brass　chains。　There　was　light　in　it。　It　had　little　colored　lumps　around　the　edge；　orange　and　blue　alternately。　I　stared　at　them。　I　was　tired　of　the　smoke。　As　I　stared　they　began　to　open　up　like　little　portholes　and　heads　popped　out。　Tiny　heads；　but　alive；　heads　like　the　heads　of　small　dolls；　but　alive。　There　was　a　man　in　a　yachting　cap　with　a　Johnnie　Walker　nose　and　a　fluffy　blonde　in　a　picture　hat　and　a　thin　man　with　a　crooked　bow　tie。　He　looked　like　a　waiter　in　a　beachtown　flytrap。　He　opened　his　lips　and　sneered：　〃Would　you　like　your　steak　rare　or　medium；　sir？〃
　I　closed　my　eyes　tight　and　winked　them　hard　and　when　I　opened　them　again　it　was　just　a　sham　porcelain　bowl　on　three　brass　chains。
　But　the　smoke　still　hung　motionless　in　the　moving　air。　I　took　hold　of　the　corner　of　a　rough　sheet　and　wiped　the　sweat　off　my　face　with　the　numb　fingers　the　correspondence　school　had　sent　me　after　the　nine　easy　lessons；　one　half　in　advance；　Box　Two　Million　Four　Hundred　and　Sixty　Eight　Thousand　Nine　Hundred　and　Twenty　Four；　Cedar　City；　Iowa。　Nuts。　pletely　nuts。
　I　sat　up　on　the　bed　and　after　a　while　I　could　reach　the　floor　with　my　feet。　They　were　bare　and　they　had　pins　and　needles　in　them。　Notions　counter　on　the　left；　madam。　Extra　large　safety　pins　on　the　right。　The　feet　began　to　feel　the　floor。　I　stood　up。　Too　far　up。　I　crouched　over；　breathing　hard　and　held　the　side　of　the　bed　and　a　voice　that　seemed　to　e　from　under　the　bed　said　over　and　over　again：　〃You've　got　the　dt's　。　。　。　you've　got　the　dt's　。　。　。　you've　got　the　dt's。〃
　I　started　to　walk；　wobbling　like　a　drunk。　There　was　a　bottle　of　whiskey　on　a　small　white　enamel　table　between　the　two　barred　windows。　It　looked　like　a　good　shape。　It　looked　about　half　full。　I　walked　towards　it。　There　are　a　lot　of　nice　people　in　the　world；　in　spite。　You　can　crab　over　the　morning　paper　and　kick　the　shins　of　the　guy　in　the　next　seat　at　the　movies　and　feel　mean　and　discouraged　and　sneer　at　the　politicians；　but　there　are　a　lot　of　nice　people　in　the　world　just　the　same。　Take　the　guy　that　left　that　half　bottle　of　whiskey　there。　He　had　a　heart　as　big　as　one　of　Mae　West's　hips。
　I　reached　it　and　put　both　my　half…numb　hands　down　on　it　and　hauled　it　up　to　my　mouth；　sweating　as　if　I　was　lifting　the　end　of　the　Golden　Gate　bridge。
　I　took　a　long　untidy　drink。　I　put　the　bottle　down　again；　with　infinite　care。　I　tried　to　lick　underneath　my　chin。
　The　whiskey　had　a　funny　taste。　While　I　was　realizing　that　it　had　a　funny　taste　I　saw　a　washbowl　jammed　into　the　corner　of　the　wall。　I　made　it。　I　just　made　it。　I　vomited。　Dizzy　Dean　never　threw　anything　harder。
　Time　passed…an　agony　of　nausea　and　staggering　and　dazedness　and　clinging　to　the　edge　of　the　bowl　and　making　animal　sounds　for　help。
　It　passed。　I　staggered　back　to　the　bed　and　lay　down　on　my　back　again　and　lay　there　panting；　watching　the　smoke。　The　smoke　wasn't　quite　so　clear。　Not　quite　so　real。　Maybe　it　was　just　something　back　of　my　eyes。　And　then　quite　suddenly　it　wasn't　there　at　all　and　the　light　from　the　porcelain　ceiling　fixture　etched　the　room　sharply。
　I　sat　up　again。　There　was　a　heavy　wooden　chair　against　the　wall　near　the　door。　There　was　another　door　besides　the　door　the　man　in　the　white　coat　had　e　in　at。　A　closet　door；　probably。　It　might　even　have　my　clothes　in　it。　The　floor　was　covered　with　green　and　gray　linoleum　in　squares。　The　walls　were　painted　white。　A　clean　room。　The　bed　on　which　I　sat　was　a　narrow　iron　hospital　bed；　lower　than　they　usually　are；　and　there　were　thick　leather　straps　with　buckles　attached　to　the　sides；　about　where　a　man's　wrists　and　ankles　would　be。
　It　was　a　swell　room…to　get　out　of。
　I　had　feeling　all　over　my　body　now；　soreness　in　my　head　and　throat　and　in　my　arm。　I　couldn't　remember　about　the　arm。　I　rolled　up　the　sleeve　of　the　cotton　pajama　thing　and　looked　at　it　fuzzily。　It　was　covered　with　pin　pricks　on　the　skin　all　the　way　from　the　elbow　to　the　shoulder。　Around　each　was　a　small　discolored　patch；　about　the　size　of　a　quarter。
　Dope。　I　had　been　shot　full　of　dope　to　keep　me　quiet。　Perhaps　scopolamine　too；　to　make　me　talk。　Too　much　dope　for　the　time。　I　was　having　the　French　fits　ing　out　of　it。　Some　do；　some　don't。　It　all　depends　how　you　are　put　together。　Dope。
　That　accounted　for　the　smoke　and　the　little　heads　around　the　edge　of　the　ceiling　light　and　the　voices　and　the　screwy　thoughts　and　the　straps　and　bars　and　the　numb　fingers　and　feet。　The　whiskey　was　probably　part　of　somebody's　forty…eight　hour　liquor　cure。　They　had　just　left　it　around　so　that　I　wouldn't　miss　anything。
　I　stood　up　and　almost　hit　the　opposite　wall　with　my　stomach。　That　made　me　lie　down　and　breathe　very　gently　for　quite　a　long　time。　I　was　tingling　all　over　now　and　sweating。　I　could　feel　little　drops　of　sweat　form　on　my　forehead　and　then　slide　slowly　and　carefully　down　the　side　of　my　nose　to　the　corner　of　my　mouth。　My　tongue　licked　at　them　foolishly。
　I　sat　up　once　more　and　planted　my　feet　on　the　floor　and　stood　up。
　〃Okey；　Marlowe；〃　I　said　between　my　teeth。　〃You're　a　tough　guy。　Six　feet　of　iron　man。　One　hundred　and　ninety　pounds　stripped　and　with　your　face　washed。　Hard　muscles　and　no　glass　jaw。　You　can　take　it。　You've　been　sapped　down　twice；　had　your　throat　choked　and　been　beaten　half　silly　on　the　jaw　with　a　gun　barrel。　You've　been　shot　full　of　hop　a