No Country for Old Men-第26章

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d　　name　was　things　like　talkin　in　class　and　runnin　in　the　hallways。　chewin　gum。　copyin　　homework。　things　of　that　nature。　so　they　got　one　of　them　forms　that　was　blank　and　　printed　up　a　bunch　of　em　and　sent　em　back　out　to　the　same　schools。　forty　years　later。

well；　here　e　the　answers　back。　rape；　arson；　murder。　drugs。　suicide。　so　i　think　　about　that。　because　a　lot　of　the　time　ever　when　i　say　anything　about　how　the　world　is　　goin　to　hell　in　a　handbasket　people　will　just　sort　of　smile　and　tell　me　im　gettin　old。　that　　its　one　of　the　symptoms。　but　my　feelin　about　that　is　that　anybody　that　cant　tell　the　　difference　between　rapin　and　murderin　people　and　chewin　gum　has　got　a　whole　lot　　bigger　of　a　problem　than　what　ive　got。　forty　years　is　not　a　long　time　neither。　maybe　　the　next　forty　of　it　will　bring　some　of　em　out　from　under　the　ether。　if　it　aint　too　late。

here　a　year　or　two　back　me　and　loretta　went　to　a　conference　in　corpus　christi　and　i　　got　set　next　to　this　woman；　she　was　the　wife　of　somebody　or　other。　and　she　kept　talkin　　about　the　right　wing　this　and　the　right　wing　that。　i　aint　even　sure　what　she　meant　by　it。

the　people　i　know　are　mostly　just　mon　people。　mon　as　dirt；　as　the　sayin　goes。　i　　told　her　that　and　she　looked　at　me　funny。　she　thought　i　was　sayin　somethin　bad　about　　em；　but　of　course　thats　a　high　pliment　in　my　part　of　the　world。　she　kept　on；　kept　on。

finally　told　me；　said：　i　dont　like　the　way　this　country　is　headed。　i　want　my　　granddaughter　to　be　able　to　have　an　abortion。　and　i　said　well　mam　i　dont　think　you　got　　any　worries　about　the　way　the　country　is　headed。　the　way　i　see　it　goin　i　dont　have　much　　doubt　but　what　shell　be　able　to　have　an　abortion。　im　goin　to　say　that　not　only　will　she　　be　able　to　have　an　abortion；　shell　be　able　to　have　you　put　to　sleep。　which　pretty　much　　ended　the　conversation。

chigurh　limped　up　the　seventeen　flights　of　concrete　steps　in　the　cool　concrete　　well　and　when　he　got　to　the　steel　door　on　the　landing　he　shot　the　cylinder　out　of　the　lock　　with　the　plunger　of　the　stungun　and　opened　the　door　and　stepped　into　the　hallway　and　　shut　the　door　behind　him。　he　stood　leaning　against　the　door　with　the　shotgun　in　both　　hands；　listening。　breathing　no　harder　than　if　hed　just　got　up　out　of　a　chair。　he　went　　down　the　hallway　and　picked　the　crushed　cylinder　out　of　the　floor　and　put　it　in　his　　pocket　and　went　on　to　the　elevator　and　stood　listening　again。　he　took　off　his　boots　and　　stood　them　by　the　elevator　door　and　went　down　the　hallway　in　his　sockfeet；　walking　　slowly；　favoring　his　wounded　leg。

the　doors　to　the　office　were　open　onto　the　hallway。　he　stopped。　he　thought　that　　perhaps　the　man　did　not　see　his　own　shadow　on　the　outer　hallway　wall；　illdefined　but　　there。　chigurh　thought　it　an　odd　oversight　but　he　knew　that　fear　of　an　enemy　can　often　　blind　men　to　other　hazards；　not　least　the　shape　which　they　themselves　make　in　the　world。

he　slipped　the　strap　from　his　shoulder　and　lowered　the　airtank　to　the　floor。　he　studied　　the　stance　of　the　mans　shadow　framed　there　by　the　light　from　the　smoked　glass　window　　behind　him。　he　pushed　the　shotguns　follower　slightly　back　with　the　heel　of　his　hand　to　　check　the　chambered　round　and　pushed　the　safety　off。

the　man　was　holding　a　small　pistol　at　the　level　of　his　belt。　chigurh　stepped　into　the　　doorway　and　shot　him　in　the　throat　with　a　load　of　number　ten　shot。　the　size　collectors　　use　to　take　bird　specimens。　the　man　fell　back　through　his　swivel…chair　knocking　it　over　　and　went　to　the　floor　and　lay　there　twitching　and　gurgling。　chigurh　picked　up　the　　smoking　shotgun　shell　from　the　carpet　and　put　it　in　his　pocket　and　walked　into　the　room　　with　the　pale　smoke　still　drifting　from　the　canister　fitted　to　the　end　of　the　sawed…off　　barrel。　he　walked　around　behind　the　desk　and　stood　looking　down　at　the　man。　the　man　　was　lying　on　his　back　and　he　had　one　hand　over　his　throat　but　the　blood　was　pumping　　steadily　through　his　fingers　and　out　onto　the　rug。　his　face　was　full　of　small　holes　but　his　　right　eye　seemed　intact　and　he　looked　up　at　chigurh　and　tried　to　speak　from　out　of　his　　bubbling　mouth。　chigurh　dropped　to　one　knee　and　leaned　on　the　shotgun　and　looked　at　　him。　what　is　it？　he　said。　what　are　you　trying　to　tell　me？

the　man　moved　his　head。　the　blood　gurgled　in　his　throat。

can　you　hear　me？　chigurh　said。

he　didnt　answer。

im　the　man　you　sent　carson　wells　to　kill。　is　that　what　you　wanted　to　know？

he　watched　him。　he　was　wearing　a　blue　nylon　runningsuit　and　a　pair　of　white　leather　　shoes。　blood　was　starting　to　pool　about　his　head　and　he　was　shivering　as　if　he　were　cold。

the　reason　i　used　the　birdshot　was　that　i　didnt　want　to　break　the　glass。　behind　you。　to　　rain　glass　on　people　in　the　street。　he　nodded　toward　the　window　where　the　mans　upper　　silhouette　stood　outlined　in　the　small　gray　pockmarks　the　lead　had　left　in　the　glass。　he　　looked　at　the　man。　the　mans　hand　had　gone　slack　at　his　throat　and　the　blood　had　　slowed。　he　looked　at　the　pistol　lying　there。　he　rose　and　pushed　the　safety　back　on　the　　shotgun　and　stepped　past　the　man　to　the　window　and　inspected　the　pockings　the　lead　　had　made。　when　he　looked　down　at　the　man　again　the　man　was　dead。　he　crossed　the　　room　and　stood　at　the　doorway　listening。　he　went　out　and　down　the　hall　and　collected　　his　tank　and　the　stungun　and　got　his　boots　and　stepped　into　them　and　pulled　them　up。

then　he　walked　down　the　corridor　and　went　out　through　the　metal　door　and　down　the　　concrete　steps　to　the　garage　where　hed　left　his　vehicle。

when　they　got　to　the　bus　station　it　was　just　breaking　daylight；　gray　and　cold　and　a　light　　rain　falling。　she　leaned　forward　over　the　seat　and　paid　the　driver　and　gave　him　a　two　　dollar　tip。　he　got　out　and　went　around　to　the　trunk　and　opened　it　and　got　their　bags　and　　set　them　in　the　portico　and　brought　the　walker　around　to　her　mothers　side　and　opened　　the　door。　her　mother　turned　and　began　to　struggle　out　into　the　rain。

mama　will　you　wait？　i　need　to　get　around　there。

i　knowed　this　is　what　it　would　e　to；　the　mother　said。　i　said　it　three　year　ago。

it　aint　been　three　years。

i　used　them　very　words。

just　wait　till　i　get　around　there。

in　the　rain；　her　mother　said。　she　looked　up　at　the　cab…driver。　i　got　cancer；　she　said。　now　　look　at　this。　not　even　a　home　to　go　to。

yes　mam。

were　goin　to　el　paso　texas。　you　know　how　many　people　i　know　in　el　paso　texas？

no　mam。

she　paused　with　her　arm　on　the　door　and　held　up　her　hand　and　made　an　o　with　her　　thumb　and　forefinger。　thats　how　many；　she　said。

yes　mam。

they　sat　in　the　coffeeshop　surrounded　by　their　bags　and　parcels　and　stared　out　at　the　　rain　and　at　the　idling　buses。　at　the　gray　day　breaking。　she　looked　at　her　mother。　did　　you　want　some　more　coffee？　she　said。

the　old　woman　didnt　answer。

you　aint　speakin；　i　reckon。

i　dont　know　what　there　is　to　speak　about。

well　i　dont　guess　i　do　either。

whatever　you　all　done　you　done。　i　dont　know　why　i　ought　to　have　to　run　from　the　law。

we　aint　runnin　from　the　law；　mama。

you　couldnt　call　on　em　to　help　you　though；　could　you？

call　on　who？

the　law。

no。　we　couldnt。

thats　what　i　thought。

the　old　woman　adjusted　her　teeth　with　her　thumb　and　stared　out　the　window。　after　a　　while　the　bus　came。　the　driver　stowed　her　walker　in　the　luggage　bay　under　the　bus　and　　they　helped　her　up　the　steps　and　put　her　in　the　first　seat。　i　got　cancer；　she　told　the　driver。

carla　jean　put　their　bags　in　the　bin　overhead　and　sat　down。　the　old　woman　didnt　look　　at　her。　three　years　ago；　she　said。　you　didnt　have　to　have　no　dream　about　it。　no　　revelation　nor　nothin。　i　dont　give　myself　no　credit。　anybody　could　of　told　you　the　same　　thing。

well　i　wasnt　askin。

the　old　woman　shook　her　head。　looking　out　through　the　window　and　down　at　the　table　　theyd　vacated。　i　give　myself　no　credit；　she　said。　id　be　the　last　in　the　world　to　do　that。

chigurh　pulled　up　across　the　street　and　shut　off　the　engine。　he　turned　off　the　lights　and　　sat　watching　the　darkened　house。　the　green　diode　numerals　on　the　radio　put　the　time　at　　1：17。　he　sat　there　till　1：22　and　then　he　took　the　flashlight　from　the　glovebox　and　got　out　　and　closed　the　truck　door　and　crossed　the　street　to　the　house。

he　opened　the　screen　door　and　punched　out　the　cylinder　and　walked　in　and　shut　the　　door　behind　him　and　stood　listening。　there　was　a　light　ing　from　the　kitchen　and　he　　walked　down　the　hallway　with　the　flashlight　in　one　hand　and　the　shotgun　in　the　other。

when　he　got　to　the　doorway　he　stopped　and　listened　again。　the　light　came　from　a　bare　　bulb　on　the　back　porch。　he　went　on　into　the　kitchen。

a　bare　formica　and　chrome　table　in　the　center　of　the　room　with　a　box　of　cereal　standing　　on　it。　the　shadow　of　the　kitchen　window　lying　on　the　linoleum　floor。　he　crossed　the　　room　and　opened　the　refrigerator　and　looked　in。　he　put　the　shotgun　in　the　crook　of　his　　arm　and　took　out　a　can　of　orange　soda　and　opened　it　with　his　forefinger　and　stood　　drinking　it；　listening　for　anything　that　might　follow　the　metallic　click　of　the　can。　he　　drank　and　set　the　half…empty　can　on　the　counter　and　shut　the　refrigerator　door　and　　walked　through　the　diningroom　and　into　the　livingroom　and　sat　in　an　easy　chair　in　the　　corner　and　looked　out　at　the　street。

after　a