《No Country for Old Men》第40章

into　the　livingroom　and　sat　in　an　easy　chair　in　the corner　and　looked　out　at　the　street。
after　a　while　he　rose　and　crossed　the　room　and　went　up　the　stairs。　he　stood　listening　at the　head　of　the　stairwell。　when　he　entered　the　old　womans　room　he　could　smell　the sweet　musty　odor　of　sickness　and　he　thought　for　a　moment　she　might　even　be　lying there　in　the　bed。　he　switched　on　the　flashlight　and　went　into　the　bathroom。　he　stood reading　the　labels　of　the　pharmacy　bottles　on　the　vanity。　he　looked　out　the　window　at the　street　below；　the　dull　winter　light　from　the　streetlamps。　two　in　the　morning。　dry。
cold。　silent。　he　went　out　and　down　the　hallway　to　the　small　bedroom　at　the　rear　of　the house。
he　emptied　her　bureau　drawers　out　onto　the　bed　and　sat　sorting　through　her　things； holding　up　from　time　to　time　some　item　and　studying　it　in　the　bluish　light　from　the yardlamp。　a　plastic　hairbrush。　a　cheap　fairground　bracelet。　weighing　these　things　in his　hand　like　a　medium　who　might　thereby　divine　some　fact　concerning　the　owner。　he sat　turning　the　pages　in　a　photo　album。　school　friends。　family。　a　dog。　a　house　not　this one。　a　man　who　may　have　been　her　father。　he　put　two　pictures　of　her　in　his　shirtpocket。
there　was　a　ceiling　fan　overhead。　he　got　up　and　pulled　the　chain　and　lay　down　on　the bed　with　the　shotgun　alongside　him；　watching　the　wooden　blades　wheel　slowly　in　the light　from　the　window。　after　a　while　he　got　up　and　took　the　chair　from　the　desk　in　the corner　and　tilted　it　and　pushed　the　top　backladder　up　under　the　doorknob。　then　he　sat on　the　bed　and　pulled　off　his　boots　and　stretched　out　and　went　to　sleep。
in　the　morning　he　walked　through　the　house　again　upstairs　and　down　and　then　returned to　the　bathroom　at　the　end　of　the　hall　to　shower。　he　left　the　curtain　pulled　back；　the water　spraying　onto　the　floor。　the　hallway　door　open　and　the　shotgun　lying　on　the vanity　a　foot　away。
he　dried　the　dressing　on　his　leg　with　a　hairdryer　and　shaved　and　dressed　and　went　down to　the　kitchen　and　ate　a　bowl　of　cereal　and　milk；　walking　through　the　house　as　he　ate。　in the　livingroom　he　stopped　and　looked　at　the　mail　lying　in　the　floor　beneath　the　brass slot　in　the　front　door。　he　stood　there；　chewing　slowly。　then　he　set　bowl　and　spoon　on the　coffeetable　and　crossed　the　room　and　bent　over　and　picked　up　the　mail　and　stood sorting　through　it。　he　sat　in　a　chair　by　the　door　and　opened　the　phone　bill　and　cupped the　envelope　and　blew　into　it。
he　glanced　down　the　list　of　calls。　halfway　down　was　the　terrell　county　sheriffs department。　he　folded　the　bill　and　put　it　back　in　the　envelope　and　put　the　envelope　in his　shirt…pocket。　then　he　looked　through　the　other　pieces　of　mail　again。　he　rose　and went　into　the　kitchen　and　got　the　shotgun　off　the　table　and　came　back　and　stood　where hed　stood　before。　he　crossed　to　a　cheap　mahogany　desk　and　opened　the　top　drawer。
the　drawer　was　stuffed　with　mail。　he　laid　the　shotgun　down　and　sat　in　the　chair　and pulled　the　mail　out　and　piled　it　on　the　desk　and　began　to　go　through　it。
moss　spent　the　day　in　a　cheap　motel　on　the　edge　of　town　sleeping　naked　in　the　bed　with his　new　clothes　on　wire　hangers　in　the　closet。　when　he　woke　the　shadows　were　long　in the　motel　courtyard　and　he　struggled　up　and　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　bed。　a　pale bloodstain　the　size　of　his　hand　on　the　sheets。　there　was　a　paper　bag　on　the　night　table that　held　things　hed　bought　from　a　drugstore　in　town　and　he　picked　it　up　and　limped into　the　bathroom。　he　showered　and　shaved　and　brushed　his　teeth　for　the　first　time　in five　days　and　then　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　tub　and　taped　fresh　gauze　over　his　wounds。
then　he　got　dressed　and　called　a　cab。
he　was　standing　in　front　of　the　motel　office　when　the　cab　pulled　up。　he　climbed　into the　rear　seat；　got　his　breath；　then　reached　and　shut　the　door。　he　regarded　the　face　of　the driver　in　the　rearview　mirror。　do　you　want　to　make　some　money？　he　said。
yeah。　i　want　to　make　some　money。
moss　took　five　of　the　hundreds　and　tore　them　in　two　and　passed　one　half　across　the back　of　the　seat　to　the　driver。　the　driver　counted　the　torn　bills　and　put　them　in　his shirtpocket　and　looked　at　moss　in　the　mirror　and　waited。
whats　your　name？
paul；　said　the　driver。
you　got　the　right　attitude；　paul。　i　wont　get　you　in　trouble。　i　just　dont　want　you　to　leave me　somewheres　that　i　dont　want　to　be　left。
all　right。
have　you　got　a　flashlight？
yeah。　i　got　a　flashlight。
let　me　have　it。
the　driver　passed　the　flashlight　to　the　back。
youre　the　man；　moss　said。
where　are　we　going。
down　the　river　road。
i　aint　pickin　nobody　up。
were　not　pickin　anybody　up。
the　driver　watched　him　in　the　mirror。　no　drogas；　he　said。
no　drogas。
the　driver　waited。
im　goin　to　pick　up　a　briefcase。　it　belongs　to　me。　you　can　look　inside　if　you　want。
nothin　illegal。
i　can　look　inside。
yes　you　can。
i　hope　youre　not　jerkin　me　around。
no。
i　like　money　but　i　like　stayin　out　of　jail　even　better。
im　the　same　way　myself；　moss　said。
they　drove　slowly　up　the　road　toward　the　bridge。　moss　leaned　forward　over　the　seat。　i want　you　to　park　under　the　bridge；　he　said。
all　right。
im　goin　to　unscrew　the　bulb　out　of　this　domelight。
they　watch　this　road　round　the　clock；　the　driver　said。
i　know　that。
the　driver　pulled　off　of　the　road　and　shut　off　the　engine　and　the　lights　and　looked　at moss　in　the　mirror。　moss　took　the　bulb　from　the　light　and　laid　it　in　the　plastic　lens　and handed　it　across　the　seat　to　the　driver　and　opened　the　door。　i　should　be　back　in　just　a few　minutes；　he　said。
the　cane　was　dusty；　the　stalks　close　grown。　he　pushed　his　way　through　carefully； holding　the　light　at　his　knees　with　his　hand　partly　across　the　lens。
the　case　was　sitting　in　the　brake　rightside　up　and　intact　as　if　someone　had　simply　set　it there。　he　switched　off　the　light　and　picked　it　up　and　made　his　way　back　in　the　dark； taking　his　sight　by　the　span　of　the　bridge　overhead。　when　he　got　to　the　cab　he　opened the　door　and　set　the　case　in　the　seat　and　got　in　carefully　and　shut　the　door。　he　handed the　flashlight　to　the　driver　and　leaned　back　in　the　seat。　lets　go；　he　said。
whats　i