بخش 05 - فصل 42

42

Hodges is still sitting on the crate in the storage area, and not alone. There’s an elephant sitting on his chest. Something’s happening. Either the world is going away from him or he’s going away from the world. He thinks it’s the latter. It’s like he’s inside a camera and the camera is going backwards on one of those dolly-track things. The world

is as bright as ever, but getting

smaller, and there’s a growing circle of darkness around it. He holds on with all the force of his will, waiting for either an explosion or no explosion. One of the roadies is bending over him and asking if he’s all right. “Your lips are turning blue,” the roadie informs him. Hodges waves him away. He must listen.

Music and cheers and happy screams. Nothing else. At least not yet. Hold on, he tells himself. Hold on. “What?” the roadie asks, bending down again. “What?” “I have to hold on,” Hodges whispers, but now he can hardly breathe at all. The world has shrunk to the size of a fiercely gleaming silver

dollar. Then even that is blotted out, not because he’s lost consciousness but because someone is walking toward him. It’s Janey, striding slow and hipshot. She’s wearing his fedora tipped sexily over one eye. Hodges remembers what she said when he asked her how he had been so lucky as to end up in her bed: I have no

regrets . . . Can we leave it at that? Yeah, he thinks. Yeah. He closes his eyes, and tumbles off the crate like Humpty off his wall. The roadie grabs him but can only soften the fall, not stop it. The other roadies gather. “Who knows CPR?” asks the one who grabbed Hodges.

A roadie with a long graying ponytail steps forward. He’s wearing a faded Judas Coyne tee-shirt, and his eyes are bright red. “I do, but man, I’m so stoned.” “Try it anyway.” The roadie with the ponytail drops to his knees. “I think this guy is on the way out,” he says, but goes to work.

Upstairs, ‘Round Here starts a new song, to the squeals and cheers of their female admirers. These girls will remember this night for the rest of their lives. The music. The excitement. The beachballs flying above the swaying, dancing crowd. They will read about the explosion that didn’t happen in the newspapers, but to the young,

tragedies that don’t happen are only dreams. The memories: they’re the reality.