No Country for Old Men-第1章

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Acknowledgments

。＿生
the　author　would　like　to　express　his　appreciation　to　the　santa　fe　institute　for　his　long　　association　and　his　four…year　residence。　he　would　also　like　to　thank　amanda　urban。

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No　Country　for　Old　MenI

小说
i　sent　one　boy　to　the　gaschamber　at　huntsville。　one　and　only　one。　my　arrest　and　　my　testimony。　i　went　up　there　and　visited　with　him　two　or　three　times。　three　times。　the　　last　time　was　the　day　of　his　execution。　i　didnt　have　to　go　but　i　did。　i　sure　didnt　want　to。

hed　killed　a　fourteen　year　old　girl　and　i　can　tell　you　right　now　i　never　did　have　no　　great　desire　to　visit　with　him　let　alone　go　to　his　execution　but　i　done　it。　the　papers　said　　it　was　a　crime　of　passion　and　he　told　me　there　wasnt　no　passion　to　it。　hed　been　datin　　this　girl；　young　as　she　was。　he　was　nineteen。　and　he　told　me　that　he　had　been　plannin　　to　kill　somebody　for　about　as　long　as　he　could　remember。　said　that　if　they　turned　him　　out　hed　do　it　again。　said　he　knew　he　was　goin　to　hell。　told　it　to　me　out　of　his　own　　mouth。　i　dont　know　what　to　make　of　that。　i　surely　dont。　i　thought　id　never　seen　a　person　　like　that　and　it　got　me　to　wonderin　if　maybe　he　was　some　new　kind。　i　watched　them　　strap　him　into　the　seat　and　shut　the　door。　he　might　of　looked　a　bit　nervous　about　it　but　　that　was　about　all。　i　really　believe　that　he　knew　he　was　goin　to　be　in　hell　in　fifteen　　minutes。　i　believe　that。　and　ive　thought　about　that　a　lot。　he　was　not　hard　to　talk　to。

called　me　sheriff。　but　i　didnt　know　what　to　say　to　him。　what　do　you　say　to　a　man　that　　by　his　own　admission　has　no　soul？　why　would　you　say　anything？　ive　thought　about　it　a　　good　deal。　but　he　wasnt　nothin　pared　to　what　was　in　down　the　pike。

they　say　the　eyes　are　the　windows　to　the　soul。　i　dont　know　what　them　eyes　was　the　　windows　to　and　i　guess　id　as　soon　not　know。　but　there　is　another　view　of　the　world　out　　there　and　other　eyes　to　see　it　and　thats　where　this　is　goin。　it　has　done　brought　me　to　a　　place　in　my　life　i　would　not　of　thought　id　of　e　to。　somewhere　out　there　is　a　true　and　　living　prophet　of　destruction　and　i　dont　want　to　confront　him。　i　know　hes　real。　i　have　　seen　his　work。　i　walked　in　front　of　those　eyes　once。　i　wont　do　it　again。　i　wont　push　my　　chips　forward　and　stand　up　and　go　out　to　meet　him。　it　aint　just　bein　older。　i　wish　that　it　　was。　i　cant　say　that　its　even　what　you　are　willin　to　do。　because　i　always　knew　that　you　　had　to　be　willin　to　die　to　even　do　this　job。　that　was　always　true。　not　to　sound　glorious　　about　it　or　nothin　but　you　do。　if　you　aint　theyll　know　it。　theyll　see　it　in　a　heartbeat。　i　　think　it　is　more　like　what　you　are　willin　to　bee。　and　i　think　a　man　would　have　to　put　　his　soul　at　hazard。　and　i　wont　do　that。　i　think　now　that　maybe　i　never　would。

the　deputy　left　chigurh　standing　in　the　corner　of　the　office　with　his　hands　　cuffed　behind　him　while　he　sat　in　the　swivelchair　and　took　off　his　hat　and　put　his　feet　up　　and　called　lamar　on　the　mobile。

just　walked　in　the　door。　sheriff　he　had　some　sort　of　thing　on　him　like　one　of　them　　oxygen　tanks　for　emphysema　or　whatever。　then　he　had　a　hose　that　run　down　the　inside　　of　his　sleeve　and　went　to　one　of　them　stunguns　like　they　use　at　the　slaughterhouse。

yessir。　well　thats　what　it　looks　like。　you　can　see　it　when　you　get　in。　yessir。　i　got　it　　covered。　yessir。

when　he　stood　up　out　of　the　chair　he　swung　the　keys　off　his　belt　and　opened　the　locked　　desk　drawer　to　get　the　keys　to　the　jail。　he　was　slightly　bent　over　when　chigurh　squatted　　and　scooted　his　manacled　hands　beneath　him　to　the　back　of　his　knees。　in　the　same　　motion　he　sat　and　rocked　backward　and　passed　the　chain　under　his　feet　and　then　stood　　instantly　and　effortlessly。　if　it　looked　like　a　thing　hed　practiced　many　times　it　was。　he　　dropped　his　cuffed　hands　over　the　deputys　head　and　leaped　into　the　air　and　slammed　　both　knees　against　the　back　of　the　deputys　neck　and　hauled　back　on　the　chain。

they　went　to　the　floor。　the　deputy　was　trying　to　get　his　hands　inside　the　chain　but　he　　could　not。　chigurh　lay　there　pulling　back　on　the　bracelets　with　his　knees　between　his　　arms　and　his　face　averted。　the　deputy　was　flailing　wildly　and　hed　begun　to　walk　　sideways　over　the　floor　in　a　circle；　kicking　over　the　wastebasket；　kicking　the　chair　　across　the　room。　he　kicked　shut　the　door　and　he　wrapped　the　throwrug　in　a　wad　about　　them。　he　was　gurgling　and　bleeding　from　the　mouth。　he　was　strangling　on　his　own　　blood。　chigurh　only　hauled　the　harder。　the　nickelplated　cuffs　bit　to　the　bone。　the　　deputys　right　carotid　artery　burst　and　a　jet　of　blood　shot　across　the　room　and　hit　the　　wall　and　ran　down　it。　the　deputys　legs　slowed　and　then　stopped。　he　lay　jerking。　then　　he　stopped　moving　altogether。　chigurh　lay　breathing　quietly；　holding　him。　when　he　got　　up　he　took　the　keys　from　the　deputys　belt　and　released　himself　and　put　the　deputys　　revolver　in　the　waistband　of　his　trousers　and　went　into　the　bathroom。

he　ran　cold　water　over　his　wrists　until　they　stopped　bleeding　and　he　tore　strips　from　a　　handtowel　with　his　teeth　and　wrapped　his　wrists　and　went　back　into　the　office。　he　sat　on　　the　desk　and　fastened　the　toweling　with　tape　from　a　dispenser；　studying　the　dead　man　　gaping　up　from　the　floor。　when　he　was　done　he　got　the　deputys　wallet　out　of　his　pocket　　and　took　the　money　and　put　it　in　the　pocket　of　his　shirt　and　dropped　the　wallet　to　the　　floor。　then　he　picked　up　his　air…tank　and　the　stungun　and　walked　out　the　door　and　got　　into　the　deputys　car　and　started　the　engine　and　backed　around　and　pulled　out　and　　headed　up　the　road。

on　the　interstate　he　picked　out　a　late　model　ford　sedan　with　a　single　driver　and　turned　　on　the　lights　and　hit　the　siren　briefly。　the　car　pulled　onto　the　shoulder。　chigurh　pulled　　in　behind　him　and　shut　off　the　engine　and　slung　the　tank　across　his　shoulder　and　stepped　　out。　the　man　was　watching　him　in　the　rearview　mirror　as　he　walked　up。

whats　the　problem；　officer？　he　said。

sir　would　you　mind　stepping　out　of　the　vehicle？

the　man　opened　the　door　and　stepped　out。　whats　this　about？　he　said。

would　you　step　away　from　the　vehicle　please。

the　man　stepped　away　from　the　vehicle。　chigurh　could　see　the　doubt　e　into　his　　eyes　at　this　bloodstained　figure　before　him　but　it　came　too　late。　he　placed　his　hand　on　　the　mans　head　like　a　faith　healer。　the　pneumatic　hiss　and　click　of　the　plunger　sounded　　like　a　door　closing。　the　man　slid　soundlessly　to　the　ground；　a　round　hole　in　his　forehead　　from　which　the　blood　bubbled　and　ran　down　into　his　eyes　carrying　with　it　his　slowly　　uncoupling　world　visible　to　see。　chigurh　wiped　his　hand　with　his　handkerchief。　i　just　　didnt　want　you　to　get　blood　on　the　car；　he　said。

moss　sat　with　the　heels　of　his　boots　dug　into　the　volcanic　gravel　of　the　ridge　　and　glassed　the　desert　below　him　with　a　pair　of　twelve　power　german　binoculars。　his　　hat　pushed　back　on　his　head。　elbows　propped　on　his　knees。　the　rifle　strapped　over　his　　shoulder　with　a　harness…leather　sling　was　a　heavybarreled　。270　on　a　98　mauser　action　　with　a　laminated　stock　of　maple　and　walnut。　it　carried　a　unertl　telescopic　sight　of　the　　same　power　as　the　binoculars。　the　antelope　were　a　little　under　a　mile　away。　the　sun　　was　up　less　than　an　hour　and　the　shadow　of　the　ridge　and　the　datilla　and　the　rocks　fell　　far　out　across　the　floodplain　below　him。　somewhere　out　there　was　the　shadow　of　moss　　himself。　he　lowered　the　binoculars　and　sat　studying　the　land。　far　to　the　south　the　raw　　mountains　of　mexico。　the　breaks　of　the　river。　to　the　west　the　baked　terracotta　terrain　of　　the　running　borderlands。　he　spat　dryly　and　wiped　his　mouth　on　the　shoulder　of　his　　cotton　workshirt。

the　rifle　would　shoot　half　minute　of　angle　groups。　five　inch　groups　at　one　thousand　　yards。　the　spot　hed　picked　to　shoot　from　lay　just　below　a　long　talus　of　lava　scree　and　it　　would　put　him　well　within　that　distance。　except　that　it　would　take　the　better　part　of　an　　hour　to　get　there　and　the　antelope　were　grazing　away　from　him。　the　best　he　could　say　　about　any　of　it　was　that　there　was　no　wind。

when　he　got　to　the　foot　of　the　talus　he　raised　himself　slowly　and　looked　for　the　antelope。

theyd　not　moved　far　from　where　he　last　saw　them　but　the　shot　was　still　a　good　seven　　hundred　yards。　he　studied　the　animals　through　the　binoculars。　in　the　pressed　air　　motes　and　heat　distortion。　a　low　haze　of　shimmering　dust　and　pollen。　there　was　no　　other　cover　and　there　wasnt　going　to　be　any　other　shot。

he　wallowed　down　in　the　scree　and　pulled　off　one　boot　and　laid　it　over　the　rocks　and　　lowered　the　forearm　of　the　rifle　down　into　the　leather　and　pushed　off　the　safety　with　his　　thumb　and　sighted　through　the　scope。

they　stood　with　their　heads　up；　all　of　them；　looking　at　him。

damn；　he　whispered。　the　sun　was　behind　him　so　they　couldnt　very　well　have　seen　light　　reflect　off　the　glass　of　the　scope。　they　had　just　flat　seen　him。

the　rifle　had　a　canjar　trigger　set　to　nine　ounces　and　he　pulled　the　rifle　and　the　boot　　toward　him　with　great　care　and　sighted　again　and　jacked　the　crosshairs　slightly　up　the　　back　of　the　animal　standing　most　broadly　to　him。　he　knew　the　exact　drop　of　the　bullet　　in　hundred　yard　increments。　it　was　the　distance　that　was　uncertain。　he　laid　his　finger　in　　the　curve　of　the　trigger。　the