No Country for Old Men-第16章

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in　an　arcade。

excuse　me。

they　were　stepping　off　the　curb　into　the　roadway　to　go　around　him。

excuse　me　i　wondered　if　you　all　would　sell　me　a　coat。

they　didnt　stop　till　they　were　past　him。　then　one　of　them　turned。　whatll　you　give？　he　　said。

that　man　behind　you。　the　one　in　the　long　coat。

the　one　in　the　long　coat　stopped　with　the　others。

how　much？

ill　give　you　five　hundred　dollars。

bullshit。

e　on　brian。

lets　go；　brian。　hes　drunk。

brian　looked　at　them　and　he　looked　at　moss。　lets　see　the　money；　he　said。

its　right　here。

let　me　see　it。

let　me　hold　the　coat。

lets　go；　brian。

you　take　this　hundred　and　let　me　hold　the　coat。　then　ill　give　you　the　rest。

all　right。

he　slipped　out　of　the　coat　and　handed　it　over　and　moss　handed　him　the　bill。

whats　this　on　it？

blood。

blood？

blood。

he　stood　holding　the　bill　in　one　hand。　he　looked　at　the　blood　on　his　fingers。　what　　happened　to　you？

ive　been　shot。

lets　go；　brian。　goddamn。

let　me　have　the　money。

moss　handed　him　the　bills　and　unshouldered　the　zipper　bag　to　the　sidewalk　and　　struggled　into　the　coat。　the　boy　folded　the　bills　and　put　them　in　his　pocket　and　stepped　　away。

he　joined　the　others　and　they　went　on。　then　they　stopped。　they　were　talking　together　　and　looking　back　at　him。　he　got　the　coat　buttoned　and　put　his　money　in　the　inside　　pocket　and　shouldered　the　bag　and　picked　up　the　leather　case。　you　all　need　to　keep　　walkin；　he　said。　i　wont　tell　you　twice。

they　turned　and　went　on。　there　were　only　three　of　them。　he　shoved　at　his　eyes　with　the　　heel　of　his　hand。　he　tried　to　see　where　the　fourth　one　had　gone。　then　he　realized　that　　there　was　no　fourth　one。　thats　all　right；　he　said。　just　keep　puttin　one　foot　in　front　of　the　　other。

when　he　reached　the　place　where　the　river　actually　passed　beneath　the　bridge　he　　stopped　and　stood　looking　down　at　it。　the　mexican　gateshack　was　just　ahead。　he　　looked　back　down　the　bridge　but　the　three　were　gone。　a　grainy　light　to　the　east。　over　　the　low　black　hills　beyond　the　town。　the　water　moved　beneath　him　slow　and　dark。　a　　dog　somewhere。　silence。　nothing。

there　was　a　stand　of　tall　carrizo　cane　growing　along　the　american　side　of　the　river　　below　him　and　he　set　the　zipper　bag　down　and　took　hold　of　the　case　by　the　handles　and　　swung　it　behind　him　and　then　heaved　it　over　the　rail　and　out　into　space。

whitehot　pain。　he　held　his　side　and　watched　the　bag　turn　slowly　in　the　diminishing　　light　from　the　bridgelamps　and　drop　soundlessly　into　the　cane　and　vanish。　then　he　slid　　to　the　pavement　and　sat　there　in　the　puddling　blood；　his　face　against　the　wire。　get　up；　he　　said。　damn　you；　get　up。

when　he　reached　the　gatehouse　there　was　no　one　there。　he　pushed　through　and　into　the　　town　of　piedras　negras；　state　of　coahuila。

he　made　his　way　up　the　street　to　a　small　park　or　zocalo　where　the　grackles　in　the　　eucalyptus　trees　were　waking　and　calling。　the　trees　were　painted　white　to　the　height　of　　a　wainscot　and　from　a　distance　the　park　seemed　set　with　white　posts　arrayed　at　random。

in　the　center　a　wrought…iron　gazebo　or　bandstand。　he　collapsed　on　one　of　the　iron　　benches　with　the　bag　on　the　bench　beside　him　and　leaned　forward　holding　himself。

globes　of　orange　light　hung　from　the　lampstands。　the　world　receding。　across　from　the　　park　was　a　church。　it　seemed　far　away。　the　grackles　creaked　and　swayed　in　the　　branches　overhead　and　day　was　ing。

he　put　out　one　hand　on　the　bench　beside　him。　nausea。　dont　lie　down。

no　sun。　just　the　gray　light　breaking。　the　streets　wet。　the　shops　closed。　iron　shutters。

an　old　man　was　ing　along　pushing　a　broom。　he　paused。　then　he　moved　on。

se？or；　moss　said。

bueno；　the　old　man　said。

you　speak　english？

he　studied　moss；　holding　the　broom　handle　in　both　hands。　he　shrugged　his　shoulders。

i　need　a　doctor。

the　old　man　waited　for　more。　moss　pushed　himself　up。　the　bench　was　bloody。　ive　　been　shot；　he　said。

the　old　man　looked　him　over。　he　clucked　his　tongue。　he　looked　away　toward　the　dawn。

the　trees　and　buildings　taking　shape。　he　looked　at　moss　and　gestured　with　his　chin。

puede　andar？　he　said。

what？

puede　caminar？　he　made　walking　motions　with　his　fingers；　his　hand　hanging　loosely　at　　the　wrist。

moss　nodded。　a　wave　of　blackness　came　over　him。　he　waited　till　it　passed。

tiene　dinero？　the　sweeper　rubbed　his　thumb　and　fingers　together。

si；　moss　said。　si。　he　rose　and　stood　swaying。　he　took　the　packet　of　bloodsoaked　bills　　from　the　overcoat　pocket　and　separated　a　hundred　dollar　note　and　handed　it　to　the　old　　man。　the　old　man　took　it　with　great　reverence。　he　looked　at　moss　and　then　he　stood　the　　broom　against　the　bench。

when　chigurh　came　down　the　steps　and　out　the　front　door　of　the　hotel　he　had　a　towel　　wrapped　around　his　upper　right　leg　and　tied　with　sections　of　window　blind　cord。　the　　towel　was　already　wet　through　with　blood。　he　was　carrying　a　small　bag　in　one　hand　and　　a　pistol　in　the　other。

the　cadillac　was　crossways　in　the　intersection　and　there　was　gunfire　in　the　street。　he　　stepped　back　into　the　doorway　of　the　barbershop。　the　clatter　of　automatic　riflefire　and　　the　deep　heavy　slam　of　a　shotgun　rattling　off　the　facades　of　the　buildings。　the　men　in　　the　street　were　dressed　in　raincoats　and　tennis　shoes。　they　didnt　look　like　anybody　you　　would　expect　to　meet　in　this　part　of　the　country。　he　limped　back　up　the　steps　to　the　　porch　and　laid　the　pistol　over　the　balustrade　and　opened　fire　on　them。

by　the　time　theyd　figured　out　where　the　fire　was　ing　from　hed　killed　one　and　　wounded　another。　the　wounded　man　got　behind　the　car　and　opened　up　on　the　hotel。

chigurh　stood　with　his　back　to　the　brick　wall　and　fitted　a　fresh　clip　into　the　pistol。　the　　rounds　were　taking　out　the　glass　in　the　doors　and　splintering　up　the　sashwork。　the　foyer　　light　went　out。　it　was　still　dark　enough　in　the　street　that　you　could　see　the　muzzleflashes。

there　was　a　break　in　the　firing　and　chigurh　turned　and　pushed　his　way　through　into　the　　hotel　lobby；　the　bits　of　glass　crackling　under　his　boots。　he　went　gimping　down　the　　hallway　and　down　the　steps　at　the　rear　of　the　hotel　and　out　into　the　parking　lot。

he　crossed　the　street　and　went　up　jefferson　keeping　to　the　north　wall　of　the　buildings；　　trying　to　hurry　and　swinging　the　bound　leg　out　at　his　side。　all　of　this　was　one　block　　from　the　maverick　county　courthouse　and　he　figured　he　had　minutes　at　best　before　　fresh　parties　began　to　arrive。

when　he　got　to　the　corner　there　was　only　one　man　standing　in　the　street。　he　was　at　the　　rear　of　the　car　and　the　car　was　badly　shot　up；　all　of　the　glass　gone　or　shot　white。　there　　was　at　least　one　body　inside。　the　man　was　watching　the　hotel　and　chigurh　leveled　the　　pistol　and　shot　him　twice　and　he　fell　down　in　the　street。　chigurh　stepped　back　behind　　the　corner　of　the　building　and　stood　with　the　pistol　upright　at　his　shoulder；　waiting。　a　　rich　tang　of　gunpowder　on　the　cool　morning　air。　like　the　smell　of　fireworks。　no　sound　　anywhere。

when　he　limped　out　into　the　street　one　of　the　men　hed　shot　from　the　hotel　porch　was　　crawling　toward　the　curb。　chigurh　watched　him。　then　he　shot　him　in　the　back。　the　　other　one　was　lying　by　the　front　fender　of　the　car。　hed　been　shot　through　the　head　and　　the　dark　blood　was　pooled　all　about　him。　his　weapon　was　lying　there　but　chigurh　paid　　it　no　mind。　he　walked　to　the　rear　of　the　car　and　jostled　the　man　there　with　his　boot　and　　then　bent　and　picked　up　the　machine…gun　hed　been　firing。　it　was　a　shortbarreled　uzi　　with　the　twenty…five　round　clip。　chigurh　rifled　the　dead　mans　raincoat　pockets　and　　came　up　with　three　more　clips；　one　of　them　full。　he　put　them　in　the　pocket　of　his　jacket　　and　stuck　the　pistol　down　in　the　front　of　his　belt　and　checked　the　rounds　in　the　clip　that　　was　in　the　uzi。　then　he　slung　the　piece　over　his　shoulder　and　hobbled　back　to　the　curb。

the　man　hed　shot　in　the　back　was　lying　there　watching　him。　chigurh　looked　up　the　　street　toward　the　hotel　and　the　courthouse。　the　tall　palm　trees。　he　looked　at　the　man。

the　man　was　lying　in　a　spreading　pool　of　blood。　help　me；　he　said。　chigurh　took　the　　pistol　from　his　waist。　he　looked　into　the　mans　eyes。　the　man　looked　away。

look　at　me；　chigurh　said。

the　man　looked　and　looked　away　again。

do　you　speak　english？

yes。

dont　look　away。　i　want　you　to　look　at　me。

he　looked　at　chigurh。　he　looked　at　the　new　day　paling　all　about。　chigurh　shot　him　　through　the　forehead　and　then　stood　watching。　watching　the　capillaries　break　up　in　his　　eyes。　the　light　receding。　watching　his　own　image　degrade　in　that　squandered　world。　he　　shoved　the　pistol　in　his　belt　and　looked　back　up　the　street　once　more。　then　he　picked　up　　the　bag　and　slung　the　uzi　over　his　shoulder　and　crossed　the　street　and　went　limping　on　　toward　the　hotel　parking　lot　where　hed　left　his　vehicle。

。。



No　Country　for　Old　MenV

：
we　e　here　from　georgia。　our　family　did。　horse　and　wagon。　i　pretty　much　　know　that　for　a　fact。　i　know　theys　a　lots　of　things　in　a　family　history　that　just　plain　aint　　so。　any　family。　the　stories　gets　passed　on　and　the　truth　gets　passed　over。　as　the　sayin　　goes。　which　i　reckon　some　would　take　as　meanin　that　the　truth　cant　pete。　but　i　dont　　believe　that。　i　think　that　when　the　lies　are　all　tol