第65部分(第2/7 页)

THE　PARTY

He　was　dancing　with　a　beautiful　woman。

He　had　no　idea　what　time　it　was；　how　long　he　had　spent　in　the　Colorado　Lounge

or　how　long　he　had　been　here　in　the　ballroom。　Time　had　ceased　to　matter。

He　had　vague　memories：　listening　to　a　man　who　had　once　been　a　successful　radio

ic　and　then　a　variety　star　in　TV；　infant　days　telling　a　very　long　and　very

hilarious　joke　about　incest　between　Siamese　twins；　seeing　the　woman　in　the　harem

pants　and　the　sequined　bra　do　a　slow　and　sinuous　striptease　to　some　bumping…and…

grinding　music　from　the　jukebox　（it　seemed　it　had　been　David　Rose's　theme　music

from　The　Stripper）；　crossing　the　lobby　as　one　of　three；　the　other　two　men　in

evening　dress　that　predated　the　twenties；　all　of　them　singing　about　the　stiff

patch　on　Rosie　O'Grady's　knickers。　He　seemed　to　remember　looking　out　the　big

double　doors　and　seeing　Japanese　lanterns　strung　in　graceful；　curving　arcs　that

followed　the　sweep　of　the　driveway　—　they　gleamed　in　soft　pastel　colors　like

dusky　jewels。　The　big　glass　globe　on　the　porch　ceiling　was　on；　and　night…insects

bumped　and　flittered　against　it；　and　a　part　of　him；　perhaps　the　last　tiny　spark

of　sobriety；　tried　to　tell　him　that　it　was　6　A。M。　on　a　morning　in　December。　But

time　had　been　canceled。

（The　arguments　against　insanity　fall　through　with　a　soft　shurring　sound/layer

on　layer　。。。）

Who　was　that？　Some　poet　he　had　read　as　an　undergraduate？　Some　undergraduate

poet　who　was　now　selling　washers　in　Wausau　or　insurance　in　Indianapolis？　Perhaps

an　original　thought？　Didn't　matter。

（The　night　is　dark/　the　stars　are　high/　a　disembodied　custard　pie/　is　floating

in　the　sky　。。。）