Literature - Stephen King. Road horror is rushing north.

  
  
  
  
                                                                
                      SteVen King (c) 2000                      
                                                                
                ROAD TERROR RUNS TO THE NORTH                    
                                                                
                            Part I.                            
                                                                
    When Richard Kinnell first saw this painting in the yard
sale in Rosewood, she didn't scare him. Vice versa. She told him
I liked it right away.  I was immediately captivated. And he also thought how he could
lucky  that  he  completely by accident  came across 
wonderful  thing,  which was born in soul some
a special feeling. But well exactly - not fear. And only then
Kinnell understood ("later, when it was already too late", how
would he have written himself in one of his novels, which are used by
reading public with constant and downright stunning success),
that the sensations generated by this picture were very reminiscent of thosehe experienced in youth by relating to some prohibited
narcotic law npenapatam.                               
     Kinnell drove to Rosewood on the way from Boston, where he
invited to a conference of New England writers with an epochal
entitled "Dangerous Sides of Popularity" under the auspices of PEN. He
For a long time already understood that PEN can find worthy themes for
discussions.  In fact he actually liked it. On suchevents he, as they say, rested his soul.  From Derry to
Boston was two hundred and sixty miles away but Kinnell decided that
will go by himself, by car. Of course he could fly on a plane,
but lately work on the next book unexpectedly
stalled and he wanted some time to be alone,
to calmly think how to overcome the creative crisis. A
here was just the right opportunity.                          
     At the  conference, Kinnell was asked everything the the same questions,
who,in his own opinion, are people close to literature
horrors should not be asked of a writer at all. They asked where he was
takes plots for his novels and isn't he scared?
himself when he is working on his book. From Boston Kinnell
drove out on Tobin Bridge and immediately turned onto highway n 1. He
I've never driven on expressways when I wanted to think
to resolve pressing problems. The highways drove him
into a strange state: like as if you were sleeping and at the same time
you're awake. The state is calm and even pleasant, but not particularly
constructive in creative terms.  A here is the road going along
coast, s constant stops at traffic lights.., she
acted on Kinnell like a grain of sand that fell into an oyster.
Created  as  times  then  unobtrusive irritation that
promotes the work of thought. And sometimes it even gives birth to a pearl.     
     Although critics creativity Richard Kinnell would not have been in his life
thought of   to use  this comparison.  Inone of the rooms
"Esquire" for last year there was an article by Bradley Cumohca about
"City nightmares." The article began: "Richard Kinnell again
pleased numerous admirers.  The king of horrors experienced
another attack of uncontrollable verbalvomiting and gave us
the nth masterpiece. This eruption is entitled "City of Nightmares".      
  Kinnell  already  passed  via Pebup, Malden, Everett and
Newburyport. Just outside Newburyport, just south of the border
states  Massachusetts  and  New Hampshire, there was a small
neat town - Rosewood.  After driving about a mile from
center city, Kinnell noticed that on the lawn in front of one
in a two-story cottage, all sorts of clearly cheap items are laid out in a row
kind.  K  electric  tile muddy green color was
Attached is a cardboard that says "YARD SALE." On both
On the sides of the narrow street there were parked cars. Between
They remained the same passage like “if you want, you can squeeze through”,
which is used obscenely by impatient drivers who are not subject to
the mysterious charm of yard sales in small towns.
But Kinnell once loved yard sales. Especiallyhim
liked to rummage through boxes of old books, which sometimes
came across at these home markets. He squeezed into the narrow
passage and put my Audi first in the line of cars looking into
side of Maine and New Hampshire.                                    
     The sale was quite crowded.  Person ten -
twelve  wandered on extremely litteredlawn in front
wooden cottage, painted gray and blue. Left
from filled with concrete path, right on the street, there was a big
TV. Four trash baskets served as a stand for him, but
garbage in it seems they were not thrown in principle. On TV
flaunted  another  cardboard:  "BUY  SOMETHING  - NOT
YOU WILL BE REGRET." The electrical cord, as tight as a string, stretched from
TV into the house through the open front door. Right there, in
shadow large umbrella with inscription "CINZANO", there was a plastic
armchair  In chair a fat woman was sitting. In front of her is a small
card table with cigar box, flip pad and
yetone cardboard on which was written by hand: "PAYMENT
ONLY CASH.  SOLD GOODS BO3BPATY NOT SUBJECT".
The TV was working. They were playing another soap opera where everything was going well
to the fact that what the handsome hero and the beautiful heroine will now do
extremely unsafe sex. The fat woman glanced at
Quinnella and stared at the TV again. She stared for a second
on the screen, and then turned back to Kinnell. And I was already staring
at him. And with his mouth open.                                     
     Yeah,  reader-admirer,  -  thought Kinnell,
looking around lawn in searching for cardboard boxes with old
books in paperbacks, which certainly had to be
somewhere here.                                                   
     He didn't find any books.  3ato saw a painting leaning against
ironing board and propped up for stability with two plastic
baskets.  Kinnell's breath caught. He immediately realized that
he will take this thing.                                            
    Containing excitement, he carelessly stepped to the picture and
went down  in front of  her on one knee. It was a watercolor,
impeccable from technical point of view.However, Kinnell's technique
just was not interested (which was noted more than once by diligent
critics  took  to analyze his books). In works
He valued art first of all, content. Moreover, the more
it “pierced”, the better. Kinnell liked the piece
gave rise to anxiety. And, judging by this criterion, the picture was
above  all sorts of  praises.  Standing on knees between plastic
baskets filled with all sorts of things with all sorts of things, he ran his fingers over
glass, closed  watercolor.  Then  looked around, hoping
discover something else similar, but there was only one such picture - that’s all
the rest was standard for home bazaars
set: chubby-cheekeddolls, prayerfully folded palms and
frolicking dogs.                                             
     Kinnell again began to look at the watercolor in the frame under
glass. Mentally he has already moved his suitcase to the back
seat in the cabin, and carefully placed the painting in the trunk.          
    The painting depicted a young man driving a powerful
a sports car - maybe a Grand-ama, or maybe a GTX, in general,
some car with a convertible top - on the Tobin Bridge on
sunset  The convertible top was up and so the black car
looked like an unfinished convertible.  The young man built
left hand over the side door with the window down, and right
carelessly held on the steering wheel. 3akathoe sky over Tobin Bridge in yellow
and gray smudges with hot pink veins it looked like
huge bruise.  Liquid lighthair hung in icicles on
low forehead, the young man grinned, and through parted lips
his teeth were visible. Only these were not teeth, but real ones
fangs.                                                          
    Maybe he sharpened them on purpose, Kinnell thought.
- Maybe he's some kind of maniac. Ogre.                   
    He he really liked it: the very idea that the cannibal was riding along
Tobin Bridge at sunset. In a luxurious Grand-Am. He knew that
overwhelming  most  of  those  who  was present  at
writersPEN conference, you would probably think: Yeah, the most
What a perfect picture for Rich Kinnell. I suppose
hang it above table for inspiration. Such a feather that
tick in the old worn-out throat for the next
portions uncontrollablevomiting.  But this isthe most overwhelming
most were simply ignorant - at least in that
concerns his own books.  And not only that: they rushed around
with their ignorance, they adored him, cared for him and cherished him - it’s unclear, with
what a fright.  Exactly just as some care, cherish and
adore  evil  and stupid small dogs that
bark at guests and occasionally try to bite the postman
for heel. Kinnell liked the picture not because he wrote
novels horror novels. He wrote horror novels because he liked
thingstype this picture. Enthusiastic readers often sent
all sorts of nonsense to him -  mostly paintings. Most of these
paintings Kinnell simply threw them in the trash. And not at all because
that they were bad. And because that they were boring and
predictable.  But one guy from Omaxu once sent him
small ceramic figurine: screamingfrom fear monkey
sticks head out of the refrigerator.  Andthis Kinnell thing
left. From the point of view of artistic skillthe figurine was
It was executed very poorly, but there was an element of surprise in it.
Some strange contact that affected Kinnell and,
as they say, it gave it acceleration.  There is also something in the picture
it was like that. Only stronger. Much stronger.                    
     Kinnell has already reached out to the painting.  He wanted to take her
right now - this very second - tuck it under your arm and announce,
that he takes this thing. But then a voice came from behind him:       
     - Excuse me, are you Richard Kinnell?                        
    He suddenly straightened up and turned around. Standing right behind
thick  aunt,  blocking most of review.  Kinnell
noticed that before approaching him, the aunt tinted her lips
bright red lipstick and lipstick and now she smiled like a bleeding
smile.                                                        
  - Yes, it is I, - he smiled in response. The fat woman pointed
eyes at the picture:                                             
     - I should have guessed that you immediately to it and
hanpabutecb,” she said with a stupid smile. - She's straight
yours.                                                           
     - Yes, indeed. - Kinnell portrayed the most radiant
from your "front-weekend" smiles. - And how much are you for it
want?                                                         
     - Forty-five dollars, - the aunt immediately responded. - I'll tell you
To tell you the truth, at first I wanted seventy. But she doesn't tell anyone
I like it, yes. I had to reduce the price. If you'll get it tomorrow
Come back, I'll probably pay it for thirty. - Smile on your face
the aunts stretched out wider and wider, and the cordiality she radiated became
downright terrifying dimensions.  Kinnell even noted that in
Saliva bubbles at the corners of my aunt’s lips.                           
     - No, I'd rather not risk it. And then suddenly she’s still
“They’ll buy it before tomorrow,” he said. - I'll write you a check. Right now
without delay.                                                  
    Tetkuha smile stretched almost to the ears, and the aunt is now
became like some kind of ridiculous parody of John Yotepca. Oh
Divine Shirley Temple!                                       
     - Actually, I not should take receipts. Well yes okay, -
she said in the tone of a shy schoolgirl who had finally succumbed to
persistent persuasion sexualconcerned friend. - And already
If you get a pen, maybe you can give me an autograph at the same time, for
daughters? Her name is Michela.                                         
     - Beautiful name, - Kinnell responded automatically. He took
picture and returned next behind fat woman to card
table.  The action on the screen changed.  Horny couple
temporarily gave in to the place of a hungry old woman who
noisily and greedily absorbed thoughts.                                  
     - Mikela reads all your books, said the fat woman. - And
Where do you get these crazy ideas from?                 
     - I don't I know. - Kinnell stretched his lips into a smile. - They're just
they come and that's it. Amazing, right?                               
                                                                
                                 ***