sk.dreamcatcher-第17章

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　　　　'Was　it　the　kid　in　the　Beavis　and　Butt…head　shirt？'　Pete　asked。　His　words　came　out　in　little　puffs　of　white　vapor。
　　　　Henry　nodded。　'The　kid'　could　have　been　twelve　or　twenty…five；　when　it　came　to　Down's　syndrome　you　just　couldn't　tell。　He　had　been　red…haired；　wandering　along　the　middle　aisle　of　the　dark　little　market　next　to　a　man　who　just　about　had　to　be　his　father　…　same　green…and…black…checked　hunting　jacket；　more　importantly　the　same　carroty　red　hair；　the　man's　now　thin　enough　to　show　the　scalp　underneath；　and　he　had　given　them　a　look；　the　kind　that　says　Don't　you　say　nothing　about　my　kid　unless　you　want　trouble；　and　of　course　neither　of　them　had　said　anything；　they　had　e　the　twenty　or　so　miles　from　Hole　in　the　Wall　for　beer　and　bread　and　hot　dogs；　not　trouble；　and　besides；　they　had　once　known　Duddits；　still　knew　Duddits　in　a　way　…　sent　him　Christmas　presents　and　birthday　cards；　anyway；　Duddits　who　had　once　been；　in　his　own　peculiar　fashion；　one　of　them。　What　Henry　could　not　very　well　confide　to　Pete　was　that　he'd　been　thinking　of　Duds　at　odd　moments　ever　since　realizing；　some　sixteen　months　ago；　that　he　meant　to　take　his　own　life　and　that　everything　he　did　had　bee　either　a　holding　action　against　that　event　or　a　preparation　for　it。　Sometimes　he　even　dreamed　of　Duddits；　and　of　the　Beav　saying　Let　me　fix　that；　man　and　Duddits　saying　Fit　wha？
　　　　'Nothing　wrong　with　thinking　about　Duddits；　Pete；'　he　said　as　he　hauled　the　makeshift　sled　with　the　woman　on　it　into　the　shelter。　He　was　out　of　breath　himself。　'Duddits　was　how　we　defined　ourselves。　He　was　our　finest　hour。'
　　　　'You　think　so？'
　　　　'Yup。'　Henry　plopped　down　to　get　his　breath　before　going　on。　to　the　next　thing。　He　looked　at　his　watch。　Almost　noon。　By　now　Jonesy　and　Beaver　would　be　past　the　point　of　thinking　the　snow　had　just　slowed　them　down；　would　be　almost　sure　something　had　gone　wrong。　Perhaps　one　of　them　would　fire　up　the　snowmobile　（if　it　works；　he　reminded　himself　again；　if　the　damn　thing　works）。　e　out　looking　for　them。　That　would　simplify　things　a　bit。
　　　　He　looked　at　the　woman　lying　on　the　tarp。　Her　hair　had　fallen　over　one　eye；　hiding　it；　the　other　looked　at　Henry　…　and　through　him　…　with　chilly　indifference。
　　　　Henry　believed　that　all　children　were　presented　with　self…defining　moments　in　early　adolescence；　and　that　children　in　groups　were　apt　to　respond　more　decisively　than　children　alone。　Often　they　behaved　badly；　answering　distress　with　cruelty。　Henry　and　his　friends　had　behaved　well；　for　whatever　reason。　It　meant　no　more　than　anything　else　in　the　end；　but　it　did　not　hurt　to　remember；　especially　when　your　soul　was　dark；　that　once　you　had　confounded　the　odds　and　behaved　decently。
　　　　He　told　Pete　what　he　was　going　to　do　and　what　Pete　was　going　to　do；　then　got　to　his　feet　to　start　doing　it　…　he　wanted　them　all　safe　behind　the　doors　of　Hole　in　the　Wall　before　the　light　left　the　day。　A　clean；　well…lighted　place。
　　　　'Okay；'　Pete　said；　but　he　sounded　nervous。　'Just　hope　she　doesn't　die　on　me。　And　that　those　lights　don't　e　back。'　He　craned　to　look　out　at　the　sky；　where　now　there　were　only　dark；　low…hanging　clouds。　'What　were　they；　do　you　think？　Some　kind　of　lightning？'
　　　　'Hey；　you're　the　space　expert。'　Henry　got　up。　'Start　picking　up　the　little　sticks　…　you　don't　even　have　to　get　up　to　do　that。'
　　　　'Kindling；　right？'
　　　　'Right；'　Henry　said；　then　stepped　over　the　woman　on　the　tarp　and　walked　to　the　edge　of　the　woods；　where　there　was　plenty　of　bigger　stuff　lying　around　in　the　snow。　Roughly　nine　miles；　that　was　the　walk　ahead　of　him。　But　first　they　were　going　to　light　a　fire。　A　nice　big　one。

CHAPTER　FOUR

MCCARTHY　GOES　TO　
THE　JOHN


1

Jonesy　and　Beaver　sat　in　the　kitchen；　playing　cribbage；　which　they　simply　called　the　game。　That　was　what　Lamar；　Beaver's　father；　had　always　called　it；　as　though　it　were　the　only　game。　For　Lamar　Clarendon；　whose　life　revolved　around　his　central　Maine　construction　pany；　it　probably　was　the　only　game；　the　one　most　at　home　in　logging　camps；　railroad　sheds；　and；　of　course；　construction　trailers。　A　board　with　a　hundred　and　twenty　holes；　four　pegs；　and　an　old　greasy　deck　of　cards；　if　you　had　those　things；　you　were　in　business。　The　game　was　mostly　played　when　you　were　waiting　to　do　something　else　…　for　the　rain　to　let　up；　for　a　freight　order　to　arrive；　or　for　your　friends　to　get　back　from　the　store　so　you　could　figure　out　what　to　do　with　the　strange　fellow　now　lying　behind　a　closed　bedroom　door。
　　　　Except；　Jonesy　thought；　we're　really　waiting　for　Henry。　Pete's　just　with　him。　Henry's　the　one　who'll　know　what　to　do；　Beaver　was　right。　Henry's　the　one。
　　　　But　Henry　and　Pete　were　late　back。　It　was　too　early　to　say　something　had　happened　to　them；　it　could　just　be　the　snow　slowing　them　down；　but　Jonesy　was　starting　to　wonder　if　that　was　all；　and　guessed　the　Beav　was；　too。　Neither　of　them　had　said　anything　about　it　as　yet　…　it　was　still　on　the　morning　side　of　noon　and　things　might　still　turn　out　okay　…　but　the　idea　was　there；　floating　unspoken　between　them。
　　　　Jonesy　would　concentrate　on　the　board　and　the　cards　for　awhile；　and　then　he'd　look　at　the　closed　bedroom　door　behind　which　McCarthy　lay；　probably　sleeping；　but　oh　boy　his　color　had　looked　bad。　Two　or　three　times　he　saw　Beav's　eyes　flicking　over　there；　too。
　　　　Jonesy　shuffled　the　old　Bikes；　dealt；　gave　himself　a　couple　of　cards；　then　set　aside　the　crib　when　Beaver　slid　a　couple　across　to　him。　Beaver　cut　and　then　the　preliminaries　were　done；　it　was　time　to　peg。　You　can　peg　and　still　lose　the　game；　Lamar　told　them；　that　Chesterfield　always　sticking　out　from　the　er　of　his　mouth；　his　Clarendon　Construction　cap　always　pulled　down　over　his　left　eye　like　a　man　who　knows　a　secret　he　will　only　tell　if　the　price　is　right；　Lamar　Clarendon　a　no…play　workadaddy　dead　of　a　heart　attack　at　forty…eight；　but　if　you　peg　you　won't　never　get　skunked。
　　　　No　play；　Jonesy　thought　now。　No　bounce；　no　play。　And　then；　on　the　heels　of　that；　the　wavering　damned　voice　that　day　in　the　hospital：　Please　stop；　I　can't　stand　it；　give　me　a　shot；　where's　Marcy？　And　oh　man；　why　was　the　world　so　hard？　Why　were　there　so　many　spokes　hungry　for　your　fingers；　so　many　gears　eager　to　grab　for　your　guts？
　　　　'Jonesy？'
　　　　'Huh？'
　　　　'You　okay？'
　　　　'Yeah；　why？'
　　　　'You　shivered。'
　　　　'Did　I？'　Sure　he　did；　he　knew　he　did。
　　　　'Yeah。'
　　　　'Drafty；　maybe。　You　smell　anything？'
　　　　'You　mean　。　。　。　like　him？'
　　　　'I　wasn't　talking　about　Meg　Ryan's　armpits。　Yeah；　him。'
　　　　'No；'　Beaver　said。　'A　couple　of　times　I　thought　。　。　。　but　it　was　just　imagination。　Because　those　farts；　you　know…'
　　　　…smelled　so　bad。'
　　　　'Yeah。　They　did。　The　burps；　too。　I　thought　he　was　gonna　blow　chunks；　man。　For　sure。'
　　　　Jonesy　nodded。　I'm　scared；　he　thought。　Sitting　here　shit　scared　in　a　snowstorm。　I　want　Henry；　goddammit。　How　about　that。
　　　　'Jonesy？'
　　　　'What？　Are　we　ever　gonna　play　this　hand　or　not？'
　　　　'Sure；　but　。　。　。　do　you　think　Henry　and　Pete　are　okay？'
　　　　'How　the　hell　do　I　know？'
　　　　'You　don't　。　。　。　have　a　feeling？　Maybe　see…'　　　
　　　　'I　don't　see　anything　but　your　face。'
　　　　Beav　sighed。　'But　do　you　think　they're　okay？'
　　　　'As　a　matter　of　fact；　I　do。'　Yet　his　eyes　stole　first　to　the　clock　half　past　eleven；　now　…　and　then　to　the　closed　bedroom　door　with　McCarthy　behind　it。　In　the　middle　of　the　room；　the　dreamcatcher　danced　and　slowly　turned　in　some　breath　of　air。　'Just　going　slow。　They'll　be　right　along。　e　on；　let's　play。'
　　　　'All　right。　Eight。'
　　　　'Fifteen　for　two。'
　　　　'Fuck。'　Beaver　put　a　toothpick　in　his　mouth。　'Twenty…five。'
　　　　'Thirty。'
　　　　'Go。'
　　　　'One　for　two。'
　　　　'Doodlyfuck！'　Beaver　gave　an　exasperated　little　laugh　as　Jonesy　turned　the　corner　onto　Third　Street。　'You　peg　my　ass　off　every　time　you　deal。'
　　　　'I　peg　your　ass　when　you　deal；　too；'　Jonesy　said。　'The　truth　hurts。　e　on；　play。'
　　　　'Nine。'
　　　　'Sixteen。'
　　　　'And　one　for　last　card；'　the　Beav　said；　as　if　he　had　won　a　moral　victory。　He　stood　up。　'I'm　gonna　go　out；　take　a　leak。'
　　　　'Why？　We've　got　a　perfectly　good　john；　in　case　you　didn't　know　it。'
　　　　'I　know　it。　I　just　want　to　see　if　I　can　write　my　name　in　the　snow。'
　　　　Jonesy　laughed。　'Are　you　ever　gonna　grow　up？'
　　　　'Not　if　I　can　help　it。　And　keep　it　down。　Don't　wake　the　guy　up。
　　　　Jonesy　swept　the　cards　together　and　began　to　shuffle　them　as　Beaver　walked　to　the　back　door。　He　found　himself　thinking　about　a　version　of　the　game　they　had　played　when　they　were　kids。　They　called　it　the　Duddits　Game；　and　they　usually　played　in　the　Cavell　rec　room。　It　was　the　same　as　regular　cribbage；　except　they　let　Duddits　peg。　I　got　ten；　Henry　would　say；　peg　me　ten；　Duddits。　And　Duddits；　grinning　that　loopy　grin　of　his　that　never　failed　to　make　Jonesy　feel　happy；　might　peg　four　or　six　or　ten　or　two　fucking　dozen。　The　rule　when　you　played　the　Duddits　Game　was　that　you　never　plained；　never　said　Duddits；　that's　too　many　or　Duddits；　that's　not　enough。　And　man；　they'd　laugh。　Mr　and　Mrs　Cavell；　they'd　laugh；　too；　if　they　happened　to　be　in　the　room；　and　Jonesy　remembered　once；　they　must　have　been　fifteen；　sixteen；　and　Duddits　of　course　was　whatever　he　was；　Duddits　Cavell's　age　was　never　going　to　change；　that　was　what　was　so　beautiful　and　scary　about　him；　and　this　one　time　Alfie　Cavell　had　started　crying；　saying　Boys；　if　you　only　knew　what　this　means；　to　me　and　to　the　missus；　if　you　only　knew　what　it　means　to　Douglas…
　　　　'Jonesy。'　Beaver's　voice；　oddly　flat。　Cold　air　came　in　through　the　open　kitchen　door；　raising　a　rash　of　gooseflesh　on　Jonesy's　arms。
　　　　'Close　the　door；　Beav；　was　you　born　in　a　barn？'
　　　　'e　over　here。　You　need　to　look　at　this。'
　　　　Jonesy　got　up　and　went　to　the　door。　He　opened　his　mouth　to　say　something；　then　closed　it　again。　The　backyard　was　filled　with　enough　animals　to　stock　a　petting　zoo。　Deer；　mostly；　a　couple　of　dozen　assorted　does　and　bucks。　But　moving　with　them　were　raccoons；　waddling　woodchucks；　and　a　contingent　of　squirrels　that　seemed　to　move　effortlessly　along　the　top　of　the　snow。　From　around　the　side　of　the　shed　where　the　Arctic　Cat　and　assorted　tools　and　engine　parts　were　stored；　came　three　large　canines　Jonesy　at　first　mistook　for　wolves。　Then　he　saw　the　old　discolored　length　of　clothesline　hanging　around　the　neck　of　one　of　them　and　realized　they　were　dogs；　probably　gone　feral。　They　were　all　moving　east；　up　the　slope　from　The　Gulch。　Jonesy　saw　a　pair　of　good…sized　wildcats　moving　between　two　little　groups　of　deer　and　actually　rubbed　his　eyes；　as　if　to　clear　them　of　a　mirage。　The　cats　were　still　there。　So　were　the　deer；　the　woodchucks；　the　coons　and　squirrels。　They　moved　steadily；　barely　giving　the　men　in　the　doorway　a　glance；　but　without　the　panic　of　creatures　running　before　a　fire。　Nor　was　there　any　smell　of　fire。　The　animals　were　simply　moving　cast；　vacating　the　area。
　　　　'Holy　Christ；　Beav；'　Jonesy　said　in　a　low；　awed　voice。
　　　　Beaver　had　been　looking　up。　Now　he　gave　the　animals　a　quick；　cursory　glance　and　lifted　his　gaze　to　the　sky　again。　'Yeah。　Now　look　up　there。'
　　　　Jonesy　looked　up　and　saw　a　dozen　glaring　lights　…　some　red；　some　blue…white　…　dancing　around　up　there。　They　lit　the　clouds；　and　he　suddenly　understood　that　they　were　what　McCarthy　had　seen　when　he　was　lost。　They　ran　back　and　forth；　dodging　each　other　or　sometimes　briefly　merging；　ma