sk.petsematary-第25章

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freeze；　and　sharp　tools　on　these　shelves；　where　they　would　be　out　of　Gage's　reach。　He　was　hammering　in　a　nail　when　Church　strolled　in；　his　tail　high。　Louis　did　not　drop　the　hammer　or　even　slam　his　thumb…his　heart　jogged　in　his　chest　but　did　not　leap；　a　hot　wire　seemed　to　glow　momentarily　in　his　stomach　and　then　cool　immediately；　like　the　filament　of　a　light　bulb　that　glows　overbrightly　for　a　moment　and　then　burns　out。　It　was　as　if；　he　told　himself　later；　he　had　spent　that　entire　sunny　post…Thanksgiving　Friday　morning　waiting　for　Church　to　e　back；　as　if　he　had　known　in　some　deeper；　more　primitive　part　of　his　mind　what　their　night　hike　up　to　the　Micmac　burying　ground　had　meant　all　along。
　　He　put　the　hammer　down　carefully；　spat　the　nails　he　had　been　holding　in　his　mouth　back　into　his　palm；　and　then　dumped　them　into　the　pockets　of　his　workman's　apron。　He　went　to　Church　and　picked　the　cat　up。
　　Live　weight；　he　thought　with　a　kind　of　sick　excitement。　He　weighs　what　he　did　before　he　was　hit。　This　is　live　weight。　He　was　heavier　in　the　bag。　He　was　heavier　when　he　was　dead。
　　His　heart　took　a　bigger　jog　this　time…almost　a　leap…and　for　a　moment　the　garage　seemed　to　swim　in　front　of　his　eyes。
　　Church　laid　his　ears　back　and　allowed　himself　to　be　held。　Louis　carried　him　out　into　the　sunlight　and　sat　down　on　the　back　steps。　The　cat　tried　to　get　down　then；　but　Louis　stroked　him　and　held　him　on　his　lap。　His　heart　seemed　to　be　taking　regular　jogs　now。
　　He　probed　gently　into　the　heavy　ruff　of　fur　at　Church's　neck；　remembering　the　sick；　boneless　way　Church's　head　had　swiveled　on　his　broken　neck　the　night　before。　He　felt　nothing　now　but　good　muscle　and　tendon。　He　held　Church　up　and　looked　at　the　cat's　muzzle　closely。　…What　he　saw　there　caused　him　to　drop　the　cat　onto　the　grass　quickly　and　to　cover　his　face　with　one　hand；　his　eyes　shut。　The　whole　world　was　swimming　now；　and　his　head　was　full　of　a　tottery；　sick　vertigo…it　was　the　sort　of　feeling　he　could　remember　from　the　bitter　end　of　long　drunks；　just　before　the　puking　started。
　　There　was　dried　blood　caked　on　Church's　muzzle；　and　caught　in　his　long　whiskers　were　two　tiny　shreds　of　green　plastic。　Bits　of　Hefty　Bag。
　　We　will　talk　more　about　this　and　by　then　you　will　understand　more。
　　Oh　Christ；　he　understood　more　than　he　wanted　to　right　now。　Give　me　a　chance；　Louis　thought；　and　I'll　understand　myself　right　into　the　nearest　mental　asylum。
　　He　let　Church　into　the　house；　got　his　blue　dish；　and　opened　a　tuna…and…liver　cat　dinner。　As　he　spooned　the　gray…brown　mess　out　of　the　can；　Church　purred　unevenly　and　rubbed　back　and　forth　along　Louis's　ankles。　The　feel　of　the　cat　caused　Louis　to　break　out　in　gooseflesh；　and　he　had　to　clench　his　teeth　grimly　to　keep　from　kicking　him　away。　His　furry　sides　felt　somehow　too　slick；　too　thick…in　a　word；　loathsome。　Louis　found　he　didn't　care　if　he　never　touched　Church　again。
　　When　he　bent　and　put　the　dish　on　the　floor；　Church　streaked　past　him　to　get　it；　and　Louis　could　have　sworn　he　smelled　sour　earth…as　if　it　had　been　ground　into　the　cat's　fur。
　　He　stood　back；　watching　the　cat　eat。　He　could　hear　him　smacking…had　Church　smacked　over　his　food　that　way　before？　Perhaps　he　had；　and　Louis　had　just　never　noticed。　Either　way；　it　was　a　disgusting　sound。　Gross；　Ellie　would　have　said。
　　Abruptly　Louis　turned　and　went　upstairs。　He　started　at　a　walk；　but　by　the　time　he　got　to　the　upper　hallway；　he　was　almost　running。　He　undressed；　tossing　all　of　his　clothes　in　the　laundry　hamper　although　he　had　put　them　on　fresh　from　the　underwear　out　that　morning。　He　drew　himself　a　hot。　bath；　as　hot　as　he　could　take　it；　and　plopped　in。
　　The　steam　rose　around　him；　and　he　could　feel　the　hot　water　working　on　his　muscles；　loosening　them。　The　bath　was　also　working　on　his　head；　loosening　that。　By　the　time　the　water　had　begun　to　cool；　he　was　feeling　dozy　and　pretty　much　all　right　again。
　　The　cat　came　back；　just　like　the　cat　in　the　nursery　rhyme；　all　right；　so　what；　big　deal。
　　It　had　all　been　a　mistake。　Hadn't　he　thought　to　himself　yesterday　evening　that　Church　looked　remarkably　whole　and　unmarked　for　an　animal　that　had　been　struck　by　a　car？
　　Think　of　all　the　woodchucks　and　cats　and　dogs　you've　seen　strewn　all　over　the　highway；　he　thought；　their　bodies　burst；　their　guts　everywhere。　Tech…ni…color；　as　Loudon　Wainwright　says　on　that　record　about　the　dead　skunk。
　　It　was　obvious　now。　Church　had　been　struck　hard　and　stunned。　The　cat　he　had　carried　up　to　Jud's　old　Micmac　burying　ground　had　been　unconscious；　not　dead。　Didn't　they　say　cats　had　nine　lives？　Thank　God　he　hadn't　said　anything　to　Ellie！　She　wouldn't　ever　have　to　know　how　close　Church　had　e。
　　The　blood　on　his　mouth　and　ruff　。　。　。　the　way　his　neck　turned。
　　But　he　was　a　doctor；　not　a　vet。　He　had　made　a　misdiagnosis…　that　was　all。　It　had　hardly　been　under　the　best　circumstances　for　close　examination；　squatting　on　Jud's　lawn　in　twenty…degree　temperatures；　the　light　almost　gone　from　the　sky。　And　he　had　been　wearing　gloves。　That　could　have…　A　bloated；　misshapen　shadow　rose　on　the　tiled　bathroom　wall；　like　the　head　of　a　small　dragon　or　of　some　monstrous　snake；　something　touched　his　bare　shoulder　lightly　and　skidded。　Louis　jerked　upward　galvanically；　splashing　water　out　of　the　tub　and　soaking　the　bathmat。　He　turned；　cringing　back　at　the　same　time；　and　stared　into　the　muddy　yellow…green　eyes　of　his　daughter's　cat；　who　was　perched　on　the　lowered　seat　of　the　toilet。
　　Church　was　swaying　slowly　back　and　forth　as　if　drunk。　Louis　watched；　his　body　crawling　with　revulsion；　a　scream　barely　held　back　in　his　mouth　by　his　clamped　teeth。　Church　had　never　looked　like　this…had　never　swayed；　like　a　snake　trying　to　hypnotize　its　prey…not　before　he　was　fixed　and　not　afterward。　For　the　first　and　last　time　he　played　with　the　idea　that　this　was　a　different　cat；　one　that　just　looked　like　Ellie's；　a　cat　that　had　just　wandered　into　his　garage　while　he　was　putting　up　those　shelves；　and　that　the　real　Church　was　still　buried　under　that　cairn　on　the　bluff　in　the　woods。　But　the　markings　were　the　same。　。　。　and　the　one　ragged；　ear　。　。　。　and　the　paw　that　had　that　funny　chewed　look。　Ellie　had　slammed　that　paw　in　the　back　door　of　their　little　suburban　house　when　Church　was　little　more　than　a　kitten。
　　It　was　Church；　all　right。
　　〃Get　out　of　here；〃　Louis　whispered　hoarsely　at　him。
　　Church　stared　at　him　a　moment　longer…God；　his　eyes　were　different；　somehow　they　were　different…and　then　leaped　down　from　the　toilet　seat。　He　landed　with　none　of　the　uncanny　grace　cats　usually　display。　He　staggered　awkwardly；　haunches　thudding　against　the　tub；　and　then　he　was　gone。
　　It；　Louis　thought。　Not　he；　it。　Remember；　it's　been　spayed。
　　He　got　out　of　the　tub　and　dried　off　quickly；　jerkily。　He　was　shaved　and　mostly　dressed　when　the　phone　rang；　shrill　in　the　empty　house。　When　it　sounded；　Louis　whirled；　eyes　wide；　hands　going　up。　He　lowered　them　slowly。　His　heart　was　racing。　His　muscles　felt　full　of　adrenaline。
　　It　was　Steve　Masterton；　checking　back　about　racket　ball；　and　Louis　agreed　to　meet　him　at　the　Memorial　Gym　in　an　hour。　He　could　not　really　afford　the　time；　and　racket　ball　was　the　last　thing　in　the　world　he　felt　like　right　now；　but　he　had　to　get　out。　He　wanted　to　get　away　from　the　cat；　that　weird　cat　which　had　no　business　being　here　at　all。
　　He　hurried；　tucking　in　his　shirt　quickly；　stuffing　a　pair　of　shorts；　a　t…shirt；　and　a　towel　into　his　zipper　bag；　and　trotting　down　the　stairs。
　　Church　was　lying　on　the　fourth　riser　from　the　bottom。　Louis　tripped　over　the　cat　and　almost　fell。　He　managed　to　grab　the　bannister　and　barely　save　himself　from　what　could　have　been　a　nasty　fall。
　　He　stood　at　the　bottom　of　the　stairs；　breathing　in　snatches；　his　heart　racing；　the　adrenaline　whipping　unpleasantly　through　his　body。
　　Church　stood　up；　stretched。　。　。　and　seemed　to　grin　at　him。
　　Louis　left。　He　should　have　put　the　cat　out；　he　knew　that；　but　he　didn't。　At　that　particular　moment　he　didn't　think　he　could　bring　himself　to　touch　it。
　　　26
　　Jud　lit　a　cigarette　with　a　wooden　kitchen　match；　shook　it　out；　and　tossed　the　stub　into　a　tin　ashtray　with　a　barely　readable　Jim　Beam　advertisement　painted　on　its　bottom。
　　〃Ayuh；　it　was　Stanley　Bouchard　who　told　me　about　the　place。〃　He　paused；　thinking。
　　Barely　touched　glasses　of　beer　stood　before　them　on　the　checked　oilcloth　that　covered　the　kitchen　table。　Behind　them；　the　barrel　of　range　oil　clamped　to　the　wall　gurgled　three　times；　deliberately；　and　was　still。　Louis　had　caught　a　pick…up　supper　with　Steve…submarine　sandwiches　in　the　mostly　deserted　Bear's　Den。　He　had　found　out　early　that　if　you　asked　for　a　hoagie　or　a　grinder　or　a　gyro　in　Maine；　they　didn't　know　what　you　were　talking　about。　Ask　for　a　sub　or　a　Wop…burger；　and　you　were　in　business。　With　some　food　in　him；　Louis　began　to　feel　better　about　Church's　return；　felt　that　he　had　things　more　in　perspective；　but　he　was　still　not　anxious　to　return　to　his　dark；　empty　house　where　the　cat　could　be…let's　face　it；　gang…anywhere　at　all。
　　Norma　sat　with　them　for　quite　a　while；　watching　TV　and　working　on　a　sampler　that　showed　the　sun　going　down　behind　a　small　county　meeting　house。　The　cross　on　the　roof　tree　was　silhouetted　black　against　the　setting　sun。　Something　to　sell；　she　said；　at　the　church　sale　the　week　before　Christmas。　Always　a　big　event。　Her　fingers　moved　well；　pushing　the　needle　through　the　cloth；　pulling　it　up　through　the　steel　circle。　Her　arthritis　was　barely　noticeable　tonight。　Louis　supposed　it　might　be　the　weather；　which　had　been　cold　but　very　dry。　She　had　recovered　nicely　from　her　heart　attack；　and　on　that　evening　less　than　ten　weeks　before　a　cerebral　accident　would　kill　her；　he　thought　that　she　looked　less　haggard　and　actually　younger。　On　that　evening　he　could　see　the　girl　she　had　been。
　　At　a　quarter　to　ten　she　said　goodnight；　and　now　he　sat　here　with　Jud；　who　had　ceased　speaking　and　seemed　only　to　be　following　his　cigarette　smoke　up　and　up；　like　a　kid　watching　a　barber　pole　to　see　where　the　stripes　go。
　　〃Stanny　B。；〃　Louis　prompted　gently。
　　Jud　blinked　and　seemed　to　e　back　to　himself。　〃Oh；　ayuh；〃　he　said。　〃Everyone　in　Ludlow…round　Bucksport　and　Prospect　and　Orrington　too；　I　guess…just　called　him　Stanny　B。　That　year　my　dog　Spot　died…1910　I　mean；　the　first　time　he　died…Stanny　was　already　an　old　man　and　more　than　a　little　crazy。　There　was　others　around　these　parts　that　knew　the　Micmac　burying　ground　was　there；　but　it　was　Stanny　B。　I　heard　it　from；　and　he　knew　about　it　from　his　father　and　his　father　before　him。　A　whole　family　of　proper　Canucks；　they　were。〃
　　Jud　laughed　and　sipped　his　beer。
　　〃I　can　still　hear　him　talking　in　that　broken　English　of　his。　He　found　me　sitting　behind　the　livery　stable　that　used　to　stand　on　Route　15…except　it　was　just　the　Bangor…Bucksport　Road　back　then…right　about　where　the　Orinco　plant　is　now。　Spot　wasn't　dead　but　he　was　going；　and　my　dad　sent　me　away　to　check　on　some　chickenfeed；　which　old　Yorky　sold　back　then。　We　didn't　need　chickenfeed　any　more　than　a　cow　needs　a　blackboard；　and　I　knew　well　enough　why　he　sent　me　down　there。〃
　　〃He　was　going　to　kill　the　dog？〃
　　〃He　knew　how　tenderly　I　felt　about　Spot；　so　he　sent　me　away　while　he　did　it。　I　saw　about　the　chickenfeed；　a