sk.petsematary-第49章

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　　〃I　know　you　did；　dear。〃　He　leaned　in　and　kissed　her；　and　when　he　withdrew；　his　eyes　swept　Louis　and　Rachel　stonily。　Rachel　met　his　gaze；　puzzled　and　a　little　hurt；　not　understanding。　But　Louis　understood　well　enough：　What　are　you　doing　for　her？　Jud's　eyes　asked。　Your　son　is　dead；　but　your　daughter　is　not。　What　are　you　doing　for　her？
　　Louis　looked　away。　There　was　nothing　he　could　do　for　her；　not　yet。　She　would　have　to　swim　in　her　grief　as　best　she　could。　His　thoughts　were　too　full　of　his　son。
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　　By　evening　a　fresh　rack　of　clouds　had　e　in　and　a　strong　west　wind　had　begun　to　blow。　Louis　put　on　his　light　jacket；　zipped　it　up；　and　took　the　Civic　keys　from　the　peg　on　the　wall。
　　〃Where　you　going；　Lou？〃　Rachel　asked。　She　spoke　without　much　interest。　After　supper　she　had　begun　crying　again；　and　although　her　weeping　was　gentle；　she　had　seemed　incapable　of　stopping。　Louis　had　forced　her　to　take　a　Valium。　Now　she　sat　with　the　paper　folded　open　to　the　barely　started　crossword　puzzle。　In　the　other　room；　Ellie　sat　silently　watching　〃Little　House　on　the　Prairie〃　with　Gage's　picture　on　her　lap。
　　〃I　thought　I'd　pick　up　a　pizza。〃
　　〃Didn't　you　get　enough　to　eat　earlier？〃
　　〃I　just　didn't　seem　hungry　then；〃　he　said；　telling　the　truth　and　then　adding　a　lie：　〃I　am　now。〃
　　That　afternoon；　between　three　and　six；　the　final　rite　of　Gage's　funeral　had　taken　place　at　the　Ludlow　house。　This　was　the　rite　of　food。　Steve　Masterton　and　his　wife　had　e　with　a　hamburger…and…noodle　casserole。　Charlton　had　appeared　with　a　quiche。　〃It　will　keep　until　you　want　it；　if　it　doesn't　all　get　eaten；〃　she　told　Rachel。　〃Quiche　is　easy　to　warm　up。〃　The　Dannikers　from　up　the　road　brought　a　baked　ham。　The　Goldmans　appeared…neither　of　them　would　speak　to　Louis　or　even　e　close　to　him；　for　which　he　was　not　sorry…with　a　variety　of　cold　cuts　and　cheeses。　Jud　also　brought　cheese…a　large　wheel　of　his　old　favorite；　Mr。　Rat。　Missy　Dandridge　brought　a　key　lime　pie。　And　Surrendra　Hardu　brought　apples。　The　rite　of　food　apparently　transcended　religious　differences。
　　This　was　the　funeral　party；　and　although　it　was　quiet；　it　was　not　quite　subdued。　There　was　rather　less　drinking　than　at　an　ordinary　party；　but　there　was　some。　After　a　few　beers　（only　the　night　before　he　had　sworn　he　would　never　touch　the　stuff　again；　but　in　the　cold　afternoon　light　the　previous　evening　had　seemed　impossibly　long　ago）　Louis　thought　to　pass　on　a　few　little　funerary　anecdotes　his　Uncle　Carl　had　told　him…that　at　Sicilian　funerals　unmarried　women　sometimes　snipped　a　piece　of　the　deceased's　shroud　and　slept　with　it　under　their　pillows；　believing　it　would　bring　them　luck　in　love；　that　at　Irish　funerals　mock　weddings　were　sometimes　performed；　and　the　toes　of　the　dead　were　tied　together　because　of　an　ancient　Celtic　belief　that　it　kept　the　deceased's　ghost　from　walking。　Uncle　Carl　said　that　the　custom　of　tying　D。O。A。　tags　to　the　great　toes　of　corpses　had　begun　in　New　York；　and　since　all　of　the　early　morgue　keepers　had　been　Irish；　he　believed　this　to　be　a　survival　of　that　old　superstition。　Then；　looking　at　their　faces；　he　had　decided　such　tales　would　be　taken　wrong。
　　Rachel　had　broken　down　only　once；　and　her　mother　was　there　to　fort　her。　Rachel　clung　to　Dory　Goldman　and　sobbed　against　her　shoulder　in　an　open；　let…it…all…go　way　that　had　been　so　far　impossible　for　her　with　Louis；　perhaps　because　she　saw　them　both　as　culpable　in　Gage's　death　or　perhaps　because　Louis；　lost　in　the　peculiar　half…world　of　his　own　fancies；　had　not　encouraged　her　grief。　Either　way；　she　had　turned　to　her　mother　for　fort；　and　Dory　was　there　to　give　it；　mingling　her　tears　with　her　daughter's。　Irwin　Goldman　stood　behind　them；　his　hand　on　Rachel's　shoulder；　and　looked　with　sickly　triumph　across　the　room　at　Louis。
　　Ellie　circulated　with　a　silver　tray　loaded　with　canapes；　little　rolls　with　a　feathered　toothpick　poked　through　each　one。　Her　picture　of　Gage　was　tucked　firmly　under　her　arm。
　　Louis　received　condolences。　He　nodded　and　thanked　the　condolers。　And　if　his　eyes　seemed　distant；　his　manner　a　little　cold；　people　supposed　he　was　thinking　of　the　past；　of　the　accident；　of　the　Gageless　life　ahead；　none　（perhaps　not　even　Jud）　would　have　suspected　that　Louis　had　begun　to　think　about　the　strategies　of　grave　robbing。　。　。　only　in　an　academic　way；　of　course；　it　was　not　that　he　intended　to　do　anything。　It　was　only　a　way　to　keep　his　mind　occupied。
　　It　was　not　as　if　he　intended　to　do　anything。
　　Louis　stopped　at　the　Orrington　Corner　Store；　bought　two　six…packs　of　cold　beer；　and　called　ahead　to　Napoli's　for　a　pepperoni…and…mushroom　pizza。
　　〃Want　to　give　me　a　name　on　that；　sir？〃
　　Oz　the　Gweat　and　Tewwible；　Louis　thought。
　　〃Lou　Creed。〃
　　〃Okay；　Lou；　we're　real　busy；　so　it'll　be　maybe　forty…five　minutes
　　…that　okay　for　you？〃
　　〃Sure；〃　Louis　said　and　hung　up。　As　he　got　back　into　the　Civic　and　keyed　the　engine；　it　occurred　to　him　that　although　there　were　maybe　twenty　pizza　joints　in　the　Bangor　area；　he　had　picked　the　one　closest　to　Pleasantview；　where　Gage　was　buried。　Well；　what　the　hell？　he　thought　uneasily。　They　make　good　pizza。　No　frozen　dough。　Throw　it　up　and　catch　it　on　their　fists；　right　there　where　you　can　watch；　and　Gage　used　to　laugh…　He　cut　that　thought　off。
　　He　drove　past　Napoli's　to　Pleasantview。　He　supposed　he　had　known　that　he　would　do　that；　but　what　harm？　None。
　　He　parked　across　the　street　and　crossed　the　road　to　the　wrought…iron　gates；　which　glimmered　in　the　final　light　of　day。　Above　them；　in　a　semicircle；　were　wrought…iron　letters　spelling　PLEASANTVIEW。　The　view　was；　in　Louis's　mind；　neither　pleasant　nor　unpleasant。　The　cemetery　was　nicely　landscaped　on　several　rolling　hills；　there　were　long　aisles　of　trees　（ah；　but　in　these　last　few　minutes　of　fading　daylight；　the　shadows　those　trees　threw　seemed　deeply　pooled　and　as　blackly　unpleasant　as　still　quarry　water）　and　a　few　isolated　weeping　willows。　It　wasn't　quiet。　The　turnpike　was　near…the　drone　of　traffic　came　on　the　steady；　chill　wind…and　the　glow　in　the　darkening　sky　was　Bangor　International　Airport。
　　He　stretched　his　hand　out　to　the　gate；　thinking；　They'll　be　locked；　but　they　were　not。　Perhaps　it　was　too　early　to　lock　them；　and　if　they　locked　them　at　all　it　would　only　be　to　protect　the　place　against　drunks；　vandals；　and　teenage　neckers。　The　days　of　the　Dickensian　Resurrection　Men
　　（there's　that　word　again）
　　were　over。　The　right…hand　gate　swung　in　with　a　faint　screeing　noise；　and　after　a　glance　over　his　shoulder　to　make　sure　he　was　unobserved；　Louis　stepped　through。　He　closed　the　gate　behind　him　and　heard　the　click　of　the　latch。
　　He　stood　in　this　modest　suburb　of　the　dead；　looking　around。
　　A　fine　and　private　place；　he　thought；　but　none；　I　think；　do　there　embrace。　Who？　Andrew　Marvel？　And　why　did　the　human　mind　store　up　such　amazing　middens　of　useless　junk；　anyway？
　　Jud's　voice　spoke　up　in　his　mind　then；　worried　and…frightened？　Yes。　Frightened。
　　Louis；　what　are　you　doing　here？　You're　looking　up　a　road　you　don't　want　to　travel。
　　He　pushed　the　voice　aside。　If　he　was　torturing　anyone；　it　was　only　himself。　No　one　need　know　he　had　been　here　as　the　daylight　wound　down　to　the　dark。
　　He　began　to　walk　toward　Gage's　grave；　taking　one　of　the　winding　paths。　In　a　moment　he　was　in　a　lane　of　trees；　they　rustled　their　new　leaves　mysteriously　over　his　head。　His　heart　was　thudding　too　loudly　in　his　chest。　The　graves　and　monuments　were　in　rough　rows。　Somewhere　there　would　be　a　caretaker's　building；　and　in　it　would　be　a　map　of　Pleasantview's　twenty　or　so　acres；　neatly　and　sanely　divided　into　quadrants；　each　quadrant　showing　the　occupied　graves　and　the　unsold　plots。　Real　estate　for　sale。　One…room　apartments。　Sleepers。
　　Not　much　like　the　Pet　Sematary；　he　thought；　and　this　caused　him　to　stop　and　consider　for　a　moment；　surprised。　No；　it　wasn't。　The　Pet　Sematary　had　given　him　an　impression　of　order　rising　almost　unknown　out　of　chaos。　Those　rough；　concentric　circles　moving　inward　to　the　center；　rude　slates；　crosses　made　out　of　boards。　As　if　the　children　who　buried　their　pets　there　had　created　the　pattern　out　of　their　own　collective　unconsciousness；　as　if。
　　For　a　moment　Louis　saw　the　Pet　Sematary　as　a　kind　of　advertisement　。　。　。　a　e…on；　like　the　kind　they　gave　you　on　freak　alley　at　the　carnival。　They'd　bring　out　the　fire…eater　and　you　got　to　watch　his　show　for　free　because　the　owners　knew　you　wouldn't　buy　the　steak　unless　you　saw　the　sizzle；　you　wouldn't　cough　up　the　cash　if　you　didn't　see　the　flash…　Those　graves；　those　graves　in　their　almost　Druidic　circles。
　　The　graves　in　the　Pet　Sematary　mimed　the　most　ancient　religious　symbol　of　all：　diminishing　circles　indicating　a　spiral　leading　down；　not　to　a　point；　but　to　infinity；　order　from　chaos　or　chaos　from　order；　depending　on　which　way　your　mind　worked。　It　was　a　symbol　the　Egyptians　had　chiseled　on　the　tombs　of　the　Pharaohs；　a　symbol　the　Phoenicians　had　drawn　on　the　barrows　of　their　fallen　kings；　it　was　found　on　cave　walls　in　ancient　Mycenae；　the　guildkings　of　Stonehenge　had　created　it　as　a　clock　to　time　the　universe；　it　appeared　in　the　Judeo…Christian　Bible　as　the　whirlwind　from　which　God　had　spoken　to　Job。
　　The　spiral　was　the　oldest　sign　of　power　in　the　world；　man's　oldest　symbol　of　that　twisty　bridge　which　may　exist　between　the　world　and　the　Gulf。
　　Louis　reached　Gage's　grave　at　last。　The　payloader　was　gone。　The　Astroturf　had　been　removed；　rolled　up　by　some　whistling　workman　with　his　mind　on　an　after…work　beer　at　the　Fairmount　Lounge；　stored　in　an　equipment　shed　somewhere。　Where　Gage　lay　there　was　a　neat　rectangle　of　bare；　raked　earth；　perhaps　five　feet　by　three　feet。　The　headstone　had　not　been　set　up　yet。
　　Louis　kneeled。　The　wind　blew　through　his　hair；　tumbling　it。　The　sky　was　almost　entirely　dark　now。　It　raced　with　clouds。
　　No　one　has　shone　a　light　in　my　face　and　asked　me　what　I'm　doing　here。　No　watchdog　has　barked。　The　gate　was　unlocked。　The　days　of　the　Resurrection　Men　are　past。　If　I　came　up　here　with　a　pick　and　a　shovel…　He　came　back　to　himself　with　a　jerk。　He　was　only　playing　a　dangerous　mind　game　with　himself　if　he　pretended　that　Pleasant…view　stood　unwatched　during　the　night　hours。　Suppose　he　was　discovered　belly…deep　in　his　son's　new　grave　by　the　caretaker　or　the　watchman？　It　might　not　get　into　the　papers；　but　then　again　it　might。　He　might　be　charged　with　a　crime。　What　crime？　Grave　robbing？　Unlikely。　Malicious　mischief　or　vandalism　would　be　more　likely。　And　in　the　paper　or　out　of　it；　the　word　would　get　around。　People　would　talk；　it　was　a　story　too　juicy　not　to　be　told：
　　Local　doctor　is　discovered　digging　up　his　two…year…old　son；　recently　killed　in　a　tragic　road　accident。　He　would　lose　his　job。　Even　if　not；　Rachel　would　be　chilled　by　the　wind　of　such　tales；　and　Ellie　might　be　harried　by　them　at　school　until　her　life　was　a　misery　of　chanting　children。　There　might　be　the　humiliation　of　a　sanity　test　in　exchange　for　dropping　charges。
　　But　I　could　bring　Gage　back　to　life！　Gage　could　live　again！
　　Did　he　really；　actually　believe　that？
　　The　fact　was　that　he　did。　He　had　told　himself　time　and　time　again；　both　before　Gage's　death　and　after　it；　that　Church　had　not　really　been　dead；　only　stunned。　That　Church　had　dug　his　way　out　and　e　home。　A　k