sk.petsematary-第62章

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〃
　　〃You　promise　you'll　tell　me　the　whole　story？〃
　　〃Yes。　We'll　have　us　a　beer；　and　I'll　tell　you　the　whole　thing。〃
　　〃Goodbye；　then；〃　Rachel　said；　〃for　now。〃
　　〃For　now；〃　Jud　agreed。　〃I'll　see　you　tomorrow；　Rachel。〃
　　Before　she　could　say　anything　else；　Jud　hung　up　the　telephone。
　　He　thought　there　were　caffeine　pills　in　the　medicine　cabinet；　but　he　could　not　find　them。　He　put　the　rest　of　the　beer　back　in　the　refrigerator…not　without　regret…and　settled　for　a　cup　of　black　coffee。　He　took　it　back　to　the　bow　window　and　sat　down　again；　sipping　and　watching。
　　The　coffee…and　the　conversation　with　Rachel…kept　him　awake　and　alert　for　three　quarters　of　an　hour；　but　then　he　began　to　nod　once　more。
　　No　sleeping　on　sentry　duty；　old　man。　You　let　it　get　hold　of　you；　you　bought　something；　and　now　you　have　to　pay　for　it。　So　no　sleeping　on　sentry　duty。
　　He　lit　a　fresh　cigarette；　drew　deep；　and　coughed　an　old　man's　rasping　cough。　He　put　the　cigarette　on　the　groove　of　the　ashtray　and　rubbed　his　eyes　with　both　hands。　Outside　a　ten…wheeler　blasted　by；　running　lights　glaring；　cutting　through　the　windy；　uneasy　night。
　　He　caught　himself　dozing　off　again；　snapped　awake；　and　abruptly　slapped　himself　across　the　face；　forehand　and　backhand；　causing　his　ears　to　ring。　Now　terror　awakened　in　his　heart；　a　stealthy　visitor　who　had　broken　into　that　secret　place。
　　It's　puttin　me　to　sleep　。　。　。　hypnotizin　me　。　。　。　somethin。　It　doesn't　want　me　awake。　Because　he'll　be　in　back　pretty　soon。　Yeah；　I　feel　that。　And　it　wants　me　out　of　the　way。
　　〃No；〃　he　said　grimly。　〃No　way　at　all。　You　hear　me？　I'm　puttin　a　stop　to　this。　This　has　gone　far　enough。〃
　　The　wind　whined　around　the　eaves；　and　the　trees　on　the　other　side　of　the　road　shook　their　leaves　in　hypnotic　patterns。　His　mind　went　back　to　that　night　around　the　Defiant　stove　in　the　coupling　shed；　which　had　stood　right　where　the　Evarts　Furniture　Mart　stood　in　Brewer　now。　They　had　talked　the　night　away；　he　and　George　and　René　Michaud；　and　now　he　was　the　only　one　left…　René　crushed　between　two　boxcars　on　a　stormy　night　in　March　of　1939；　George　Chapin　dead　of　a　heart　attack　just　last　year。　Of　so　many；　he　was　the　only　one　left；　and　the　old　get　stupid。　Sometimes　the　stupidity　masquerades　as　kindness；　and　sometimes　it　masquerades　as　pride…a　need　to　tell　old　secrets；　to　pass　things　on；　to　pour　from　the　old　glass　to　the　new　one；　to。
　　So　dis　Jew　peddler　e　in　and　he　say　〃I　got　sumpin　you　never　seen　before。　These　pos'cards；　dey　jus　look　like　wimmin　in　bathin　suits　until　you　rub　dem　wit　a　wet　cloth；　and　den…〃
　　Jud's　head　nodded。　His　chin　settled　slowly；　gently；　against　his　chest。
　　〃…dey's　as　nakid　as　the　day　dey　was　born！　But　when　dey　dry；　the　clo'es；　dey　e　back　on！　And　dat　ain't　all！　I　got…〃
　　René　telling　this　story　in　the　coupling　shed；　leaning　forward；　smiling；　and　Jud　holds　the　bottle…he　feels　the　bottle　and　his　hand　closes　around　it　on　thin　air。
　　In　the　ashtray；　the　cigarette　ash　on　the　end　of　the　cigarette　grew　longer。　At　last　it　tipped　forward　into　the　ashtray　and　burned　out；　its　shape　recalled　in　the　neat　roll　of　ash　like　a　rune。
　　Jud　slept。
　　And　when　the　taillights　flashed　outside　and　Louis　turned　the　Honda　Civic　into　his　driveway　some　forty　minutes　later　and　drove　it　into　the　garage；　Jud　did　not　hear；　stir；　or　awaken；　any　more　than　Peter　awoke　when　the　Roman　soldiers　came　to　take　a　tramp　named　Jesus　into　their　custody。
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　　Louis　found　a　fresh　dispenser　of　strapping　tape　in　one　of　the　kitchen　drawers；　and　there　was　a　coil　of　rope　in　the　corner　of　the　garage　near　last　winter's　snow　tires。　He　used　the　tape　to　bind　the　pick　and　shovel　together　in　a　single　neat　bundle　and　the　rope　to　fashion　a　rough　sling。
　　Tools　in　the　sling。　Gage　in　his　arms。
　　He　looped　the　sling　over　his　back；　then　opened　the　passenger　door　of　the　Civic；　pulling　the　bundle　out。　Gage　was　much　heavier　than　Church　had　been。　He　might　well　be　crawling　by　the　time　he　got　his　boy　up　to　the　Micmac　burying　ground…and　he　would　still　have　the　grave　to　dig；　lighting　his　way　through　that　stony；　unforgiving　soil。
　　Well；　he　would　manage。　Somehow。
　　Louis　Creed　stepped　out　of　his　garage；　pausing　to　thumb　off　the　light　switch　with　his　elbow；　and　stood　for　a　moment　at　the　place　where　asphalt　gave　way　to　grass。　Ahead　of　him　he　could　see　the　path　leading　to　the　Pet　Sematary　well　enough　in　spite　of　the　blackness；　the　path；　with　its　short　grass；　glowed　with　a　kind　of　luminescence。
　　The　wind　pushed　and　pulled　its　fingers　through　his　hair；　and　for　a　moment　the　old；　childlike　fear　of　the　dark　rushed　through　him；　making　him　feel　weak　and　small　and　terrorized。　Was　he　really　going　into　the　woods　with　this　corpse　in　his　arms；　passing　under　the　trees　where　the　wind　walked；　from　darkness　into　darkness？　And　alone　this　time？
　　Don't　think　about　it。　Just　do　it。
　　Louis　got　walking。
　　By　the　time　he　got　to　the　Pet　Sematary　twenty　minutes　later；　his　arms　and　legs　were　trembling　with　exhaustion；　and　he　collapsed　with　the　rolled…up　tarpaulin　across　his　knees；　gasping。　He　rested　there　for　another　twenty　minutes；　almost　dozing；　no　longer　fearful…exhaustion　had　driven　fear　out；　it　seemed。
　　Finally　he　got　to　his　feet　again；　not　really　believing　he　could　climb　the　deadfall；　only　knowing　in　some　numb　sort　of　way　that　he　must　try。　The　bundle　in　his　arms　seemed　to　weigh　two　hundred　pounds　instead　of　forty。
　　But　what　had　happened　before　happened　again；　it　was　like　suddenly；　vividly　remembering　a　dream。；　No；　not　remembering；　reliving。　When　he　placed　his　foot　on　the　first　dead　treetrunk；　that　queer　sensation　rushed　through　him　again；　a　feeling　that　was　almost　exultation。　The　weariness　did　not　leave　him；　but　it　became　bearable…unimportant；　really。
　　Just　follow　me。　Follow　me　and　don't　look　down；　Louis。　Don't　hesitate　and　don't　look　down。　I　know　the　way　through；　but　it　has　to　be　done　quick　and　sure。
　　Quick　and　sure；　yes…the　way　Jud　had　removed　the　stinger。
　　I　know　the　way　through。
　　But　there　was　only　one　way　through；　Louis　thought。　Either　it　let　you　through　or　it　did　not。　Once　before；　he　had　tried　to　climb　the　deadfall　by　himself　and　hadn't　been　able　to。　This　time　he　mounted　it　quickly　and　surely；　as　he　had　on　the　night　Jud　had　shown　him　the　way。
　　Up　and　up；　not　looking　down；　his　son's　body　in　its　canvas　shroud　cradled　in　his　arms。　Up　until　the　wind　funneled　secret　passages　and　chambers　through　his　hair　again；　flipping　it；　parting　it　widdershins。
　　He　stood　on　the　top　for　a　moment　and　then　descended　quickly；　as　if　going　down　a　set　of　stairs。　The　pick　and　shovel　rattled　and　clinked　dully　against　his　back。　In　no　more　than　a　minute；　he　was　standing　on　the　springy；　needle…covered　ground　of　the　path　again；　the　deadfall　bulking　behind　him；　higher　than　the　graveyard　fence　had　been。
　　He　moved　up　the　path　with　his　son；　listening　to　the　wind　moan　in　the　trees。　The　sound　held　no　terror　for　him　now。　The　night's　work　was　almost　done。
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　　Rachel　Creed　passed　the　sign　reading　EXIT　8　KEEP　RIGHT　FOR　PORTLAND　WESTBROOK；　put　on　her　blinker；　and　guided　the　Avis　Chevette　toward　the　exit　ramp。　She　could　see　a　green　Holiday　Inn　sign　clearly　against　the　night　sky。　A　bed；　sleep。　An　end　to　this　constant；　racking；　sourceless　tension。　Also　an　end…for　a　little　while；　at　least…to　her　grieving　emptiness　for　the　child　who　was　no　longer　there。　This　grief；　she　had　discovered；　was　like　a　massive　tooth　extraction。　There　was　numbness　at　first；　but　even　through　the　numbness　you　felt　pain　curled　up　like　a　cat　swishing　its　tail；　pain　waiting　to　happen。　And　when　the　novocaine　wore　off；　oh　boy；　you　sure　weren't　disappointed。
　　He　told　her　that　he　was　sent　to　warn。　。　。　but　that　he　couldn't　interfere。　He　told　her　he　was　near　Daddy　because　they　were　together　when　his　soul　was　discorporated。
　　Jud　knows；　but　he　won't　tell。　Something　is　going　on。　Something。　But　what？
　　Suicide？　Is　it　suicide？　Not　Louis；　I　can't　believe　that。　But　he　was　lying　about　something。　It　was　in　his　eyes。　。　。　oh　shit；　it　was　all　over　his　face；　almost　as　if　he　wanted　me　to　see　the　lie　see　it　and　put　a　stop　to　it。　。　。　because　part　of　him　was　scared　so　scared。
　　Scared？　Louis　is　never　scared！
　　Suddenly　she　jerked　the　Chevette's　steering　wheel　hard　over　to　the　left；　and　the　ear　responded　with　the　abrupt　suddenness　that　small　cars　have；　the　tires　wailing。　For　a　moment　she　thought　it　was　going　to　turn　over。　But　it　didn't；　and　she　was　moving　north　again；　exit　8　with　its　forting　Holiday　Inn　sign　slipping　behind　her。　A　new　sign　came　in　view；　reflective　paint　twinkling　eerily。
　　NEXT　EXIT　ROUTE　12　CUMBERLAND　CUMBEBLAND　CENTER　JERUSALEM'S　LOT　FALMOUTH　FALMOUTH　FORESIDE。　Jerusalem's　Lot；　she　thought　randomly；　what　an　odd　name。　Not　a　pleasant　name；　for　some　reason。　。　。　e　and　sleep　in　Jerusalem。
　　But　there　would　be　no　sleep　for　her　tonight；　Jud's　advice　notwithstanding；　she　now　meant　to　drive　straight　through。　Jud　knew　what　was　wrong　and　had　promised　her　he　would　put　a　stop　to　it；　but　the　man　was　eighty…some　years　old　and　had　lost　his　wife　only　three　months　before。　She　would　not　put　her　trust　in　Jud。　She　should　never　have　allowed　Louis　to　bulldoze　her　out　of　the　house　the　way　he　had；　but　she　had　been　weakened　by　Gage's　death。　Ellie　with　her　Polaroid　picture　of　Gage　and　her　pinched　face…it　had　been　the　face　of　a　child　who　has　survived　a　tornado　or　a　sudden　dive…bombing　from　a　clear　blue　sky。　There　had　been　times　in　the　dark　watches　of　the　night　when　she　had　longed　to　hate　Louis　for　the　grief　he　had　fathered　inside　her；　and　for　not　giving　her　the　fort　she　needed　（or　allowing　her　to　give　the　fort　she　needed　to　give）；　but　she　could　not。　She　loved　him　too　much　still；　and　his　face　had　been　so　pale。　。　。　so　watchful。
　　The　Chevette's　speedometer　needle　hung　poised　just　a　bit　to　the　right　of　sixty　miles　an　hour。　A　mile　a　minute。　Two　hours　and　a　quarter　to　Ludlow　maybe。　Maybe　she　could　still　beat　the　sunrise。
　　She　fumbled　with　the　radio；　turned　it　on；　found　a　rock…and…roll　station　out　of　Portland。　She　turned　up　the　volume　and　sang　along；　trying　to　keep　herself　awake。　The　station　began　to　fade　in　and　out　half　an　hour　later；　and　she　retuned　to　an　Augusta　station；　rolled　the　window　down；　and　let　the　restless　night　air　blow　in　on　her。
　　She　wondered　if　this　night　would　ever　end。
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　　Louis　had　rediscovered　his　dream　and　was　in　its　grip；　every　few　moments　he　looked　down　to　make　sure　it　was　a　body　in　a　tarpaulin　he　was　carrying　and　not　one　in　a　green　Hefty　Bag。　He　remembered　how　on　awakening　the　morning　after　Jud　had　taken　him　up　there　with　Church　he　had　been　barely　able　to　remember　what　they　had　done…but　now　he　also　remembered　how　vivid　those　sensations　had　been；　how　alive　each　of　his　senses　had　felt；　how　they　had　seemed　to　reach　out；　touching　the　woods　as　if　they　were　alive　and　in　some　kind　of　telepathic　contact　with　himself。
　　He　followed　the　path　up　and　down；　rediscovering　the　places　where　it　seemed　as　wide　as　Route　15；　the　places　where　it　narrowed　until　he　had　to　turn　sideways　to　keep　the　head　and　foot　of　his　bundle　from　getting　tangled　in　the　underbrush；　the　places　where　the　path　wound　through　great　cathedral　stands　of　trees。　He　could　smell　the　clear　tang　of　pine　resin；　and　he　could　hear　that　strange　crump…crump　of　the　needles　unde