sk.carrie-第12章

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Morton　Cratzchbarken；　in　an　admittedly　sensationalized　address　to　The　National　Colloquium　on　Psychic　Phenomena　last　year；　said　that　the　two　most　stunning　events　of　the　twentieth　century　have　been　the　assassination　of　John　F。　Kennedy　in　1963　and　the　destruction　that　came　to　Chamberlain；　Maine；　in　May　of　1979。　Cratzchbarken　points　out　that　both　events　were　driven　home　to　the　citizenry　by　mass　media；　and　both　events　have　almost　shouted　the　frightening　fact　that；　while　something　had　ended；　something　else　had　been　irrevocably　set　in　motion；　for　good　or　ill。　If　the　parison　can　be　made；　then　Thomas　Ross　played　the　part　of　Lee　Harvey　Oswald　…　trigger　man　in　a　catastrophe。　The　question　that　still　remains　is：　Did　he　do　so　wittingly　or　unwittingly？
Susan　Snell；　by　her　own　admission；　was　to　have　been　escorted　by　Ross　to　the　annual　event。　She　claims　that　she　suggested　Ross　take　Carrie　to　make　up　for　her　part　in　the　shower…room　incident。　Those　who　oppose　this　story；　most　lately　led　by　George　Jerome　of　Harvard；　claim　that　this　is　either　a　highly　romantic　distortion　or　an　outright　lie。　Jerome　argues　with　great　force　and　eloquence　that　it　is　hardly　typical　of　high…school…age　adolescents　to　feel　that　they　have　to　'atone'　for　anything　…　particularly　for　an　offence　against　a　peer　who　has　been　ostracized　from　existing　cliques。
'It　would　be　uplifting　if　we　could　believe　that　adolescent　human　nature　is　capable　of　salvaging　the　pride　and　self　image　of　the　low　bird　in　the　pecking　order　with　such　a　gesture；'　Jerome　has　said　in　a　recent　issue　of　The　Atlantic　Monthly；　'but　we　know　better。　The　low　bird　is　not　picked　tenderly　out　of　the　dust　by　its　fellows；　rather；　it　is　despatched　quickly　and　without　mercy。'
Jerome；　of　course；　is　absolutely　right…about　birds；　at　any　rate　…　and　his　eloquence　is　undoubtedly　responsible　in　large　part　for　the　advancement　of　the　'practical　joker'　theory；　which　The　White　mission　approached　but　did　not　actually　state。　This　theory　hypothesizes　that　Ross　and　Christine　Hargensen　（see　pp。　10…18）　were　at　the　centre　of　a　loose　conspiracy　to　get　Carrie　White　to　the　Spring　Ball；　and；　once　there；　plete　her　humiliation。　Some　theorists　（mostly　crime　writers）　also　claim　that　Sue　Snell　was　an　active　part　of　this　conspiracy。　This　casts　the　mysterious　Mr　Ross　in　the　worst　possible　light；　that　of　a　practical　joker　deliberately　manoeuvring　an　unstable　girl　into　an　situation　of　extreme　stress。
The　author　doesn't　believe　that　likely　in　fight　of　Mr　Ross's　character。　This　is　a　facet　which　has　remained　largely　unexplored　by　his　detractors；　who　have　painted　him　as　a　rather　dull　clique…centred　athlete；　the　phrase　'dumb　jock'　expresses　this　view　of　Tommy　Ross　perfectly。
It　is　true　that　Ross　was　an　athlete　of　above…average　ability。　His　best　sport　was　baseball；　and　he　was　a　member　of　the　Ewen　varsity　squad　from　his　Sophomore　year。　Dick　O'Connell；　general　manager　of　the　Boston　Red　Sox；　has　indicated　that　Ross　would　have　been　offered　a　fairly　large　bonus　for　signing　a　contract；　had　he　lived。
But　Ross　was　also　a　straight…A　student　（hardly　fitting　the　'dumb…jock'　image）；　and　his　parents　have　both　said　that　he　had　decided　pro　baseball　would　have　to　wait　until　he　had　finished　college；　where　he　planned　to　study　for　an　English　degree。　His　interests　including　writing　poetry；　and　a　poem　written　six　months　prior　to　his　death　was　published　in　an　established　'little　magazine'　called　Everleaf。　This　is　available　in　Appendix　V。
His　surviving　classmates　also　give　him　high　marks；　and　this　is　significant。　There　were　only　twelve　survivors　of　what　has　bee　known　in　the　popular　press　as　Prom　Night。　Those　who　were　not　in　attendance　were　largely　the　unpopular　members　of　the　Junior　and　Senior　classes。　If　these　'outs'　remember　Ross　as　a　friendly；　goodnatured　fellow　（many　referred　to　him　as　'a　hell　of　a　good　shit'）；　does　not　Professor　Jerome's　thesis　suffer　accordingly'
Ross's　school　records　…　which　cannot；　according　to　state　law；　be　photostated　here　…　when　taken　with　class　mates'　recollections　and　the　ments　of　relatives；　neighbours；　and　teachers；　form　a　picture　of　an　extraordinary　young　man。　This　is　a　fact　that　jells　very　badly　with　Professor　Jerome's　picture　of　a　peer…worshipping；　sly　young　tough。　He　apparently　had　a　high　enough　tolerance　to　verbal　abuse　and　enough　independence　from　his　peer　group　to　ask　Carrie　in　the　first　place。　In　fact；　Thomas　Ross　appears　to　have　been　something　of　a　rarity　…　a　socially　conscious　young　man。
No　case　will　be　made　here　for　his　sainthood。　There　is　none　to　be　made。　But　intensive　research　has　satisfied　me　that　neither　was　he　a　human　chicken　in　a　public…school　barnyard；　joining　mindlessly　in　the　ruin　of　a　weaker　hen　。。。
She　lay
（i　am　not　afraid　not　afraid　of　her）
on　her　bed　with　an　arm　thrown　over　her　eyes。　It　was　Saturday　night。　If　she　was　to　make　the　dress　she　had　in　mind；　she　would　have　to　start　tomorrow　at　the
（i'm　not　afraid　momma）
latest。　She　had　already　bought　the　material　at　John's　in　Westover。　The　heavy；　crumpled　velvet　richness　of　it　frightened　her。　The　price　had　also　frightened　her；　and　she　had　been　intimidated　by　the　size　of　the　place；　the　chic　ladies　wandering　here　and　here　in　their　light　spring　dresses；　examining　bolts　of　cloth。　There　was　an　echoing　strangeness　in　the　atmosphere　and　it　was　worlds　from　the　Chamberlain　Woolworth's　where　she　usually　bought　her　material。
She　was　intimidated　but　not　stopped。　Bemuse；　if　she　wanted　to；　she　could　send　them　all　screaming　into　the　streets。　Mannequins　toppling　over；　light　fixtures　failing；　bolts　of　cloth　shooting　through　the　air　in　unwinding　shelters。　Like　Samson　in　the　temple；　she　could　rain　destruction　on　their　heads　if　she　so　desired。
（i　am　not　afraid）
The　package　was　now　hidden　on　a　dry　shelf　in　the　cellar；　and　she　was　going　to　bring　it　up。　Tonight。
She　opened　her　eyes。
Flex。
The　bureau　rose　into　the　air；　trembled　for　a　moment　and　then　rose　until　it　nearly　touched　the　ceiling。　She　lowered　it。　Lifted　it。　Lowered　it。　Now　the　bed；　plete　with　her　weight。　Up。　Down。　Up。　Down。　Just　like　an　elevator。
She　was　hardly　tired　at　all。　Well；　a　little。　Not　much。　The　ability；　almost　lost　two　weeks　ago；　was　in　full　flower。　It　had　progressed　at　a　speed　that　was
Well；　almost　terrifying。
And　now；　seemingly　unbidden　…　like　the　knowledge　of　menstruation　…　a　score　of　memories　had　e；　as　if　some　mental　dam　had　been　knocked　down　so　that　strange　waters　could　gush　forth。　They　were　cloudy；　distorted　little…girl　memories；　but　very　real　for　all　that。　Making　the　pictures　dance　on　the　walls；　turning　on　the　water　faucets　from　across　the　room；　Momma　asking　her
（carrie　shut　the　windows　it's　going　to　rain）
to　do　something　and　windows　suddenly　banging　down　all　over　the　house；　giving　Miss　Macaferty　four　flat　tyres　all　at　once　by　unscrewing　the　valves　in　the　tyres　of　her　Volkswagen；　the　stones
（！！！！！　no　no　no　no　no　！！！！！！）
…but　now　there　was　no　denying　the　memory；　no　more　than　there　could　be　a　denying　of　the　monthly　flow；　and　that　memory　was　not　cloudy；　no；　not　that　one；　it　was　harsh　and　brilliant；　like　jagged　strokes　of　lightning：　the　little　girl
（momma　stop　momma　can't　i　can't　breathe　o　my　throat　o　momma　i'm　sorry　i　looked　momma　o　my　tongue　blood　in　my　mouth）
the　poor　little　girl
（screaming：　little　slut　o　i　know　how　it　is　with　you　i　see　what　has　to　be　done）
the　poor　little　girl　lying　half　in　the　closet　and　half　out　of　it；　swing　black　stars　dancing　in　front　of　everything；　a　sweet；　faraway　buzzing；　swollen　tongue　lolling　between　her　lips；　throat　circled　with　a　bracelet　of　puffed；　abraded　flesh　where　Momma　had　throttled　her　and　then　Momma　ing　back；　ing　for　her；　Momma　holding　Daddy　Ralph's　long　butcher　knife
（cut　it　out　i　have　to　cut　out　the　evil　the　nastiness　sins　of　the　flesh　o　i　know　about　that　the　eyes　cut　out　your　eyes）
in　her　right　hand；　Momma's　face　twisted　and　working；　drool　on　her　thin；　holding　Daddy　Ralph's　Bible　in　her　other　hand
（you'll　never　look　at　that　naked　wickedness　again）
and　something　flexed；　not　flex　but　FLEX；　something　huge　and　unformed　and　titanic；　a　wellspring　of　power　that　was　not　hers　now　and　never　would　be　again　and　then　something　fell　on　the　roof　and　Momma　screamed　and　dropped　Daddy　Ralph's　Bible　and　that　was　good；　and　then　more　bumps　and　thumps　and　then　the　house　began　to　throw　its　furnishings　around　and　Momma　dropped　the　knife　and　got　on　her　knees　and　began　to　pray；　holding　up　her　hands　and　swaying　on　her　knees　while　chairs　whistled　down　the　hall　and　the　beds　upstairs　fell　over　and　the　dining　room　table　tried　to　jam　itself　through　a　window　and　then　momma's　eyes　growing　huge　and　crazed；　bulging；　her　finger　pointing　at　the　little　girl
（it's　you　it's　you　devilspawn　witch　imp　of　the　devil　it's　you　doing　it）
and　then　the　stones　and　Momma　had　fainted　as　their　roof　cracked　and　thumped　as　if　with　the　footfalls　of　God　and　then。。。
Then　she　had　fainted　herself。　And　after　that　there　were　no　more　memories。　Momma　did　not　speak　of　it。　The　butcher　knife　was　back　in　its　drawer。　Momma　dressed　the　huge　black　and　blue　bruises　on　her　neck　and　Carrie　thought　she　could　remember　asking　Momma　how　she　had　gotten　them　and　Momma　tightening　her　lips　and　saying　nothing。　Little　by　little　it　was　forgotten。　The　eye　of　memory　opened　only　in　dreams。　The　pictures　no　longer　danced　on　the　walls。　The　windows　did　not　shut　themselves。　Carrie　did　not　remember　a　time　when　things　had　been　different。　Not　until　now。
She　lay　on　her　bed；　looking　at　the　ceiling；　sweating。
'Carrie！　Supper！'
'Thank　you；
（i　am　not　afraid）
Momma。'
She　got　up　and　fixed　her　hair　with　a　dark…blue　headband。　Then　she　went　downstairs
From　The　Shadow　Exploded　（p。　59）：
How　apparent　was　Carrie's　'wild　talent'　and　what　did　Margaret　White；　with　her　extreme　Christian　ethic；　think　of　it？　We　shall　probably　never　know。　But　one　is　tempted　to　believe　that　Mrs　White's　reaction　must　have　been　extreme　。。。
'You　haven't　touched　your　pie；　Carrie。'　Momma　looked　up　from　the　tract　she　had　been　perusing　while　she　drank　her　Constant　ment。　'It's　homemade。'
'It　makes　me　have　pimples；　Momma。'
'Your　pimples　are　the　Lord's　way　of　chastising　you。　Now　eat　your　pie。'
'Momma？'
'Yes？'
Carrie　plunged。　'I've　been　invited　to　the　Spring　Ball　next　Friday　by　Tommy　Ross…'
The　tract　was　forgotten。　Momma　was　staring　at　her　with　wide　my　ears…are…deceiving…me　eyes。　Her　nostrils　flared　like　those　of　a　horse　that　has　heard　the　dry　rattle　of　a　snake。
Carrie　tried　to　swallow　an　obstruction　and　only
（i　am　not　afraid　o　yes　i　am）
got　rid　of　part　of　it。
'…and　he's　a　very　nice　boy。　He's　promised　to　stop　in　and　meet　you　before　and…'
'No。'
'…to　have　me　in　by　eleven。　I've…'
'No；　no；　no！'
'…accepted。　Momma；　please　see　that　I　have　to　start　to；　to　try　and　get　along　with　the　world。　I'm　not　like　you。　I'm　funny　…　I　mean；　the　kids　think　I'm　funny。　I　don't　want　to　be。　I　want　to　try　and　be　a　whole　person　before　it's　too　late　to…'
Mrs　White　threw　her　tea　in　Carrie's　face。
It　was　only　lukewarm；　but　it　could　not　have　shut　of　Carrie's　words　more　suddenly　if　it　had　been　scalding。　She　sat　numbly；　the　amber　fluid　dripping　from　her　chin　and　cheeks　on　to　her　white　blouse；　spreading。　It　was　sticky　and　smelled　like　cinnamon。
Mrs　White　sat　trembling；　her　face　frozen　except　for　her　nostrils；　which　continued　to　flare。　Abruptly　she　threw　back　her　head　and　screamed　at　the　ceiling。
'God！　God！　God！'　Her　jaw　snapped　br