sk.carrie-第7章

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'It's　not　you；　it's　me。'　She　put　a　hand　on　his　arm。　'I'm　ashamed；　see？'
'I　know；'　he　said。　'But　I　shouldn't　be　giving　advice。　I'm　not　very　good　at　it。'
'Tommy；　do　you　ever　hate　being　so　。。。　well；　popular？'
'Me？'　The　question　wrote　surprise　on　his　face。　'Do　you　mean　like　football　and　class　president　and　that　stuff？'
'Yes。'
'No。　Ifs　not　very　important。　High　school　isn't　a　very　important　place。　When　you're　going　you　think　it's　a　big　deal；　but　when　it's　over　nobody　really　think。　it　was　great　unless　they're　beered　up。　That's　how　my　brother　and　his　buddies　are；　anyway。'
It　did　not　soothe　her；　it　made　her　fears　worse。　Little　Susie　mix　'n　match　from　Ewen　High　School；　Head　Cupcake　of　the　entire　Cupcake　Brigade。　Prom　gown　kept　forever　in　the　closet；　wrapped　in　protective　plastic。
The　night　pressed　dark　against　the　slightly　steamed　car　windows。
'I'll　probably　end　up　working　at　my　dad's　car　lot；'　he　said。　'I'll　spend　my　Friday　and　Saturday　nights　down　at　Uncle　Billy's　or　out　at　The　Cavalier　drinking　beer　and　talking　about　the　Saturday　afternoon　I　got　that　fat　pitch　from　Saunders　and　we　upset　Dorchester。　Get　married　to　some　nagging　broad　and　always　own　last　years　model；　vote　Democrat…'
'Don't；'　she　said；　her　mouth　suddenly　full　of　a　dark；　sweet　horror。　She　pulled　him　to　her。　'Love　me。　My　head　is　so　bad　tonight。　Love　me。　Love　me。'
So　he　loved　her　and　this　time　it　was　different；　this　time　there　finally　seemed　to　be　room　and　there　was　no　rubbing　but　a　delicious　friction　that　went　up　and　up：　Twice　he　had　to　stop；　panting；　and　held　himself　back；　and　then　he　went
（he　was　a　virgin　before　me　and　admitted　it　I　would　have　believed　a　lie）
and　went　hard　and　her　breath　came　in　short；　digging　gasps　and　then　she　began　to　yell　and　hold　at　his　back；　helpless　to　stop；　sweating；　the　bad　taste　washed　away；　every　cell　seeming　to　have　its　own　climax；　body　filled　with　sunlight；　musical　notes　in　her　mind；　butterflies　behind　her　skull　in　the　cage　of　her　mind。
Later；　on　the　way　home；　he　asked　her　formally　if　she　would　go　to　the　Spring　Ball　with　him。　She　said　she　would。　He　asked　her　if　she　had　decided　what　to　do　about　Carrie。
She　said　she　hadn't。　He　said　that　it　made　no　difference。　but　she　thought　that　it　did。　It　had　begun　to　seem　that　it　meant　all　the　difference。
From　Telekinesis：　Analysis　and　Aftermath　（Science　Yearbook　1982）；　by　Dean　K。　L。　McGuffin：
There　are；　of　course；　still　these　scientists　today　…　regretfully；　the　Duke　University　people　are　in　their　forefront　…　who　reject　the　terrific　underlying　implications　of　the　Carrie　White　affair。　Like　the　Flatlands　Society；　the　Rosicrucians；　or　the　Corlies　of　Arizona；　who　are　positive　that　the　atomic　bomb　does　not　work；　these　unfortunates　are　flying　in　the　face　of　logic　with　their　heads　in　the　sand；　and　beg　your　pardon　for　the　mixed　metaphor。
Of　course　one　is　able　to　understand　the　consternation；　the　raised　voices；　the　angry　letters　and　arguments　at　scientific　convocations。　The　idea　of　telekinesis　itself　has　been　a　bitter　pill　for　the　scientific　munity　to　swallow；　with　its　horror…movie　trappings　of　ouija　boards　and　mediums　and　table　rappings　and　floating　coronets；　but　understanding　will　still　not　excuse　scientific　irresponsibility。
The　oute　of　the　White　affair　raises　grave　and　difficult　questions。　An　earthquake　has　struck　our　order　notions　of　the　way　the　natural　world　is　supposed　to　act　and　react。　Can　you　blame　even　such　a　renowned　physicist　as　Gerald　Luponet　for　claiming　the　whole　thing　is　a　hoax　and　a　fraud；　even　in　the　face　of　such　overwhelming　evidence　as　the　White　mission　presented？　For　if　Carrie　White　is　the　truth；　then　what　of　Newton？　。。。
They　sat　in　the　living　room；　Carrie　and　Momma；　listening　to　Tennessee　Ernie　Ford　singing　'Let　the　Lower　Lights　Be　Burning'　on　a　Webcor　phonograph　（which　Momma　called　the　victrola；　or；　if　in　a　particularly　good　mood；　the　vic）。　Carrie　sat　at　the　sewing　machine；　pumping　with　her　feet　as　she　sewed　the　sleeves　on　a　new　dress。　Momma　sat　beneath　the　plaster　crucifix；　tatting　doilies　and　bumping　her　feet　in　time　to　the　song；　which　was　one　of　her　favourites。　Mr　P。　P。　Bliss；　who　had　written　this　hymn　and　others　seemingly　without　number；　was　one　of　Momma's　shining　examples　of　God　at　work　upon　the　face　of　the　earth。　He　had　been　a　sailor　and　a　sinner　（two　terms　that　were　synonymous　in　Momma's　lexicon）；　a　great　blasphemer；　a　laugher　in　the　face　of　the　Almighty。　Then　a　great　storm　had　e　up　at　sea；　the　boat　had　threatened　to　capsize；　and　Mr　P。　P。　Bliss　had　gotten　down　on　his　sinsickly　knees　with　a　vision　of　Hell　yawning　beneath　the　ocean　floor　to　receive　him；　and　he　had　prayed　to　God。　Mr　P。　P。　Bliss　promised　God　that　if　He　saved　him；　he　would　dedicate　the　rest　of　his　life　to　Him。　The　storm；　of　course；　had　cleared　immediately。
Brightly　beams　our　Father's　mercy
From　his　lighthouse　evermore；
But　to　us　he　gives　the　keeping
Of　the　lights　along　the　shore　。。。
All　of　Mr　P。　P。　Bliss's　hymns　had　a　seagoing　flavour　to　them。
The　dress　she　was　sewing　was　actually　quite　pretty；　a　dark　wine　colour…the　closest　Momma　would　allow　her　to　red…and　the　sleeves　were　puffed。　She　tried　to　keep　her　mind　strictly　on　her　sewing；　but　of　course　it　wandered。
The　overhead　fight　was　strong　and　harsh　and　yellow；　the　small　dusty　plush　sofa　was　of　course　deserted　（Carrie　had　never　had　a　boy　in　To　Sit）；　and　on　the　far　wall　was　a　twin　shadow：　the　crucified　Jesus；　and　beneath　Him；　Momma。
The　school　had　called　Momma　at　the　laundry　and　she　had　e　home　at　noon。　Carrie　had　watched　her　e　up　the　walk；　and　her　belly　trembled。
Momma　was　a　very　big　woman；　and　she　always　wore　a　hat。　Lately　her　legs　had　begun　to　swell；　and　her　feet　always　seemed　on　the　point　of　overflowing　her　shoes。　She　wore　a　black　cloth　coat　with　a　black　fur　collar。　Her　eyes　were　blue　and　magnified　behind　rimless　bifocals。　She　always　carried　a　large　black　satchel　purse　and　in　it　was　her　change　purse；　her　billfold　（both　black）；　a　large　King　James　Bible　（also　black）　with　her　name　stamped　on　the　front　in　gold；　and　a　stack　of　tracts　secured　with　a　rubber　band。　The　Tracts　were　usually　orange；　and　smearily　printed。
Carrie　knew　vaguely　that　Momma　and　Daddy　Ralph　had　been　Baptists　once　but　had　left　the　church　when　they　became　convinced　that　the　Baptists　were　doing　the　work　of　the　Antichrist。　Since　that　time；　all　worship　had　taken　place　at　home。　Momma　held　worship　on　Sundays；　Tuesdays；　and　Fridays。　These　were　called　Holy　Days。
Momma　was　the　minister；　Carrie　the　congregation。　Services　lasted　from　two　to　three　hours。
Momma　had　opened　the　door　and　walked　stolidly　in。　She　and　Carrie　had　stared　at　each　other　down　the　short　length　of　the　front　hall　for　a　moment；　like　gunfighters　before　a　shootout。　It　was　one　of　those　brief　moments　that　seem
（fear　could　it　really　have　been　fear　in　momma's　eyes）
much　longer　in　retrospect。
Momma　closed　the　door　behind　her。　'You're　a　woman；'　she　said　softly。
Carrie　felt　her　face　twisting　and　crumpling　and　could　not　help　it。　'Why　didn't　you　tell　me？'　she　cried。　'Oh　Momma；　I　was　so　scared！　And　the　girls　all　made　fun　and　threw　things　and…'
Momma　had　been　walking　towards　her；　a　now　her　hand　flashed　with　sudden　limber　speed；　a　hard　hand；　laundry…calloused　and　muscled。　It　struck　her　backhand　across　the　jaw　and　Carrie　fell　down　in　the　doorway　between　the　hall　and　the　living　room；　weeping　loudly。
'And　God　made　Eve　from　the　rib　Of　Adam；'　Momma　said。　Her　eyes　were　very　large　in　the　rimless　glasses；　they　looked　like　poached　eggs。　She　thumped　Carrie　with　the　side　of　her　foot　and　Carrie　screamed。　'Get　up；　woman。　Let's　get　in　and　pray。　Let's　pray　to　Jesus　for　our　womanweak；　wicked；　sinning　souls。'
'Momma'
The　sobs　were　too　strong　to　allow　more。　The　latent　hysterics　had　e　out　grinning　and　gibbering。　She　could　not　stand　up。　She　could　only　crawl　into　the　living　room　with　her　hair　hanging　in　her　face；　braying　huge　hoarse　sobs。　Every　now　and　again　Momma　would　swing　her　foot。　So　they　progressed　across　the　living　room　toward　the　place　of　the　altar；　which　had　once　been　a　small　bedroom。
'And　Eve　was　weak　and　…　say　it；　woman。　Say　it…'
'No；　Momma；　please　help　me…'
The　foot　swung。　Carrie　screamed。
'And　Eve　was　weak　and　loosed　the　raven　on　the　world；'　Momma　continued；　'and　the　raven　was　called　Sin；　and　the　first　Sin　was　Intercourse。　And　the　Lord　visited　Eve　with　a　Curse；　and　the　Curse　was　the　Curse　of　Blood。　And　Adam　and　Eve　were　driven　out　of　the　Garden　and　into　the　World　and　Eve　found　that　her　belly　had　grown　big　with　child。'
The　foot　swung　and　connected　with　Carrie's　rump。　Her　nose　scraped　the　wood　floor。　They　were　entering　the　place　of　the　altar。　There　was　a　cross　on　a　table　covered　with　an　embroidered　silk　cloth。　On　either　side　of　the　cross　there　were　white　candles。　Behind　this　were　several　paint…by…the…numbers　of　Jesus　and　His　apostles。　And　to　the　right　was　the　worst　place　of　all；　the　home　of　terror；　the　cave　where　all　hope；　all　resistance　to　God's　will　…　and　Momma's　…　was　extinguished。　The　closet　door　leered　open。　Inside；　below　a　hideous　blue　bulb　that　was　always　lit；　was　Derrault's　conception　of　Jonathan　Edwards'　famous　sermon。　Sinners　in　the　Hands　of　an　Angry　God。
'And　there　was　a　second　Curse；　and　this　was　the　Curse　of　Childbearing；　and　Eve　brought　forth　Cain　in　sweat　and　blood。'
Now　Momma　dragged　her；　half…standing　and　half…crawling；　down　to　the　altar；　where　they　both　fell　on　their　knees。　Momma　gripped　Carrie's　wrist　tightly。
'And　following　Cain；　Eve　gave　birth　to　Abel；　having　not　yet　repented　of　the　Sin　of　Intercourse。　And　so　the　Lord　visited　Eve　with　a　third　Curse；　and　this　was　the　Curse　of　Murder。　Cain　rose　up　and　slew　Abel　with　a　rock。　And　still　Eve　did　not　repent；　nor　all　the　daughters　of　Eve；　and　upon　Eve　did　the　Crafty　Serpent　found　a　kingdom　of　whoredom　and　pestilences。'
'Momma！'　she　shrieked。　'Momma；　please　listen！　It　wasn't　my　fault！'
'Bow　your　head；'　Momma　said。　'Let's　us　pray。'
'You　should　have　told　me！'
Momma　brought　her　hand　down　on　the　back　of　Carrie's　neck；　and　behind　it　was　all　the　heavy　muscle　developed　by　eleven　years　of　slinging　heavy　laundry　bags　and　trucking　piles　of　wet　sheets。　Carrie's　eye…bulging　face　jerked　forward　and　her　forehead　smacked　the　altar；　leaving　a　mark　and　making　the　candles　tremble。
'Let's　us　pray；'　Momma　said　softly；　implacably。
Weeping　and　snuffling；　Carrie　bowed　her　head。　A　runner　of　snot　hung　pendulously　from　her　nose　and　she　wiped　it　away。
（if　i　had　a　nickel　for　every　time　she　made　me　cry　here）
with　the　back　of　her　hand。
'Lord；'　Momma　declaimed　hugely；　her　head　thrown　back；　'help　this　sinning　woman　beside　me　here　see　the　sin　of　her　days　and　ways。　Show　her　that　if　she　had　remained　sinless　the　Curse　of　Blood　never　would　have　e　on　her。　She　may　have　mitted　the　Sin　of　Lustful　Thoughts。　She　may　have　been　listening　to　rock　'n　roll　music　on　the　radio。　She　may　have　been　tempted　by　the　Antichrist。　Show　her　that　this　is　Your　kind；　vengeful　hand　at　work　and…'
'No！　Let　me　go！'
She　tried　to　struggle　to　her　feet　and　Momma's　hand；　as　strong　and　pitiless　as　an　iron　manacle；　forced　her　back　to　her　knees。
'…and　Your　sign　that　she　must　walk　the　straight　and　narrow　from　here　on　out　if　she　is　to　avoid　the　flaming　agonies　of　the　Eternal　Pit。　Amen。'
She　turned　her　glittering；　magnified　eyes　upon　her　daughter。　'Go　to　your　closet　now。'
'No！'　She　felt　her　breath　go　thick　with　terror。
'Go　to　your　closet。　Pray　in　secre