sk.dreamcatcher-第10部分

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　　　　The　man　was　down　on　his　hands　and　knees；　his　brown…gloved　fingers　（brown　gloves；　another　mistake；　this　guy　almost　could　have　gone　out　with　a　sign　reading　SHOOT　ME　taped　to　his　back；　Jonesy　thought）　spread　on　the　ground；　which　had　already　begun　to　whiten。　As　the　man　got　up　again；　he　began　to　speak　aloud　in　a　fretful；　wondering　voice。　Jonesy　didn't　realize　at　first　that　he　was　also　weeping。
　　　　'Oh　dear；　oh　dear；'　the　man　said　as　he　worked　his　way　back　to　a　standing　position。　He　swayed　on　his　feet　as　if　drunk。　Jonesy　knew　that　men　in　the　woods；　men　away　from　their　families　for　a　week　or　a　weekend；　got　up　to　all　sorts　of　small　wickedness　…　drinking　at　ten　in　the　morning　was　one　of　the　most　mon。　But　Jonesy　didn't　think　this　guy　was　drunk。　No　reason；　just　a　vibe。
　　　　'Oh　dear；　oh　dear；　oh　dear。'　And　then；　as　he　began　to　walk　again：　'Snow。　Now　it's　snow。　Please　God；　oh　God；　now　it's　snow；　oh　dear。'
　　　　His　first　couple　of　steps　were　lurching　and　unsure。　Jonesy　had　about　decided　that　his　vibe　was　incorrect；　the　guy　was　loaded；　and　then　the　fellow's　gait　smoothed　out　and　he　began　to　walk　a　little　more　evenly。　He　was　scratching　at　his　right　cheek。
　　　　He　passed　directly　beneath　the　stand；　for　a　moment　he　wasn't　a　man　at　all　but　only　a　round　circle　of　orange　cap　with　brown　shoulders　to　either　side　of　it。　His　voice　drifted　up；　liquid　and　full　of　tears；　mostly　Oh　dear　with　the　occasional　Oh　God　or　Now　it's　snow　thrown　in　for　salt。
　　　　Jonesy　stood　where　he　was；　watching　as　the　guy　first　disappeared　directly　beneath　the　stand；　then　came　out　on　the　other　side。　He　pivoted　without　being　aware　of　it　to　keep　the　plodding　man　in　view　…　nor　was　he　aware　that　he　had　lowered　his　rifle　to　his　side；　even　pausing　long　enough　to　put　the　safety　back　on。
　　　　Jonesy　didn't　call　out；　and　he　supposed　he　knew　why：　simple　guilt。　He　was　afraid　that　the　man　down　there　would　take　one　look　at　him　and　see　the　truth　in　Jonesy's　eyes　…　even　through　his　tears　and　the　thickening　snow；　the　man　would　see　that　Jonesy　had　been　up　there　with　his　gun　pointed；　that　Jonesy　had　almost　shot　him。
　　　　Twenty　paces　beyond　the　tree；　the　man　stopped　and　only　stood　there；　his　gloved　right　hand　raised　to　his　brow；　shielding　his　eyes　from　the　snow。　Jonesy　realized　he　had　seen　Hole　in　the　Wall。　Had　probably　realized　he　was　on　an　actual　path；　too。　Oh　dear　and　Oh　God　stopped；　and　the　guy　began　to　run　toward　the　sound　of　the　generator；　rocking　from　side　to　side　like　a　man　on　the　deck　of　a　ship。　Jonesy　could　hear　the　stranger's　short；　sharp　gasps　for　breath　as　he　pounded　toward　the　roomy　cabin　with　the　lazy　curl　of　smoke　rising　from　the　chimney　and　fading　almost　at　once　into　the　snow。
　　　　Jonesy　began　to　work　his　way　down　the　rungs　nailed　to　the　trunk　of　the　maple　with　his　gun　slung　over　his　shoulder　（the　thought　that　the　man　might　present　some　sort　of　danger　did　not　occur　to　him；　not　then；　he　simply　didn't　want　to　leave　the　Garand；　which　was　a　fine　gun；　out　in　the　snow）。　His　hip　had　stiffened；　and　by　the　time　he　got　to　the　foot　of　the　tree；　the　man　he'd　almost　shot　had　made　it　nearly　all　the　way　to　the　cabin　door　。　。　。　which　was　unlocked；　of　course。　No　one　locked　up；　not　way　out　here。


5

About　ten　feet　from　the　granite　slab　that　served　as　Hole　in　the　Wall's　front　stoop；　the　man　in　the　brown　coat　and　orange　hat　fell　down　again。　His　hat　tumbled　off；　revealing　a　sweaty　clump　of　thinning　brown　hair。　He　stayed　on　one　knee　for　a　moment；　head　lowered。　Jonesy　could　hear　his　harsh；　fast　breathing。
　　　　The　man　picked　up　his　cap；　and　just　as　he　set　it　back　on　his　head；　Jonesy　hailed　him。
　　　　
　　　　The　man　staggered　to　his　feet　and　turned　tipsily。　Jonesy's　first　impression　was　that　the　man's　face　was　very　long　…　that　he　was　almost　what　people　meant　when　they　called　someone　'horsefaced'。　Then；　as　Jonesy　got　closer；　hitching　a　little　but　not　really　limping　（and　that　was　good；　because　the　ground　underfoot　was　getting　slippery　fast）；　he　realized　the　guy's　face　wasn't　particularly　long　at　all　…　he　was　just　very　scared　and　very　very　pale。　The　red　patch　on　his　cheek　where　he　had　been　scratching　stood　out　brightly。　The　relief　that　came　over　him　when　he　saw　Jonesy　hurrying　toward　him　was　large　and　immediate。　Jonesy　almost　laughed　at　himself；　standing　up　there　on　the　platform　in　the　tree　and　worrying　about　the　guy　reading　his　eyes。　This　man　wasn't　into　reading　faces；　and　he　clearly　had　no　interest　in　where　Jonesy　had　e　from　or　what　he　might　have　been　doing。　This　man　looked　like　he　wanted　to　throw　his　arms　around　Jonesy's　neck　and　cover　him　with　big　gooey　kisses。
　　　　'Thank　God！'　the　man　cried。　He　held　out　one　hand　toward　Jonesy 　and　shuffled　toward　him　through　the　thin　icing　of　new　snow。　'Oh　gee；　thank　God；　I'm　lost；　I've　been　lost　in　the　woods　since　yesterday；　I　thought　I　was　going　to　die　out　here。　I　。　。　。　I　。　。　。'
　　　　His　feet　slipped　and　Jonesy　grabbed　his　upper　arms。　He　was　a　big　man；　taller　than　Jonesy；　who　stood　six…two；　and　broader；　as　well。　Nevertheless；　Jonesy's　first　impression　was　of　insubstantialness；　as　if　the　man's　fear　had　somehow　scooped　him　out　and　left　him　light　as　a　milkweed　pod。
　　　　'Easy；　fella；'　Jonesy　said。　'Easy；　you're　all　right　now；　you're　okay。　Let's　just　get　you　inside　and　get　you　warm；　how　would　that　be？'
　　　　As　if　the　word　warm　had　been　his　cue；　the　man's　teeth　began　to　chatter。　'S…S…Sure。'　He　tried　to　smile；　without　much　success。　Jonesy　was　again　struck　by　his　extreme　pallor。　It　was　cold　out　here　this　morning；　upper　twenties　at　best；　but　the　guy's　cheeks　were　all　ashes　and　lead。　The　only　color　in　his　face；　other　than　the　red　patch；　was　the　brown　crescents　under　his　eyes。
　　　　Jonesy　got　an　arm　around　the　man's　shoulders；　suddenly　swept　by　an　absurd　and　sappy　tenderness　for　this　stranger；　an　emotion　so　strong　it　was　like　his　first　junior　high　school　crush　…　Mary　Jo　Martineau　in　a　sleeveless　white　blouse　and　straight　knee…length　denim　skirt。　He　was　now　absolutely　sure　the　man　hadn't　been　drinking　…　it　was　fear　（and　maybe　exhaustion）　rather　than　booze　that　had　made　him　unsteady　on　his　feet。　Yet　there　was　a　smell　on　his　breath　…　something　like　bananas。　It　reminded　Jonesy　of　the　ether　he'd　sprayed　into　the　carburetor　of　his　first　car；　a　Vietnam…era　Ford；　to　get　it　to　crank　over　on　cold　mornings。
　　　　'Get　you　inside；　right？'
　　　　'Yeah。　C…Cold。　Thank　God　you　came　along。　Is　this…'
　　　　'My　place？　No；　a　friend's。'　Jonesy　opened　the　varnished　oak　door　and　helped　the　man　over　the　threshold。　The　stranger　gasped　at　the　feel　of　the　warm　air；　and　a　flush　began　to　rise　in　his　cheeks。　Jonesy　was　relieved　to　see　there　was　some　blood　in　him；　after　all。


6
　　　　
Hole　in　the　Wall　was　pretty　grand　by　deep　woods　standards。　You　came　in　on　the　single　big　downstairs　room　…　kitchen；　dining　room；　and　living　room；　all　in　one　…　but　there　were　two　bedrooms　behind　it　and　another　upstairs；　under　the　single　eave。　The　big　room　was　filled　with　the　scent　of　pine　and　its　mellow；　varnished　glow。　There　was　a　Navajo　rug　on　the　floor　and　a　Micmac　hanging　on　one　wall　which　depicted　brave　little　stick…hunters　surrounding　an　enormous　bear。　A　plain　oak　table；　long　enough　to　acmodate　eight　places；　defined　the　dining　area。　There　was　a　woodstove　in　the　kitchen　and　a　fireplace　in　the　living　area；　when　both　were　going；　the　place　made　you　feel　stupid　with　the　heat　even　if　it　was　twenty　below　outside。　The　west　wall　was　all　window；　giving　a　view　of　the　long；　steep　slope　which　fell　off　to　the　west。　There　had　been　a　fire　there　in　the　seventies；　and　the　dead　trees　stood　black　and　twisted　in　the　thickening　snow。　Jonesy；　Pete；　Henry　and　the　Beav　called　this　slope　The　Gulch；　because　that's　what　the　Beav's　Dad　and　his　friends　had　called　it。
　　　　'Oh　God；　thank　God；　and　thank　you；　too；'　the　man　in　the　orange　hat　said　to　Jonesy；　and　when　Jonesy　grinned　…　that　was　a　lot　of　thank…yous　…　the　man　laughed　shrilly　as　if　to　say　yes；　he　knew　it；　it　was　a　funny　thing　to　say　but　he　couldn't　help　it。　He　began　to　take　deep　breaths；　for　a　few　moments　looking　like　one　of　those　exercise　gurus　you　saw　on　high…number　cable。　On　every　exhale；　he　talked。
　　　　'God；　I　really　thought　I　was　done…for　last　night　。　。　。　it　was　so　cold　。　。　。　and　the　damp　air；　I　remember　that　。　。　。　remember　thinking　Oh　boy；　oh　dear；　what　if　there's　snow　ing　after　all　。　。　。　I　got　coughing　and　couldn't　stop　。　。　。　something　came　and　I　thought　I　have　to　stop　coughing；　if　that's　a　bear　or　something　I'll　。　。　。　you　know　。　。　。　provoke　it　or　something　only　I　couldn't　and　after　awhile　it　just　。　。　。　you　know；　went　away　on　its　own…'
　　　　'You　saw　a　bear　in　the　night'；'　Jonesy　was　both　fascinated　and　appalled。　He　had　heard　there　were　bears　up　here　…　Old　Man　Gosselin　and　his　pickle…barrel　buddies　at　the　store　loved　to　tell　bear　stories；　particularly　to　the　out…of…staters　…　but　the　idea　that　this　man；　lost　and　on　his　own；　had　been　menaced　by　one　in　the　night；　was　keenly　horrible。　It　was　like　hearing　a　sailor　talk　about　a　sea　monster。
　　　　'I　don't　know　that　it　was；'　the　man　said；　and　suddenly　shot　Jonesy　a　sidewards　look　of　cunning　that　Jonesy　didn't　like　and　couldn't　read。　'I　can't　say　for　sure；　by　then　there　was　no　more　lightning。'
　　　　'Lightning；　too？　Man！'　If　not　for　the　guy's　obviously　genuine　distress；　Jonesy　would　have　wondered　if　he　wasn't　getting　his　leg　pulled。　In　truth；