sk.dreamcatcher-第133部分

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Another　summer　down　the　tubes；　Henry　thought。
　　　　There　was　nothing　sad　about　the　thought；　though；　summer　had　been　good；　and　fall　would　be　good；　too。　No　hunting　this　year；　and　there　would　undoubtedly　be　the　occasional　visit　from　his　new　military　friends　（his　new　military　friends　wanted　to　be　sure　above　all　things　that　he　wasn't　growing　any　red　foliage　on　his　skin）；　but　fall　would　be　good　just　the　same。　Cool　air；　bright　days；　long　nights。
　　　　Sometimes；　in　the　post…midnight　hours　of　his　nights；　Henry's　old　friend　still　came　to　visit；　but　when　it　did；　he　simply　sat　up　in　his　study　with　a　book　in　his　lap　and　waited　for　it　to　go　again。　Eventually　it　always　did。　Eventually　the　sun　always　came　up。　The　sleep　you　didn't　get　one　night　sometimes　came　to　you　on　the　next；　and　then　it　came　like　a　lover。　This　was　something　he'd　learned　since　last　November。
　　　　He　was　drinking　a　beer　on　the　porch　of　Jonesy　and　Carla's　cottage　in　Ware；　the　one　on　the　shore　of　Pepper　Pond。　The　south　end　of　the　Quabbin　Reservoir　was　about　four　miles　northwest　of　where　he　sat。　And　East　Street；　of　course。
　　　　The　hand　holding　the　can　of　Coors　only　had　three　fingers。　He'd　lost　the　two　on　the　end　to　frostbite；　perhaps　while　skiing　out　the　Deep　Cut　Road　from　Hole　in　the　Wall；　perhaps　while　dragging　Jonesy　back　to　the　remaining　Humvee　on　a　lashed…together　travois。　Last　fall　had　been　his　season　to　drag　people　through　the　snow；　it　seemed；　and　with　mixed　results。　　　　
　　　　Near　the　little　scrape　of　beach；　Carla　Jones　was　tending　a　barbecue。　Noel；　the　baby；　was　toddling　around　the　picnic　table　to　her　left；　diaper　sagging。　He　was　waving　a　charred　hot　dog　cheerily　in　one　hand。　The　other　three　Jones　kids；　ranging　in　ages　from　eleven　to　three；　were　in　the　water；　splashing　around　and　yelling　at　each　other。　Henry　supposed　there　might　be　some　value　to　that　Biblical　imperative　about　being　fruitful　and　multiplying；　but　it　seemed　to　him　that　Jonesy　and　Carla　had　taken　it　to　absurd　lengths。　　　　
　　　　Behind　him；　the　screen　door　clapped。　Jonesy　came　out；　carrying　a　bucket　filled　with　iced　beers。　His　limp　wasn't　all　that　bad；　this　time　the　doc　had　just　said　fuck　the　original　equipment　and　had　replaced　the　whole　thing　with　steel　and　Teflon。　It　would　have　e　to　that；　anyway；　the　doc　had　told　Jonesy；　but　if　you'd　been　a　little　more　careful；　Chief；　you　could've　gotten　another　five　years　out　of　the　old　one。　He'd　had　the　operation　in　February；　shortly　after　Henry　and　Jonesy's　six…week　'vacation'　with　the　military　intelligence　and　Psy0ps　people　had　ended。
　　　　The　military　folks　had　offered　to　throw　in　the　hip　replacement　courtesy　of　Uncle　Sam　…　sort　of　a　coda　to　their　debriefing　…　but　Jonesy　had　refused　with　thanks；　saying　he　wouldn't　want　to　deprive　his　own　orthopedist　of　the　work；　or　his　insurance　pany　of　the　bill。
　　　　By　then；　all　the　two　of　them　had　wanted　was　to　get　out　of　Wyoming。　The　apartments　were　nice　（if　you　could　get　used　to　living　underground；　that　was）；　the　food　was　four…star　（Jonesy　put　on　ten　pounds；　Henry　close　to　twenty）；　and　the　movies　were　always　first…run。　The　atmosphere；　however；　was　just　a　teensy　bit　on　the　Dr　Strangelove　side。　For　Henry；　those　six　weeks　had　been　infinitely　worse　than　they　had　been　for　Jonesy。　Jonesy　suffered；　but　mostly　with　his　derailed　hip；　his　memories　of　sharing　a　body　with　Mr　Gray　had　faded　to　the　consistency　of　dreams　in　a　remarkably　short　space　of　time。
　　　　Henry's　memories；　on　the　other　hand；　had　only　grown　stronger。　Those　of　the　barn　were　the　worst。　The　debriefers　had　been　passionate；　not　a　Kurtz　in　the　bunch；　but　Henry　couldn't　block　his　thoughts　of　Bill　and　Marsha　and　Darren　Chiles；　Mr　Bomber…Joint…from…Newton。　They　often　came　to　visit　in　his　dreams。
　　　　So　did　Owen　Underhill。
　　　　'Reinforcements；'　Jonesy　said；　setting　the　bucket　of　beer　down。　He　then　lowered　himself　into　the　sagging　cane…bottomed　rocker　beside　Henry　with　a　grunt　and　a　grimace。
　　　　'One　more　and　I'm　done；'　Henry　said。　'I'm　driving　back　to　Portland　in　an　hour　or　so；　and　an　OUI　I　don't　need。'
　　　　'Stay　the　night；'　Jonesy　said；　watching　Noel。　The　baby　had　plumped　down　on　the　grass　beneath　the　picnic　table　and　now　seemed　intent　upon　inserting　the　remains　of　his　hot　dog　into　his　navel。
　　　　'With　your　kids　squabbling　their　way　toward　midnight　and　maybe　beyond？'　Henry　asked。　'Getting　my　pick　of　Mario　Bava　horror　movies？'
　　　　'I've　pretty　well　signed　off　the　fright　flicks；'　Jonesy　said。　'We're　having　a　Kevin　Costner　festival　tonight；　starting　with　The　Bodyguard。'
　　　　'I　thought　you　said　no　horror　movies。'
　　　　'Smartass。'　Then　he　shrugged；　grinned。　'Whatever　you　feel。'
　　　　Henry　raised　his　beer　can。　'Here's　to　absent　friends。'
　　　　Jonesy　raised　his　own。　'Absent　friends。'
　　　　They　clinked　cans　and　drank。
　　　　'How's　Roberta？'　Jonesy　asked。
　　　　Henry　smiled。　'Doing　very　well。　I　had　my　doubts　at　the　funeral　。　。　。'
　　　　Jonesy　nodded。　At　Duddits's　funeral　they　had　flanked　her；　and　that　had　been　a　good　thing；　because　Roberta　had　hardly　been　able　to　stand　on　her　own。
　　　　'。　。　。　but　now　she's　ing　on　strong。　Talking　about　opening　a　craft　shop。　I　think　it's　a　good　idea。　Of　course　she　misses　him。　After　Alfie　died；　Duds　was　her　life。'
　　　　'He　was　ours；　too；'　Jonesy　said。
　　　　'Yes。　I　suppose　he　was。'
　　　　'I　feel　so　bad　about　the　way　we　left　him　on　his　own　all　those　years。　I　mean；　he　had　leukemia　and　we　didn't　even　fucking　know。'
　　　　'Sure　we　knew；'　Henry　said。
　　　　Jonesy　looked　at　him；　eyebrows　raised。
　　　　'Hey；　Henry！'　Carla　called。　'How　do　you　want　your　burger？'
　　　　'Cooked！'　he　yelled　back。
　　　　'I　will　make　it　so；　sire。　Would　you　be　a　love　and　get　the　baby？　That　hot　dog's　rapidly　turning　into　a　dirt…dog。　Take　it　away　from　him　and　give　him　to　his　Dad。'
　　　　Henry　went　down　the　steps；　fished　Noel　out　from　under　the　table；　and　carried　him　back　toward　the　porch。
　　　　'Ennie！'　Noel　cried　brightly。　He　was　now　eighteen　months　old。
　　　　Henry　stopped；　feeling　a　chill　spread　up　his　back。　It　was　as　if　he　had　been　hailed　by　a　ghost。
　　　　'Eee　foo；　Ennie！　Eee　foo！'　Noel　hopped　Henry　briskly　on　the　nose　with　his　dirt…dog　to　underline　the　thrust　of　his　thesis。
　　　　'I'll　wait　for　my　burger；　thanks；'　he　said；　and　resumed　walking。
　　　　'No　eee　my　foo？'
　　　　'Ennie　eee　his　own　foo；　honeybunch。　But　maybe　I　ought　to　have　that　nasty　thing。　You　can　have　another　one　as　soon　as　they're　ready。'　He　tweezed　the　dirt…dog　out　of　Noel's　little　hand；　then　plumped　him　down　in　Jonesy's　lap　and　resumed　his　seat。　By　the　time　Jonesy　had　finished　swabbing　mustard　and　ketchup　out　of　his　son's　belly…button；　the　kid　was　almost　asleep。
　　　　'What　did　you　mean；　〃Sure　we　knew〃？'　Jonesy　asked。
　　　　'Ah；　Jonesy；　e　on。　Maybe　we　left　him；　or　tried；　but　do　you　think　Duddits　ever　left　us？　After　all　that　happened；　do　you　really　believe　that？'
　　　　Very　slowly；　Jonesy　shook　his　head。
　　　　'Some　of　it　was　growing　up　…　growing　apart　…　but　some　of　it　was　the　Richie　Grenadeau　thing。　That　worked　on　us　the　way　the　business　of　the　Rapeloews'　serving　platter　worked　on　Owen　Underhill。'　Jonesy　didn't　need　to　ask　what　this　meant；　in　Wyoming；　they'd　had　all　the　time　they　needed　to　catch　up　on　each　other's　story。
　　　　'There's　an　old　poem　about　a　man　trying　to　outrun　God；'　Henry　said。　〃'The　Hound　of　Heaven〃；　it's　called。　Duddits　wasn't　God　…　God　forbid　…　but　he　was　our　hound。　We　ran　as　fast　and　as　far　as　we　could；　but…'
　　　　'We　could　never　run　off　the　dreamcatcher；　could　we？'　Jonesy　said。　'None　of　us　could　do　that。　And　then　they　came。　The　byrum。　Stupid　spores　in　spaceships　built　by　some　other　race。　Is　that　what　they　were？　All　they　were？'
　　　　'I　don't　think　we'll　ever　know。　Only　one　question　got　answered　last　fall。　For　centuries　we've　looked　up　at　the　stars　and　asked　ourselves　if　we're　alone　in　the　universe。　Well；　now　we　know　we're　not。　Big　whoop；　huh？　Gerritsen　。　。　。　do　you　remember　Gerritsen？'
　　　　Jonesy　nodded。　Of　course　he　remembered　Terry　Gerritsen。　Navy　psychologist；　in　charge　of　the　Wyoming　debriefing　team；　always　joking　about　how　typical　it　was　that　Uncle　Sammy　would　post　him　to　a　place　where　the　nearest　water　was　Lars　Kilborn's　cow…wallow。　Gerritsen　and　Henry　had　bee　close　…　if　not　quite　friends；　only　because　the　situation　didn't　quite　allow　it。　Jonesy　and　Henry　had　been　well…treated　in　Wyoming；　but　they　hadn't　been　guests。　Still；　Henry　Devlin　and　Terry　Gerritsen　were　professional　colleagues；　and　such　things　made　a　difference。
　　　　'Gerritsen　started　by　assuming　two　questions　had　been　answered：　that　we're　not　alone　in　the　universe　and　that　we're　not　the　only　intelligent　beings　in　the　universe。　I　labored　hard　to　convince　him　that　the　second　postulate　was　based　on　faulty　logic；　a　house　built　on　sand。　I　don't　think　I　entirely　succeeded　in　getting　through；　but　I　may　have　planted　a　seed　of　doubt；　at　least。　Whatever　else　the　byrum　may　be；　they're　not　shipbuilders；　and　the　race　that　built　the　ships　may　be　gone。　May　in　fact　be　byrum　themselves　by　now。'
　　　　'Mr　Gray　wasn't　stupid。'
　　　　'Not　once　he　got　inside　your　head；　that　much　I　agree　with。　Mr　Gray　was　you；　Jonesy。　He　stole　your　emotions；　your　memories；　your　taste　for　bacon…'
　　　　'I　don't　eat　it　anymore。'　　　　
　　　　'I'm　not　surprised。　He　also　stole　your　basic　personality。　That　included　the　subconscious　kinks。　Whatever　there　is　in　you　that　liked　the　Mario　Bava　horror　movies　and　the