sk.dreamcatcher-第21部分

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an　old　greasy　deck　of　cards；　if　you　had　those　things；　you　were　in　business。　The　game　was　mostly　played　when　you　were　waiting　to　do　something　else　…　for　the　rain　to　let　up；　for　a　freight　order　to　arrive；　or　for　your　friends　to　get　back　from　the　store　so　you　could　figure　out　what　to　do　with　the　strange　fellow　now　lying　behind　a　closed　bedroom　door。
　　　　Except；　Jonesy　thought；　we're　really　waiting　for　Henry。　Pete's　just　with　him。　Henry's　the　one　who'll　know　what　to　do；　Beaver　was　right。　Henry's　the　one。
　　　　But　Henry　and　Pete　were　late　back。　It　was　too　early　to　say　something　had　happened　to　them；　it　could　just　be　the　snow　slowing　them　down；　but　Jonesy　was　starting　to　wonder　if　that　was　all；　and　guessed　the　Beav　was；　too。　Neither　of　them　had　said　anything　about　it　as　yet　…　it　was　still　on　the　morning　side　of　noon　and　things　might　still　turn　out　okay　…　but　the　idea　was　there；　floating　unspoken　between　them。
　　　　Jonesy　would　concentrate　on　the　board　and　the　cards　for　awhile；　and　then　he'd　look　at　the　closed　bedroom　door　behind　which　McCarthy　lay；　probably　sleeping；　but　oh　boy　his　color　had　looked　bad。　Two　or　three　times　he　saw　Beav's　eyes　flicking　over　there；　too。
　　　　Jonesy　shuffled　the　old　Bikes；　dealt；　gave　himself　a　couple　of　cards；　then　set　aside　the　crib　when　Beaver　slid　a　couple　across　to　him。　Beaver　cut　and　then　the　preliminaries　were　done；　it　was　time　to　peg。　You　can　peg　and　still　lose　the　game；　Lamar　told　them；　that　Chesterfield　always　sticking　out　from　the　er　of　his　mouth；　his　Clarendon　Construction　cap　always　pulled　down　over　his　left　eye　like　a　man　who　knows　a　secret　he　will　only　tell　if　the　price　is　right；　Lamar　Clarendon　a　no…play　workadaddy　dead　of　a　heart　attack　at　forty…eight；　but　if　you　peg　you　won't　never　get　skunked。
　　　　No　play；　Jonesy　thought　now。　No　bounce；　no　play。　And　then；　on　the　heels　of　that；　the　wavering　damned　voice　that　day　in　the　hospital：　Please　stop；　I　can't　stand　it；　give　me　a　shot；　where's　Marcy？　And　oh　man；　why　was　the　world　so　hard？　Why　were　there　so　many　spokes　hungry　for　your　fingers；　so　many　gears　eager　to　grab　for　your　guts？
　　　　'Jonesy？'
　　　　'Huh？'
　　　　'You　okay？'
　　　　'Yeah；　why？'
　　　　'You　shivered。'
　　　　'Did　I？'　Sure　he　did；　he　knew　he　did。
　　　　'Yeah。'
　　　　'Drafty；　maybe。　You　smell　anything？'
　　　　'You　mean　。　。　。　like　him？'
　　　　'I　wasn't　talking　about　Meg　Ryan's　armpits。　Yeah；　him。'
　　　　'No；'　Beaver　said。　'A　couple　of　times　I　thought　。　。　。　but　it　was　just　imagination。　Because　those　farts；　you　know…'
　　　　…smelled　so　bad。'
　　　　'Yeah。　They　did。　The　burps；　too。　I　thought　he　was　gonna　blow　chunks；　man。　For　sure。'
　　　　Jonesy　nodded。　I'm　scared；　he　thought。　Sitting　here　shit　scared　in　a　snowstorm。　I　want　Henry；　goddammit。　How　about　that。
　　　　'Jonesy？'
　　　　'What？　Are　we　ever　gonna　play　this　hand　or　not？'
　　　　'Sure；　but　。　。　。　do　you　think　Henry　and　Pete　are　okay？'
　　　　'How　the　hell　do　I　know？'
　　　　'You　don't　。　。　。　have　a　feeling？　Maybe　see…'　　　
　　　　'I　don't　see　anything　but　your　face。'
　　　　Beav　sighed。　'But　do　you　think　they're　okay？'
　　　　'As　a　matter　of　fact；　I　do。'　Yet　his　eyes　stole　first　to　the　clock　half　past　eleven；　now　…　and　then　to　the　closed　bedroom　door　with　McCarthy　behind　it。　In　the　middle　of　the　room；　the　dreamcatcher　danced　and　slowly　turned　in　some　breath　of　air。　'Just　going　slow。　They'll　be　right　along。　e　on；　let's　play。'
　　　　'All　right。　Eight。'
　　　　'Fifteen　for　two。'
　　　　'Fuck。'　Beaver　put　a　toothpick　in　his　mouth。　'Twenty…five。'
　　　　'Thirty。'
　　　　'Go。'
　　　　'One　for　two。'
　　　　'Doodlyfuck！'　Beaver　gave　an　exasperated　little　laugh　as　Jonesy　turned　the　corner　onto　Third　Street。　'You　peg　my　ass　off　every　time　you　deal。'
　　　　'I　peg　your　ass　when　you　deal；　too；'　Jonesy　said。　'The　truth　hurts。　e　on；　play。'
　　　　'Nine。'
　　　　'Sixteen。'
　　　　'And　one　for　last　card；'　the　Beav　said；　as　if　he　had　won　a　moral　victory。　He　stood　up。　'I'm　gonna　go　out；　take　a　leak。'
　　　　'Why？　We've　got　a　perfectly　good　john；　in　case　you　didn't　know　it。'
　　　　'I　know　it。　I　just　want　to　see　if　I　can　write　my　name　in　the　snow。'
　　　　Jonesy　laughed。　'Are　you　ever　gonna　grow　up？'
　　　　'Not　if　I　can　help　it。　And　keep　it　down。　Don't　wake　the　guy　up。
　　　　Jonesy　swept　the　cards　together　and　began　to　shuffle　them　as　Beaver　walked　to　the　back　door。　He　found　himself　thinking　about　a　version　of　the　game　they　had　played　when　they　were　kids。　They　called　it　the　Duddits　Game；　and　they　usually　played　in　the　Cavell　rec　room。　It　was　the　same　as　regular　cribbage；　except　they　let　Duddits　peg。　I　got　ten；　Henry　would　say；　peg　me　ten；　Duddits。　And　Duddits；　grinning　that　loopy　grin　of　his　that　never　failed　to　make　Jonesy　feel　happy；　might　peg　four　or　six　or　ten　or　two　fucking　dozen。　The　rule　when　you　played　the　Duddits　Game　was　that　you　never　plained；　never　said　Duddits；　that's　too　many　or　Duddits；　that's　not　enough。　And　man；　they'd　laugh。　Mr　and　Mrs　Cavell；　they'd　laugh；　too；　if　they　happened　to　be　in　the　room；　and　Jonesy　remembered　once；　they　must　have　been　fifteen；　sixteen；　and　Duddits　of　course　was　whatever　he　was；　Duddits　Cavell's　age　was　never　going　to　change；　that　was　what　was　so　beautiful　and　scary　about　him；　and　this　one　time　Alfie　Cavell　had　started　crying；　saying　Boys；　if　you　only　knew　what　this　means；　to　me　and　to　the　missus；　if　you　only　knew　what　it　means　to　Douglas…
　　　　'Jonesy。'　Beaver's　voice；　oddly　flat。　Cold　air　came　in　through　the　open　kitchen　door；　raising　a　rash　of　gooseflesh　on　Jonesy's　arms。
　　　　'Close　the　door；　Beav；　was　you　born　in　a　barn？'
　　　　'e　over　here。　You　need　to　look　at　this。'
　　　　Jonesy　got　up　and　went　to　the　door。　He　opened　his　mouth　to　say　something；　then　closed　it　again。　The　backyard　was　filled　with　enough　animals　to　stock　a　petting　zoo。　Deer；　mostly；　a　couple　of　dozen　assorted　does　and　bucks。　But　moving　with　them　were　raccoons；　waddling　woodchucks；　and　a　contingent　of　squirrels　that　seemed　to　move　effortlessly　along　the　top　of　the　snow。　From　around　the　side　of　the　shed　where　the　Arctic　Cat　and　assorted　tools　and　engine　parts　were　stored；　came　three　large　canines　Jonesy　at　first　mistook　for　wolves。　Then　he　saw　the　old　discolored　length　of　clothesline　hanging　around　the　neck　of　one　of　them　and　realized　they　were　dogs；　probably　gone　feral。　They　were　all　moving　east；　up　the　slope　from　The　Gulch。　Jonesy　saw　a　pair　of　good…sized　wildcats　moving　between　two　little　groups　of　deer　and　actually　rubbed　his　eyes；　as　if　to　clear　them　of　a　mirage。　The　cats　were　still　there。　So　were　the　deer；　the　woodchucks；　the　coons　and　squirrels。　They　moved　steadily；　barely　giving　the　men　in　the　doorway　a　glance；　but　without　the　panic　of　creatures　running　before　a　fire。　Nor　was　there　any　smell　of　fire。　The　animals　were　simply　moving　cast；　vacating　the　area。
　　　　'Holy　Christ；　Beav；'　Jonesy　said　in　a　low；　awed　voice。
　　　　Beaver　had　been　looking　up。　Now　he　gave　the　animals　a　quick；　cursory　glance　and　lifted　his　gaze　to　the　sky　again。　'Yeah。　Now　look　up　there。'
　　　　Jonesy　looked　up　and　saw　a　dozen　glaring　lights　…　some　red；　some　blue…white　…　dancing　around　up　there。　They　lit　the　clouds；　and　he　suddenly　understood　that　they　were　what　McCarthy　had　seen　when　he　was　lost。　They　ran　back　and　forth；　dodging　each　other　or　sometimes　briefly　merging；　making　a　glow　so　bright　he　couldn't　look　at　it　without　squinting。　'What　are　they？'　he　asked。
　　　　'I　don't　know；'　Beaver　said；　not　looking　away。　On　his　pale　face；　the　stubble　stood　out　with　almost　eerie　clarity。　'But　the　animals　don't　like　it。　That's　what　they're　trying　to　get　away　from。'


2

They　watched　for　ten；　perhaps　fifteen　minutes；　and　Jonesy　became　aware　of　a　low　humming；　like　the　sound　of　an　electrical　transformer。　Jonesy　asked　Beaver　if　he　heard　it；　and　the　Beav　simply　nodded；　not　taking　his　eyes　off　the　dancing　lights　in　the　sky；　which　to　Jonesy　looked　to　be　the　size　of　manhole　covers。　He　had　an　idea　that　it　was　the　sound　the　animals　wanted　to　escape；　not　the　lights；　but　said　nothing。　Speech　all　at　once　seemed　hard；　he　felt　a　debilitating　fear　grip　him；　something　feverish　and　constant；　like　a　low…grade　flu。
　　　　At　last　the　lights　began　to　dim；　and　although　Jonesy　hadn't　seen　any　of　them　wink　out；　there　seemed　to　be　fewer　of　them。　Fewer　animals；　too；　and　that　nagging　hum　was　fading。
　　　　Beaver　started；　like　a　man　awakening　from　a　deep　sleep。　'Camera；'　he　said。　'I　want　to　get　some　pictures　before　they're　gone。'　'I　don't　think　you'll　be　able　to…'
　　　　'I　got　to　try！'　Beaver　almost　shouted。　Then；　in　a　lower　tone　of　voice：　'I　got　to　try。　At　least　I　can　get　some　of　the　deers　and　such　before　they　。　。　。'　He　was　turning　away；　heading　back　across　the　kitchen；　probably　trying　to　remember　what　heap　of　dirty　clothes　he'd　left　his　old　battered　camera　under；　when　he　stopped　suddenly。　In　a　flat　and　decidedly　unbeaverish　voice；　he　said；　'Oh；　Jonesy。　I　think　we　got　a　problem。'
　　　　Jonesy　took　a　final　look　at　the　remaining　lights；　still　fading　（smaller；　too）；　then　turned　around。　Beaver　was　standing　beside　the　sink；　looking　across　the　counter　and　the　big　central　room。
　　　　'What？　What　now？'　That　nagging；　shrewish　voice　with　the　little　tremor　in　it　。　。　。　was　that　really　his？
　　　　Beaver　pointed。　The　door　to　the　bathroom　where　they'd　put　Rick　McCarthy　…　Jonesy's　room　…　stood　open。　The　door　to　the　bathroom；　which　they　had　left　open　so　McCarthy　could　not　possibly　miss　hi