sk.dreamcatcher-第65部分

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　me？　Big　boy　shouldn't　know　a　cook's　third　even　exists。'
　　　　'I　don't　know；'　Pearly　replied。　It　was　the　truth。
　　　　Up　ahead；　standing　at　the　head　of　what　had　been　dubbed　Eggbeater　Alley；　was　Owen　Underhill　and　some　guy　from　the　motorpool。　The　motor…pool　guy　was　almost　shouting　into　Underhill's　ear　in　order　to　make　himself　heard　over　the　racket　of　the　idling　helicopters。　Surely；　Perlmutter　thought；　they'd　shut　the　choppers　down　soon；　nothing　was　going　to　fly　in　this　shit；　an　early…season　blizzard　that　Kurtz　called　'our　gift　from　God'。　When　he　said　stuff　like　that；　you　couldn't　tell　if　Kurtz　really　meant　it　or　was　just　being　ironic。　He　always　sounded　like　he　meant　it　。　。　。　but　then　sometimes　he　would　laugh。　The　kind　of　laugh　that　made　Archie　Perlmutter　nervous。　In　the　movie；　Kurtz　would　be　played　by　James　Woods。　Or　maybe　Christopher　Walken。　Neither　one　of　them　looked　like　Kurtz；　but　had　George　C。　Scott　looked　like　Patton？　Case　closed。
　　　　Perlmutter　abruptly　detoured　toward　Underhill。　Melrose　tried　to　follow　and　went　on　his　ass；　cursing。　Perlmutter　tapped　Underhill　on　his　shoulder；　then　hoped　his　mask　would　at　least　partially　conceal　his　expression　of　surprise　when　the　other　man　turned。　Owen　Underhill　looked　as　if　he　had　aged　ten　years　since　stepping　off　the　Millinocket　School　Department　bus。
　　　　Leaning　forward；　Pearly　shouted　over　the　wind：　'Kurtz　in　fifteen！　Don't　forget！'
　　　　Underhill　gave　him　an　impatient　wave　to　say　he　wouldn't；　and　turned　back　to　the　motor…pool　guy。　Perlmutter　had　him　placed　now；　Brodsky；　his　name　was。　The　men　called　him　Dawg。
　　　　Kurtz's　mand　post；　a　humongous　Winnebago　（if　this　were　a　movie…set；　it　would　be　the　star's　home　away　from　home；　or　perhaps　Jimmy　Cameron's）；　was　just　ahead。　Pearly　picked　up　the　pace；　facing　boldly　forward　into　the　flick…flick…flick　of　the　snow。　Melrose　scurried　to　catch　up；　brushing　snow　off　his　coverall。
　　　　'C'mon；　Skipper；'　he　pleaded。　'Don'tcha　have　any　idea？'
　　　　'No；'　Perlmutter　said。　He　had　no　clue　as　to　why　Kurtz　would　want　to　see　a　cook's　third　with　everything　up　and　running　in　high　gear。　But　he　thought　both　of　them　knew　it　couldn't　be　anything　good。


2

Owen　turned　Emil　Brodsky's　head；　placed　the　bulb　of　his　mask　against　the　man's　ear；　and　said：　'Tell　me　again。　Not　all　of　it；　Just　about　the　part　you　called　the　mind…fuck。'
　　　　Brodsky　didn't　argue　but　took　ten　seconds　or　so　to　arrange　his　thoughts。　Owen　gave　it　to　him。　There　was　his　appointment　with　Kurtz；　and　debriefing　after　that　…　plenty　of　crew；　reams　of　paperwork　…　and　God　alone　knew　what　gruesome　tasks　to　follow；　but　he　sensed　this　was　important。
　　　　Whether　or　not　he　would　tell　Kurtz　remained　to　be　seen。
　　　　At　last　Brodsky　turned　Owen's　head；　placed　the　bulb　of　his　own　mask　against　Owen's　car；　and　began　to　talk。　The　story　was　a　little　more　detailed　this　time；　but　essentially　the　same；　He　had　been　walking　across　the　field　next　to　the　store；　talking　to　Cambry　beside　him　and　to　an　approaching　fuel…supply　convoy　at　the　same　time；　when　all　at　once　he　felt　as　if　his　mind　had　been　hijacked。　He　had　been　in　a　cluttery　old　shed　with　someone　he　couldn't　quite　see。　The　man　wanted　to　get　a　snowmobile　going；　and　couldn't。　He　needed　the　Dawg　to　tell　him　what　was　wrong　with　it。
　　　　'I　asked　him　to　open　the　cowling！'　Brodsky　shouted　into　Owen's　ear。　'He　did；　and　then　it　seemed　like　I　was　looking　through　his　eyes　。　。　。　but　with　my　mind；　do　you　see？'
　　　　Owen　nodded。
　　　　'I　could　see　right　away　what　was　wrong；　someone　had　taken　the　plugs　out。　So　I　told　the　guy　to　look　around；　which　he　did。　Which　we　both　did。　And　there　they　were；　in　a　jar　of　gasoline　on　the　table。　My　Dad　used　to　do　the　same　thing　with　the　plugs　from　his　Lawnboy　and　his　rototiller　when　the　cold　weather　came。'
　　　　Brodsky　paused；　clearly　embarrassed　either　by　what　he　was　saying　or　how　he　imagined　it　must　sound。　Owen；　who　was　fascinated；　gestured　for　him　to　go　on。
　　　　'There　ain't　much　more。　I　told　him　to　fish　em　out；　dry　em　off；　and　pop　em　in。　It　was　like　a　billion　times　I've　helped　some　guy　work　on　somethin　except　I　wasn't　there　…　I　was　here。　None　of　it　was　happening。'
　　　　Owen　said：　'What　next？'　Bellowing　to　be　heard　over　the　engines；　but　the　two　of　them　still　as　private　as　a　priest　and　his　customer　in　a　church　confessional。
　　　　'Started　up　first　crank。　I　told　him　to　check　the　gas　while　he　was　at　it；　and　there　was　a　full　tank。　He　said　thanks。'　Brodsky　shook　his　head　wonderingly。　'And　I　said；　No　problem；　boss。　Then　I　kind　of　thumped　back　into　my　own　head　and　I　was　just　walking　along。　You　think　I'm　crazy？'
　　　　'No。　But　I　want　you　to　keep　this　to　yourself　for　the　time　being。'
　　　　Under　his　mask；　Brodsky's　lips　spread　in　a　grin。　'Oh　man；　no　problem　there；　either。　I　just　。　。　。　well；　we're　supposed　to　report　anything　unusual；　that's　the　directive；　and　I　thought…'
　　　　Quickly；　not　giving　Brodsky　time　to　think；　Owen　rapped：　'What　was　his　name？'
　　　　'Jonesy　Three；'　Dawg　replied；　and　then　his　eyes　widened　in　surprise。　'Holy　shit！　I　didn't　know　I　knew　that。'
　　　　'Is　that　some　sort　of　Indian　name；　do　you　think？　Like　Sonny　Sixkiller　or　Ron　Nine　Moons？'
　　　　'Coulda　been；　but　。　。　。'　Brodsky　paused；　thinking；　then　burst　out： 'It　was　awful！　Not　when　it　was　happening；　but　later　on　。　。　。　thinking　about　it　。　。　。　it　was　like　being　。　。　。'　He　dropped　his　voice。　'Like　being　raped；　sir。'
　　　　'Let　it　go；'　Owen　said。　'You　must　have　a　few　things　to　do？'
　　　　Brodsky　smiled。　'Only　a　few　thousand。'
　　　　'Then　get　started。'
　　　　'Okay。'　Brodsky　took　a　step　away；　then　turned　back。　Owen　was　looking　toward　the　corral；　which　had　once　held　horses　and　now　held　men。　Most　of　the　detainees　were　in　the　barn；　and　all　but　one　of　the　two　dozen　or　so　out　here　were　huddled　up　together；　as　if　for　fort。　The　one　who　stood　apart　was　a　tall；　skinny　drink　of　water　wearing　big　glasses　that　made　him　look　sort　of　like　an　owl。　Brodsky　looked　from　the　doomed　owl　to　Underhill。　'You're　not　gonna　get　me　in　hack　over　this；　are　you？　Send　me　to　see　the　shrink？'　Unaware；　of　course；　both　of　them　unaware　that　the　skinny　guy　in　the　old…fashioned　horn…rims　was　a　shrink。
　　　　'Not　a　ch…'　Owen　began。　Before　he　could　finish；　there　was　a　gunshot　from　Kurtz's　Winnebago　and　someone　began　to　scream。
　　　　'Boss？'　Brodsky　whispered。　Owen　couldn't　hear　him　over　the　contending　motors；　he　read　the　word　off　Brodsky's　lips。　And：　'Ohh；　fuck。'
　　　　'Go　on；　Dawg；'　Owen　said。　'Not　your　business。'
　　　　Brodsky　looked　at　him　a　moment　longer；　wetting　his　lips　inside　his　mask。　Owen　gave　him　a　nod；　trying　to　project　an　air　of　confidence；　of　mand；　of　everything's…under…control。　Maybe　it　worked；　because　Brodsky　returned　the　nod　and　started　away。
　　　　From　the　Winnebago　with　the　hand…lettered　sign　on　the　door　（THE　BUCK　STOPS　HERE）；　the　screaming　continued。　As　Owen　started　that　way；　the　man　standing　by　himself　in　the　pound　spoke　to　him。　'Hey！　Hey；　you！　Stop　a　minute；　I　need　to　talk　to　you！'
　　　　I'll　bet；　Underhill　thought；　not　slowing　his　pace。　I　bet　you've　got　a　whale　of　a　tale　to　tell　and　a　thousand　reasons　why　you　should　be　let　out　of　here　right　now。
　　　　'Overhill？　No；　Underhill。　That's　your　name；　isn't　it？　Sure　it　is。　I　have　to　talk　to　you　…　it's　important　to　both　of　us！'
　　　　Owen　stopped　in　spite　of　the　screaming　from　the　Winnebago；　which　was　breaking　up　into　hurt　sobs　now。　Not　good；　but　at　least　it　seemed　that　no　one　had　been　killed。　He　took　a　closer　look　at　the　man　in　the　spectacles。　Skinny　as　a　rail　and　shivering　in　spite　of　the　down　parka　he　was　wearing。
　　　　'It's　important　to　Rita；'　the　skinny　man　called　over　the　contending　roar　of　the　engines。　'To　Katrina；　too。'　Speaking　the　names　seemed　to　sap　the　geeky　guy；　as　if　he　had　drawn　them　up　like　stones　from　some　deep　well；　but　in　his　shock　at　hearing　the　names　of　his　wife　and　daughter　from　this　stranger's　lips；　Owen　barely　noticed。　The　urge　to　go　to　the　man　and　ask　him　how　he　knew　those　names　was　strong；　but　he　was　currently　out　of　time　。　。　。　he　had　an　appointment。　And　just　because　no　one　had　been　killed　yet　didn't　mean　no　one　would　be　killed。
　　　　Owen　gave　the　man　behind　the　wire　a　final　look；　marking　his　face；　and　then　hurried　on　toward　the　Winnebago　with　the　sign　on　the　door。


3

Perlmutter　had　read　Heart　of　Darkness；　had　seen　Apocalypse　Now；　and　had　on　many　occasions　thought　that　the　name　Kurtz　was　simply　a　little　too　convenient。　He　would　have　bet　a　hundred　dollars　（a　great　sum　for　a　non…wagering　artistic　fellow　such　as　himself）　that　it　wasn't　the　boss's　real　name　…　that　the　boss's　real　name　was　Arthur　Holsapple　or　Dagwood　Elgart；　maybe　even　Paddy　Maloney。　Kurtz？　Unlikely。　It　was　almost　surely　an　affectation；　as　much　a　prop　as　George　Patton's　pearl…handled　。45。　The　men；　some　of　whom　had　been　with　Kurtz　since　Desert　Storm　（Archie　Perlmutter　didn't　go　back　nearly　that　far）；　thought　he　was　one　crazy　motherfucker；　and　so　did　Perlmutter　。　。　。　crazy　like　Patton　had　been　crazy。　Crazy　like　a　fox；　in　other　words。　Probably　when　he　was　shaving　in　the　morning　he　looked　at　his　reflection　and　practiced　saying　'The　horror；　the　horror'　in　just　the　right　Marlon　Brando　whisper。
　　　　So　Pearly　felt　disquiet　but　no　unusual　disquiet　as　he　escorted　Cook's　Third　Melrose　into　the　over…warm　mand　trailer。　And　Kurtz　looked　pretty　much　okay。　The　skipper　was　sitting　in　a　cane　rocking　chair　in　th