sk.dreamcatcher-第67部分

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e　gray　neck；　if　they　persist　we　will　use　their　own　technology；　which　we　are　already　well　on　our　way　to　grasping；　against　them；　returning　to　their　place　of　origin　in　their　own　ships　or　ships　like　them　built　by　General　Electric　and　DuPont　and　praise　God　Microsoft　and　once　there　we　will　burn　their　cities　or　hives　or　goddam　anthills；　whatever　they　live　in；　we　'II　napalm　their　amber　waves　of　grain　and　nuke　their　purple　mountains'　majesty；　praise　God；　Allah　akhbar；　we　will　pour　the　fiery　piss　of　America　into　their　lakes　and　oceans　。　。　。　but　we　will　do　it　in　a　way　that　is　proper　and　appropriate　and　without　regard　to　race　or　gender　or　ethnicity　or　religious　preference。　We're　going　to　do　it　because　they　came　to　the　wrong　neighborhood　and　knocked　on　the　wrong　fucking　door。　This　is　not　Germany　in　1938　or　Oxford　Mississippi　in　1963。　Now；　Mr　Melrose；　do　you　think　you　can　spread　that　message？'
　　　　Melrose's　eyes　rolled　up　to　the　wet　whites　and　his　knees　unhinged。　Perlmutter　once　more　grabbed　his　shoulder　in　an　effort　to　hold　him　up；　but　it　was　a　lost　cause　this　time；　down　Melrose　went。
　　　　'Pearly；'　Kurtz　whispered；　and　when　those　burning　blue　eyes　fell　on　him；　Perlmutter　thought　he　had　never　been　so　frightened　in　his　life。　His　bladder　was　a　hot　and　heavy　bag　inside　him；　wanting　only　to　squirt　its　contents　into　his　coverall。　He　felt　that　if　Kurtz　saw　a　dark　patch　spreading　on　his　adjutant's　crotch；　Kurtz　might　shoot　him　out　of　hand；　in　his　present　mood　。　。　。　but　that　didn't　seem　to　help　the　situation。　In　fact；　it　made　it　worse。
　　　　'Yes；　s　。　。　。　boss？'
　　　　'Will　he　spread　the　word？　Will　he　be　a　good　messenger？　Do　you　reckon　he　took　enough　in　to　do　that；　or　was　he　too　concerned　with　his　damned　old　foot？'
　　　　'I　。　。　。　I　。　。　。'　In　the　doorway；　he　saw　Underhill　nod　at　him　almost　imperceptibly；　and　Pearly　took　heart。　'Yes；　boss　…　I　think　he　heard　you　five…by。'
　　　　Kurtz　seemed　first　surprised　by　Perlmutter's　vehemence；　then　gratified。　He　turned　to　Underhill。　'What　about　you；　Owen？　Do　you　think　he'll　spread　the　word？'
　　　　'Uh…huh；'　Underhill　said。　'If　you　get　him　to　the　infirmary　before　he　bleeds　to　death　on　your　rug。'
　　　　Kurtz's　mouth　turned　up　at　the　ers　and　he　barked；　'See　to　that；　Pearly；　will　you？'
　　　　'Right　now；'　Perlmutter　said；　starting　toward　the　door。　Once　past　Kurtz；　he　gave　Underhill　a　look　of　fervent　gratitude　which　Underhill　either　missed　or　chose　not　to　acknowledge。
　　　　'Double…time；　Mr　Perlmutter。　Owen；　I　want　to　talk　to　you　mano　a　mano；　as　the　Irish　say。'　He　stepped　over　Melrose's　body　without　looking　down　at　it　and　walked　briskly　into　the　kitchenette。　'Coffee？　Freddy　made　it；　so　I　can't　swear　it's　drinkable　。　。　。　no；　I　can't　swear；　but　。　。　。'
　　　　'Coffee　would　be　good；'　Owen　Underhill　said。　'You　pour　and　I'll　try　to　stop　this　fellow's　bleeding。'
　　　　Kurtz　stood　by　the　Mr　Coffee　on　the　counter　and　gave　Underhill　a　look　of　darkly　brilliant　doubt。　'Do　you　really　think　that's　necessary？'　That　was　where　Perlmutter　went　out。　Never　before　in　his　life　had　stepping　into　a　storm　felt　so　much　like　an　escape。


4

Henry　stood　at　the　fence　（not　touching　the　wire；　he　had　seen　what　happened　when　you　did　that）；　waiting　for　Underhill　…　that　was　his　name；　all　right　…　to　e　back　out　of　what　had　to　be　the　mand　post；　but　when　the　door　opened；　one　of　the　other　fellows　he'd　seen　go　in　came　hustling　out。　Once　down　the　steps；　the　guy　started　running。　The　guy　was　tall；　and　possessed　one　of　those　earnest　faces　Henry　associated　with　middle　management。　Now　the　face　looked　terrified；　and　the　man　almost　fell　before　he　got　fully　into　stride。　Henry　was　rooting　for　that。　　
　　　　The　middle　manager　managed　to　keep　his　balance　after　the　first　ship；　but　halfway　to　a　couple　of　semi　trailers　that　had　been　pushed　together；　his　feet　flew　out　from　beneath　him　and　he　went　on　his　ass。　The　clipboard　he'd　been　carrying　went　sliding　like　a　toboggan　for　leprechauns。
　　　　Henry　held　his　hands　out　and　clapped　as　loudly　as　he　could。　Probably　not　loud　enough　to　be　heard　over　all　the　motors；　so　he　cupped　them　around　his　mouth　and　yelled：　'Way　to　go　shitheels！　Let's　look　at　the　videotape！'
　　　　The　middle　manager　got　up　without　looking　at　him；　retrieved　his　clipboard；　and　ran　on　toward　the　two　semi　trailers。
　　　　There　was　a　group　of　eight　or　nine　guys　standing　by　the　fence　about　twenty　yards　from　Henry。　Now　one　of　them；　a　portly　fellow　in　an　orange　down…filled　parka　that　made　him　look　like　the　Pillsbury　Dough　Boy；　walked　over。
　　　　'I　don't　think　you　should　do　that；　fella。'　He　paused；　then　lowered　his　voice。　'They　shot　my　brother…in…law。'
　　　　Yes。　Henry　saw　it　in　the　man's　head。　The　portly　man's　brother…in…law；　also　portly；　talking　about　his　lawyer；　his　rights；　his　job　with　some　investment　pany　in　Boston。　The　soldiers　nodding；　telling　him　it　was　just　temporary；　the　situation　was　normalizing　and　would　be　straightened　out　by　dawn；　all　the　time　hustling　the　two　overweight　mighty　hunters　toward　the　barn；　which　already　held　a　pretty　good　trawl；　and　all　at　once　the　brother…in…law　had　broken　away；　running　toward　the　motor…pool；　and　boom…boom；　out　go　the　lights。
　　　　The　portly　man　was　telling　Henry　some　of　this；　his　pale　face　earnest　in　the　newly　erected　lights；　and　Henry　interrupted　him。
　　　　'What　do　you　think　they're　going　to　do　to　the　rest　of　us？'　The　portly　man　looked　at　Henry；　shocked；　then　backed　off　a　step；　as　if　he　thought　Henry　might　have　something　contagious。　Quite　funny；　when　you　thought　about　it；　because　they　all　had　something　contagious；　or　at　least　this　team　of　government…funded　cleaners　thought　they　did；　and　in　the　end　it　would　e　to　the　same。
　　　　'You　can't　be　serious；'　the　portly　man　said。　Then；　almost　indulgently：　'This　is　America；　you　know。'
　　　　'Is　it？　You　seeing　a　lot　of　due　process；　are　you？'
　　　　'They're　just　。　。　。　I'm　sure　they're　just　。　。　。'　Henry　waited；　interested；　but　there　was　no　more；　at　least　not　in　this　vein。　'That　was　a　gunshot；　wasn't　it？'　the　portly　man　asked；　'And　I　think　I　heard　some　screaming。'
　　　　From　the　two　pushed…together　trailers　there　emerged　two　hurrying　men　with　a　stretcher　between　them。　Following　them　with　marked　reluctance　came　the　middle　manager；　his　clipboard　once　more　tucked　firmly　beneath　his　arm。
　　　　'I'd　say　you　got　that　right。'　Henry　and　the　portly　man　watched　as　the　stretcher…bearers　burned　up　the　steps　of　the　Winnebago。　As　Mr　Middle　Management　made　his　closest　approach　to　the　fence；　Henry　called　out　to　him；　'How's　it　going；　shitheels？　Having　any　fun　yet？'　The　portly　man　winced。　The　guy　with　the　clipboard　gave　Henry　a　single　dour　look　and　then　trudged　on　toward　the　Winnebago。
　　　　'This　is　just　。　。　。　it's　just　some　sort　of　emergency　situation；'　the　portly　man　said。　'It'll　be　straightened　out　by　tomorrow　morning；　I'm　sure。'
　　　　'Not　for　your　brother…in…law；'　Henry　said。
　　　　The　portly　man　looked　at　him；　mouth　tucked　in　and　trembling　slightly。　Then　he　returned　to　the　other　men；　whose　views　no　doubt　more　closely　corresponded　to　his　own。　Henry　turned　back　to　the　Winnebago　and　resumed　waiting　for　Underhill　to　e　out。　He　had　an　idea　that　Underhill　was　his　only　hope　。　。　。　but　whatever　Underhill's　doubts　about　this　operation　might　be；　the　hope　was　a　thin　one。　And　Henry　had　only　one　card　to　play。　The　card　was　Jonesy。　They　didn't　know　about　Jonesy。
　　　　The　question　was　whether　or　not　he　should　tell　Underhill。　Henry　was　terribly　afraid　that　telling　the　man　would　do　no　good。


5

About　five　minutes　after　Mr　Middle　Management　followed　the　stretcher…bearers　into　the　'Bago；　the　three　of　them　came　out　again；　this　time　with　a　fourth　on　the　stretcher。　Under　the　brilliant　overhead　lights；　the　wounded　man's　face　was　so　pale　it　looked　purple。　Henry　was　relieved　to　see　that　it　wasn't　Underhill；　because　Underhill　was　different　from　the　rest　of　these　maniacs。
　　　　Ten　minutes　passed。　Underhill　still　hadn't　e　out　of　the　mand　post。　Henry　waited　in　the　thickening　snow。　There　were　soldiers　watching　the　inmates　（that　was　what　they　were；　inmates；　and　it　was　best　not　to　gild　the　lily）；　and　eventually　one　of　them　strolled　over。　The　men　who　had　been　stationed　at　the　T…junction　of　the　Deep　Cut　and　Swanny　Pond　Roads　had　pretty　well　blinded　Henry　with　their　lights；　and　he　didn't　recognize　this　man　by　his　face。　Henry　was　both　delighted　and　deeply　unsettled　to　realize　that　minds　also　had　features；　every　bit　as　distinctive　as　a　pretty　mouth；　a　broken　nose；　or　a　crooked　eye。　This　was　one　of　the　guys　who　had　been　out　there；　the　one　who　had　hit　him　in　the　ass　with　the　stock　of　his　rifle　when　he　decided　Henry　wasn't　moving　toward　the　truck　fast　enough。　Whatever　had　happened　to　Henry's　mind　was　skitzy；　he　couldn't　pick　out　this　guy's　name；　but　he　knew　that　the　man's　brother's　name　was　Frankie；　and　that　in　high　school　Frankie　had　been　tried　and　acquitted　on　a　rape　charge。　There　was　more；　as　well　…　unconnected　jumbles　of　stuff；　like　the　contents　of　a　wastebasket。　Henry　realized　that　he　was　looking　at　an　actual　river　of　consciousness；　and　at　the　flotsam　and　jetsam　the　river　was　carrying　along。　The　humbling　thing　was　how　prosaic　most　of　it　was。
　　　　'Hey　there；'　the　soldier　said；　amiably　enough。　'It's　the　smartass。　Want　a　hot　dog；　smartass？'　He　laughed。
　　　　'Already　got　one；'　Henry　said；　smiling　himself　And　Beaver　popped　out　of　his　mouth；　as　Beaver　had　a　way　o