sk.dreamcatcher-第7部分

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　　　　Jonesy　looks　at　the　phone　thoughtfully　for　a　moment；　then　hangs　up。　He　flips　a　page　on　his　desk　calendar；　and　on　Saturday　he　crosses　out　Drinks　at　Dean　Jacobson's　house　and　writes　Beg　off　…　going　to　Derry　with　Henry　to　see　D。　But　this　is　an　appointment　he　will　not　keep。　By　Saturday；　Derry　and　his　old　friends　will　be　the　furthest　things　from　his　mind。
　　　　Jonesy　pulls　in　a　deep　breath；　lets　it　out；　and　transfers　his　attention　to　his　troublesome　eleven…o'clock。　The　kid　shifts　unfortably　in　his　chair。　He　has　a　pretty　good　idea　why　he's　been　summoned　here；　Jonesy　guesses。
　　　　'So；　Mr　Defuniak；'　he　says。　'You're　from　Maine；　according　to　your　records。'
　　　　'Uh；　yeah。　Pittsfield。　I…'
　　　　'Your　records　also　say　that　you're　here　on　scholarship；　and　that　you've　done　well。'
　　　　The　kid；　he　sees；　is　actually　a　lot　more　than　worried。　The　kid　is　on　the　verge　of　tears。　Christ；　but　this　is　hard。　Jonesy　has　never　had　to　accuse　a　student　of　cheating　before；　but　he　supposes　this　won't　be　the　last　time。　He　only　hopes　it　doesn't　happen　too　often。　Because　this　is　hard；　what　Beaver　would　call　a　fuckarow。
　　　　'Mr　Defuniak　…　David　…　do　you　know　what　happens　to　scholarships　if　the　students　holding　them　are　caught　cheating？　On　a　mid…term　exam；　let　us　say？'
　　　　The　kid　jerks　as　if　a　hidden　prankster　under　his　chair　has　just　triggered　a　low…voltage　electrical　charge　into　one　of　his　skinny　buttocks。　Now　his　lips　are　trembling　and　the　first　tear；　oh　God；　there　it　goes　down　his　unshaven　boy's　cheek。
　　　　'I　can　tell　you；　'Jonesy　says。　'Such　scholarships　evaporate。　That's　what　happens　to　them。　Poof；　and　gone　into　thin　air。'
　　　　There　is　a　folder　on　Jonesy's　desk。　He　opens　it　and　takes　out　a　European　History　mid…term；　one　of　those　multiple…choice　monstrosities　upon　which　the　Department；　in　its　great　unwisdom；　insists。　Written　on　top　of　this　one；　in　the　black　strokes　of　an　IBM　pencil　（'Make　sure　your　marks　are　heavy　and　unbroken；　and　if　you　need　to　erase；　erase　pletely'）；　is　the　name　DAVID　DEFUNIAK。
　　　　'I've　reviewed　your　course…work；　David；　I've　re…scanned　your　paper　on　feudalism　in　France　during　the　middle　ages；　I've　even　been　through　your　transcripts。　You　haven't　exhibited　brilliance；　but　you've　done　okay。　And　I'm　aware　that　you're　simply　satisfying　a　requirement　here　…　your　real　interests　don't　lie　in　my　field；　do　they？'
　　　　Defuniak　shakes　his　head　mutely。　The　tears　gleam　on　his　cheeks　in　that　untrustworthy　mid…March　sunlight。
　　　　There's　a　box　of　Kleenex　on　the　er　of　Jonesy's　desk；　and　he　tosses　it　to　the　boy；　who　catches　it　easily　even　in　his　distress。　Good　reflexes。　When　you're　nineteen；　all　your　wiring　is　still　nice　and　tight；　all　your　connections　nice　and　solid。
　　　　Wait　a　few　years；　Mr　Defuniak；　he　thinks。　I'm　only　thirty…seven　and　already　some　of　my　wires　are　getting　loose。
　　　　'Maybe　you　deserve　another　chance；　'Jonesy　says。
　　　　Slowly　and　deliberately；　he　begins　to　crumple　Defuniak's　midterm；　which　is　suspiciously　perfect；　A…plus　work；　into　a　ball。
　　　　'Maybe　what　happened　is　you　were　sick　the　day　of　the　mid…term；　and　you　never　took　it　at　all。'
　　　　'I　was　sick；'　David　Defuniak　says　eagerly。　'I　think　I　had　the　flu。'
　　　　'Then　maybe　I　ought　to　give　you　a　take…home　essay　instead　of　the　multiple…choice　test　to　which　your　colleagues　have　been　subjected。　If　you　want　it。　To　make　up　for　the　test　you　missed。　Would　you　want　that？'
　　　　'Yeah；'　the　kid　says；　wiping　his　eyes　madly　with　a　large　swatch　of　tissues。　At　least　he　hasn't　gone　through　all　that　small…time　cheapshit　stuff　about　how　Jonesy　can't　prove　it；　can't　prove　a　thing；　he'd　take　it　to　the　Student　Affairs　Council；　he'd　call　a　protest；　blah…blah…blahde…blah。　He's　crying　instead；　which　is　unfortable　to　witness　but　probably　a　good　sign　…　nineteen　is　young；　but　too　many　of　them　have　lost　most　of　their　consciences　by　the　time　they　get　there。　Defuniak　has　pretty　much　owned　up；　which　suggests　there　might　still　be　a　man　in　there；　waiting　to　e　out。　'Yeah；　that'd　be　great。'
　　　　'And　you　understand　that　if　anything　like　this　ever　happens　again…'
　　　　'It　won't；'　the　kid　says　fervently。　'It　won't；　Professor　Jones。'　Although　Jonesy　is　only　an　associate　professor；　he　doesn't　bother　to　correct　him。　Someday；　after　all；　he　will　be　Professor　Jones。　He　better　be；　he　and　his　wife　have　a　houseful　of　kids；　and　if　there　aren't　at　least　a　few　salary…bumps　in　his　future；　life　is　apt　to　be　a　pretty　tough　scramble。　They've　had　some　tough　scrambles　already。
　　　　'I　hope　not；'　he　says。　'Give　me　three　thousand　words　on　the　short…term　results　of　the　Norman　Conquest；　David；　all　right？　Cite　sources　but　no　need　of　footnotes。　Keep　it　informal；　but　present　a　cogent　thesis。　I　want　it　by　next　Monday。　Understood？'
　　　　'Yes。　Yes；　sir。'
　　　　'Then　why　don't　you　go　on　and　get　started。'　He　points　at　Defuniak's　tatty　footwear。　'And　the　next　time　you　think　of　buying　beer；　buy　some　new　sneakers　instead。　I　wouldn't　want　you　to　catch　the　flu　again。'
　　　　Defuniak　goes　to　the　door；　then　turns。　He　is　anxious　to　be　gone　before　Mr　Jones　changes　his　mind；　but　he　is　also　nineteen。　And　curious。　'How　did　you　know？　You　weren't　even　there　that　day。　Some　grad　student　proctored　the　test。'
　　　　'I　knew；　and　that's　enough；'　Jonesy　says　with　some　asperity。　'Go　on；　son。　Write　a　good　paper。　Hold　onto　your　scholarship。　I'm　from　Maine　myself　…　Derry　…　and　I　know　Pittsfield。　It's　a　better　place　to　be　from　than　to　go　back　to。'
　　　　'You　got　that　right；'　Defuniak　says　fervently。　'Thank　you。　Thank　you　for　giving　me　a　chance。'
　　　　'Close　the　door　on　your　way　out。'
　　　　Defuniak　…　who　will　spend　his　sneaker…money　not　on　beer　but　on　a　get…well　bouquet　for　Jonesy　…　goes　out；　obediently　closing　the　door　behind　him。　Jonesy　swings　around　and　looks　out　the　window　again。　The　sunshine　is　untrustworthy　but　enticing。　And　because　the　Defuniak　thing　went　better　than　he　had　expected；　he　thinks　he　wants　to　get　out　in　that　sunlight　before　more　March　clouds　…　and　maybe　snow　…　e　rolling　in。　He　has　planned　to　eat　in　his　office；　but　a　new　plan　occurs　to　him。　It　is　absolutely　the　worst　plan　of　his　life；　but　of　course　Jonesy　doesn't　know　that。　The　plan　is　to　grab　his　briefcase；　pick　up　a　copy　of　the　Boston　Phoenix；　and　walk　across　the　river　to　Cambridge。　He'll　sit　on　a　bench　and　eat　his　egg　salad　sandwich　in　the　sun。
　　　　He　gets　up　to　put　Defuniak's　file　in　the　cabinet　marked　D…F。　How　did　you　know？　the　boy　had　asked；　and　Jonesy　supposes　that　was　a　good　question。　An　excellent　question；　really；　The　answer　is　this：　he　knew　because　。　。　。　sometimes　he　does。　That's　the　truth；　and　there's　no　other。　If　someone　put　a　gun　to　his　head；　he'd　say　he　found　out　during　the　first　class　after　the　mid…term；　that　it　was　right　there　in　the　front　of　David　Defuniak's　mind；　big　and　bright；　flashing　on　and　off　in　guilty　red　neon：　CHEATER　CHEATER　CHEATER。
　　　　But　man；　that's　dope　…　he　can't　read　minds。　He　never　could。　Never…ever；　never…ever；　never…ever　could。　Sometimes　things　flash　into　his　head；　yes　…　he　knew　about　his　wife's　problems　with　pills　that　way；　and　he　supposes　he　might　have　known　in　that　same　way　that　Henry　was　depressed　when　he　called　（No；　it　was　in　his　voice；　doofus；　that's　all　it　was）；　but　stuff　like　that　hardly　ever　happens　anymore。　There　has　been　nothing　really　odd　since　the　business　with　Josie　Rinkenhauer。　Maybe　there　was　something　once；　and　maybe　it　trailed　them　out　of　their　childhoods　and　adolescence；　but　surely　it　is　gone　now。　Or　almost　gone。
　　　　Almost。
　　　　He　circles　the　words　going　to　Derry　on　his　desk　calendar；　then　grabs　his　briefcase。　As　he　does；　a　new　thought　es　to　him；　sudden　and　meaningless　but　very　powerful：　Watch　out　for　Mr　Gray。
　　　　He　stops　with　one　hand　on　his　doorknob。　That　was　his　own　voice；　no　doubt　about　it。
　　　　'What？'　he　asks　the　empty　room。
　　　　Nothing。
　　　　Jonesy　steps　out　of　his　office；　closes　the　door；　and　tests　the　lock。
　　　　In　the　er　of　his　door's　bulletin　board　is　a　blank　white　card。　Jonesy　unpins　it　and　turns　it　over。　On　the　flip　side　is　the　printed　message　BACK　AT　ONE　…　UNTIL　THEN　I'M　HISTORY。　He　pins　the　message　side　to　the　bulletin　board　with　perfect　confidence；　but　it　will　be　almost　two　months　before　Jonesy　enters　this　room　again　and　sees　his　desk　calendar　still　turned　to　St　Patrick's　Day。
　　　　Take　care　of　yourself；　Henry　said；　but　Jonesy　isn't　thinking　about　taking　care　of　himself。　He　is　thinking　about　March　sunlight。　He's　thinking　about　eating　his　sandwich。　He's　thinking　he　might　watch　a　few　girls　over　on　the　Cambridge　side　…　skirts　are　short；　and　March　winds　are　frisky。　He's　thinking　about　all　sorts　of　things；　but　watching　out　for　Mr　Gray　isn't　one　of　them。　Neither　is　taking　care　of　himself
　　　　This　is　a　mistake。　This　is　also　how　lives　change　forever。

P　A　R　T　　　O　N　E

CANCER


　　　　
　　　　
　　　This　shaking　keeps　me　steady。　I　should　know。
　　　What　falls　away　is　always。　And　is　near。
　　　I　wake　to　sleep；　and　take　my　waking　slow。
　　　I　learn　by　going　where　I　have　to　go。
　　　
　　　Theodore　Roethke

CHAPTER　ONE

McCARTHY

　　　　
1

Jonesy　almost　shot　the　guy　when　he　came　out　of　the　woods。　How　close？　Another　pound　on　the　Garand's　trigger；　maybe　just　a　half。　Later；　hyped　on　the　clarity　that　sometimes　es　to　the　horrified　mind；　he　wished　he　had　shot　before　he　saw　the　orange　cap　and　the　orange　flagman's　vest。　Killing