sk.petsematary-第54部分

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　　〃Can　I　e　in；　Louis？〃　Jud　asked。　He　took　a　pack　of　Chesterfields　from　his　shirt　pocket　and　poked　one　into　his　mouth。
　　〃Tell　you　what；〃　Louis　said。　〃It's　late　and　I've　been　drinking　a　pile　of　beer。〃
　　〃Ayuh；　I　could　smell　it；〃　Jud　said。　He　struck　a　match。　The　wind　snuffed　it。　He　struck　another　around　cupped　hands；　but　the　hands　trembled　and　betrayed　the　match　to　the　wind　again。　He　got　a　third　match；　prepared　to　strike　it；　and　then　looked　up　at　Louis　standing　in　the　doorway。　〃I　can't　get　this　thing　lit；〃　Jud　said。　〃Gonna　let　me　in　or　not；　Louis？〃
　　Louis　stepped　aside　and　let　Jud　walk　in。
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　　They　sat　at　the　kitchen　table　over　beers…first　time　we've　ever　tipped　one　in　our　kitchen；　Louis　thought；　a　little　surprised。　Halfway　across　the　living　room；　Ellie　had　cried　out　in　her　sleep；　and　both　of　them　had　frozen　like　statues　in　a　children's　game。　The　cry　had　not　been　repeated。
　　〃Okay；〃　Louis　said；　〃what　are　you　doing　over　here　at　quarter　past　twelve　on　the　morning　my　son　gets　buried？　You're　a　friend；　Jud；　but　this　is　stretching　it。〃
　　Jud　drank；　wiped　his　mouth　with　the　heel　of　his　hand；　and　looked　directly　at　Louis。　There　was　something　clear　and　positive　in　his　eyes；　and　Louis　at　last　looked　down　from　it。
　　〃You　know　why　I'm　here；〃　Jud　said。　〃You're　thinking　about　things　that　are　not　to　be　thought　of；　Louis。　Worse　still；　I　fear　you're　considering　them。〃
　　〃I　wasn't　thinking　about　anything　but　going　up　to　bed；〃　Louis　said。　〃I　have　a　burying　to　go　to　tomorrow。〃
　　〃I'm　responsible　for　more　pain　in　your　heart　than　you　should　have　tonight；〃　Jud　said　softly。　〃For　all　I　know；　I　may　even　have　been　responsible　for　the　death　of　your　son。〃
　　Louis　looked　up；　startled。　〃What…？　Jud；　don't　talk　crazy！〃
　　〃You　are　thinking　of　trying　to　put　him　up　there；〃　Jud　said。　〃Don't　you　deny　the　thought　has　crossed　your　mind；　Louis。〃
　　Louis　did　not　reply。
　　〃How　far　does　its　influence　extend？〃　Jud　said。　〃Can　you　tell　me　that？　No。　I　can't　answer　that　question　myself；　and　I've　lived　my　whole　life　in　this　patch　of　the　world。　I　know　about　the　Micmacs；　and　that　place　was　always　considered　to　be　a　kind　of　holy　place　to　them。　。　。　but　not　in　a　good　way。　Stanny　B。　told　me　that。　My　father　told　me　too…later　on。　After　Spot　died　the　second　time。　Now　the　Micmacs；　the　state　of　Maine；　and　the　government　of　the　United　States　are　arguing　in　court　about　who　owns　that　land。　Who　does　own　it？　No　one　really　knows；　Louis。　Not　anymore。　Different　people　laid　claim　to　it　at　one　time　or　another；　but　no　claim　ever　stuck。　Anson　Ludlow；　the　great…grandson　of　this　town's　founding　father；　for　one。　His　claim　was　maybe　the　best　for　a　white　man；　since　Joseph　Ludlow　the　Elder　had　the　whole　shebang　as　a　grant　from　Good　King　Georgie　back　when　Maine　was　just　a　big　province　of　the　Massachusetts　Bay　Colony。　But　even　then　he　would　have　been　in　a　hell　of　a　court　fight　because　there　was　cross…claims　to　the　land　by　other　Ludlows　and　by　a　fellow　named　Peter　Dimmart；　who　claimed　he　could　prove　pretty　convincingly　that　he　was　a　Ludlow　on　the　other　side　of　the　sheets。　And　Joseph　Ludlow　the　Elder　was　money…poor　but　land…rich　toward　the　end　of　his　life；　and　every　now　and　then　he'd　just　gift　somebody　with　two　or　four　hundred　acres　when　he　got　into　his　cups。〃
　　〃Were　none　of　those　deeds　recorded？〃　Louis　asked；　fascinated　in　spite　of　himself。
　　〃Oh；　they　were　regular　bears　for　recording　deeds；　were　our　grandfathers；〃　Jud　said；　lighting　a　new　cigarette　from　the　butt　of　the　old　one。　〃The　original　grant　on　your　land　goes　like　this。〃　Jud　closed　his　eyes　and　quoted；　〃From　the　great　old　maple　which　stands　atop　Quinceberry　Ridge　to　the　verge　of　Orrington　Stream；　thus　runneth　the　tract　from　north　until　south。〃　Jud　grinned　without　much　humor。　〃But　the　great　old　maple　fell　down　in　1882；　let's　say；　and　was　rotted　to　moss　by　the　year　1900；　and　Orrington　Stream　silted　up　and　turned　to　marsh　in　the　ten　years　between　the　end　of　the　Great　War　and　the　crash　of　the　stock　market。　A　nice　mess　it　made！　It　ended　up　not　mattering　to　old　Anson；　any…ways。　He　was　struck　and　killed　by　lightning　in　1921；　right　up　around　where　that　burying　ground　is。〃
　　Louis　stared　at　Jud。　Jud　sipped　his　beer。
　　〃It　don't　matter。　There's　lots　of　places　where　the　history　of　ownership　is　so　tangled　it　never　gets　unraveled；　only　the　lawyers　end　up　makin　money。　Hell；　Dickens　knew　that。　I　suppose　the　Indians　will　get　it　back　in　the　end；　and　I　think　that's　the　way　it　should　be。　But　that　don't　really　matter；　Louis。　I　came　over　here　tonight　to　tell　you　about　Timmy　Baterman　and　his　dad。〃
　　〃Who's　Timmy　Baterman？〃
　　〃Timmy　Baterman　was　one　of　the　twenty　or　so　boys　from　Ludlow　that　went　overseas　to　fight　Hitler。　He　left　in　1942。　He　e　back　in　a　box　with　a　flag　on　the　top　of　it　in　1943。　He　died　in　Italy。　His　daddy；　Bill　Batennan；　lived　his　whole　life　in　this　town。　He　about　went　crazy　when　he　got　the　telegram。　。　。　and　then　he　quieted　right　down。　He　knew　about　the　Micmac　burying　ground。　you　see。　And　he'd　decided　what　he　wanted　to　do。〃
　　The　chill　was　back。　Louis　stared　at　Jud　for　a　long　time；　trying　to　read　the　lie　in　the　old　man's　eyes。　It　was　not　there。　But　the　fact　of　this　story　surfacing　just　now　was　damned　convenient。
　　〃Why　didn't　you　tell　me　this　that　other　night？〃　he　said　finally。　〃After　we。　。　。　after　we　did　the　cat？　When　I　asked　you　if　anyone　had　ever　buried　a　person　up　there；　you　said　no　one　ever　had。〃
　　〃Because　you　didn't　need　to　know；〃　Jud　said。　〃Now　you　do。〃
　　Louis　was　silent　for　a　long　time。　〃Was　he　the　only　one？〃
　　〃The　only　one　I　know　of　personally；〃　Jud　said　gravely。　〃The　only　one　to　ever　try　it？　I　doubt　that；　Louis。　I　doubt　it　very　much。　I'm　kind　of　like　the　preacher　in　Clesiastes…I　don't　believe　that　there's　anything　new　under　the　sun。　Oh；　sometimes　the　glitter　they　sprinkle　over　the　top　of　a　thing　changes；　but　that's　all。　What's　been　tried　once　has　been　tried　once　before　。　。　。　and　before。　。　。　and　before。〃
　　He　looked　down　at　his　liver…spotted　hands。　In　the　living　room；　the　clock　softly　chimed　twelve…thirty。
　　〃I　decided　that　a　man　in　your　profession　is　used　to　looking　at　symptoms　and　seeing　the　diseases　underneath。　。　。　and　I　decided　I　had　to　talk　straight　to　you　when　Mortonson　down　at　the　funeral　home　told　me　you'd　ordered　a　grave　liner　instead　of　a　sealing　vault。〃
　　Louis　looked　at　Jud　for　a　long　time；　saying　nothing。　Jud　flushed　deeply　but　didn't　look　away。
　　Finally　Louis　said：　〃Sounds　like　maybe　you　did　a　little　snooping；　Jud。　I　am　sorry　because　of　it。〃
　　〃I　didn't　ask　him　which　you　bought。〃
　　〃Not　right　out；　maybe。〃
　　But　Jud　did　not　reply；　and　although　his　blush　had　deepened　even　more…his　plexion　was　approaching　a　plum　color　now
　　…his　eyes　still　didn't　waver。
　　At　last；　Louis　sighed。　He　felt　unutterably　tired。　〃Oh；　fuck　it。　I　don't　care。　Maybe　you're　even　right。　Maybe　it　was　on　my　mind。　If　it　was；　it　was　on　the　downside　of　it。　I　didn't　think　much　about　what　I　was　ordering。　I　was　thinking　about　Gage。〃
　　〃I　know　you　were　thinking　about　Gage。　But　you　knew　the　difference。　Your　uncle　was　an　undertaker。〃
　　Yes；　he　had　known　the　difference。　A　sealing　vault　was　a　piece　of　construction　work；　something　which　was　meant　to　last　a　long；　long　time。　Concrete　was　poured　into　a　rectangular　mould　reinforced　with　steel　rods；　and　then；　after　the　graveside　services　were　over；　a　crane　lowered　a　slightly　curved　concrete　top　into　place。　The　lid　was　sealed　with　a　substance　like　the　hot…patch　highway　departments　used　to　fill　potholes。　Uncle　Carl　had　told　Louis　that　sealant…trade…named　Ever…Lock…got　itself　a　fearsome　grip　after　all　that　weight　had　been　on　it　for　a　while。
　　Uncle　Carl；　who　liked　to　yarn　as　much　as　anyone　（at　least　when　he　was　with　his　own　kind；　and　Louis；　who　had　worked　with　him　summers　for　a　while；　qualified　as　a　sort　of　apprentice　undertaker）；　told　his　nephew　of　an　exhumation　order　he'd　gotten　once　from　the　Cook　County　D。A。's　office。　Uncle　Carl　went　out　to　Groveland　to　oversee　the　exhumation。　They　could　be　tricky　things；　he　said…people　whose　only　ideas　concerning　disinterral　came　from　those　horror　movies　starring　Boris　Karloff　as　Dr。　Frankenstein's　monster　and　Dwight　Frye　as　Igor　had　an　entirely　wrong　impression。　Opening　a　sealing　vault　was　no　job　for　two　men　with　picks　and　shovels…not　unless　they　had　about　six　weeks　to　spend　on　the　job。　This　one　went　all　right　。　。　。　at　first。　The　grave　was　opened；　and　the　crane　grappled　onto　the　top　of　the　vault。　Only　the　top　didn't　just　pull　off；　as　it　was　supposed　to　do。　The　whole　vault；　its　concrete　sides　already　a　little　wet　and　discolored；　started　to　rise　out　of　the　ground　instead。　Uncle　Carl　screamed　for　the　crane　operator　to　back　off。　Uncle　Carl　wanted　to　go　back　to　the　mortuary　and　get　some　stuff　that　would　weaken　the　sealant's　grip　a　bit。
　　The　crane　operator　either　didn't　hear　or　wanted　to　go　for　the　whole　thing；　like　a　little　kid　playing　with　a　toy　crane　and　junk　prizes　in　a　penny　arcade。　Uncle　Carl　said　that　the　damned　fool　almost　got　it　too。　The　vault　was　three　quarters　of　the　way　out…　Uncle　Carl　and　his　assistant　could　hear　water　pattering　from　the　underside　of　the　vault　onto　the　floor　of　the　grave　（it　had　been　a　wet　week　in　Chicagoland）　when　the　crane　just　tipped　over　and　went　kerplunk　into　the