sk.petsematary-第58部分

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re　gone　again
　　。　。　same　way　we'll　be　gone；　someday；　although　I　guess　our　mark　　will　go　deeper；　for　better　or　worse。　But　the　place　will　stay　no　matter　who's　here；　Louis。　It　isn't　as　though　someone　owned　it　and　could　take　its　secret　when　they　moved　on。　It's　an　evil；　curdled　place；　and　I　had　no　business　taking　you　up　there　to　bury　that　cat。　I　know　that　now。　It　has　a　power　you'll　beware　of　if　you　know　what's　good　for　your　family　and　what's　good　for　you。　I　wasn't　strong　enough　to　fight　it。　You　saved　Norma's　life；　and　I　wanted　to　do　something　for　you；　and　that　place　turned　my　good　wish　to　its　own　evil　purpose。　It　has　a　power。　。　。　and　I　think　that　power　goes　through　phases；　same　as　the　moon。　It's　been　full　of　power　before；　and　I'm　ascared　it's　ing　around　to　full　again。　I'm　ascared　it　used　me　to　get　at　you　through　your　son。　Do　you　see；　Louis；　what　I'm　getting　at？〃　His　eyes　pleaded　with　Louis。
　　〃You're　saying　the　place　knew　Gage　was　going　to　die；　I　think；〃　Louis　said。
　　〃No；　I　am　saying　the　place　might　have　made　Gage　die　because　I　introduced　you　to　the　power　in　the　place。　I　am　saying　I　may　have　murdered　your　son　with　good　intentions；　Louis。〃
　　〃I　don't　believe　it；〃　Louis　said　at　last；　shakily。　Didn't；　wouldn't。　Couldn't。
　　He　held　Jud's　hand　tightly。　〃We're　burying　Gage　tomorrow。　In　Bangor。　And　in　Bangor　he　will　stay。　I　don't　plan　to　go　up　there　to　the　Pet　Sematary　or　beyond　it　ever　again。〃
　　〃Promise　me！〃　Jud　said　harshly。　〃Promise。〃
　　〃I　promise；〃　Louis　said。
　　But　in　the　back　of　his　mind；　contemplation　remained…a　dancing　flicker　of　promise　that　would　not　quite　go　away。
　　　40
　　But　none　of　those　things　happened。
　　All　of　them…the　droning　Orinco　truck；　the　fingers　that　just　touched　the　back　of　Cage's　jumper　and　then　slid　off；　Rachel　preparing　to　go　to　the　viewing　in　her　housecoat；　Ellie　carrying　Gage's　picture　and　putting　his　chair　next　to　her　bed；　Steve　Masterton's　tears；　the　fight　with　Irwin　Goldman；　Jud　Crandall's　terrible　story　of　Timmy　Baterman…all　of　them　existed　only　in　Louis　Creed's　mind　during　the　few　seconds　that　passed　while　he　raced　his　laughing　son　to　the　road。　Behind　him；　Rachel　screamed　again
　　…Gage；　e　back；　don't　RUN！…but　Louis　did　not　waste　his　breath。　It　was　going　to　be　close；　very　close；　and　yes；　one　of　those　things　really　happened：　from　somewhere　up　the　road　he　could　hear　the　drone　of　the　oning　truck　and　somewhere　inside　a　memory　circuit　opened　and　he　could　hear　Jud　Crandall　speaking　to　Rachel　on　that　very　first　day　in　Ludlow：　You　want　to　watch　em　around　the　road；　Missus　Greed。　It's　a　bad　road　for　kids　and　pets。
　　Now　Gage　was　running　down　the　gentle　slope　of　lawn　that　merged　with　the　soft　shoulder　of　Route　15；　his　husky　little　legs　pumping；　and　by　all　the　rights　of　the　world　he　should　have　fallen　over　sprawling　but　he　just　kept　going　and　now　the　sound　of　the　truck　was　very　loud　indeed；　it　was　that　low；　snoring　sound　that　Louis　sometimes　heard　from　his　bed　as　he　floated　just　beyond　the　rim　of　sleep。　Then　it　seemed　a　forting　sound；　but　now　it　terrified　him。
　　Oh　my　dear　God　oh　my　dear　Jesus　let　me　catch　him　don't　let　him　get　into　the　road！
　　Louis　put　on　a　final　burst　of　speed　and　leaped；　throwing　himself　out　straight　and　parallel　to　the　ground　like　a　football　player　about　to　make　a　tackle；　he　could　see　his　shadow　tracking　along　on　the　grass　below　him　in　the　lowest　periphery　of　his　vision；　and　he　thought　of　the　kite；　the　Vulture；　printing　its　shadow　all　the　way　across　Mrs。　Vinton's　field；　and　just　as　Gage's　forward　motion　carried　him　into　the　road；　Louis's　fingers　brushed　the　back　of　his　jacket。　。　。　and　then　snagged　it。
　　He　yanked　Gage　backward　and　landed　on　the　ground　at　the　same　instant；　crashing　his　face　into　the　rough　gravel　of　the　shoulder；　giving　himself　a　bloody　nose。　His　balls　signaled　a　much　more　serious　flash　of　pain…Ohhh；　if　l'd'a　known　I　was　gonna　be　playing　football；　I　woulda　worn　my　jock…but　both　the　pain　in　his　nose　and　the　driving　agony　in　his　testes　were　lost　in　the　swelling　relief　of　hearing　Gage's　wail　of　pain　and　outrage　as　his　bottom　landed　on　the　shoulder　and　he　fell　over　backward　onto　the　edge　of　the　lawn；　thumping　his　head。　A　moment　later　his　wails　were　drowned　by　the　roar　of　the　passing　truck　and　the　almost　regal　blat　of　its　air　horn。
　　Louis　managed　to　get　up　in　spite　of　the　lead　ball　sitting　in　his　lower　stomach　and　cradled　his　son　in　his　arms。　A　moment　later
　　Rachel　joined　them；　also　weeping；　crying　out　to　Gage；　〃Never　run　in　the　road；　Gage！　Never；　never；　never！　The　road　is　bad！　Bad！〃　And　Gage　was　so　astonished　at　this　tearful　lecture　that　he　left　off　crying　and　goggled　up　at　his　mother。
　　〃Louis；　your　nose　is　bleeding；〃　she　said　and　then　hugged　him　so　suddenly　and　strongly　that　for　a　moment　he　could　barely　breathe。
　　〃That　isn't　the　worst　of　it；〃　he　said。　〃I　think　I'm　sterile；　Rachel。　Oh　boy；　the　pain。〃
　　And　she　laughed　so　hysterically　that　for　a　few　moments　he　was　frightened　for　her；　and　the　thought　crossed　his　mind：　If　Gage　really　had　been　killed；　I　believe　it　would　have　driven　her　crazy。
　　But　Gage　was　not　killed；　all　of　that　had　only　been　a　hellishly　detailed　moment　of　imagination　as　Louis　outraced　his　son's　death　across　a　green　lawn　on　a　sunshiny　May　afternoon。
　　Gage　went　to　grammar　school；　and　at　the　age　of　seven　he　began　going　to　camp；　where　he　showed　a　wonderful　and　surprising　aptitude　for　swimming。　He　also　gave　his　parents　a　rather　glum　surprise　by　proving　himself　able　to　handle　a　month's　separation　with　no　noticeable　psychic　trauma。　By　the　time　he　was　ten；　he　was　spending　the　entire　summer　away　at　Camp　Agawam　in　Raymond；　and　at　eleven　he　won　two　blue　ribbons　and　a　red　one　at　the　Four　Camps　Swimathon　that　ended　the　summer's　activities。　He　grew　tall；　and　yet　through　it　all　he　was　the　same　Gage；　sweet　and　rather　surprised　at　the　things　the　world　held　out　and　for　Gage；　the　fruit　was　somehow　never　bitter　or　rotten。
　　He　was　an　honors　student　in　high　school　and　a　member　of　the　swimming　team　at　John　Bapst；　the　parochial　school　he　had　insisted　on　attending　because　of　its　swimming　facilities。　Rachel　was　upset；　Louis　not　particularly　surprised　when；　at　seventeen；　Gage　announced　his　intention　to　convert　to　Catholicism。　Rachel　believed　that　all　of　it　was　because　of　the　girl　Gage　was　going　out　with；　she　saw　marriage　in　his　immediate　future　（〃if　that　little　slut　with　the　St。　Christopher's　medal　isn't　balling　him；　I'll　eat　your　shorts；　Louis；〃　she　said）；　the　wreckage　of　his　college　plans　and　his　Olympic　hopes；　and　nine　or　ten　little　Catholics　running　around　by　the　time　Gage　was　forty。　By　then　he　would　be　（according　to　Rachel；　anyway）　a　cigar…smoking　truck　driver　with　a　beer　belly；　Our…Fathering　and　Hail…Marying　his　way　into　precardiac　oblivion。
　　Louis　suspected　his　son's　motives　were　rather　more　pure；　and　although　Gage　converted　（and　on　the　day　he　actually　did　the　deed；　Louis　sent　an　unabashedly　nasty　postcard　to　Irwin　Goldman；　it　read；　Perhaps　you'll　have　a　Jesuit　grandson　yet。　Your　goy　son…in…law；　Louis）；　he　did　not　marry　the　rather　nice　（and　decidedly　unslutty）　girl　he　had　dated　through　most　of　his　senior　year。
　　He　went　on　to　Johns　Hopkins；　made　the　Olympic　swimming　team；　and　on　one　long；　dazzling；　and　incredibly　proud　afternoon　sixteen　years　after　Louis　had　raced　an　Orinco　truck　for　his　son's　life；　he　and　Rachel…who　had　now　gone　almost　entirely　gray；　although　she　covered　it　with　a　rinse…watched　their　son　win　a　gold　medal　for　the　U。S。A。　When　the　NBC　cameras　moved　in　for　a　close…up　of　him；　standing　with　his　dripping；　seal…sleek　head　back；　his　eyes　open　and　calm　and　fixed　on　the　flag　as　the　national　anthem　played；　the　ribbon　around　his　neck；　and　the　gold　lying　against　the　smooth　skin　of　his　chest；　Louis　wept。　He　and　Rachel　both　wept。
　　〃I　guess　this　caps　everything；〃　he　said　huskily　and　turned　to　embrace　his　wife。　But　she　was　looking　at　him　with　dawning　horror；　her　face　seeming　to　age　before　his　eyes　as　if　whipped　by　days　and　months　and　years　of　evil　time；　the　sound　of　the　national　anthem　faded　and　when　Louis　looked　back　at　the　TV　he　saw　a　different　boy　there；　a　black　boy　with　a　head　of　tight　curls　in　which　gems　of　water　still　gleamed。
　　This　caps　everything。
　　His　cap。
　　His　cap　is。。。oh　dear　God；　his　cap　is　full　of　blood。
　　Louis　woke　up　in　the　cold　dead　light　of　a　rainy　seven　o'clock；　clutching　his　pillow　in　his　arms。　His　head　thumped　monstrously　with　his　heartbeat；　the　ache　swelled　and　faded；　swelled　and　faded。　He　burped　acid　that　tasted　like　old　beer；　and　his　stomach　heaved　miserably。　He　had　been　weeping；　the　pillow　was　wet　with　his　tears；　as　if　he　had　somehow　stumbled　in　and　then　out　of　one　of　those　hokey　country…and…western　laments　in　his　sleep。　Even　in　the　dream；　he　thought；　some　part　of　him　had　known　the　truth　and　had　cried　for　it。
　　He　got　up　and　stumbled　to　the　bathroom；　heart　racing　threadily　in　his　chest；　consciousness　itself　fragmented　by　the　fierceness　of　his　hangover。　He　reached　the　toilet　bowl　barely　in　time　and　threw　up　a　glut　of　last　night's　beer。
　　He　kneeled　on　the　floor；　eyes　closed；　until　he　felt　capable　of　actually　making　it　to　his　feet。　He　groped　for　the　handle　and　flushed　the　john。　He　went　to　the　mirror　to　see　how　badly　bloodshot　his　eyes　were；　but　the　glass　had　been　covered