sk.cujo-第10部分

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eavy　black　beard　that　climbed　high　on　his　cheekbones；　and　it　occurred　to　her　suddenly　that　although　she　had　seen　his　penis　close　up　…　had　had　it　in　her　mouth　…　she　had　never　really　seen　what　his　face　looked　like。
'What　you　mean；'　he　said；　'is　that　you　had　a　little　itch　and　now　it's　scratched；　so　fuck　off。　Right？　Who　gives　a　crap　about　how　I　feel？'
'You're　breathing　on　me；'　she　said；　and　pushed　him　away　to　take　the　milk　to　the　refrigerator。
He　was　not　expecting　it　this　time。　Her　shove　caught　him　off　balance；　and　he　actually　stumbled　back　a　step。　His　forehead　was　suddenly　divided　by　lines；　and　a　dark　flush　flared　high　on　his　cheekbones。　She　had　seen　him　look　this　way　on　the　tennis　courts　behind　the　Bridgton　Academy　buildings；　sometimes。　When　he　blew　an　easy　point。　She　had　watched　him　play　several　times　…　including　two　sets　during　which　he　had　mopped　up　her　panting；　puffing　husband　with　ease　…　and　on　the　few　occasions　she　had　seen　him　lose；　his　reaction　had　made　her　extremely　uneasy　about　what　she　had　gotten　into　with　him。　He　had　published　poems　in　over　two　dozen　little　magazines；　and　a　book；　Chasing　Sundown；　had　been　published　by　an　outfit　in　Baton　Rouge　called　The　Press　over　the　Garage。　He　had　graduated　from　Drew；　in　New　jersey；　he　held　strong　opinions　on　modem　art；　the　uping　nuclear　referendum　question　in　Maine；　the　films　of　Andy　Warhol；　and　he　took　a　double　fault　the　way　Tad　took　the　news　it　was　bedtime。
Now　he　came　after　her；　grabbed　her　shoulder；　and　spun　her　around　to　face　him。　The　carton　of　milk　fell　from　her　hand　and　split　open　on　the　floor。
'There；　look　at　that；'　Donna　said。　'Nice　going；　hotshot。'
'Listen；　I'm　not　going　to　be　pushed　around。　Do　you　…'
'You　get　out　of　here！'　she　screamed　into　his　face。　Her　spittle　sprayed　his　cheeks　and　his　forehead。　'What　do　I　have　to　do　to　convince　you？　Do　you　need　a　picture？　You're　not　wele　here！　Go　be　God's　gift　to　some　other　woman！'
'You　cheap；　cockteasing　little　bitch；'　he　said。　His　voice　was　sullen；　his　face　ugly。　He　didn't　let　go　of　her　arm。
'And　take　the　bureau　with　you。　Pitch　it　in　the　dump。
She　pulled　free　of　him　and　got　the　washrag　from　its　place；　hung　over　the　sink　faucet。　Her　hands　were　trembling；　her　stomach　was　upset；　and　she　was　starting　to　get　a　headache。　She　thought　that　soon　she　would　vomit。
She　got　down　on　her　hands　and　knees　and　began　wiping　up　the　spilt　milk。
'Yeah；　you　think　you're　something；'　he　said。　'When　did　your　crotch　turn　to　gold？　You　loved　it。　You　screamed　for　more。'
'You've　got　the　right　tense；　anyway；　champ；'　she　said；　not　looking　up。　Her　hair　hung　in　her　face　and　she　liked　it　that　way　Just　fine。　She　didn't　want　him　to　see　how　pale　and　sick　her　face　was。　She　felt　as　if　someone　had　pushed　her　into　a　nightmare。　She　felt　that　if　she　looked　at　herself　in　a　mirror　at　this　moment　she　would　see　an　ugly；　capering　witch。　'Get　out；　Steve。　I'm　not　going　to　tell　you　again。'
'And　what　if　I　don't？　You　going　to　call　Sheriff　Bannerman？　Sure。　just　say；　〃Hi；　there　George；　this　is　Mr。　Businessman's　wife；　and　the　guy　I've　been　screwing　on　the　side　won't　leave。　Would　you　please　e　on　up　here　and　roust　him？〃　That　what　you're　going　to　say？'
The　fright　went　deep　now。　Before　marrying　Vic；　she　had　been　a　librarian　in　the　Westchester　school　system；　and　her　own　private　nightmare　had　always　been　telling　the　kids　for　the　third　time　…　in　her　loudest　speaking　voice　…　to　quiet　down　at　once；　please。　When　she　did　that；　they　always　had　…　enough　for　her　to　get　through　the　period；　at　least　…　but　what　if　they　wouldn't？　That　was　her　nightmare。　What　if　they　absolutely　wouldn't？　What　did　that　leave？　The　question　scared　her。　It　scared　her　that　such　a　question　should　ever　have　to　be　asked；　even　to　oneself；　in　the　dark　of　night。　She　had　been　afraid　to　use　her　loudest　voice；　and　had　done　so　only　when　it　became　absolutely　necessary。　Because　that　was　where　civilization　came　to　an　abrupt；　screeching　halt。　That　was　the　place　where　the　tar　turned　to　dirt。　If　they　wouldn't　listen　when　you　used　your　very　loudest　voice；　a　scream　became　your　only　recourse。
This　was　the　same　sort　of　fear。　The　only　answer　to　the　man's　question；　of　course；　was　that　she　would　scream　if　he　came　near　her。　But　would　she？
'Go；'　she　said　in　a　lower　voice。　'Please。　It's　over。'
'What　if　I　decide　it　isn't？　What　if　I　decide　to　just　rape　you　there　on　the　floor　in　that　damned　spilt　milk？'
She　looked　up　at　him　through　the　tangle　of　hair。　Her　face　was　still　pale；　and　her　eyes　were　too　big；　ringed　with　white　flesh。　'Then　you'll　have　a　fight　on　your　hands。　And　if　I　get　a　chance　to　tear　your　balls　off　or　put　one　of　your　eyes　out；　I　won't　hesitate。'
For　just　a　moment；　before　his　face　closed　up；　she　thought　he　looked　uncertain。　He　knew　she　was　quick；　in　pretty　good　shape。　He　could　beat　her　at　tennis；　but　she　…Made　him　sweat　to　do　it。　His　balls　and　his　eyes　were　probably　safe；　but　she　might　very　well　put　some　furrows　in　his　face。　It　was　a　question　of　how　far　he　wanted　to　go。　She　smelled　something　thick　and　unpleasant　in　the　air　of　her　kitchen；　some　whiff　of　the　jungle；　and　realized　with　dismay　that　it　was　a　mixture　of　her　fear　and　his　rage。　It　was　ing　out　of　their　pores。
'I'll　take　the　bureau　back　to　my　shop；'　he　said。　'Why　don't　you　send　your　handsome　hubby　down　for　it；　Donna？　He　and　I　can　have　a　nice　talk。　About　stripping。'
He　left　then；　pulling　the　door　which　municated　between　the　living　room　and　the　porch　to　behind　him　almost　hard　enough　to　break　the　glass。　A　moment　later　the　engine　of　his　van　roared；　settled　into　a　ragged　idle；　and　then　dropped　to　a　working　pitch　as　he　threw　it　in　gear。　He　screeched　his　tires　as　he　left。
Donna　finished　wiping　the　milk　up　slowly；　rising　from　time　to　time　to　wring　out　her　rag　in　the　stainless　steel　sink。　She　watched　the　threads　of　milk　run　down　the　drain。　She　was　trembling　all　over；　partly　from　reaction；　partly　from　relief。　She　had　barely　heard　Steve's　implied　threat　to　tell　Vic。　She　could　only　think；　over　and　over　again；　about　the　chain　of　events　that　had　led　to　such　an　ugly　scene。
She　sincerely　believed　she　had　drifted　into　her　affair　with　Steve　Kemp　almost　inadvertently。　It　was　like　an　explosion　of　sewage　from　a　buried　pipe。　A　similar　sewer　pipe；　she　believed；　ran　beneath　the　neatly　tended　lawns　of　almost　every　marriage　in　America。
She　hadn't　wanted　to　e　to　Maine　and　had　been　appalled　when　Vic　had　sprung　the　idea　on　her。　In　spite　of　vacations　there　（and　the　vacations　themselves　might　have　reinforced　the　idea）；　she　had　thought　of　the　state　as　a　woodsy　wasteland；　a　place　where　the　snow　drifted　twenty　feet　high　in　the　winters　and　people　were　virtually　cut　off。　The　thought　of　taking　their　baby　into　such　an　environment　terrified　her。　She　had　pictured　…to　herself　and　aloud　to　Vic　…　sudden　snowstorms　blowing　up；　stranding　him　in　Portland　and　her　in　Castle　Rock。　She　thought　and　spoke　of　Tad　swallowing　pills　in　such　a　situation；　or　burning　himself　on　the　stove；　or　God　knew…　what。　And　maybe　part　of　her　resistance　had　been　a　stubborn　refusal　to　give　up　the　excitement　and　hurry　of　New　York。
Well；　face　it　…　the　worst　hadn't　been　any　of　those　things　The　worst　had　been　a　nagging　conviction　that　Ad　Worx　would　fail　and　they　would　have　to　go　crawling　back　with　their　tails　between　their　legs。　That　hadn't　happened；　because　Vic　and　Roger　had　worked　their　butts　off。　But　that　had　also　meant　that　she　was　left　with　a　growing…up　child　and　too　much　time　on　her　hands。
She　could　count　her　life's　close　friends　on　the　fingers　of　one　hand。　She　was　confident　that　the　ones　she　made　would　be　her　friends　forever；　e　bell　or　high　water；　but　she　had　never　made　friends　quickly　or　easily。　She　had　toyed　with　the　idea　of　getting　her　Maine　certification　…　Maine　and　New　York　were　reciprocal；　it　was　mostly　a　matter　of　filling　out　some　forms。　Then　she　could　go　see　the　Superintendent　of　Schools　and　get　her　name　put　on　the　sub　list　for　Castle　Rock　High。　It　was　a　ridiculous　notion；　and　she　shelved　it　after　running　some　figures　on　her　pocket　calculator。　Gasoline　and　sitters'　fees　would　eat　up　most　of　the　twenty…eight　bucks　a　day　she　might　have　made。
I've　bee　the　fabled　Great　American　Housewife；　she　had　thought　dismally　one　day　last　winter；　watching　sleet　spick　and　spack　down　against　the　porch　storm　windows。
Sitting　home；　feeding　Tab　his　franks　and　beans　and　his　toasted　cheese　sandwiches　and　Campbell's　Soup　for　lunch；　getting　my　slice　of　life　from　Lisa　on　As　the　World　Turns　and　from　Mike　on　The　Young　and　the　Restless。　Every　now　and　then　we　jive　it　up　with　a　Wheel　of　fortune　session。　She　could　go　over　and　see　Joanie　Welsh；　who　had　a　little　girl　about　Tad's　age；　but　Joanie　always　made　her　uneasy。　She　was　three　years　older　than　Donna　and　ten　pounds　heavier。　The　extra　ten　pounds　did　not　seem　to　bother　her。　She　said　her　husband　liked　her　that　way。　Joanie　was　contented　with　things　as　they　were　in　Castle　Rock。
A　little　at　a　time；　the　shit　had　started　to　back　up　in　the　pipe。　She　started　to　sharpshoot　at　Vic　about　little　things；　sublimating　the　big　things　because　they　were　hard　to　define　and　even　harder　to　articulate。　Things　like　loss　and　fear　and　getting　older。　Things　like　being　lonely　and　then　getting　terrified　of　being　lonely。　Things　like　hearing　a　song　on　the　radio　that　you　remembered　from　high　school　and　bursting　into　tears　for　no　reason。　Feeling