sk.cujo-第34部分

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is　mother　just　a　little　nervously；　and　Donna　smiled　at　him。　'No　hassle；　big　guy。　We're　going　good。　Just　out…of…state　fools。'
'Oh；'　Tad　said　cautiously。
Listen　to　me；　she　thought。　The　big　Yankee。　Vic　would　be　proud。
She　had　to　grin　to　herself；　because　everyone　in　Maine　understood　that　if　you　moved　here　from　another　place；　you　would　be　an　out…of…stater　until　you　were　sent　to　your　grave。　And　on　your　tombstone　they　would　write　something　like　HARRY　JONES；　CASTLE　CORNERS；　MAINE　（Originally　from　Omaha；　Nebraska）。
Most　of　the　tourists　were　headed　toward　302；　where　they　would　turn　east　to　Naples　or　west　toward　Bridgton；　Fryeburg；　and　North　Conway；　New　Hampshire；　with　its　alpine　slides；　cut…rate　amusement　parks；　and　tax…free　restaurants。　Donna　and　Tad　were　not　going　up　to　the　302　junction。
Although　their　home　overlooked　downtown　Castle　Rock　and　its　picturebook　Town　mon；　woods　had　closed　in　on　both　sides　of　the　road　before　they　were　five　miles　from　their　own　front　door。　These　woods　drew　back　occasionally　…　a　little　…　to　show　a　lot　with　with　a　house　or　a　trailer　on　it；　and　as　they　went　farther　out；　the　houses　were　more　often　of　the　type　that　her　father　had　called　'shanty　Irish'。　The　sun　still　shone　brightly　down　and　there　was　a　good　four　hours　of　daylight　left；　but　the　emptiness　made　her　feel　uneasy　again。　It　was　not　so　bad　here；　on　117；　but　once　they　left　the　main　road　
Their　turnoff　was　marked　with　a　sign　saying　MAPLE　SUGAR　ROAD　in　faded；　almost　unreadable　letters。　It　had　been　splintered　considerably　by　kids　banging　away　with。22s　and　birdshot。　This　road　was　two…lane　blacktop；　bumpy　and　frost…heaved。　It　wound　past　two　or　three　nice　houses；　two　or　three　not…so…nice　houses；　and　one　old　and　shabby　RoadKing　trailer　sitting　on　a　crumbling　concrete　foundation。　There　was　a　yardful　of　weeds　in　front　of　the　trailer。　Donna　could　see　cheap…looking　plastic　toys　in　the　weeds。　A　sign　nailed　askew　to　a　tree　at　the　head　of　the　driveway　read　FREE　KITTEN'S。　A　potbellied　kid　of　maybe　two　stood　in　the　driveway；　his　sopping　Pamper　hanging　below　his　tiny　penis。　His　mouth　hung　open　and　he　was　picking　his　nose　with　one　finger　and　his　navel　with　another。　Looking　at　him；　Donna　felt　a　helpless　chill　of　gooseflesh。
Stop　it！　For　Christ's　sake；　what's　wrong　with　you？
The　woods　closed　in　around　them　again。　An　old　'68　Ford　Fairlane　with　a　lot　of　rusty…red　primer　paint　on　the　hood　and　around　the　headlights　passed　them　going　the　other　way。　A　young　kid　with　a　lot　of　hair　was　slouched　nonchalantly　behind　the　wheel。　He　wasn't　wearing　a　shirt。　The　Fairlane　was　doing　maybe　eighty。　Donna　winced。　It　was　the　only　traffic　they　saw。
The　Maple　Sugar　Road　climbed　steadily；　and　when　they　passed　the　occasional　field　or　large　garden　they　were　afforded　a　stunning　view　of　western　Maine　toward　Bridgton　and　Freyburg。　Long　Lake　glittered　in　the　farthest　distance　like　the　sapphire　pendant　of　a　fabulously　rich　woman。
They　were　climbing　another　long　slope　up　one　of　these　eroded　bills　（as　advertised；　the　sides　of　the　road　were　now　lined　with　dusty；　heat…drooping　maples）　when　the　Pinto　began　to　buck　and　jolt　again。　Donna's　breath　dogged　in　her　throat　and　she　thought；　Oh　e　on；　oh　e　on；　e　on；　you　cruddy　little　car；　e　on！
Tad　shifted　uneasily　in　the　passenger　bucket　and　held　onto　his　Snoopy　lunchbox　a　little　tighter。
She　began　to　tap　the　accelerator　lightly；　her　mind　repeating　the　same　words　over　and　over　like　an　inarticulate　prayer：　e　on；　e　on；　e　on。
'Mommy？　Is　it
'Hush；　Tad。'
The　jerking　grew　worse。　She　pressed　the　gas　pedal　harder　in　frustration　…　and　the　Pinto　squirted　ahead；　the　engine　smoothing　out　once　more。
'Yay！'　Tad　said；　so　suddenly　and　loudly　that　she　lumped
'We're　not　there　yet；　Tadder。'
A　mile　farther　along　they　came　to　an　intersection　marked　with　another　wooden　sign；　this　one　reading　TOWN　ROAD　NO。　3。　Donna　turned　in；　feeling　triumphant。　As　well　as　she　remembered；　Camber's　place　was　less　than　a　mile　and　a　half　from　here。　If　the　Pinto　gave　up　the　ghost　now；　she　and　Tad　could　ankle　it。
They　passed　a　ramshackle　house　with　a　station　wagon　and　a　big　old　rusty　white　car　in　the　driveway。　In　her　rearview　mirror；　Donna　noticed　that　the　honeysuckle　had　really　gone　crazy　on　the　side　of　the　house　that　would　catch　most　of　the　sun。　A　field　opened　up　on　their　left　after　they　passed　the　house；　and　the　Pinto　began　to　climb　a　long；　steep　hill。
Halfway　up；　the　little　car　began　to　labor　again。　This　time　it　was　jerking　harder　than　it　ever　had　before。
'Will　it　get　up；　Mommy？'
'Yes；'　she　said　grimly。
The　Pinto's　speedometer　needle　dropped　from　forty　to　thirty。　She　dropped　the　transmission　selector　lever　from　drive　into　the　lower　range；　thinking　vaguely　that　it　might　help　pression　or　something。　Instead；　the　Pinto　began　to　buck　worse　than　ever。　A　fusillade　of　backfires　roared　through　the　exhaust　pipe；　making　Tad　cry　out。　Now　they　were　down　to　fast　running　speed；　but　she　could　see　the
Camber　house　and　the　red　barn　that　served　as　his　garage。　Flooring　the　accelerator　had　helped　before。　She　tried　again；　and　for　a　moment　the　engine　smoothed　out。　The　speedometer　needle　crept　up　from　fifteen　to　twenty。　Then　it　began　to　shake　and　shudder　once　more。　Donna　tried　flooring　the　gas　yet　again；　but　this　time；　instead　of　smoothing　out；　the　engine　began　to　fail。　The　AMP　idiot　light　on　the　dashboard　began　to　flicker　dully；　signaling　the　fact　that　the　Pinto　was　now　on　the　edge　of　a　stall。
But　it　didn't　matter　because　the　Pinto　was　now　laboring　past　the　Camber　mailbox。　They　were　here。　There　was　a　package　hung　over　the　mailbox　lid；　and　she　saw　the　return　address　clearly　as　they　passed　it：　J。　C。　Whitney　&　Co。
The　information　went　directly　to　the　back　of　her　mind　without　stopping。　Her　immediate　attention　was　focused　on　getting　the　car　into　the　driveway。　Let　it　stall　then；　she　thought。　He'll　have　to　fix　it　before　he　can　get　in　or　out。
The　driveway　was　a　little　beyond　the　house。　If　it　had　been　an　uphill　driveway　all　the　way；　as　the　Trentons'　own　was；　the　Pinto　would　not　have　made　it。　But　after　a　small　initial　rise；　the　Cambers'　driveway　ran　either　dead　level　or　slightly　downhill　toward　the　big　converted　barn。
Donna　shifted　into　neutral　and　let　what　was　left　of　the　Pinto's　forward　motion　carry　them　toward　the　big　barn　doors；　which　stood　half　open　on　their　tracks。　As　soon　as　her　foot　left　the　accelerator　pedal　to　tap　the　brake　and　stop　them；　the　motor　began　to　hitch　again　。。。　but　feebly　this　time。　The　AMP　light　pulsed　like　a　slow　heartbeat；　then　brightened。　The　Pinto　stalled。
Tad　looked　at　Donna。
She　grinned　at　him。　'Tad；　ole　buddy；'　she　said；　'we　have　arrived。'
'Yeah；'　he　said。　'But　is　anybody　home？'
There　was　a　dark　green　pickup　truck　parked　beside　the　barn。　That　was　Camber's　truck；　all　right；　not　someone　else's　waiting　to　be　fixed。　She　remembered　it　from　last　time。　But　the　lights　were　off　inside。　She　craned　her　neck　to　the　left　and　saw　they　were　off　in　the　house　too。　And　there　had　been　a　package　hung　over　the　mailbox　lid。
The　return　address　on　the　package　had　been　J。　C。　Whitney　&　Co。　She　knew　what　that　was；　her　brother　had　gotten　their　catalogue　in　the　mail　when　he　was　a　teenager。　They　sold　auto　parts；　accessories；　customizing　equipment。　A　package　for　Joe　Camber　from　J。　C。　Whitney　was　the　most　natural　thing　in　the　world。　But　if　he　was　here；　he　surely　would　have　gotten　his　mail　by　now。
Nobody　home；　she　thought　dispiritedly；　and　felt　a　weary　sort　of　anger　at　Vic。　He's　always　home；　sure　he　is；　the　guy　would　put　down　roots　in　his　garage　if　he　could。　sure　he　would；　except　when　I　need　him。
'Well；　let's　go　see；　anyhow；'　she　said；　opening　her　door。
'I　can't　get　my　seatbelt　unhooked；'　Tad　said；　scratching　futilely　at　the　buckle　release。
'Okay；　don't　have　a　hemorrhage；　Tad。　I'll　e　around　and　let　you　out。'
She　got　out；　slammed　her　door；　and　took　two　steps　toward　the　front　of　the　car；　intending　to　cross　in　front　of　the　hood　to　the　passenger　side　and　let　Tad　out　of　his　harness。　It　would　give　Camber　a　chance　to　e　out　and　see　who　his。　pany　was；　if　he　was　here。　She　somehow　didn't　relish　poking　her　head　in　on　him　unannounced。　It　was　probably　foolish；　but　since　that　ugly　and　frightening　scene　with　Steve　Kemp　in　her　kitchen；　she　had　bee　more　aware　of　what　it　was　to　be　an　unprotected　woman　than　she　had　since　she　was　sixteen　and　her　mother　and　father　had　let　her　begin　dating。
The　quiet　struck　her　at　once。　It　was　hot　and　so　quiet　that　it　was　somehow　unnerving。　There　were　sounds；　of　course；　but　even　after　several　years　in　Castle　Rock；　the　most　she　could　say　about　her　ears　was　that　they　had　slowly　adapted　from　'city　ears'　to　'town　ears'。　They　were　by　no　means　'country　cars'　。　。　。　and　this　was　the　real　country。
She　heard　birdsong；　and　the　harsher　music　of　a　crow　somewhere　in　the　long　field　which　stretched　down　the　flank　of　the　hill　they　had　just　climbed。　There　was　the　sigh　of　a　light　breeze；　and　the　oaks　that　lined　the　driveway　made　moving　patterns　of　shadow　around　her　feet。　But　she　could　not　hear　a　single　car　engine；　not　even　the　faraway　burp　of　a　tractor　or　a　baling　machine。　City　ears　and　town　ears　are　most　closely　attuned　to　man…made　sounds；　those　that　nature　makes　tend　to　fall　outside　the　tightly　drawn　net　of　selective　perception。　A　total　lack　of　such　sounds　makes　for　unease。
I'd　bear　him　if　be　was　working　in　the　barn；　Donna