sk.cujo-第52部分

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sty；　but　the　actual　sight　of　the　water　had　driven　him　into　a　frenzy　both　times。　He　wanted　to　drink　the　water；　kill　the　water；　bathe　in　the　water；　piss　and　shit　in　the　water；　cover　it　over　with　dirt；　savage　it；　make　it　bleed。　Both　times　this　terrible　confusion　of　feelings　had　driven　him　away；　whining　and　trembling。　THE　WOMAN　and　THE　Boy　had　made　all　this　happen。　And　he　would　leave　them　no　more。　No　human　who　had　ever　lived　would　have　found　a　dog　more　faithful　or　more　set　in　his　purpose。　He　would　wait　until　he　could　get　at　them。　If　necessary　he　would　wait　until　the　world　ended。　He　would　wait。　He　would　stand　a　watch。
It　was　THE　WOMAN　most　of　all。　The　way　she　looked　at　him；　as　if　to　say；　Yes；　yes；　I　did　it；　I　made　you　sick；　I　made　you　hurt；　I　devised　this　agony　just　for　you　and　it　will　be　with　you　always　now。
Oh　kill　her；　kill　her！
A　sound　came。　It　was　a　soft　sound；　but　it　did　not　escape　Cujo；　his　ears　were　preternaturally　attuned　to　all　sounds　now。　The　entire　spectrum　of　the　aural　world　was　his。　He　beard　the　chimes　of　heaven　and　the　hoarse　screams　which　uprose　from　hell。　In　his　madness　he　heard　the　real　and　the　unreal。
It　was　the　soft　sound　of　small　stones　slipping　and　grinding　against　each　other。
Cujo　screwed　his　hindquarters　down　against　the　ground　and　waited　for　her。　Urine；　warm　and　painful；　ran　out　of　him　unheeded。　He　waited　for　THE　WOMAN　to　show　herself。　When　she　did；　he　would　kill　her。
In　the　downstairs　wreckage　of　the　Trenton　house；　the　telephone　began　to　ring。
It　burred　six　times；　eight　times；　ten。　Then　it　was　silent。　Shortly　after；　the　Trentons'　copy　of　the　Castle　Rock　Call　thumped　against　the　front　door　and　Billy　Freeman　pedaled　on　up　the　street　on　his　Raleigh　with　his　canvas　sack　over　his　shoulder；　whistling。
In　Tad's　room；　the　closet　door　stood　open；　and　an　unspeakable　dry　smell；　lionlike　and　savage；　hung　in　the　air。
In　Boston；　an　operator　asked　Vic　Trenton　if　he　would　like　her　to　keep　trying。　'No；　that's　okay；　operator；'　he　said；　and　hung　up。
Roger　had　found　the　Red　Sox　playing　Kansas　City　on　Channel　38　and　was　sitting　on　the　sofa　in　his　skivvies　with　a　room…service　sandwich　and　a　glass　of　milk；　watching　the　warmups。
'Of　all　your　habits；'　Vic　said；　'most　of　which　range　from　the　actively　offensive　to　the　mildly　disgusting；　I　think　that　eating　in　your　underpants　is　probably　the　worst。'
'Listen　to　this　guy；'　Roger　said　mildly　to　the　empty　room　at　large。　'He's　thirty…two　years　old　and　he　still　calls　underwear　shorts　underpants。'
'What's　wrong　with　that？'
'Nothing　。。。　if　you're　still　one　of　the　Owl　Tent　at　summer　camp。'
'I'm　going　to　cut　your　throat　tonight；　Rog；'　Vic　said；　smiling　happily。　'You'll　wake　up　strangling　in　your　own　blood。　You'll　be　sorry；　but　it　will　be　。。。　too　late！'　He　picked　up　half　of　Roger's　hot　pastrami　sandwich　and　wounded　it　grieviously。
'That's　pretty　fucking　unsanitary；'　Roger　said；　brushing　crumbs　from　his　bare；　hairy　chest。　'Donna　wasn't　home；　huh？'
'Uh…uh。　She　and　Tad　probably　went　down　to　the　Tastee　Freeze　to　catch　a　couple　of　burgers　or　something。　I　wish　to　God　I　was　there　instead　of　Boston。'
'Oh；　just　think；'　Roger　said；　grinning　maliciously；　'we'll　be　in　the　Apple　tomorrow　night。　Having　cocktails　under　the　clock　at　the　Biltmore　。　。　。‘
'Fuck　the　Biltmore　and　fuck　the　clock；'　Vic　said。　'Anyone　who　spends　a　week　away　from　Maine　on　business　in　Boston　and　New　York　…　and　during　the　summertime　…　has　got　to　he　crazy。'
'Yeah；　I'll　buy　that；'　Roger　said。　On　the　TV　screen；　Bob　Stanley　popped　a　good　curve　over　the　outside　er　to　start　the　game。　'It　is　rawtha　shitteh。'
'That's　a　pretty　good　sandwich；　Roger；'　Vic　said；　smiling　winningly　at　his　partner。
Roger　grabbed　up　the　plate　and　held　it　to　his　chest。　'Call　down　for　your　own；　you　damn　mooch。'
'What's　the　number？'
'Six…eight…one；　I　think。　It's　on　the　dial　there。'
'Don't　you　want　some　beer　with　that？'　Vic　asked；　going　to　the　phone　again。
Roger　shook　his　head。　'I　had　too　much　at　lunch。　My　head's　bad；　my　stomach's　bad；　and　by　tomorrow　morning　I'll　probably　have　the　Hershey…squirts。　I'm　rapidly　discovering　the　truth；　goodbuddy。　I'm　no　kid　any　more。'
Vic　called　down　for　a　hot　pastrami　on　rye　and　two　bottles　of　Tuborg。　When　he　hung　up　and　looked　back　at　Roger；　Roger　was　sitting　with　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　TV。　His　sandwich　plate　was　balanced　on　his　considerable　belly　and　he　was　crying。　At　first　Vic　thought　he　hadn't　seen　right；　it　was　some　sort　of　optical　illusion。　But　no；　those　were　tears。　The　color　TV　reflected　off　them　in　prisms　of　light。
For　a　moment　Vic　stood　there；　unable　to　decide　if　he　should　go　over　to　Roger　or　go　over　the　other　side　of　the　room　and　pick　up　the　newspaper；　pretending　he　hadn't　seen。　Then　Roger　looked　over　at　him；　his　face　working　and　utterly　naked；　as　defenseless　and　as　vulnerable　as　Tad's　face　when　he　fell　off　the　swing　and　scraped　his　knees　or　took　a　tumble　on　the　sidewalk。
'What　am　I　going　to　do；　Vic？'　he　asked　hoarsely。
'Rog；　what　are　you　talk　…
'You　know　what　I'm　talking　about；'　he　said。　The　crowd　at
Fenway　cheered　as　Boston　turned　a　double　play　to　end　the　top　of　the　first。
'Take　it　easy；　Roger。　You
'This　is　going　to　fall　through　and　we　both　know　it；'　Roger　said。　'It　smells　as　bad　as　a　carton　of　eggs　that's　been　sitting　all　week　in　the　sun。　This　is　some　nice　little　game　we're　playing。　We've　got　Rob　Martin　on　our　side。　We've　got　that　refugee　from　the　Home　for　Old　Actors　on　our　side。　Undoubtedly　we'll　have　Summers　Marketing　&　Research　on　our　side；　since　they　bill　us。　How　wonderful。　We've　got　everybody　on　our　side　but　the　people　who　matter。'
'Nothing's　decided；　Rog。　Not　yet。'
'Althea　doesn't　really　understand　how　much　is　at　stake；'　Roger　said。　'My　fault；　okay；　so　I'm　a　chicken；　duck…duck。　But　she　loves　it　in　Bridgton；　Vic。　She　loves　it　there。　And　the　girls；　they've　got　their　school　friends　。。。　and　the　lake　in　the　summer　。。。　they　don't　know　what　the　fuck's　ing　down　at　all。'
'Yeah；　it's　scary。　I'm　not　trying　to　talk　you　out　of　that；　Rog。'
'Does　Donna　know　how　bad　it　is？'
'I　think　she　just　thought　it　was　an　awfully　good　joke　on　us　at　first　But　she's　getting　the　drift　of　it　now。'
'But　she　never　took　to　Maine　the　way　the　rest　of　us　did。'
'Not　at　first；　maybe。　I　think　she'd　raise　her　hands　in　horror　at　the　idea　of　taking　Tad　back　to　New　York　now。'
'What　am　I　going　to　do？'　Roger　asked　again。　'I'm　no　kid　any　more。　You're　thirty…two；　but　Vic；　I'm　going　to　be　forty…one　next　month。　What　am　I　supposed　to　do？　Start　Liking　my　resume　around？　Is　J。　Walter　Thompson　going　to　wele　me　in　with　open　arms？　〃Hi；　Rog…baby；　I've　been　holding　your　old　spot　for　you。　You　start　at　thirty…five…five。〃　Is　that　what　he's　going　to　say？'
Vic　only　shook　his　head；　but　a　part　of　him　was　a　little　irritated　with　Roger。
'I　used　to　be　just　mad。　Well；　I'm　still　mad；　but　now　I'm　more　scared　than　anything　else。　I　lie　in　bed　at　night　and　try　to　imagine　how　it's　going　to　be　…　after。　What　it's　going　to　be。　I　can't　imagine　it。　You　look　at　me　and　you　say　to　yourself；　〃Roger's　dramatizing。〃　You　…'
'I　never　thought　any　such　thing；'　Vic　said；　hoping　he　didn't　sound　guilty。
'I　won't　say　you're　lying；'　Roger　said；　'but　I've　been　working　with　you　long　enough　to　have　a　pretty　good　idea　of　how　you　think。　Better　than　you　might　know。　Anyway　I　wouldn't　blame　you　for　the　thought　…but　there's　a　big　difference　between　thirty…two　and　forty…one；　Vic。　They　kick　a　lot　of　the　guts　out　of　you　in　between　thirty…two　and　forty…one。'
'Look；　I　still　think　we've　got　a　fighting　chance　with　this　proposal　…'
'What　I'd　Iike　to　do　is　bring　about　two　dozen　boxes　of　Red　Razberry　Zingers　along　with　us　to　Cleveland；'　Roger　said；　'and　then　get　them　to　bend　over　after　they　tie　the　can　to　our　tails。　I'd　have　a　place　for　all　that　cereal；　you　know　it？'
Vic　clapped　Roger　on　the　shoulder。　'Yeah；　I　get　you。'
'What　are　you　going　to　do　if　they　pull　the　account？'　Roger　asked。
Vic　had　thought　about　that。　He　had　been　around　it　from　every　possible　angle。　It　would　have　been　fair　to　say　that　he　had　gotten　to　the　problem　quite　a　while　before　Roger　had　been　able　to　make　himself　approach　it。
'If　they　pull　out；　I'm　going　to　work　harder　than　I　ever　have　in　my　life；'　Vic　said。　'Thirty　hours　a　day；　if　I　have　to。　If　I　have　to　rope　in　sixty　small　New　England　accounts　to　make　up　for　what　Sharp　billed；　then　I'll　do　it。'
'We'll　kill　ourselves　for　nothing。'
'Maybe；'　Vic　said。　'But　we'll　go　down　with　all　guns　firing。　Right？'
'I　figure；'　Roger　said　unsteadily；　'that　if　Althea　goes　to　work；　we　can　hold　on　to　the　house　for　about　a　year。　That　ought　to　be　just　about　enough　time　to　sell　it；　the　way　interest　rates　are。'
Suddenly　Vic　felt　it　trembling　right　behind　his　lips：　the　whole　shitty　black　mess　that　Donna　had　managed　to　get　herself　into　because　of　her　need　to　keep　pretending　that　she
believed　it　…　how　still　the　night　must　be！　How　calm！
She　felt　very　alive。
Her　heart　was　a　small；　powerful　machine　flexing　in　her　chest。　Her　blood　was　up。　Her　eyes　seemed　to　move　effortlessly　and　perfectly　in　their　bed　of　moisture。　Her　kidneys　were　heavy　but　not　unpleasantly　so。　This　was　it；　this　was　for　keeps。　The　thought　that　it　was　her　life　she　was　putting　on　the　line；　her　very　own　real　life；　had　a　heavy；　silent　fascination；　like　a　great　weight　which　has　reached　the　outermost　degree　of　its　angle　of　repose。　She　swung　the　car