sk.petsematary-第15节

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　　They　got　moving。　Very　shortly　the　screaming　in　the　other　room　quieted。　The　phone；　which　had　stopped　ringing；　now　began　again。　Louis　pushed　the　hold　button　without　picking　up　the　receiver　off　its　cradle。
　　The　older　campus　cop　looked　more　together；　and　Louis　spoke　to　him。　〃Who　do　we　notify？　Can　you　give　me　a　list？〃
　　The　cop　nodded　and　said；　〃We　haven't　had　one　of　these　in　six　years。　It's　a　bad　way　to　start　the　semester。〃
　　〃It　sure　is；〃　Louis　said。　He　picked　up　the　phone　and　punched　off　the　hold　button。
　　〃Hello？　Who　is…〃　an　excited　voice　began；　and　Louis　cut　it　off。　He　began　to　make　his　calls。
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　　Things　did　not　slow　down　until　nearly　four　that　afternoon；　after　Louis　and　Richard　Irving；　the　head　of　Campus　Security；　made　a　statement　to　the　press。　The　young　man；　Victor　Pascow；　had　been　jogging　with　two　friends；　one　of　them　his　fiancée。　A　car　driven　by　Tremont　Withers；　twenty…three；　of　Haven；　Maine；　had　e　up　the　road　leading　from　the　Lengyll　Women's　Gymnasium　toward　the　center　of　campus　at　an　excessive　speed。　Withers's　car　had　struck　Pascow　and　driven　him　head…first　into　a　tree。　Pascow　had　been　brought　to　the　infirmary　in　a　blanket　by　his　friends　and　two　passersby。　He　had　died　minutes　later。　Withers　was　being　held　pending　charges　of　reckless　driving；　driving　under　the　influence；　and　vehicular　manslaughter。
　　The　editor　of　the　campus　newspaper　asked　if　he　could　say　that　Pascow　had　died　of　head　injuries。　Louis；　thinking　of　that　broken　window　through　which　the　brain　itself　could　be　seen；　said　he　would　rather　let　the　Penobscot　County　coroner　announce　the　cause　of　death。　The　editor　then　asked　if　the　four　young　people　who　had　brought　Pascow　to　the　infirmary　in　the　blanket　might　not　have　inadvertently　caused　his　death。
　　〃No；〃　Louis　replied。　〃Not　at　all。　Unhappily；　Mr。　Pascow　was　in　my　opinion；　mortally　wounded　upon　being　struck。〃
　　There　were　other　questions…a　few…but　that　answer　really　ended　the　press　conference。　Now　Louis　sat　in　his　office　（Steve　Masterton　had　gone　home　an　hour　before；　immediately　following　the　press　conference…to　catch　himself　on　the　evening　news　Louis　suspected）　trying　to　pick　up　the　shards　of　the　day…or　maybe　he　was　just　trying　to　cover　what　had　happened；　to　paint　a　thin　coating　of　routine　over　it。　He　and　Charlton　were　going　over　the　cards　in　the　〃front　file〃…those　students　who　were　pushing　grimly　through　their　college　years　in　spite　of　some　disability　There　were　twenty…three　diabetics　in　the　front　file；　fifteen　epileptics；　fourteen　paraplegics；　and　assorted　others：　students　with　leukemia；　students　with　cerebral　palsy　and　muscular　dystrophy　blind　students；　two　mute　students；　and　one　case　of　sickle…cell　anemia；　which　Louis　had　never　even　seen。
　　Perhaps　the　lowest　point　of　the　afternoon　had　e　just　after　Steve　left。　Charlton　came　in　and　laid　a　pink　memo　slip　on　Louis's　desk。　Bangor　Carpet　will　be　here　at　9：00　tomorrow；　it　read。
　　〃Carpet？〃　he　had　asked。
　　〃It　will　have　to　be　replaced；〃　she　said　apologetically。　〃No　way　the　stain's　going　to　e　out；　Doctor。〃
　　Of　course　not。　At　that　point　Louis　had　gone　into　the　dispensary　and　taken　a　Tuinal…what　his　first　med　school　roommate　had　called　Tooners。　〃Hop　up　on　the　Toonerville　Trolley；　Louis；〃　he'd　say；　〃and　I'll　put　on　some　Creedence。〃　More　often　than　not　Louis　had　declined　the　ride　on　the　fabled　Toonerville；　and　that　was　maybe　just　as　well；　his　roomie　had　flunked　out　halfway　through　his　third　semester　and　had　ridden　the　Toonerville　Trolley　all　the　way　to　Vietnam　as　a　medical　corpsman。　Louis　sometimes　pictured　him　over　there；　stoned　to　the　eyeballs；　listening　to　Creedence　do　〃Run　Through　the　Jungle。〃
　　But　he　needed　something。　If　he　was　going　to　have　to　see　that　pink　slip　about　the　carpet　on　his　note…minder　board　every　time　he　glanced　up　from　the　front　file　spread　out　in　front　of　them；　he　needed　something。
　　He　was　cruising　fairly　well　when　Mrs。　Baillings；　the　night　like　doing　it…it　made　him　feel　like　the　most　rancid　sort　of　gossip
　　…but　Missy　would　accept　no　money　for　sitting；　and　he　was　grateful　to　her　for　the　evening　he　and　Rachel　had　shared。
　　Gage　was　fast　asleep　before　Louis　had　gotten　the　mile　between　Missy's　house　and　their　own；　even　Ellie　was　yawning　and　glassy…eyed。　He　put　Gage　into　fresh　diapers；　poured　him　into　his　sleeper　suit；　and　popped　him　into　his　crib。　Then　he　read　Ellie　a　storybook。　As　usual；　she　clamored　for　Where　the　Wild　Things　Are；　being　a　veteran　wild　thing　herself。　Louis　convinced　her　to　settle　for　The　Cat　in　the　Hat。　She　was　asleep　five　minutes　after　he　carried　her　up；　and　Rachel　tucked　her　in。
　　When　he　came　downstairs　again；　Rachel　was　sitting　in　the　living　room　with　a　glass　of　milk。　A　Dorothy　Sayers　mystery　was　open　on　one　long　thigh。
　　〃Louis；　are　you　really　all　right？〃
　　〃Honey；　I'm　fine；〃　he　said。　〃And　thanks。　For　everything。〃
　　'　〃We　aim　to　please；〃　she　said　with　a　curving；　slightly　saucy　smile。　〃Are　you　going　over　to　Jud's　for　a　beer？〃
　　He　shook　his　head。　〃Not　tonight。　I'm　totally　bushed。〃
　　〃I　hope　I　had　something　to　do　with　that。〃
　　〃I　think　you　did。〃
　　〃Then　grab　yourself　a　glass　of　milk；　Doctor；　and　let's　go　to　bed。〃
　　He　thought　perhaps　he　would　lie　awake；　as　he　often　had　when　he　was　interning；　and　days　that　were　particularly　hairy　would　play　over　and　over　in　his　mind。　But　he　slid　smoothly　toward　sleep；　as　if　on　a　slightly　inclined；　frictionless　board。　He　had　read　somewhere　that　it　takes　the　average　human　being　just　seven　minutes　to　turn　off　all　the　switches　and　uncouple　from　the　day。　Seven　minutes　for　conscious　and　subconscious　to　revolve；　like　the　trick　wall　in　an　amusement…park　haunted　house。　Something　a　little　eerie　in　that。
　　He　was　almost　there　when　he　heard　Rachel　say；　as　if　from　a　great　distance；〃。　。　。　day　after　tomorrow。〃
　　〃Ummmmmm？〃
　　〃Jolander。　The　vet。　He's　taking　Church　the　day　after　tomorrow。〃
　　〃Oh。〃　Church。　Treasure　your　cojónes　while　you　got　em；　Church；　old　boy。　Then　he　slipped　away　from　everything；　down　a　hole；　sleeping　deeply　and　without　dreams。
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　　Something　woke　him　much　later；　a　crash　loud　enough　to　cause　him　to　sit　up　in　bed；　wondering　if　Ellie　had　fallen　onto　the　floor　or　if　maybe　Gage's　crib　had　collapsed。　Then　the　moon　sailed　out　from　behind　a　cloud；　flooding　the　room　with　cold　white　light；　and　he　saw　Victor　Pascow　standing　in　the　doorway。　The　crash　had　been　Pascow　throwing　open　the　door。
　　He　stood　there　with　his　head　bashed　in　behind　the　left　temple。　The　blood　had　dried　on　his　face　in　maroon　stripes　like　Indian　warpaint。　His　collarbone　jutted　whitely。　He　was　grinning。
　　〃e　on；　Doctor；〃　Pascow　said。　〃We　got　places　to　go。〃
　　Louis　looked　around。　His　wife　was　a　vague　hump　under　her　yellow　forter；　sleeping　deeply。　He　looked　back　at　Pascow；　who　was　dead　but　somehow　not　dead。　Yet　Louis　felt　no　fear。　He　realized　why　almost　at　once。
　　It's　a　dream；　he　thought；　and　it　was　only　in　his　relief　that　he　realized　he　had　been　frightened　after　all。　The　dead　do　not　return；　it　is　physiologically　impossible。　This　young　man　is　in　an　autopsy　drawer　in　Bangor　with　the　pathologist's　tattoo…a　Y…cut　stitched　back　up…on　him。　The　pathologist　probably　tossed　his　brain　into　his　chest　cavity　after　taking　a　tissue　sample　and　filled　up　the　skull　cavity　with　brown　paper　to　prevent　leaking…simpler　than　trying　to　fit　the　brain　back　into　the　skull　like　a　jigsaw　piece　into　a　puzzle。　Uncle　Carl；　father　of　the　unfortunate　Ruthie；　had　told　him　that　pathologists　did　that；　and　all　sorts　of　other　random　information　that　he　supposed　would　give　Rachel；　with　her　death　phobia；　the　screaming　horrors。　But　Pascow　was　not　here…no　way；　baby。　Pascow　was　in　a　refrigerated　locker　with　a　tag　around　his　toe。　And　he　is　most　certainly　not　wearing　those　red　jogging　shorts　in　there。
　　Yet　the　pulsion　to　get　up　was　strong。　Pascow's　eyes　were　upon　him。
　　He　threw　back　the　covers　and　swung　his　feet　onto　the　floor。　The　hooked　rug…a　wedding　present　from　Rachel's　grandmother　long　ago…pressed　cold　nubbles　into　the　balls　of　his　feet。　The　dream　had　a　remarkable　reality。　It　was　so　real　that　he　would　not　follow　Pascow　until　Pascow　had　turned　and　begun　to　go　back　down　the　stairs。　The　pulsion　to　follow　was　strong；　but　he　did　not　want　to　be　touched；　even　in　a　dream；　by　a　walking　corpse。
　　But　he　did　follow。　Pascow's　jogging　shorts　glimmered。
　　They　crossed　the　living　room；　dining　room；　kitchen。　Louis　expected　Pascow　to　turn　the　lock　and　then　lift　the　latch　on　the　door　which　connected　the　kitchen　to　the　shed　where　he　garaged　the　station　wagon　and　the　Civic；　but　Pascow　did　no　such　thing。　Instead　of　opening　the　door；　he　simply　passed　through　it。　And　Louis；　watching；　thought　with　mild　amazement：　Is　that　how　it's　done？　Remarkable！　Anyone　could　do　that！
　　He　tried　it　himself…and　was　a　little　amused　to　meet　only　unyielding　wood。　Apparently　he　was　a　hard…headed　realist；　even　in　his　dreams。　Louis　twisted　the　knob　on　the　Yale　lock；　lifted　the　latch；　and　let　himself　into　the　shed…garage。　Pascow　was　not　there。　Louis　wondered　briefly　if　Pascow　had　just　ceased　to　exist。　Figures　in　dreams　often　did　just　that。　So　did　locations…first　you　were　standing　nude　by　a　swimming　pool　with　a　raging　hardon；　discussing　the　possibilities　of　wife　swapping　with；　say；　Roger　and　Missy　Dandridg