sk.petsematary-第53节

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　　By　the　time　Louis　had　finished　three　beers；　he　felt　that　he　had　some　sort　of　equilibrium　for　the　first　time　that　day。　By　the　time　he　had　gotten　through　the　first　six…pack；　he　felt　that　sleep　might　actually　be　possible　in　another　hour　or　so。　He　came　back　from　the　fridge　with　his　eighth　or　ninth　（he　had　really　lost　count　by　then　and　was　walking　on　a　slant）；　and　his　eyes　fell　on　Church；　the　cat　was　dozing…or　pretending　to…on　the　rug　now。　The　thought　came　so　naturally　that　it　surely　must　have　been　there　all　along；　simply　waiting　its　time　to　e　forward　from　the　back　of　his　mind：
　　When　are　you　going　to　do　it？　When　are　you　going　to　bury　Gage　in　the　annex　to　the　Pet　Sematary？
　　And　on　the　heels　of　that：
　　Lazarus；　e　forth。
　　Ellie's　sleepy；　dazed　voice：
　　The　teacher　said　if　he'd　just　said　〃e　forth；〃　probably　everybody　in　that　graveyard　would　have　e　out。
　　A　chill　of　such　elemental　force　struck　him　that　Louis　clutched　himself　as　the　shudder　twisted　through　his　body。　He　suddenly　found　himself　remembering　Ellie's　first　day　of　school；　how　Gage　had　gone　to　sleep　on　his　lap　while　he　and　Rachel　were　listening　to　Ellie　prattle　on　about　〃Old　MacDonald〃　and　Mrs。　Berryman；　he　had　said　Just　let　me　put　the　baby　to　bed；　and　when　he　took　Gage　upstairs　a　horrible　premonition　had　struck　him；　and　now　he　understood：　Back　in　September　part　of　him　had　known　Gage　was　going　to　die　soon。　Part　of　him　had　known　that　Oz　the　Gweat　and　Tewwible　was　at　hand。　It　was　nonsense；　it　was　rot；　it　was　superstitious　bullshit　of　the　purest　ray　serene　。　。　。　and　it　was　true。　He　had　known。　Louis　spilled　some　of　his　beer　on　his　shirt；　and　Church　looked　up　wearily　to　see　if　this　was　a　signal　that　the　evening's　cat…kicking　festivities　were　about　to　mence。
　　Louis　suddenly　remembered　the　question　he　had　asked　Jud；　he　remembered　the　way　Jud's　arm　had　jerked；　knocking　two　empty　beer　bottles　off　the　table。　One　of　them　had　shattered。　You　don't　even　want　to　talk　about　such　things；　Louis！
　　But　he　did　want　to　talk　about　them…or　at　least　think　about　them。　The　Pet　Sematary。　What　was　beyond　the　Pet　Sematary。　The　idea　had　a　deadly　attraction。　It　made　a　balance　of　logic　which　was　impossible　to　deny。　Church　had　been　killed　in　the　road；　Gage　had　been　killed　in　the　road。　Here　was　Church…　changed　of　course；　distasteful　in　some　ways…but　here。　Ellie；　Gage；　and　Rachel　all　had　a　working　relationship　with　him。　He　killed　birds；　true；　and　had　turned　a　few　mice　inside　out；　but　killing　small　animals　was　a　cat　thing　to　do。　Church　had　by　no　means　turned　into　Frankencat。　He　was；　in　many　ways；　as　good　as　ever。
　　You're　rationalizing；　a　voice　whispered。　He's　not　as　good　as　ever。　He's　spooky。　The　crow；　Louis。　。　。　remember　the　crow？
　　〃Good　God；〃　Louis　said　aloud　in　a　shaky；　distracted　voice　he　was　barely　able　to　recognize　as　his　own。
　　God；　oh　yes；　fine；　sure。　If　there　had　ever　been　a　time　to　invoke　the　name　of　God　outside　of　a　novel　about　ghosts　or　vampires；　this　was　it。　So　just　what…what　in　the　name　of　God…was　he　thinking　about？　He　was　thinking　about　a　dark　blasphemy　which　he　was　even　now　not　wholly　able　to　credit。　Worse；　he　was　telling　himself　lies。　Not　just　rationalizing；　but　outright　lying。
　　So　what's　the　truth？　You　want　the　truth　so　fucking　bad；　what's　the　truth？
　　That　Church　wasn't　really　a　cat　anymore　at　all…start　with　that。　He　looked　like　a　cat；　and　he　acted　like　a　cat；　but　he　was　really　only　a　poor　imitation。　People　couldn't　actually　see　through　that　imitation；　but　they　could　feel　through　it。　He　remembered　a　night　when　Chariton　had　been　at　the　house。　The　occasion　had　been　a　small　pre…Christmas　dinner　party。　They'd　been　sitting　in　here；　talking　after　the　meal；　and　Church　had　jumped　up　in　her　lap。　Chariton　had　pushed　the　cat　off　immediately；　a　quick　and　instinctive　moue　of　distaste　puckering　her　mouth。
　　It　had　been　no　big　deal。　No　one　had　even　mented　on　it。　But　。　。　。　it　was　there。　Chariton　had　felt　what　the　cat　wasn't。　Louis　killed　his　beer　and　went　back　for　another。　If　Gage　came　back　changed　in　such　a　way；　that　would　be　an　obscenity。
　　He　popped　the　top　and　drank　deeply。　He　was　drunk　now；　drunk　for　fair；　and　there　would　be　a　big　head　for　him　to　deal　with　tomorrow。　How　I　Went　to　My　Son's　Funeral　with　a　Han　gover　by　Louis　Creed；　author　of　How　I　Just　Missed　Him　at　the　Crucial　Moment　and　numerous　other　works。
　　Drunk。　Sure。　And　he　suspected　now　that　the　reason　he　had　gotten　drunk　was　so　he　could　consider　this　crazy　idea　soberly。
　　In　spite　of　everything；　the　idea　had　that　deadly　attraction；　that　sick　luster；　that　glamour。　Yes；　that　above　all　else…it　had　glamour。
　　Jud　was　back；　speaking　in　his　mind：
　　You　do　it　because　it　gets　hold　of　you。　You　do　it　because　that　burial　place　is　a　secret　place；　and　you　want　to　share　the　secret　you　make　up　reasons。　。　。　they　seem　like　good　reasons　but　mostly　you　do　it　because　you　want　to。　Or　because　you　have　to。
　　Jud's　voice；　low　and　drawling　with　Yankee　intonation；　Jud's　voice　chilling　his　flesh；　bringing　out　the　goosebumps；　making　the　hackles　on　the　back　of　his　neck　rise。
　　These　are　secret　things；　Louis　。　。　。　the　soil　of　a　man's　heart　is　stonier。　。　。　like　the　soil　up　in　the　old　Micmac　burying　ground。　A　man　grows　what　he　can。　。　。　and　he　tends　it。
　　Louis　began　to　go　over　the　other　things　Jud　had　told　him　about　the　Micmac　burying　ground。　He　began　to　collate　the　data；　to　sort　through　it；　to　press　it…he　proceeded　in　exactly　the　same　way　he　had　once　readied　himself　for　big　exams。
　　The　dog。　Spot。
　　I　could　see　all　the　places　where　the　barbed　wire　had　hooked　him…there　was　no　fur　in　any　of　those　places；　and　the　flesh　looked　dimpled　in。
　　The　bull。　Another　file　turned　over　in　Louis's　mind。
　　Lester　Morgan　buried　his　prize　hull　up　there。　Black　Angus　bull；　named　Hanratty　。　。　。　Lester　dragged　him　all　the　way　up　there　on　a　sledge　。　。　。　shot　him　dead　two　weeks　later。　That　bull　turned　mean；　really　mean。　But　he's　the　only　animal　I　ever　heard　of　that　did。
　　He　turned　mean。
　　The　soil　of　a　man's　heart　is　stonier。
　　He　turned　really　mean。
　　He's　the　only　animal　I　ever　heard　of　that　did。
　　Mostly　you　do　it　because　once　you've　been　up　there；　it's　your　place。
　　The　flesh　looked　dimpled　in。
　　Hanratty；　ain't　that　a　silly　name　for　a　bull？
　　A　man　grows　what　he　can。　。　。　and　tends　it。
　　They're　my　rats。　And　my　birds。　I　bought　the　fuckers。
　　It's　your　place；　a　secret　place；　and　it　belongs　to　you；　and　you　belong　to　it。
　　He　turned　mean；　but　he's　the　only　animal　I　ever　heard　of　that　did。
　　What　do　you　want　to　buy　next；　Louis；　when　the　wind　blows　hard　at　night　and　the　moon　lays　a　white　path　through　the　woods　to　that　place？　Want　to　climb　those　stairs　again？　When　they're　watching　a　horror　movie；　everyone　in　the　audience　knows　the　hero　or　the　heroine　is　stupid　to　go　up　those　stairs；　but　in　real　life　they　always　do…they　smoke；　they　don't　wear　seat　belts；　they　move　their　family　in　beside　a　busy　highway　where　the　big　rigs　drone　back　and　forth　all　day　and　all　night。　So；　Louis；　what　do　you　say？　Want　to　climb　the　stairs？　Would　you　like　to　keep　your　dead　son　or　go　for　what's　behind　Door　Number　One；　Door　Number　Two；　or　Door　Number　Three？
　　Hey…ho；　let's　go。
　　Turned　mean。　。　。　only　animal。　。　。　the　flesh　looked。　。　。　a　man　yours。　。　。　his。　。
　　Louis　dumped　the　rest　of　the　beer　down　the　sink；　feeling　suddenly　that　he　was　going　to　vomit。　The　room　was　moving　around　in　great　swinging　motions。
　　There　was　a　knock　at　the　door。
　　For　a　long　time…it　seemed　like　a　long　time；　anyway…he　believed　it　was　only　in　his　head；　a　hallucination。　But　the　knocking　just　went　on　and　on；　patient；　implacable。　And　suddenly　Louis　found　himself　thinking　of　the　story　of　the　monkey's　paw；　and　a　cold　terror　slipped　into　him。　He　seemed　to　feel　it　with　total　physical　reality…it　was　like　a　dead　hand　that　had　been　kept　in　a　refrigerator；　a　dead　hand　which　had　suddenly　taken　on　its　own　disembodied　life　and　slipped　inside　his　shirt　to　clutch　the　flesh　over　his　heart。　It　was　a　silly　image；　fulsome　and　silly；　but　oh；　it　didn't　feel　silly。　No。
　　Louis　went　to　the　door　on　feet　he　could　not　feel　and　lifted　the　latch　with　nerveless　fingers。　And　as　he　swung　it　open；　he　thought：　It'll　be　Pascow。　Like　they　said　about　Jim　Morrison；　back　from　the　dead　and　bigger　than　ever。　Pascow　standing　there　in　his　jogging　shorts；　big　as　life　and　as　mouldy　as　month…old　bread；　Pascow　with　his　horribly　ruined　head；　Pascow　bringing　the　warning　again：　Don't　go　up　there。　What　was　that　old　song　by　the　Animals？　Baby　please　don't　go；　baby　PLEASE　don't　go；　you　know　I　love　you　so；　baby　please　don't　go。
　　The　door　swung　open　and　standing　there　on　his　front　step　in　the　blowing　dark　of　this　midnight；　between　the　day　of　the　funeral　parlor　visitation　and　the　day　of　his　son's　burial；　was　Jud　Crandall。　His　thin　white　hair　blew　randomly　in　the　chilly　dark。
　　Louis　tried　to　laugh。　Time　seemed　to　have　turned　cleverly　back　on　itself。　It　was　Thanksgiving　again。　Soon　they　would　put　the　stiff；　unnaturally　thickened　body　of　Ellie's　cat　Winston　Churchill　into　a　plastic　garbage　bag　and　start　off。　Oh；　do　not　ask　what　is　it；　let　us　go　and　make　our　visit。
　　〃Can　I　e　in；　Louis？〃　Jud　asked。　He　took　a　pack　of　Chesterfields　from　his　shirt　pocket　and　poked　one　into　his　mouth。