sk.petsematary-第60节

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decided　such　tales　would　be　taken　wrong。
　　Rachel　had　broken　down　only　once；　and　her　mother　was　there　to　fort　her。　Rachel　clung　to　Dory　Goldman　and　sobbed　against　her　shoulder　in　an　open；　let…it…all…go　way　that　had　been　so　far　impossible　for　her　with　Louis；　perhaps　because　she　saw　them　both　as　culpable　in　Gage's　death　or　perhaps　because　Louis；　lost　in　the　peculiar　half…world　of　his　own　fancies；　had　not　encouraged　her　grief。　Either　way；　she　had　turned　to　her　mother　for　fort；　and　Dory　was　there　to　give　it；　mingling　her　tears　with　her　daughter's。　Irwin　Goldman　stood　behind　them；　his　hand　on　Rachel's　shoulder；　and　looked　with　sickly　triumph　across　the　room　at　Louis。
　　Ellie　circulated　with　a　silver　tray　loaded　with　canapes；　little　rolls　with　a　feathered　toothpick　poked　through　each　one。　Her　picture　of　Gage　was　tucked　firmly　under　her　arm。
　　Louis　received　condolences。　He　nodded　and　thanked　the　condolers。　And　if　his　eyes　seemed　distant；　his　manner　a　little　cold；　people　supposed　he　was　thinking　of　the　past；　of　the　accident；　of　the　Gageless　life　ahead；　none　（perhaps　not　even　Jud）　would　have　suspected　that　Louis　had　begun　to　think　about　the　strategies　of　grave　robbing。　。　。　only　in　an　academic　way；　of　course；　it　was　not　that　he　intended　to　do　anything。　It　was　only　a　way　to　keep　his　mind　occupied。
　　It　was　not　as　if　he　intended　to　do　anything。
　　Louis　stopped　at　the　Orrington　Corner　Store；　bought　two　six…packs　of　cold　beer；　and　called　ahead　to　Napoli's　for　a　pepperoni…and…mushroom　pizza。
　　〃Want　to　give　me　a　name　on　that；　sir？〃
　　Oz　the　Gweat　and　Tewwible；　Louis　thought。
　　〃Lou　Creed。〃
　　〃Okay；　Lou；　we're　real　busy；　so　it'll　be　maybe　forty…five　minutes
　　…that　okay　for　you？〃
　　〃Sure；〃　Louis　said　and　hung　up。　As　he　got　back　into　the　Civic　and　keyed　the　engine；　it　occurred　to　him　that　although　there　were　maybe　twenty　pizza　joints　in　the　Bangor　area；　he　had　picked　the　one　closest　to　Pleasantview；　where　Gage　was　buried。　Well；　what　the　hell？　he　thought　uneasily。　They　make　good　pizza。　No　frozen　dough。　Throw　it　up　and　catch　it　on　their　fists；　right　there　where　you　can　watch；　and　Gage　used　to　laugh…　He　cut　that　thought　off。
　　He　drove　past　Napoli's　to　Pleasantview。　He　supposed　he　had　known　that　he　would　do　that；　but　what　harm？　None。
　　He　parked　across　the　street　and　crossed　the　road　to　the　wrought…iron　gates；　which　glimmered　in　the　final　light　of　day。　Above　them；　in　a　semicircle；　were　wrought…iron　letters　spelling　PLEASANTVIEW。　The　view　was；　in　Louis's　mind；　neither　pleasant　nor　unpleasant。　The　cemetery　was　nicely　landscaped　on　several　rolling　hills；　there　were　long　aisles　of　trees　（ah；　but　in　these　last　few　minutes　of　fading　daylight；　the　shadows　those　trees　threw　seemed　deeply　pooled　and　as　blackly　unpleasant　as　still　quarry　water）　and　a　few　isolated　weeping　willows。　It　wasn't　quiet。　The　turnpike　was　near…the　drone　of　traffic　came　on　the　steady；　chill　wind…and　the　glow　in　the　darkening　sky　was　Bangor　International　Airport。
　　He　stretched　his　hand　out　to　the　gate；　thinking；　They'll　be　locked；　but　they　were　not。　Perhaps　it　was　too　early　to　lock　them；　and　if　they　locked　them　at　all　it　would　only　be　to　protect　the　place　against　drunks；　vandals；　and　teenage　neckers。　The　days　of　the　Dickensian　Resurrection　Men
　　（there's　that　word　again）
　　were　over。　The　right…hand　gate　swung　in　with　a　faint　screeing　noise；　and　after　a　glance　over　his　shoulder　to　make　sure　he　was　unobserved；　Louis　stepped　through。　He　closed　the　gate　behind　him　and　heard　the　click　of　the　latch。
　　He　stood　in　this　modest　suburb　of　the　dead；　looking　around。
　　A　fine　and　private　place；　he　thought；　but　none；　I　think；　do　there　embrace。　Who？　Andrew　Marvel？　And　why　did　the　human　mind　store　up　such　amazing　middens　of　useless　junk；　anyway？
　　Jud's　voice　spoke　up　in　his　mind　then；　worried　and…frightened？　Yes。　Frightened。
　　Louis；　what　are　you　doing　here？　You're　looking　up　a　road　you　don't　want　to　travel。
　　He　pushed　the　voice　aside。　If　he　was　torturing　anyone；　it　was　only　himself。　No　one　need　know　he　had　been　here　as　the　daylight　wound　down　to　the　dark。
　　He　began　to　walk　toward　Gage's　grave；　taking　one　of　the　winding　paths。　In　a　moment　he　was　in　a　lane　of　trees；　they　rustled　their　new　leaves　mysteriously　over　his　head。　His　heart　was　thudding　too　loudly　in　his　chest。　The　graves　and　monuments　were　in　rough　rows。　Somewhere　there　would　be　a　caretaker's　building；　and　in　it　would　be　a　map　of　Pleasantview's　twenty　or　so　acres；　neatly　and　sanely　divided　into　quadrants；　each　quadrant　showing　the　occupied　graves　and　the　unsold　plots。　Real　estate　for　sale。　One…room　apartments。　Sleepers。
　　Not　much　like　the　Pet　Sematary；　he　thought；　and　this　caused　him　to　stop　and　consider　for　a　moment；　surprised。　No；　it　wasn't。　The　Pet　Sematary　had　given　him　an　impression　of　order　rising　almost　unknown　out　of　chaos。　Those　rough；　concentric　circles　moving　inward　to　the　center；　rude　slates；　crosses　made　out　of　boards。　As　if　the　children　who　buried　their　pets　there　had　created　the　pattern　out　of　their　own　collective　unconsciousness；　as　if。
　　For　a　moment　Louis　saw　the　Pet　Sematary　as　a　kind　of　advertisement　。　。　。　a　e…on；　like　the　kind　they　gave　you　on　freak　alley　at　the　carnival。　They'd　bring　out　the　fire…eater　and　you　got　to　watch　his　show　for　free　because　the　owners　knew　you　wouldn't　buy　the　steak　unless　you　saw　the　sizzle；　you　wouldn't　cough　up　the　cash　if　you　didn't　see　the　flash…　Those　graves；　those　graves　in　their　almost　Druidic　circles。
　　The　graves　in　the　Pet　Sematary　mimed　the　most　ancient　religious　symbol　of　all：　diminishing　circles　indicating　a　spiral　leading　down；　not　to　a　point；　but　to　infinity；　order　from　chaos　or　chaos　from　order；　depending　on　which　way　your　mind　worked。　It　was　a　symbol　the　Egyptians　had　chiseled　on　the　tombs　of　the　Pharaohs；　a　symbol　the　Phoenicians　had　drawn　on　the　barrows　of　their　fallen　kings；　it　was　found　on　cave　walls　in　ancient　Mycenae；　the　guildkings　of　Stonehenge　had　created　it　as　a　clock　to　time　the　universe；　it　appeared　in　the　Judeo…Christian　Bible　as　the　whirlwind　from　which　God　had　spoken　to　Job。
　　The　spiral　was　the　oldest　sign　of　power　in　the　world；　man's　oldest　symbol　of　that　twisty　bridge　which　may　exist　between　the　world　and　the　Gulf。
　　Louis　reached　Gage's　grave　at　last。　The　payloader　was　gone。　The　Astroturf　had　been　removed；　rolled　up　by　some　whistling　workman　with　his　mind　on　an　after…work　beer　at　the　Fairmount　Lounge；　stored　in　an　equipment　shed　somewhere。　Where　Gage　lay　there　was　a　neat　rectangle　of　bare；　raked　earth；　perhaps　five　feet　by　three　feet。　The　headstone　had　not　been　set　up　yet。
　　Louis　kneeled。　The　wind　blew　through　his　hair；　tumbling　it。　The　sky　was　almost　entirely　dark　now。　It　raced　with　clouds。
　　No　one　has　shone　a　light　in　my　face　and　asked　me　what　I'm　doing　here。　No　watchdog　has　barked。　The　gate　was　unlocked。　The　days　of　the　Resurrection　Men　are　past。　If　I　came　up　here　with　a　pick　and　a　shovel…　He　came　back　to　himself　with　a　jerk。　He　was　only　playing　a　dangerous　mind　game　with　himself　if　he　pretended　that　Pleasant…view　stood　unwatched　during　the　night　hours。　Suppose　he　was　discovered　belly…deep　in　his　son's　new　grave　by　the　caretaker　or　the　watchman？　It　might　not　get　into　the　papers；　but　then　again　it　might。　He　might　be　charged　with　a　crime。　What　crime？　Grave　robbing？　Unlikely。　Malicious　mischief　or　vandalism　would　be　more　likely。　And　in　the　paper　or　out　of　it；　the　word　would　get　around。　People　would　talk；　it　was　a　story　too　juicy　not　to　be　told：
　　Local　doctor　is　discovered　digging　up　his　two…year…old　son；　recently　killed　in　a　tragic　road　accident。　He　would　lose　his　job。　Even　if　not；　Rachel　would　be　chilled　by　the　wind　of　such　tales；　and　Ellie　might　be　harried　by　them　at　school　until　her　life　was　a　misery　of　chanting　children。　There　might　be　the　humiliation　of　a　sanity　test　in　exchange　for　dropping　charges。
　　But　I　could　bring　Gage　back　to　life！　Gage　could　live　again！
　　Did　he　really；　actually　believe　that？
　　The　fact　was　that　he　did。　He　had　told　himself　time　and　time　again；　both　before　Gage's　death　and　after　it；　that　Church　had　not　really　been　dead；　only　stunned。　That　Church　had　dug　his　way　out　and　e　home。　A　kiddie　story　with　gruesome　undertones…
　　Winnie　the　Poe。　Master　unwittingly　piles　a　cairn　of　stones　over　a　living　animal。　Faithful　beast　digs　itself　out　and　es　home。　Fine。　Except　it　was　not　true。　Church　had　been　dead。　The　Micmac　burying　ground　had　brought　it　back　to　life。
　　He　sat　by　Gage's　grave；　trying　to　place　all　the　known　ponents　in　an　order　as　rational　and　logical　as　this　dark　magic　would　allow。
　　Timmy　Baterman；　now。　First；　did　he　believe　the　story？　And　second；　did　it　make　a　difference？
　　In　spite　of　its　convenience；　he　believed　most　of　it。　It　was　undeniable　that　if　a　place　like　the　Micmac　burying　ground　existed　（as　it　did）　and　if　people　knew　of　it　（as　a　few　of　the　older　Ludlowites　did）；　then　sooner　or　later　someone　would　try　the　experiment。　Human　nature　as　Louis　understood　it　made　it　more　difficult　to　believe　that　it　had　stopped　at　a　few　pets　and　valuable　breed　animals。
　　All　right；　then…did　he　also　believe　that　Timmy　Baterman　had　been　transformed　into　some　sort　of　all…knowing　daemon？
　　That　was　a　more　difficult　question；　and　he　was　wa