sk.carrie-第12节

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From　The　Shadow　Exploded　（appendix　Ill）：
Carrie　White　passed　in　the　following　short　verse　as　a　poetry　assignment　in　the　seventh　grade。　Mr　Edwin　King；　who　had　Carrie　for　grade　seven　English；　says：　'I　don't　know　why　I　saved　it。　She　certainly　doesn't　stick　out　in　my　mind　as　a　superior　pupil；　and　this　isn't　a　superior　verse。　She　was　very　quiet　and　I　can't　remember　her　ever　raising　her　hand　even　once　in　class。　But　something　in　this　seemed　to　cry　out。'
Jesus　watches　from　the　wall。　But　his　face　is　cold　as　stone。　And　if　he　loves　me　…　As　she　tells　me　Why　do　I　feel　so　all　alone？
The　border　of　the　paper　on　which　this　little　verse　is　written　is　decorated　with　a　great　many　cruciform　figures　which　almost　seem　to　dance　。。。
Tommy　was　at　baseball　practice　Monday　afternoon；　and　Sue　went　down　to　the　Kelly　Fruit　pany　in　The　Centre　to　wait　for　him。
Kelly's　was　the　closest　thing　to　a　high　school　hangout　the　loosely　sprawled　munity　of　Chamberlain　could　boast　since　Sheriff　Doyle　had　closed　the　rec　centre　following　a　large　drug　bust。　It　was　run　by　a　morose　fat　man　named　Hubert　Kelly　who　dyed　his　hair　black　and　plained　constantly　that　his　electronic　pacemaker　was　on　the　verge　of　electrocuting　him。
The　place　was　a　bination　grocery；　soda　fountain　and　gas　station…there　Was　a　rusted　Jenny　pump　out　front　that　Hubie　had　never　bothered　to　change　when　the　pany　merged。　He　also　sold　beer；　cheap　wine；　dirty　books；　and　a　wide　selection　of　obscure　cigarettes　such　as　Mirads；　King　Sano；　and　Marvel　Straights。
The　soda　fountain　was　a　slab　of　real　marble；　and　there　were　four　or　five　booths　for　kids　unlucky　enough　or　friendless　enough　to　have　no　place　to　go　and　get　drunk　or　stoned。　An　ancient　pinball　machine　that　always　tilted　on　the　third　ball　stuttered　lights　on　and　off　in　the　back　beside　the　rack　of　dirty　books。
When　Sue　walked　in　she　saw　Chris　Hargensen　immediately。　She　was　sitting　in　one　of　the　back　booths。　Her　current　amour；　Billy　Nolan；　was　looking　through　the　latest　issue　of　Popular　Mechanix　at　the　magazine　rack。　Sue　didn't　know　what　a　rich；　Popular　girl　like　Chris　saw　in　Nolan；　who　was　like　some　strange　time　traveller　from　the　1950s　with　his　greased　hair；　zipper…bejewelled　leather　jacket；　and　manifold…bubbling　Chevrolet　road　machine。
'Sue！'　Chris　hailed；　'e　on　over！'
Sue　nodded　and　raised　a　hand；　although　dislike　rose　in　her　throat　like　a　paper　snake。　Looking　at　Chris　was　like　looking　through　a　slanted　doorway　to　a　place　where　Carrie　White　crouched　with　hands　over　her　head。　Predictably　she　found　her　own　hypocrisy　（inherent　in　the　wave　and　the　nod）　inprehensible　and　sickening。　Why　couldn't　she　just　cut　her　dead？
'A　dime　root　beer；'　she　told　Hubie。　Hubie　had　genuine　draft　root　beer；　and　he　served　it　in　huge；　frosted　1890s　mugs。　She　had　been　looking　forward　to　tipping　a　long　one　while　she　read　a　paper　novel　and　waited　for　Tommy　…　in　spite　of　the　havoc　the　root　beers　raised　with　her　plexion；　she　was　hooked。　But　she　wasn't　surprised　to　find　she'd　lost　her　taste　for　this　one。
'How's　your　heart；　Hubie？'　she　asked。
'You　kids；'　Hubie　said；　scraping　the　head　off　Sue's　beer　with　a　table　knife　and　filling　the　mug　the　rest　of　the　way。　'You　don't　understand　nothing。　I　plugged　in　my　electric　razor　this　morning　and　got　a　hundred　a　ten　volts　right　through　this　pacemaker。　You　kids　don't　know　what　that's　like；　am　I　right？'
'I　guess　not。'
'No；　Christ　Jesus　forbid　you　should　ever　have　to　find　out。　How　long　can　my　old　ticket　take　it？　You　kids'll　all　find　out　when　I　buy　the　farm　and　those　urban　renewal　poops　turn　this　place　into　a　parking　lot。　That's　a　dime。'
She　pushed　her　dime　across　the　marble。
'Fifty　million　volts　right　up　the　old　tubes；'　Hubie　said　darkly；　and　stared　down　at　the　small　bulge　in　his　breast　pocket。
Sue　went　over　and　slid　carefully　into　the　vacant　side　of　Chris's　booth。　She　was　looking　exceptionally　pretty；　her　black　hair　held　by　a　shamrock…green　band　and　a　tight　basque　blouse　that　accentuated　her　firm；　upthrust　breasts。
'How　are　you；　Chris？'
'Bitchin'　good；'　Chris　said　a　little　too　blithely。　'You　heard　the　latest？　I'm　out　of　the　prom。　I　bet　that　cocksucker　Grayle　loses　his　job；　though。'
Sue　had　heard　the　latest。　Along　with　everyone　at　Ewen。
'Daddy's　suing　them；'　Chris　went　on。　Over　her　shoulder；　'Billeee！　e　over　here　and　say　hi　to　Sue。'
He　dropped　his　magazine　and　sauntered　over；　thumbs　booked　into　his　side…hitched　garrison　belt；　fingers　dangling　limply　toward　the　stuffed　crotch　of　his　pegged　levis。　Sue　felt　a　wave　of　unreality　surge　over　her　and　fought　an　urge　to　put　her　hands　to　her　face　and　giggle　madly。
'Hi；　Suze；'　Billy　said。　He　slid　in　beside　Chris　and　immediately　began　to　massage　her　shoulder。　His　face　was　utterly　blank。　He　might　have　been　testing　a　cut　of　beef。
'I　think　we're　going　to　crash　the　prom　anyway；'　Chris　said。　'As　a　protest　or　something。'
'Is　that　right？'　Sue　was　frankly　startled。
'No；'　Chris　replied；　dismissing　it；　'I　don't　know。'　Her　face　suddenly　twisted　into　in　expression　of　fury；　as　abrupt　and　surprising　as　a　tornado　funnel。　'That　goddamned　Carrie　White！　I　wish　she'd　taken　her　goddam　holy　joe　routine　and　stuff　it　straight　up　her　ass！'
'You'll　get　over　it；'　Sue　said。
'If　only　the　rest　of　you　had　walked　out　with　me　。。。　Jesus　Sue；　why　didn't　you？　We　could　have　had　them　by　the　balls。　I　never　figured　you　for　an　establishment　pawn。'
Sue　felt　her　face　grow　hot。　'I　don't　know　about　anyone　else；　but　I　wasn't　being　anybody's　pawn。　I　took　the　punishment　because　I　thought　I　earned　it。　We　did　a　suck…off　thing。　End　of　statement。'
'Bullshit。　That　fucking　Carrie　runs　around　saying　everyone　but　her　and　her　gilt…edged　momma　are　going　to　bell　and　you　can　stick　up　for　her？　We　should　have　taken　those　rags　and　stuffed　them　down　her　throat。'
'Sure。　Yeah。　See　you　around；　Chris。'　She　pushed　out　of　the　booth。
This　time　it　was　Chris　who　coloured　the　blood　slammed　to　her　face　in　a　sudden　rush；　as　if　a　red　cloud　had　passed　over　some　inner　sun。
'Aren't　you　getting　to　be　the　Joan　of　Arc　around　here！　I　seem　to　remember　you　were　in　there　pitching　with　the　rest　of　us。'
'Yes；'　Sue　said　trembling。　'But　I　stopped。'
'Oh；　aren't　you　just　it？'　Chris　marvelled。　'Oh　my　yes。　Take　your　root　beer　with　you。　I'm　afraid　I　might　touch　it　and　turn　to　gold。'
She　didn't　take　her　root　beer。　She　turned　and　half…walked；　half…stumbled　out。　The　upset　inside　her　was　very　great；　too　great　yet　for　either　tears　or　anger。　She　was　a　getalong　girl；　and　it　was　the　first　fight　she　had　been　in；　physical　or　verbal；　since　grade…school　pigtail　pulling。　And　it　was　the　first　time　in　her　life　that　she　had　actively　espoused　a　Principle。
And　of　course　Chris　had　hit　her　in　just　the　right　place；　had　hit　her　exactly　where　she　was　most　vulnerable：　She　way　being　a　hypocrite；　there　seemed　no　way　to　avoid　that；　and　deeply；　sheathed　within　her　and　hateful；　was　the　knowledge　that　one　of　the　reasons　she　had　gone　to　Miss　Desjardin's　hour　of　calisthenics　and　sweating　runs　around　the　gym　Floor　had　nothing　to　do　with　nobility。　She　wasn't　going　to　miss　her　last　Spring　Ball　for　anything。　Not　for　anything。
Tommy　was　nowhere　in　sight。
She　began　to　walk　back　toward　the　school；　her　stomach　churning　unhappily；　Little　Miss　Sorority；　Suzy　Creemcheese；　The　Nice　Girl　who　only　does　It　with　the　boy　she　plans　to　marry　…　with　the　proper　Sunday　supplement　coverage；　of　course。　Two　kids。　Beat　the　living　shit　out　of　them　if　they　show　any　signs　of　honesty；　screwing；　fighting；　or　refusing　to　grin　each　time　some　mythic　honcho　yelled　frog。
Spring　Ball。　Blue　gown。　Corsage　kept　all　the　afternoon　in　the　fridge。　Tommy　in　a　white　dinner　jacket；　cummerbund；　black　pants；　black　shoes。　Parents　taking　photos　posed　by　the　living…room　sofa　with　Kodak　Starflashes　and　Polaroid　Big…Shots。　Crepe　masking　the　stark　gymnasium　girders。　Two　bands：　one　rock；　one　mellow。　No　fifth　wheels　need　apply。　Mortimer　Snurd；　please　keep　out。　Aspiring　country　club　members　and　future　residents　of　Kleen　Korners　only。
The　tears　finally　came　and　she　began　to　run。
From　The　Shadow　Exploded　（p。　60）：
The　following　excerpt　is　from　a　letter　to　Donna　Kellogg　from　Christine　Hargensen。　The　Kellogg　girl　moved　from　Chamberlain　to　Providence；　Rhode　Island；　in　the　fall　of　1978。　She　was　apparently　one　of　Chris　Hargensen's　few　close　friends　and　a　confidante。　The　letter　is　postmarked　May　17；1979：
'So　I'm　out　of　the　Prom　and　my　yellow…guts　father　says　he　won't　give　them　what　they　deserve。　But　they're　not　going　to　get　away　with　it。　I　don't　know　what　exactly　I'm　going　to　do　yet　but　I　guarantee　you　everyone　is　going　to　get　a　big　fucking　surprise　。　。　。'
It　was　the　seventeenth。　May　seventeenth。　She　crossed　the；　day　off　the　calendar　in　her　room　as　soon　as　she　slipped　into　her　long　white　nightgown。　She　crossed　off　each　day　as　it　passed　with　a　heavy　black　felt　pen；　and　she　supposed　it　expressed　a　very　bad　attitude　toward　life。　She　didn't　really　care。　The　only　thing　she　really　cared　about　was　knowing　that　Momma　was　going　to　make　her　go　back　to　school　tomorrow　and　she　would　have　to　face　all　of　Them。
She　sat　down　in　the　small　Boston　rocker　（bought　and　paid　for　with　her　own　money）　beside　the　window；　closed　her　eyes；　and　swept　Them　and　all　the　clutter　of　her　conscious　thoughts　from　her　mind。　It　was　like　sweeping　a　floor。　Lift　the　rug　of　your　subconscious　mind　and　sweep　all　the　dirt　unde