sk.carrie-第36节

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（you　tricked　me　that　happened　trick　trick　trick　o　dirty　trick）
The　mixture　of　image　and　emotion　was　staggering；　indescribable。　Blood。　Sadness。　Fear。　The　latest　dirty　trick　in　a　long　series　of　dirty　tricks：　they　flashed　by　in　a　dizzying　shuffle　that　made　Sue's　mind　reel　helplessly；　hopelessly。　They　shared　the　awful　totality　of　perfect　knowledge。
（carrie　don't　don't　don't　hurts　me）
Now　girls　throwing　sanitary　napkins；　chanting；　laughing；　Sue's　face　mirrored　in　her　own　mind：　ugly；　caricatured　all　mouth；　cruelly　beautiful。
（see　the　dirty　tricks　see　my　whole　life　one　long　dirty　trick）
（look　carrie　look　inside　me）
And　Carrie　looked。
The　sensation　was　terrifying。　Her　mind　and　nervous　system　had　bee　a　library。　Someone　in　desperate　need　ran　through　her；　fingers　trailing　lightly　over　shelves　of　books；　lifting　some　out；　scanning　them；　putting　them　back；　letting　some　fall；　leaving　the　pages　to　flutter　wildly
（glimpses　that's　me　as　a　kid　hate　him　daddy　o　mommy　wide　lips　o　teeth　bobby　pushed　me　o　my　knee　car　want　to　ride　in　the　car　we're　going　to　see　aunt　cecily　mommy　e　quick　i　made　pee）
in　the　wind　of　memory；　and　still　on　and　on；　finally　reaching　a　shelf　marked　TOMMY；　subheaded　PROM。　Books　thrown　open；　flashes　of　experience；　marginal　notations　in　all　the　hiergglyphs　of　emotion；　more　plex　than　the　Rosetta　Stone。
Looking。　Finding　more　than　Sue　herself　had　suspected…love　for　Tommy；　jealousy；　selfishness；　a　need　to　subjugate　him　to　her　will　on　the　matter　of　taking　Carrie；　disgust　for　Carrie　herself；
（she　could　take　better　care　of　herself　she　does　look　just　like　a　GODDAM　TOAD）
hate　for　Miss　Desjardin；　hate　for　herself。
But　no　ill　will　for　Carrie　personally；　no　plan　to　get　her　in　front　of　everyone　and　undo　her。
The　feverish　feeling　of　being　raped　in　her　most　secret　corridors　began　to　fade。　She　felt　Carrie　puffing　back；　weak　and　exhausted。
（why　didn't　you　just　leave　me　alone）
（carrie　i）
（momma　would　be　alive　i　killed　my　momma　i　want　her　o　it　hurts　my　chest　my　shoulder　o　o　o　i　want　my　momma）
（carrie　i）
And　there　was　no　way　to　finish　that　thought；　nothing　there　to　plete　it　with。　Sue　was　suddenly　overwhelmed　with　terror；　the　worse　because　she　could　put　no　name　to　it：　The　bleeding　freak　on　this　oil…stained　asphalt　suddenly　seemed　meaningless　and　awful　in　its　pain　and　dying。
（o　momma　i'm　scared　momma　MOMMA）
Sue　tried　to　pull　away；　to　disengage　her　mind；　to　allow　Carrie　at　least　the　privacy　of　her　dying；　and　was　unable　to。　She　felt　that　she　was　dying　herself　and　did　not　want　to　see　this　preview　of　her　own　eventual　end。
（carrie　let　me　GO）
（Momma　Momma　Momma　oooooooooooo　0000000）
The　mental　scream　reached　a　flaring；　unbelievable　crescendo　and　then　suddenly　faded。　For　a　moment　Sue　felt　as　if　she　were　watching　a　candle　flame　disappear　down　a　long；　black　tunnel　at　a　tremendous　speed。
（she's　dying　o　my　god　i'm　feeling　her　die）
And　then　the　fight　was　gone；　and　the　last　conscious　thought　had　been
（momma　i'm　sorry　where）
and　it　broke　up　and　Sue　was　tuned　in　only　on　the　blank；　idiot　frequency　of　the　physical　nerve　endings　that　would　take　hours　to　die。
She　stumbled　away　from　it；　holding　her　arms　out　in　front　of　her　like　a　blind　woman；　toward　the　edge　of　the　parking　lot。　She　tripped　over　the　knee…high　guard　rail　and　tumbled　down　the　embankment。　She　got　to　her　feet　and　stumbled　into　the　field；　which　was　filling　with　mystic　white　pockets　of　ground　mist。　Crickets　chirruped　mindlessly　and　a　whippoorwill
（whippoorwill　somebody's　dying）
called　in　the　great　stillness　of　morning。
She　began　to　run；　breathing　deep　in　her　chest；　running　from　Tommy；　from　the　fires　and　explosions；　from　Carrie；　but　mostly　from　the　final　horror…that　last　lighted　thought　carried　swiftly　down　into　the　black　tunnel　of　eternity；　followed　by　the　blank；　idiot　hum　of　prosaic　electricity。
The　after…image　began　to　fade　reluctantly；　leaving　a　blessed；　cooling　darkness　in　her　mind　that　knew　nothing。　She　slowed；　halted；　and　became　aware　that　something　had　begun　to　happen。　She　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　great　and　misty　field。　waiting　for　realization。
Her　rapid　breathing　slowed；　slowed；　caught　suddenly　as　if　on　a　thorn
And　suddenly　vented　itself　in　one　howling；　cheated　scream。
As　she　felt　the　slow　course　of　dark　menstrual　blood　down　her　thighs。
Part　Three
Wreckage

From　the　national　AP　ticker；　Friday；　June　5；　1979：
CHAMBERLAIN；　MAINE　（AP）
STATE　OFFICIALS　SAY　THAT　THE　DEATH　TOLL　IN　CHAMBERLAIN　STANDS　AT　409；　WITH　49　STILL　LISTED　AS　MISSING。　INVESTIGATION　CONCERNING　CARIETTA　WHITE　AND　THE　SO…CALLED　'TK'　PHENOMENA　CONTINUES　AMID　PERSISTENT　RUMOURS　THAT　AN　AUTOPSY　ON　THE　WHITE　GIRL　HAS　UNCOVERED　CERTAIN　UNUSUAL　FORMATIONS　IN　THE　CEREBRUM　AND　CEREBELLUM　OF　THE　BRAIN。　THIS　STATES　GOVERNOR　HAS　APPOINTED　A　BLUE…RIBBON　MITTEE　TO　STUDY　THE　ENTIRE　TRAGEDY。　ENDS。　FINAL　JUNE　5　030　N　AP
From　The　Lewiston　Daily　Sun；　Sunday；　September　7　（p。　3）：
The　Legacy　of　TK
Scorched　Earth　and　Scorched　Hearts
CHAMBERLAIN　…　Prom　Night　is　history　now。　Pundits　have　been　saying　for　centuries　that　time　heals　all　wounds；　but　the　hurt　of　this　small　Western　Maine　town　may　be　mortal。　The　residential　streets　are　still　there　on　the　town's　East　Side；　guarded　by　graceful　Oaks　that　have　stood　for　two　hundred　years；　the　trim　saltboxes　and　ranch　styles　on　Morin　Street　and　Brickyard　Hill　are　still　neat　and　undamaged。　But　this　New　England　pastoral　lies　on　the　rim　of　a　blackened　and　shattered　hub；　and　many　of　the　neat　houses　have　FOR　SALE　signs　on　their　front　lawns。　Those　still　occupied　are　marked　by　black　wreaths　on　front　doors。　Bright…yellow　Allied　vans　and　orange　U…Hauls　of　varying　sizes　are　a　mon　sight　on　Chamberlain's　streets　these　days。
The　town's　major　industry；　Chamberlain　Mills　and　Weaving；　still　stands；　untouched　by　the　fire　that　raged　over　much　of　the　town　on　those　two　days　in　May。　But　it　has　only　been　running　one　shift　since　July　4th；　and　according　to　mill　president　William　A。　Chamblis；　further　lay…offs　are　a　strong　possibility。　'We　have　the　orders；'　Chamblis　said；　'but　you　can't　run　a　mill　without　people　to　punch　the　time　clock。　We　don't　have　them。　I've　gotten　notice　from　thirty…four　men　since　August　15th。　The　only　thing　we　can　see　to　do　now　is　close　up　the　dye　house　and　job　our　work　out。　We'd　hate　to　let　the　men　go；　but　this　thing　is　getting　down　to　a　matter　of　financial　survival。'
Roger　Fearon　has　lived　in　Chamberlain　for　twenty…two　years；　and　has　been　with　the　mill　for　eighteen　of　those　years。　He　has　risen　during　that　time　from　a　third…floor　bagger　making　seventy…three　cents　an　hour　to　dye…house　foreman；　yet　he　seems　strangely　unmoved　by　the　possibility　of　losing　his　job。　'I'd　lose　a　damned　good　wage；'　Fearon　said。　'It's　not　something　you　take　lightly。　The　wife　and　I　have　talked　it　over。　We　could　sell　the　house　…　it's　worth　20；000　easy　…　and　although　we　probably　won't　realize　half　of　that；　we'll　probably　go　ahead　and　put　it　up。　Doesn't　matter。　We　don't　really　want　to　five　in　Chamberlain　any　more。　Call　it　what　you　want　but　Chamberlain　has　gone　bad　for　us。'
Fearon　is　not　alone。　Henry　Kelly；　proprietor　of　a　tobacco　shop　and　soda　fountain　called　the　Kelly　Fruit　until　Prom　Night　levelled　it；　has　no　plans　to　rebuild。　'The　kids　are　gone；'　he　shrugs。　'If　I　opened　up　again；　there'd　be　too　many　ghosts　in　too　many　corners。　I'm　going　to　take　the　insurance　money　and　retire　to　St　Petersburg。'
A　week　after　the　tornado　of　'54　had　cut　its　path　of　death　and　destruction　through　Worcester；　the　air　was　filled　with　the　sound　of　hammers；　the　smell　of　new　timber；　and　a　feeling　of　optimism　and　human　resilience。　There　is　none　of　that　in　Chamberlain　this　fall。　The　main　road　has　been　cleared　of　rubble　and　that　is　about　the　extent　of　it。　The　faces　that　you　meet　are　full　of　dull　hopelessness。　Men　drink　beer　without　talking　in　Frank's　Bar　on　the　corner　of　Sullivan　Street；　and　women　exchange　tales　of　grief　and　loss　in　back　yards。　Chamberlain　has　been　declared　a　disaster　area；　and　money　is　available　to　help　put　the　town　back　on　its　feet　and　begin　rebuilding　the　business　district。
But　the　main　business　of　Chamberlain　in　the　last　four　months　has　been　funerals。
Four　hundred　and　forty　are　now　known　dead；　eighteen　more　still　unaccounted　for。　And　sixty…seven　of　the　dead　were　Ewen　High　School　Seniors　on　the　verge　of　graduation。　It　is　this；　perhaps；　more　than　anything　else；　that　has　taken　the　guts　out　of　Chamberlain。
They　were　buried　on　June　1　and　2　in　three　mass　ceremonies。　A　memorial　service　was　held　on　June　3　in　the　town　square。　It　was　the　most　moving　ceremony　that　this　reporter　has　ever　witnessed。　Attendance　was　in　the　thousands；　and　the　entire　assemblage　was　still　as　the　school　band；　stripped　from　fifty…six　to　a　bare　forty；　played　the　school　song　and　taps。
There　was　a　sombre　graduation　ceremony　the　following　week　at　neighbouring　Motton　Academy；　but　there　were　only　fifty…two　Seniors　left　to　graduate。　The　valedictorian；　Henry　Stampel；　broke　into　tears　halfway　through　his　speech　and　could　not　continue。　There　were　no　Graduation　Night　parties　following　the　ceremony；　the　Seniors　merely　took　their　diplomas　and　went　home。
And　still；　as　the　summer　progressed；　the　hearses　continued　to　roll　as　more　bodies　were　discovered。　To　some　residents　it　seemed　that　each　day　the　scab　was　ripped　69　again；　so　that　the　wound　could　bleed　afresh。
If　you　are　on