sk.carrie-第6节

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　mother　and　I　both　screamed。　We　were　clutching　each　other　like　a　couple　of　girls　in　a　thunderstorm。
'Then　it　stopped。　There　was　no　sound　at　all　from　their　house。　You　could　see　the　water　from　the　melting　ice　trickling　down　their　slate　shingles　in　the　sunshine。　A　great　big　hunk　of　ice　was　stuck　in　the　angle　of　the　roof　and　their　little　chimney。　The　light　on　it　was　so　bright　that　my　eyes　hurt　to　look　at　it。
'My　mother　started　to　ask　me　if　it　was　over；　and　then　Margaret　screamed。　The　sound　came　to　us　very　clearly。　In　a　way　it　was　worse　than　before；　because　there　was　terror　in　this　one。　Then　there　were　clanging；　banging　sounds；　as　if　she　were　throwing　every　pot　and　pan　in　the　house　at　the　girl。
The　back　door　slammed　open　and　slammed　closed。　No　one　came　out。　More　screams。　Mom　said　for　me　to　call　the　police　but　I　couldn't　move。　I　was　stuck　to　the　spot。　Mr　Kirk　and　his　wife　Virginia　came　out　on　their　lawn　to　look。　The　Smiths；　too。　Pretty　soon　everyone　on　the　street　that　was　home　had　e　out；　even　old　Mrs　Warwick　from　up　the　block；　and　she　was　deaf　in　one　ear。
'Things　started　to　crash　and　tinkle　and　break。　Bottles；　glasses；　I　don't　know　what　all。　And　then　the　side　window　broke　open　and　the　kitchen　table　fell　halfway　through。　With　God　as　my　witness。　It　was　a　big　mahogany　thing　and　it　took　the　screen　with　it　and　it　must　have　weighed　three　hundred　pounds。　How　could　a　woman　…　even　a　big　woman　…　throw　that？'
I　ask　her　if　she　is　implying　something。
'I'm　only　telling　you；'　she　insists；　suddenly　distraught。　'I'm　not　asking　you　to　believe…'
She　seems　to　catch　her　breath　and　then　goes　on　flatly：
'There　was　nothing　for　maybe　five　minutes。　Water　was　dripping　out　of　the　gutters　over　there。　And　there　was　ice　all　over　the　Whites'　lawn。　It　was　melting　fast。'
She　gives　a　short；　chopping　laugh　and　butts　her　cigarette。
'Why　not？　It　was　August。'
She　wanders　aimlessly　back　towards　the　sofa；　then　veers　away。　'Then　the　stones。　Right　out　of　the　blue　sky。　Whistling　and　screaming　like　bombs。　My　mother　cried　out；　'What　in　the　name　of　！'　and　put　her　hands　over　her　head。　But　I　couldn't　move。　I　watched　it　all　and　I　couldn't　move。　It　didn't　matter　anyway。　They　only　fell　on　the　Whites'　property。
'One　of　them　hit　a　downspout　and　knocked　it　on　to　the　lawn。　Others　punched　holes　right　through　the　roof　and　into　the　attic。　The　roof　made　a　big　cracking　sound　each　time　one　hit；　and　puffs　of　dust　would　squirt　up。　The　ones　that　hit　the　ground　made　everything　vibrate。　You　could　feel　them　hitting　in　your　feet。
'Our　china　was　tinkling　and　the　fancy　Welsh　dresser　was　shaking　and　Mom's　teacup　fell　on　the　floor　and　broke。
'They　made　big　pits　in　the　Whites'　back　lawn　when　they　struck。　Craters。　Mrs　White　hired　a　junkman　from　across　town　to　cart　them　away；　and　Jerry　Smith　from　up　the　street　paid　him　a　buck　to　let　him　chip　a　piece　of　one。　He　took　it　to　B。U。　and　they　looked　at　it　and　said　it　was　ordinary　granite。
'One　of　the　last　ones　hit　a　little　table　they　had　in　their　back　yard　and　smashed　it　to　pieces。'
'But　nothing；　nothing　that　wasn't　on　their　property　was　hit。'
She　stops　and　turns　from　the　window　to　look　at　me；　and　her　face　is　haggard　from　remembering　all　that。　One　hand　plays　forgetfully　with　her　casually　stylish　shag　haircut。　'Not　much　of　it　got　into　the　local　paper。　By　the　time　Billy　Harris　came　around　…　he　reported　the　Chamberlain　news　…　she　had　already　gotten　the　roof　fixed；　and　when　people　told　him　the　stones　had　gone　right　through　it；　I　think　he　thought　we　were　pulling　his　leg。
'Nobody　wants　to　believe　it；　not　even　now。　You　and　all　the　people　who'll　read　what　you　write　will　wish　they　could　laugh　it　of　and　call　me　just　another　nut　who's　been　out　here　in　the　sun　too　long。　But　it　happened。　There　were　lots　of　people　on　the　block　who　saw　it　happen；　and　it　was　just　as　real　as　that　drunk　leading　the　little　girl　with　the　bloody　nose。　And　now　there's　this　other　thing。　No　one　can　laugh　that　of；　either。　Too　many　people　are　dead。
'And　it's　not　just　on　the　Whites'　property　any　more。'
She　smiles；　but　there's　not　a　drop　of　humour　in　it。　She　says：　'Ralph　White　was　insured；　and　Margaret　got　a　lot　of　money　when　he　died　。。。　double　indemnity。　He　left　the　house　insured；　too；　but　she　never　got　a　penny　of　that。　The　damage　was　caused　by　an　act　of　God。　Poetic　justice；　huh？'
She　laughs　a　little；　but　there's　no　humour　in　that；　either　。。。
Found　written　repeatedly　on　one　page　of　a　Ewen　Consolidated　High　School　notebook　owned　by　Carrie　White：
Everybody's　guessed/that　baby　can't　be　blessed/'til　she　finally　sees　that　she's　like　all　the　rest　。。。
Carrie　went　into　the　house　and　closed　the　door　behind　her。　Bright　daylight　disappeared　and　was　replaced　by　brown　shadows；　coolness；　and　the　oppressive　smell　of　talcum　powder。　The　only　sound　was　the　ticking　of　the　Black　Forest　cuckoo　clock　in　the　living　room。　Momma　had　gotten　the　cuckoo　clock　with　Green　Stamps。　Once；　in　the　sixth　grade；　Carrie　had　set　out　to　ask　Momma　if　Green　Stamps　weren't　sinful；　but　her　nerve　had　failed　her。
She　walked　up　the　hall　and　put　her　coat　in　the　closet。　A　luminous　picture　above　the　coathooks　limned　a　ghostly　Jesus　hovering　grimly　over　a　family　seated　at　the　kitchen　table。　Beneath　was　the　caption　（also　luminous）：　The　Unseen　Guest。
She　went　into　the　living　room　and　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　faded；　starting…to…be…threadbare　rug。　She　closed　her　eyes　and　watched　the　little　dots　flash　by　in　the　darkness。　Her　headache　thumped　queasily　behind　her　temples。
Alone。
Momma　worked　on　the　speed　ironer　and　folder　down　at　the　Blue　Ribbon　Laundry　in　Chamberlain　Centre。　She　had　worked　there　since　Carrie　was　five；　when　the　pensation　and　insurance　that　had　resulted　from　her　father's　accident　had　begun　to　run　out。　Her　hours　were　from　seven…thirty　in　the　morning　until　four　in　the　afternoon。　The　laundry　was　Godless。　Momma　had　told　her　so　many　times。　The　foreman；　Mr　Elton　Mott；　was　especially　Godless。　Momma　said　that　Satan　had　reserved　a　special　blue　corner　of　Hell　for　Elt；　as　he　was　called　at　the　Blue　Ribbon。
Alone。
She　opened　her　eyes。　The　living　room　contained　two　chairs　with　straight　backs。　There　was　a　sewing　table　with　a　light　where　Carrie　sometimes　made　dresses　in　the　evening　while　Momma　tatted　doilies　and　talked　about　The　ing。　The　Black　Forest　cuckoo　clock　was　on　the　far　wall。
There　were　many　religious　pictures；　but　the　one　Carrie　liked　best　was　on　the　wall　above　her　chair。　It　was　Jesus　leading　lambs　on　a　hill　that　was　as　green　and　smooth　as　the　Riverside　golf　course。　The　others　were　not　as　tranquil：　Jesus　turning　the　money…changers　from　the　temple；　Moses　throwing　the　Tablets　down　upon　the　worshippers　of　the　golden　calf；　Thomas　the　Doubter　putting　his　hand　on　Christ's　wounded　side　（oh；　the　horrified　fascination　of　that　one　and　the　nightmares　it　had　given　her　as　a　girl！）；　Noah's　ark　floating　above　the　agonized；　drowning　sinners；　Lot　and　his　family　fleeing　the　great　burning　of　Sodom　and　Gomorrah。
On　a　small　deal　table　there　were　a　lamp　and　a　stack　of　tracts。　The　top　pamphlet　showed　a　sinner　（his　spiritual　status　was　obvious　from　the　agonized　expression　on　his　face）　trying　to　crawl　beneath　a　large　boulder。　The　title　blared：　Neither　shall　the　rock　hide　him　ON　THAT　DAY！
But　the　room　was　actually　dominated　by　a　huge　plaster　crucifix　on　the　far　wall；　fully　four　feet　high。　Momma　had　mail…ordered　it　special　from　St　Louis。　The　Jesus　impaled　upon　it　was　frozen　in　a　grotesque；　muscle…straining　rictus　of　pain；　mouth　drawn　down　in　a　groaning　curve。　His　crown　of　thorns　bled　scarlet　streams　down　temples　and　forehead。　The　eyes　were　turned　up　in　a　medieval　expression　of　slanted　agony。　Both　hands　were　also　drenched　with　blood　and　the　feet　were　nailed　to　a　small　plaster　platform。　This　corpus　had　also　given　Carrie　endless　nightmares　in　which　the　mutilated　Christ　chased　her　through　dream　corridors；　holding　a　mallet　and　nails；　begging　her　to　take　up　her　cross　and　follow　Him。　Just　lately　these　dreams　had　evolved　into　something　less　understandable　but　more　sinister。　The　object　did　not　seem　to　be　murder　but　something　even　more　awful。
Alone。
The　pain　in　her　legs　and　belly　and　privates　had　drained　away　a　little。　She　no　longer　thought　she　was　bleeding　to　death。　The　word　was　menstruation；　and　all　at　once　it　seemed　logical　and　inevitable。　It　was　her　Time　of　the　Month。　She　giggled　a　strange；　affrighted　giggle　in　the　solemn　stillness　of　the　flying　room。　It　sounded　like　a　quiz　show。　You　too　can　win　an　all…expenses…paid　trip　to　Bermuda　on　Time　of　the　Month。　Like　the　memory　of　the　stones；　the　knowledge　of　menstruation　seemed　always　to　have　been　there；　blocked　but　waiting。
She　turned　and　walked　heavily　upstairs。　The　bathroom　had　a　wooden　floor　that　had　been　scrubbed　nearly　white　（Cleanliness　is　next　to　Godliness）　and　a　tub　on　claw　feet。　Rust　stains　dripped　down　the　porcelain　below　the　chrome　spout；　and　there　was　no　shower　attachment。　Momma　said　showers　were　sinful。
Carrie　went　in；　opened　the　towel　cabinet；　and　began　to　hunt　purposefully　but　carefully；　not　leaving　anything　out　of　place。　Momma's　eyes　were　sharp。
The　blue　box　was　in　the　very　back；　behind　the　old　towels　they　didn't　use　any　more。　There　was　a　fuzzily　silhouetted　woman　in　a　long；　filmy　gown　on　the　side。
She　took　one　of　the　napkins　out　and　looked　at　it　curiously。　She　had　blotted　the　lipstick　she　stuck　into