sk.carrie-第7节

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She　took　one　of　the　napkins　out　and　looked　at　it　curiously。　She　had　blotted　the　lipstick　she　stuck　into　her　purse　quite　openly　with　these　…　once　on　a　street　corner。　Now　she　remembered　（or　imagined　she　did）　quizzical；　shocked　looks。　Her　face　flamed。　They　had　told　her。　The　flush　faded　to　a　milky　anger。
She　went　into　her　tiny　bedroom。　There　were　many　more　religious　pictures　here；　but　there　were　more　lambs　and　fewer　scenes　of　righteous　wrath。　A　Ewen　pennant　was　tacked　over　the　dresser。　On　the　dresser　itself　was　a　Bible　and　a　plastic　Jesus　that　glowed　in　the　dark。
She　undressed　…　first　her　blouse；　then　her　hateful　kneelength　skirt；　her　slip；　her　girdle；　her　pettipants；　her　garter　belt；　her　stockings；　She　looked　at　the　pile　of　heavy　clothes；　their　buttons　and　rubber；　with　an　expression　of　fierce　wretchedness。　In　the　school　library　there　was　a　stack　of　back　issues　of　Seventeen　and　often　she　leafed　through　them；　pasting　an　expression　of　idiotic　casualness　on　her　face。　The　models　looked　so　easy　and　smooth　in　their　short；　kicky　skirts；　pantyhose；　and　frilly　underwear　with　patterns　on　them。　Of　course　easy　was　one　of　Momma's　pet　words　（she　knew　what　Momma　would　say　to　a　question）　to　describe　them。　And　it　would　make　her　dreadfully　self…conscious；　she　knew　that。　Naked；　evil；　blackened　with　the　sin　of　exhibitionism；　the　breeze　blowing　lewdly　up　the　backs　of　her　legs；　inciting　lust。　And　she　knew　that　they　would　know　how　she　felt。　They　always　did。　They　would　embarrass　her　somehow；　push　her　savagely　back　into　clowndom。　It　was　their　way。
She　could；　she　knew　she　could　be
（what）
in　another　place。　She　was　thick　through　the　waist　only　because　sometimes　she　felt　so　miserable；　empty；　bored；　that　the　only　way　to　fill　that　gaping；　whistling　hole　was　to　eat　and　eat　and　eat…but　she　was　not　that　thick　through　the　middle。　Her　body　chemistry　would　not　allow　her　to　go　beyond　a　certain　point。　And　she　thought　her　legs　were　actually　pretty；　almost　as　pretty　as　Sue　Snell's　or　Vicky　Hans's。　She　could　be
（what　o　what　o　what）　
could　stop　the　chocolates　and　her　pimples　would　go　down。　They　always　did。　She　could　fix　her　hair。　Buy　pantyhose　and　blue　and　green　tights。　Make　little　skirts　and　dresses　from　Butterick　and　Simplicity　patterns。　The　price　of　a　bus　ticket；　a　train　ticket。　She　could　be；　could　be；　could　be
Alive。
She　unsnapped　her　heavy　cotton　bra　and　let　it　fall。　Her　breasts　were　milk…white；　upright　and　smooth。　The　nipples　were　a　light　coffee　colour。　She　ran　her　hands　over　them　and　a　little　shiver　went　through　her。　Evil；　bad；　oh　it　was。　Momma　had　told　her　there　was　Something。　The　Something　was　dangerous；　ancient；　unutterably　evil。　It　could　make　you　Feeble。　Watch；　Momma　said。　It　es　at　night。　It　will　make　you　think　of　the　evil　that　goes　on　in　parking　lots　and　roadhouses。
But；　though　this　was　only　nine…twenty　in　the　morning；　Carrie　thought　that　the　Something　had　e　to　her。　She　ran　her　hands　over　her　breasts
（dirtypillows）　
again；　and　the　skin　was　cool　but　the　nipples　were　hot　and　hard；　and　when　she　tweaked　one　it　made　her　feel　weak　and　dissolving。　Yes；　this　was　the　Something。
Her　underpants　were　spotted　with　blood。
Suddenly　she　felt　that　she　must　burst　into　tears；　scream；　or　rip　the　Something　out　of　her　body　whole　and；　beating；　crush　it；　kill　it。
The　napkin　Miss　Desjardin　had　fixed　was　already　wilting　and　she　changed　it　carefully；　knowing　how　bad　she　was；　how　bad　they　were；　how　she　hated　them　and　herself。　Only　Momma　was　good。　Momma　had　battled　the　Black　Man　and　had　vanquished　him。　Carrie　had　seen　it　happen　in　a　dream。　Momma　had　driven　him　out　of　the　front　door　with　a　broom；　and　the　Black　Man　had　fled　up　Carlin　Street　into　the　night；　his　cloven　feet　striking　red　sparks　from　the　cement。
Her　momma　had　torn　the　Something　out　of　herself　and　was　pure。
Carrie　hated　her。
She　caught　a　glimpse　of　her　own　face　in　the　tiny　mirror　she　had　hung　on　the　back　of　the　door；　a　mirror　with　a　cheap　green　plastic　rim；　good　only　for　bing　hair　by。
She　hated　her　face；　her　dull；　stupid；　bovine　face；　the　vapid　eyes；　the　red；　shiny　pimples；　the　nests　of　black　heads。　She　hated　her　face　most　of　all。
The　reflection　was　suddenly　split　by　a　jagged；　silvery　crack。　The　mirror　fell　on　the　floor　and　shattered　at　her　feet；　leaving　only　the　plastic　ring　to　stare　at　her　like　a　blinded　eye。
From　Ogilvie's　Dictionary　of　Physic　Phenomena：
Telekinesis　is　the　ability　to　move　objects　or　to　cause　changes　in　objects　by　force　of　the　mind。　The　phenomenon　has　most　reliably　been　reported　in　times　of　crisis　or　in　stress　situations；　when　automobiles　have　been　levitated　from　pinned　bodies　or　debris　from　collapsed　buildings；　etc。
The　phenomenon　is　often　confused　with　the　work　of　poltergeists；　which　are　playful　spirits。　It　should　be　noted　that　poltergeists　are　astral　beings　of　questionable　reality；　while　telekinesis　is　thought　to　be　an　empiric　function　of　the　mind；　possibly　electrochemical　in　nature　。。。
When　they　had　finished　making　love；　as　she　slowly　put　her　clothes　in　order　in　the　back　seat　of　Tommy　Ross's　1963　Ford；　Sue　Snell　found　her　thoughts　turning　back　to　Carrie　White。
It　was　Friday　night　and　Tommy　（who　was　still　looking　pensively　out　the　back　window　with　his　pants　still　down　around　his　ankles；　the　effect　was　ic　but　oddly　endearing）　had　taken　her　bowling。　That；　of　course；　was　a　mutually　accepted　excuse。　Fornication　had　been　on　their　minds　from　the　word　go。
She　had　been　going　out　more　or　less　steadily　with　Tommy　ever　since　October　（it　was　now　May）　and　they　had　been　lovers　for　only　two　weeks。　Seven　times；　she　amended。　Tonight　had　been　the　seventh。　There　had　been　no　fireworks　yet；　no　bands　playing　'Stars　and　Stripes　Forever；'　but　it　had　gotten　a　little　better。
The　first　time　had　hurt　like　hell。　Her　girl　friends；　Helen　Shyres　and　Jeanne　Gault；　had　both　done　It；　and　they　both　assured　her　that　it　only　hurt　for　a　minute　…　like　getting　a　shot　of　penicillin　…　and　then　it　was　roses。　But　for　Sue；　the　first　time　had　been　like　being　reamed　out　with　a　hoe　handle。　Tommy　had　confessed　to　her　since；　with　a　grin；　that　he　had　gotten　the　rubber　on　wrong；　too。
Tonight　was　only　the　second　time　she　had　begun　to　feel　something　like　pleasure；　and　then　it　was　over。　Tommy　had　held　out　for　as　long　as　he　could；　but　then　it　was　just。。。　over。　It　seemed　like　an　awful　lot　of　rubbing　for　a　little　warmth。
In　the　aftermath　she　felt　low　and　melancholy；　and　her　thoughts　turned　to　Carrie　in　this　light。　A　wave　of　remorse　caught　her　with　all　emotional　guards　down；　and　when　Tommy　turned　back　from　the　view　of　Brickyard　Rill；　she　was　crying。
'Hey；'　he　said；　alarmed。　'Oh；　hey。'　He　held　her　clumsily。
'It's　all　right；'　she　said　still　weeping。　'It's　not　you。　I　did　a　not…so…good　thing　today。　I　was　just　thinking　of　it。'
'What？'　He　patted　the　back　of　her　neck　gently。
So　she　found　herself　launching　into　the　story　of　that　morning's　incident；　hardly　believing　it　was　herself　she　was　listening　to。　Facing　the　thing　frankly；　she　realized　the　main　reason　she　had　allowed　Tommy　to　have　her　was　because　she　was　in
（love？　infatuation？　didn't　matter　results　were　the　same）
with　him；　and　now　to　put　herself　in　this　position…cohort　in　a　nasty　shower…room　joke…was　hardly　the　approved　method　to　hook　a　fellow。　And　Tommy　was；　of　course；　Popular。　As　someone　who　had　been　Popular　herself　all　her　life；　it　had　almost　seemed　written　that　she　would　meet　and　fall　in　love　with　someone　as　Popular　as　she。　They　were　almost　certain　to　be　voted　King　and　Queen　of　the　highschool　Spring　Ball；　and　the　senior　class　had　already　voted　them　class　couple　for　the　yearbook。　They　had　bee　a　fixed　star　in　the　shifting　firmament　of　the　high　school's　relationships；　the　acknowledged　Romeo　and　Juliet。　And　she　knew　with　sudden　hatefulness　that　there　was　one　couple　like　them　in　every　white　suburban　high　school　in　America。
And　having　something　she　had　always　longed　for　…　a　sense　of　place；　of　security；　of　status　…　she　found　that　it　carried　uneasiness　with　it　like　a　darker　sister。　It　was　not　the　way　she　had　conceived　it。　There　were　dark　things　lumbering　around　their　warm　circle　of　light。　The　idea　that　she　had　let　him　fuck　her
（do　you　have　to　say　it　that　way　yes　this　time　I　do）　
simply　because　he　was　Popular；　for　instance。　The　fact　that　they　fit　together　walking；　or　that　she　could　look　at　their　reflection　in　a　store　window　and　think。　There　goes　a　handsome　couple。　She　was　quite　sure
（or　only　hopeful）
that　she　wasn't　that　weak；　not　that　liable　to　fall　docilely　into　the　placent　expectations　of　parents；　friends；　and　even　herself。　But　now　there　was　this　shower　thing；　where　she　had　gone　along　and　pitched　in　with　high；　savage　glee。　The　word　she　was　avoiding　was　expressed　To　Conform；　in　the　infinitive；　and　it　conjured　up　miserable　images　of　hair　in　rollers；　long　afternoons　in　front　of　the　ironing　board　in　front　of　the　soap　operas　while　hubby　was　off　busting　heavies　in　an　anonymous　Office；　of　joining　the　P。T。A。　and　then　the　country　club　when　their　ine　moved　into　five　figures；　of　pills　in　circular　yellow　cases　without　number　to　insure　against　having　to　move　out　of　the　misses'　size　before　it　became　absolutely　necessary　and　against　the　intrusion　of　repulsive　little　strangers　who　shat　in　their　pants　and　screamed　for　help　at　two　in　the　morning；　of　fighting　with　desperate　decorum　to　keep　the　niggers　out　of　Kleen