sk.petsematary-第30节

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k　pole　Road；　buried　his　prize　bull　Hanratty　in　the　Micmac　burying　ground　back　in　1967　or　'68。　Ha；　ha！　He　told　me　that　he　and　his　two　boys　had　taken　that　bull　out　there　and　1　laughed　until　I　thought　1　would　rupture　myself！　But　people　around　here　don't　like　to　talk　about　it；　and　they　don't　like　people　they　consider　to　be　〃outsiders〃　to　know　about　it；　not　because　some　of　these　old　superstitions　go　back　three　hundred　years　or　more　（although　they　do）；　but　because　they　sort　of　believe　in　those　superstitions；　and　they　think　any　〃outsider〃　who　knows　that　they　do　must　be　laughing　at　them。　Does　that　make　any　sense？　I　suspect　it…doesn't；　but　nevertheless　that's　how　it　is。　So　just　do　me　a　favor　and　keep　shut　on　the　subject；　will　you？
　　We　will　talk　more　about　this；　probably　tonight；　and　by　then　you　will　understand　more；　but　in　the　meantime　I　want　to　tell　you　that　you　did　yourself　proud。　I　knew　you　would。
　　Jud
　　PS…Norma　doesn't　know　what　this　note　says…I　told　her　something　different…and　I　would　just　as　soon　keep　it　that　way　if　it's　all　the　same　to　you。　I've　told　Norma　more　than　one　lie　in　the　fifty…eight　years　we've　been　married；　and　I'd　guess　that　most　men　tell　their　wives　a　smart　of　lies；　but　you　know；　most　of　them　could　stand　before　God　and　confess　them　without　dropping　their　eyes　from　His。
　　Well；　drop　over　tonight　and　we'll　do　a　little　boozing。
　　J。Louis　stood　on　the　top　step　leading　to　Jud　and　Norma's　porch…　now　bare；　its　fortable　rattan　furniture　stored　to　wait　for　another　spring…frowning　over　this　note。　Don't　tell　Ellie　the　cat　had　been　killed…he　hadn't。　Other　animals　buried　there？　Superstitions　going　back　three　hundred　years？　and　by　then　you　will　understand　more。
　　He　touched　this　line　lightly　with　his　finger；　and　for　the　first　time　allowed　his　mind　to　deliberately　turn　back　to　what　they　had　done　the　night　before。　It　was　blurred　in　his　memory；　it　had　the　melting；　cotton…candy　texture　of　dreams　or　of　waking　actions　performed　under　a　light　haze　of　drugs。　He　could　recall　climbing　the　deadfall　and　the　odd；　brighter　quality　of　light　in　the　bog…that　and　the　way　it　had　felt　ten　or　twenty　degrees　warmer　there…but　all　of　it　was　like　the　conversation　you　had　with　the　anesthetist　just　before　he　or　she　put　you　out　like　a　light　and　I'd　guess　most　men　tell　their　wives　a　smart　of　lies。　。　。
　　Wives　and　daughters　as　well；　Louis　thought…but　it　was　eerie；　the　way　Jud　seemed　almost　to　know　what　had　transpired　this　morning；　both　on　the　telephone　and　in　his　own　head。
　　Slowly　he　refolded　the　note；　which　had　been　written　on　a　sheet　of　lined　paper　like　that　in　a　schoolboy's　Blue　Horse　tablet；　and　put　it　back　into　the　envelope。　He　put　the　envelope　into　his　hip　pocket　and　crossed　the　road　again。
　　　25
　　It　was　around　one　o'clock　that　afternoon　when　Church　came　back　like　the　cat　in　the　nursery　rhyme。　Louis　was　in　the　garage；　where　he　had　been　working　off　and　on　for　the　last　six　weeks　on　a　fairly　ambitious　set　of　shelves；　he　wanted　to　put　all　of　the　dangerous　garage　stuff　such　as　bottles　of　windshield…wiper　fluid；　antifreeze；　and　sharp　tools　on　these　shelves；　where　they　would　be　out　of　Gage's　reach。　He　was　hammering　in　a　nail　when　Church　strolled　in；　his　tail　high。　Louis　did　not　drop　the　hammer　or　even　slam　his　thumb…his　heart　jogged　in　his　chest　but　did　not　leap；　a　hot　wire　seemed　to　glow　momentarily　in　his　stomach　and　then　cool　immediately；　like　the　filament　of　a　light　bulb　that　glows　overbrightly　for　a　moment　and　then　burns　out。　It　was　as　if；　he　told　himself　later；　he　had　spent　that　entire　sunny　post…Thanksgiving　Friday　morning　waiting　for　Church　to　e　back；　as　if　he　had　known　in　some　deeper；　more　primitive　part　of　his　mind　what　their　night　hike　up　to　the　Micmac　burying　ground　had　meant　all　along。
　　He　put　the　hammer　down　carefully；　spat　the　nails　he　had　been　holding　in　his　mouth　back　into　his　palm；　and　then　dumped　them　into　the　pockets　of　his　workman's　apron。　He　went　to　Church　and　picked　the　cat　up。
　　Live　weight；　he　thought　with　a　kind　of　sick　excitement。　He　weighs　what　he　did　before　he　was　hit。　This　is　live　weight。　He　was　heavier　in　the　bag。　He　was　heavier　when　he　was　dead。
　　His　heart　took　a　bigger　jog　this　time…almost　a　leap…and　for　a　moment　the　garage　seemed　to　swim　in　front　of　his　eyes。
　　Church　laid　his　ears　back　and　allowed　himself　to　be　held。　Louis　carried　him　out　into　the　sunlight　and　sat　down　on　the　back　steps。　The　cat　tried　to　get　down　then；　but　Louis　stroked　him　and　held　him　on　his　lap。　His　heart　seemed　to　be　taking　regular　jogs　now。
　　He　probed　gently　into　the　heavy　ruff　of　fur　at　Church's　neck；　remembering　the　sick；　boneless　way　Church's　head　had　swiveled　on　his　broken　neck　the　night　before。　He　felt　nothing　now　but　good　muscle　and　tendon。　He　held　Church　up　and　looked　at　the　cat's　muzzle　closely。　…What　he　saw　there　caused　him　to　drop　the　cat　onto　the　grass　quickly　and　to　cover　his　face　with　one　hand；　his　eyes　shut。　The　whole　world　was　swimming　now；　and　his　head　was　full　of　a　tottery；　sick　vertigo…it　was　the　sort　of　feeling　he　could　remember　from　the　bitter　end　of　long　drunks；　just　before　the　puking　started。
　　There　was　dried　blood　caked　on　Church's　muzzle；　and　caught　in　his　long　whiskers　were　two　tiny　shreds　of　green　plastic。　Bits　of　Hefty　Bag。
　　We　will　talk　more　about　this　and　by　then　you　will　understand　more。
　　Oh　Christ；　he　understood　more　than　he　wanted　to　right　now。　Give　me　a　chance；　Louis　thought；　and　I'll　understand　myself　right　into　the　nearest　mental　asylum。
　　He　let　Church　into　the　house；　got　his　blue　dish；　and　opened　a　tuna…and…liver　cat　dinner。　As　he　spooned　the　gray…brown　mess　out　of　the　can；　Church　purred　unevenly　and　rubbed　back　and　forth　along　Louis's　ankles。　The　feel　of　the　cat　caused　Louis　to　break　out　in　gooseflesh；　and　he　had　to　clench　his　teeth　grimly　to　keep　from　kicking　him　away。　His　furry　sides　felt　somehow　too　slick；　too　thick…in　a　word；　loathsome。　Louis　found　he　didn't　care　if　he　never　touched　Church　again。
　　When　he　bent　and　put　the　dish　on　the　floor；　Church　streaked　past　him　to　get　it；　and　Louis　could　have　sworn　he　smelled　sour　earth…as　if　it　had　been　ground　into　the　cat's　fur。
　　He　stood　back；　watching　the　cat　eat。　He　could　hear　him　smacking…had　Church　smacked　over　his　food　that　way　before？　Perhaps　he　had；　and　Louis　had　just　never　noticed。　Either　way；　it　was　a　disgusting　sound。　Gross；　Ellie　would　have　said。
　　Abruptly　Louis　turned　and　went　upstairs。　He　started　at　a　walk；　but　by　the　time　he　got　to　the　upper　hallway；　he　was　almost　running。　He　undressed；　tossing　all　of　his　clothes　in　the　laundry　hamper　although　he　had　put　them　on　fresh　from　the　underwear　out　that　morning。　He　drew　himself　a　hot。　bath；　as　hot　as　he　could　take　it；　and　plopped　in。
　　The　steam　rose　around　him；　and　he　could　feel　the　hot　water　working　on　his　muscles；　loosening　them。　The　bath　was　also　working　on　his　head；　loosening　that。　By　the　time　the　water　had　begun　to　cool；　he　was　feeling　dozy　and　pretty　much　all　right　again。
　　The　cat　came　back；　just　like　the　cat　in　the　nursery　rhyme；　all　right；　so　what；　big　deal。
　　It　had　all　been　a　mistake。　Hadn't　he　thought　to　himself　yesterday　evening　that　Church　looked　remarkably　whole　and　unmarked　for　an　animal　that　had　been　struck　by　a　car？
　　Think　of　all　the　woodchucks　and　cats　and　dogs　you've　seen　strewn　all　over　the　highway；　he　thought；　their　bodies　burst；　their　guts　everywhere。　Tech…ni…color；　as　Loudon　Wainwright　says　on　that　record　about　the　dead　skunk。
　　It　was　obvious　now。　Church　had　been　struck　hard　and　stunned。　The　cat　he　had　carried　up　to　Jud's　old　Micmac　burying　ground　had　been　unconscious；　not　dead。　Didn't　they　say　cats　had　nine　lives？　Thank　God　he　hadn't　said　anything　to　Ellie！　She　wouldn't　ever　have　to　know　how　close　Church　had　e。
　　The　blood　on　his　mouth　and　ruff　。　。　。　the　way　his　neck　turned。
　　But　he　was　a　doctor；　not　a　vet。　He　had　made　a　misdiagnosis…　that　was　all。　It　had　hardly　been　under　the　best　circumstances　for　close　examination；　squatting　on　Jud's　lawn　in　twenty…degree　temperatures；　the　light　almost　gone　from　the　sky。　And　he　had　been　wearing　gloves。　That　could　have…　A　bloated；　misshapen　shadow　rose　on　the　tiled　bathroom　wall；　like　the　head　of　a　small　dragon　or　of　some　monstrous　snake；　something　touched　his　bare　shoulder　lightly　and　skidded。　Louis　jerked　upward　galvanically；　splashing　water　out　of　the　tub　and　soaking　the　bathmat。　He　turned；　cringing　back　at　the　same　time；　and　stared　into　the　muddy　yellow…green　eyes　of　his　daughter's　cat；　who　was　perched　on　the　lowered　seat　of　the　toilet。
　　Church　was　swaying　slowly　back　and　forth　as　if　drunk。　Louis　watched；　his　body　crawling　with　revulsion；　a　scream　barely　held　back　in　his　mouth　by　his　clamped　teeth。　Church　had　never　looked　like　this…had　never　swayed；　like　a　snake　trying　to　hypnotize　its　prey…not　before　he　was　fixed　and　not　afterward。　For　the　first　and　last　time　he　played　with　the　idea　that　this　was　a　different　cat；　one　that　just　looked　like　Ellie's；　a　cat　that　had　just　wandered　into　his　garage　while　he　was　putting　up　those　shelves；　and　that　the　real　Church　was　still　buried　under　that　cairn　on　the　bluff　in　the　woods。　But　the　markings　were　the　same。　。　。　and　the　one　ragged；　ear　。　。　。　and　the　paw　that　had　that　funny　chewed　look。　Ellie　had　slammed　that　paw　in　the　ba