sk.petsematary-第59节
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john。 He went to the mirror to see how badly bloodshot his eyes were； but the glass had been covered with a square of sheeting。 Then he recalled。 Drawing almost randomly on a past she professed to barely remember； Rachel had covered all the mirrors in the house； and she took off her shoes before entering through the door。
No Olympic swimming team； Louis thought dully as he walked back to his bed and sat down on it。 The sour taste of beer coated his mouth and throat； and he swore to himself （not for the first time or the last） that he would never touch that poison again。 No Olympic swimming team； no 3。0 in college； no little Catholic girlfriend or conversion； no Camp Agawam； no nothing。 His sneakers had been torn off； his jumper turned inside out； his sweet little boy's body； so tough and sturdy； nearly dismembered。 His cap had been full of blood。
Now； sitting on his bed in the grip of this numbing hangover； rainwater spilling its lazy courses down the window beside him； his grief came for him fully； like some gray matron from Ward Nine in purgatory。 It came and dissolved him； unmanned him； took away whatever defenses remained； and he put his face in his hands and cried； rocking back and forth on his bed； thinking he would do anything to have a second chance； anything at all。
41
Gage was buried at two o'clock that afternoon。 By then the rain had stopped。 Tattered clouds still moved overhead； and most of the mourners arrived carrying black umbrellas provided by the undertaker。
At Rachel's request； the funeral director； who officiated at the short； nonsectarian graveside service； read the passage from Matthew which begins 〃Suffer the little children to e unto Me。〃 Louis； standing on one side of the grave； looked across at his father…in…law。 For a moment Goldman looked back at him； and then he dropped his eyes。 There was no fight left in him today。 The pouches under his eyes now resembled mailbags； and around his black silk skullcap； hair as fine and white as tattered spiderwebs flew randomly in the breeze。 With his grayish…black beard scragging his cheeks； he looked more like a wino than ever。 He gave Louis the impression of a man who did not really know where he was。 Louis tried but could still find no pity in his heart for him。
Gage's small white coffin； its latch presumably repaired； sat on a pair of chromed runners over the grave liner。 The verges of the grave had been carpeted with Astroturf so violently green it hurt Louis's eyes。 Several baskets of flowers had been set on top of this artificial and strangely gay surface。 Louis's eyes looked over the funeral director's shoulder。 Here was a low hill； covered with graves； family plots； one Romanesque monument with the name PHIPPS engraved on it。 Just above the sloping roof of PHIPPS； he could see a sliver of yellow。 Louis looked at this； pondering it。 He continued to look at it even after the funeral director said； 〃Let us bow our heads for a moment of silent prayer。〃 It took Louis a few minutes； but he got it。 It was a payloader。 A payloader parked over the hill where the mourners wouldn't have to look at it。 And； when the funeral was over； Oz would crush his cigarette on the heel of his tewwible workboot； put it in whatever container he carried around with him （in a cemetery； sextons caught depositing their butts on the ground were almost always summarily fired…it looked bad； too many of the clientele had died of lung cancer）； jump in the payloader； fire that sucker up； and cut his son off from the sun forever 。 。 。 or at least until the day of the Resurrection。
Resurrection。 。 。 ah； there's a word
（that you should put right the fuck out of your mind and you know it）。
When the funeral director said 〃Amen；〃 Louis took Rachel's arm and guided her away。 Rachel murmured some protest…she wanted to stay a bit longer； please； Louis…but Louis was firm。 They approached the cars。 He saw the funeral director taking umbrellas with the home's name discreetly printed on the handles from the mourners who passed and handing them to an assistant。 The assistant put them in an umbrella stand which looked surreal； standing there on the dewy turf。 He held Rachel's arm with his right hand and Ellie's white…gloved hand with his left。 Ellie was wearing the same dress she had worn to Norma Crandall's funeral。
Jud came over as Louis handed his ladies into the car。 Jud also looked as if he'd had a hard night。
〃You okay； Louis？〃
Louis nodded。
Jud bent to look into the car。 〃How are you； Rachel？〃 he asked。
〃I'm all right； Jud；〃 she whispered。
Jud touched her shoulder gently and then looked at Ellie。 How about you； dear one？〃
〃I'm fine；〃 Ellie said and produced a hideous smile of sharklike proportions to show him how fine she was。
〃What's that picture you got there？〃
For a moment Louis thought she would hold it； refuse to show him； and then with a painful shyness she passed it to Jud。 He held it in his big fingers； fingers that were so splayed and somehow clumsy…looking； fingers that looked fit mostly for grappling with the transmissions of big road machines or making couplings on the B & M Line…but they were also the fingers that had pulled a bee stinger from Gage's neck with all the offhand skill of a magician。 。 。 or a surgeon。
〃Why； that's real nice；〃 Jud said。 〃You pullin him on a sled。 Bet he liked that； didn't he； Ellie？〃
Beginning to weep； Ellie nodded。
Rachel began to say something； but Louis squeezed her arm… be still awhile。
〃I used to pull im a lot；〃 Ellie said； weeping； 〃and he'd laugh and laugh。 Then we'd go in and Mommy would fix us cocoa and say； 'Put your boots away；' and Gage would grab them all up and scream 'Boots！ Boots！' so loud it hurt your ears。 Remember that； Mom？〃
Rachel nodded。
〃Yeah； I bet that was a good time； all right；〃 Jud said； handing the picture back。 〃And he may be dead now； Ellie； but you can keep your memories of him。〃
〃I'm going to；〃 she said； wiping at her face。 〃I loved Gage； Mr。 Crandall。〃
〃I know you did； dear。〃 He leaned in and kissed her； and when he withdrew； his eyes swept Louis and Rachel stonily。 Rachel met his gaze； puzzled and a little hurt； not understanding。 But Louis understood well enough： What are you doing for her？ Jud's eyes asked。 Your son is dead； but your daughter is not。 What are you doing for her？
Louis looked away。 There was nothing he could do for her； not yet。 She would have to swim in her grief as best she could。 His thoughts were too full of his son。
42
By evening a fresh rack of clouds had e in and a strong west wind had begun to blow。 Louis put on his light jacket； zipped it up； and took the Civic keys from the peg on the wall。
〃Where you going； Lou？〃 Rachel asked。 She spoke without much interest。 After supper she had begun crying again； and although her weeping was gentle； she had seemed incapable of stopping。 Louis had forced her to take a Valium。 Now she sat with the paper folded open to the barely started crossword puzzle。 In the other room； Ellie sat silently watching 〃Little House on the Prairie〃 with Gage's picture on her lap。
〃I thought I'd pick up a pizza。〃
〃Didn't you get enough to eat earlier？〃
〃I just didn't seem hungry then；〃 he said； telling the truth and then adding a lie： 〃I am now。〃
That afternoon； between three and six； the final rite of Gage's funeral had taken place at the Ludlow house。 This was the rite of food。 Steve Masterton and his wife had e with a hamburger…and…noodle casserole。 Charlton had appeared with a quiche。 〃It will keep until you want it； if it doesn't all get eaten；〃 she told Rachel。 〃Quiche is easy to warm up。〃 The Dannikers from up the road brought a baked ham。 The Goldmans appeared…neither of them would speak to Louis or even e close to him； for which he was not sorry…with a variety of cold cuts and cheeses。 Jud also brought cheese…a large wheel of his old favorite； Mr。 Rat。 Missy Dandridge brought a key lime pie。 And Surrendra Hardu brought apples。 The rite of food apparently transcended religious differences。
This was the funeral party； and although it was quiet； it was not quite subdued。 There was rather less drinking than at an ordinary party； but there was some。 After a few beers （only the night before he had sworn he would never touch the stuff again； but in the cold afternoon light the previous evening had seemed impossibly long ago） Louis thought to pass on a few little funerary anecdotes his Uncle Carl had told him…that at Sicilian funerals unmarried women sometimes snipped a piece of the deceased's shroud and slept with it under their pillows； believing it would bring them luck in love； that at Irish funerals mock weddings were sometimes performed； and the toes of the dead were tied together because of an ancient Celtic belief that it kept the deceased's ghost from walking。 Uncle Carl said that the custom of tying D。O。A。 tags to the great toes of corpses had begun in New York； and since all of the early morgue keepers had been Irish； he believed this to be a survival of that old superstition。 Then； looking at their faces； he had decided such tales would be taken wrong。
Rachel had broken down only once； and her mother was t
