sk.everythingseventual-第13节

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　　'It　might　have　been；　I　guess；'　I　said。
　　'Well；　we　ought　to　go　back　and　find　your　rod　and　your　creel。'　He　actually　started　in　that　direction；　and　I　had　to　tug　frantically　at　his　arm　to　stop　him　again；　and　turn　him　back　toward　me。
　　'Later；'　I　said。　'Please；　Dad？　I　want　to　see　Mother。　I've　got　to　see　her　with　my　own　eyes。'
　　He　thought　that　over；　then　nodded。　'Yes；　I　suppose　you　do。　We'll　go　home　first；　and　get　your　rod　and　creel　later。'
　　So　we　walked　back　to　the　farm　together；　my　father　with　his　fish…pole　propped　on　his　shoulder　just　like　one　of　my　friends；　me　carrying　his　creel；　both　of　us　eating　folded…over　slices　of　my　mother's　bread　smeared　with　blackcurrant　jam。
　　'Did　you　catch　anything？'　he　asked　as　we　came　in　sight　of　the　barn。
　　'Yes；　sir；'　I　said。　'A　rainbow。　Pretty　good…sized。'　And　a　brookie　that　was　a　lot　bigger；　I　thought　but　didn't　say。　Biggest　one　I　ever　saw；　to　tell　the　truth；　but　I　don't　have　that　one　to　show　you；　Dad。　I　gave　that　one　to　the　man　in　the　black　suit；　so　he　wouldn't　eat　me。　And　it　worked　。　。　。　but　just　barely。
　　'That's　all？　Nothing　else？'
　　'After　I　caught　it　I　fell　asleep。'　This　was　not　really　an　answer；　but　not　really　a　lie；　either。
　　'Lucky　you　didn't　lose　your　pole。　You　didn't；　did　you；　Gary？'
　　'No；　sir；'　I　said；　very　reluctantly。　Lying　about　that　would　do　no　good　even　if　I'd　been　able　to　think　up　a　whopper…not　if　he　was　set　on　going　back　to　get　my　creel　anyway；　and　I　could　see　by　his　face　that　he　was。
　　Up　ahead；　Candy　Bill　came　racing　out　of　the　back　door；　barking　his　shrill　bark　and　wagging　his　whole　rear　end　back　and　forth　the　way　Scotties　do　when　they're　excited。　I　couldn't　wait　any　longer；　hope　and　anxiety　bubbled　up　in　my　throat　like　foam。　I　broke　away　from　my　father　and　ran　to　the　house；　still　lugging　his　creel　and　still　convinced；　in　my　heart　of　hearts；　that　I　was　going　to　find　my　mother　dead　on　the　kitchen　floor　with　her　face　swelled　and　purple　like　Dan's　had　been　when　my　father　carried　him　in　from　the　west　field；　crying　and　calling　the　name　of　Jesus。
　　But　she　was　standing　at　the　counter；　just　as　well　and　fine　as　when　I　had　left　her；　humming　a　song　as　she　shelled　peas　into　a　bowl。　She　looked　around　at　me；　first　in　surprise　and　then　in　fright　as　she　took　in　my　wide　eyes　and　pale　cheeks。
　　'Gary；　what　is　it？　What's　the　matter？'
　　I　didn't　answer；　only　ran　to　her　and　covered　her　with　kisses。　At　some　point　my　father　came　in　and　said；　'Don't　worry；　Lo…he's　all　right。　He　just　had　one　of　his　bad　dreams；　down　there　by　the　brook。'
　　'Pray　God　it's　the　last　of　them；'　she　said；　and　hugged　me　tighter　while　Candy　Bill　danced　around　our　feet；　barking　his　shrill　bark。
　　
　　'You　don't　have　to　e　with　me　if　you　don't　want　to；　Gary；'　my　father　said；　although　he　had　already　made　it　clear　that　he　thought　I　should…that　I　should　go　back；　that　I　should　face　my　fear；　as　I　suppose　folks　would　say　nowadays。　That's　very　well　for　fearful　things　that　are　make…believe；　but　two　hours　hadn't　done　much　to　change　my　conviction　that　the　man　in　the　black　suit　had　been　real。　I　wouldn't　be　able　to　convince　my　father　of　that；　though。　I　don't　think　there　was　a　nine…year…old　that　ever　lived　who　would　have　been　able　to　convince　his　father　he'd　seen　the　Devil　e　walking　out　of　the　woods　in　a　black　suit。
　　'I'll　e；'　I　said。　I　had　walked　out　of　the　house　to　join　him　before　he　left；　mustering　all　my　courage　in　order　to　get　my　feet　moving；　and　now　we　were　standing　by　the　chopping…block　in　the　side　yard；　not　far　from　the　woodpile。
　　'What　you　got　behind　your　back？'　he　asked。
　　I　brought　it　out　slowly。　I　would　go　with　him；　and　I　would　hope　the　man　in　the　black　suit　with　the　arrow…straight　part　down　the　left　side　of　his　head　was　gone　。　。　。　but　if　he　wasn't；　I　wanted　to　be　prepared。　As　prepared　as　I　could　be；　anyway。　I　had　the　family　Bible　in　the　hand　I　had　brought　out　from　behind　my　back。　I'd　set　out　just　to　bring　my　New　Testament；　which　I　had　won　for　memorizing　the　most　psalms　in　the　Thursday　night　Youth　Fellowship　petition　（I　managed　eight；　although　most　of　them　except　the　Twenty…third　had　floated　out　of　my　mind　in　a　week's　time）；　but　the　little　red　Testament　didn't　seem　like　enough　when　you　were　maybe　going　to　face　the　Devil　himself；　not　even　when　the　words　of　Jesus　were　marked　out　in　red　ink。
　　My　father　looked　at　the　old　Bible；　swelled　with　family　documents　and　pictures；　and　I　thought　he'd　tell　me　to　put　it　back；　but　he　didn't。　A　look　of　mixed　grief　and　sympathy　crossed　his　face；　and　he　nodded。　'All　right；'　he　said。　'Does　your　mother　know　you　took　that？'
　　'No；　sir。'
　　He　nodded　again。　'Then　we'll　hope　she　doesn't　spot　it　gone　before　we　get　back。　e　on。　And　don't　drop　it。'
　　
　　Half　an　hour　or　so　later；　the　two　of　us　stood　on　the　bank　looking　down　at　the　place　where　Castle　Stream　forked；　and　at　the　flat　place　where　I'd　had　my　encounter　with　the　man　with　the　red…orange　eyes。　I　had　my　bamboo　rod　in　my　hand…I'd　picked　it　up　below　the　bridge…and　my　creel　lay　down　below；　on　the　flat　place。　Its　wicker　top　was　flipped　back。　We　stood　looking　down；　my　father　and　I；　for　a　long　time；　and　neither　of　us　said　anything。
　　Opal！　Diamond！　Sapphire！　Jade！　I　smell　Gary's　lemonade！　That　had　been　his　unpleasant　little　poem；　and　once　he　had　recited　it；　he　had　thrown　himself　on　his　back；　laughing　like　a　child　who　has　just　discovered　he　has　enough　courage　to　say　bathroom　words　like　shit　or　piss。　The　flat　place　down　there　was　as　green　and　lush　as　any　place　in　Maine　that　the　sun　can　get　to　in　early　July　。　。　。　except　where　the　stranger　had　lain。　There　the　grass　was　dead　and　yellow　in　the　shape　of　a　man。
　　I　looked　down　and　saw　I　was　holding　our　lumpy　old　family　Bible　straight　out　in　front　of　me　with　both　thumbs　pressing　so　hard　on　the　cover　that　they　were　white。　It　was　the　way　Mama　Sweet's　husband　Norville　held　a　willow…fork　when　he　was　trying　to　dowse　somebody　a　well。
　　'Stay　here；'　my　father　said　at　last；　and　skidded　sideways　down　the　bank；　digging　his　shoes　into　the　rich　soft　soil　and　holding　his　arms　out　for　balance。　I　stood　where　I　was；　holding　the　Bible　stiffly　out　at　the　ends　of　my　arms　like　a　willow…fork；　my　heart　thumping　wildly。　I　don't　know　if　I　had　a　sense　of　being　watched　that　time　or　not；　I　was　too　scared　to　have　a　sense　of　anything；　except　for　a　sense　of　wanting　to　be　far　away　from　that　place　and　those　woods。
　　My　Dad　bent　down；　sniffed　at　where　the　grass　was　dead；　and　grimaced。　I　knew　what　he　was　smelling：　something　like　burnt　matches。　Then　he　grabbed　my　creel　and　came　on　back　up　the　bank；　hurrying。　He　snagged　one　fast　look　over　his　shoulder　to　make　sure　nothing　was　ing　along　behind。　Nothing　was。　When　he　handed　me　the　creel；　the　lid　was　still　hanging　back　on　its　cunning　little　leather　hinges。　I　looked　inside　and　saw　nothing　but　two　handfuls　of　grass。
　　'Thought　you　said　you　caught　a　rainbow；'　my　father　said；　'but　maybe　you　dreamed　that；　too。'
　　Something　in　his　voice　stung　me。　'No；　sir；'　I　said。　'I　caught　one。'
　　'Well；　it　sure　as　hell　didn't　flop　out；　not　if　it　was　gutted　and　cleaned。　And　you　wouldn't　put　a　catch　into　your　fisherbox　without　doing　that；　would　you；　Gary？　I　taught　you　better　than　that。'
　　'Yes；　sir；　you　did；　but…'
　　'So　if　you　didn't　dream　catching　it　and　if　it　was　dead　in　the　box；　something　must　have　e　along　and　eaten　it；'　my　father　said；　and　then　he　grabbed　another　quick　glance　over　his　shoulder；　eyes　wide；　as　if　he　had　heard　something　move　in　the　woods。　I　wasn't　exactly　surprised　to　see　drops　of　sweat　standing　out　on　his　forehead　like　big　clear　jewels。　'e　on；'　he　said。　'Let's　get　the　hell　out　of　here。'
　　I　was　for　that；　and　we　went　back　along　the　bank　to　the　bridge；　walking　quick　without　speaking。　When　we　got　there；　my　Dad　dropped　to　one　knee　and　examined　the　place　where　we'd　found　my　rod。　There　was　another　patch　of　dead　grass　there；　and　the　lady's　slipper　was　all　brown　and　curled　in　on　itself；　as　if　a　blast　of　heat　had　charred　it。　While　my　father　did　this；　I　looked　in　my　empty　creel。
　　'He　must　have　gone　back　and　eaten　my　other　fish；　too；'　I　said。
　　My　father　looked　up　at　me。　'Other　fish！'
　　'Yes；　sir。　I　didn't　tell　you；　but　I　caught　a　brookie；　too。　A　big　one。　He　was　awful　hungry；　that　fella。'　I　wanted　to　say　more；　and　the　words　trembled　just　behind　my　lips；　but　in　the　end　I　didn't。
　　We　climbed　up　to　the　bridge　and　helped　one　another　over　the　railing。　My　father　took　my　creel；　looked　into　it；　then　went　to　the　railing　and　threw　it　over。　I　came　up　beside　him　in　time　to　see　it　splash　down　and　float　away　like　a　boat；　riding　lower　and　lower　in　the　stream　as　the　water　poured　in　between　the　wicker　weavings。
　　'It　smelled　bad；'　my　father　said；　but　he　didn't　look　at　me　when　he　said　it；　and　his　voice　sounded　oddly　defensive。　It　was　the　only　time　I　ever　heard　him　speak　just　that　way。
　　'Yes；　sir。'
　　'We'll　tell　your　mother　we　couldn't　find　it。　If　she　asks。　If　she　doesn't　ask；　we　won't　tell　her　anything。'
　　'No；　sir；　we　won't。'
　　And　she　didn't　and　we　didn't　and　that's　the　way　it　was。
　　
　　That　day　in　the　woods　is　eighty…one　years　gone；　and　for　many　of　the　years　in　between　I　have　never　even　thought　of　it　。　。　。　not　awake；　at　least。　Like　any　other　man　or　woman　who　ever　lived；　I　can't　say　about　my　dreams；