sk.cujo-第22节

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She　looked　down　and　then　suddenly　buried　her　face　in　her　hands。　Her　words　were　muffled　but　still　understandable。
'It　was　fun。　It　was　like　being　in　college　again。　It　was　like　a　dream。　A　stupid　dream。　It　was　like　he　was　white　noise。　He　blotted　out　that　wind　sound。　The　flirting　part　was　fun。　The　sex　。。。　it　was　no　good。　I　had　orgasms；　but　it　was　no　good。　I　can't　explain　why　not；　except　that　I　still　loved　you　through　all　of　it；　and　understood　that　I　was　running　away。　。　。　。'　She　looked　up　at　him　again；　crying　now。　'He's　running　too。　He's　made　a　career　of　it。　He's　a　poet　。。。　at　least　that's　what　he　calls　himself。　I　couldn't　make　head　or　tail　of　the　things　he　showed　me。　He's　a　roadrunner；　dreaming　he's　still　in　college　and　protesting　the　war　in　Vietnam。　That's　why　it　was　him；　I　guess。　And　now　I　think　you　know　everything　I　can　tell　you。　An　ugly　little　tale；　but　mine　own。'
'I'd　like　to　beat　him　up；'　Vic　said。　'If　I　could　make　his　nose　bleed；　I　guess　that　would　make　me　feel　better。'
She　smiled　wanly。　'He's　gone。　Tad　and　I　went　for　a　Dairy　Queen　after　we　finished　supper　and　you　still　weren't　home。　There's　a　FOR　RENT　sign　in　the　window　of　his　shop。　I　told　you　he　was　a　roadrunner。'
'There　was　no　poetry　in　that　note；'　Vic　said。　He　looked　at　her　briefly；　then　down　again。　She　touched　his　face　and　he　winced　back　a　little。　That　hurt　more　than　anything　else；　hurt　more　than　she　would　have　believed。　The　guilt　and　fear　came　again；　in　a　glassy；　crushing　wave。　But　she　wasn't　crying　any　more。　She　thought　there　would　be　no　more　tears　for　a　very　long　time。　The　wound　and　the　attendant　shock　trauma　were　too　great。
'Vic；'　she　said。　'I'm　sorry。　You're　hurt　and　I'm　sorry。'
'When　did　you　break　it　off？'
She　told　him　about　the　day　she　had　e　back　and　found　him　there；　omitting　the　fear　she'd　had　that　Steve　might　actually　rape　her。
'Then　the　note　was　his　way　of　getting　back　at　you。'
She　brushed　hair　away　from　her　forehead　and　nodded。　Her　face　was　pale　and　wan。　There　were　purplish　patches　of　skin　under　her　eyes。　'I　guess　so。'
'Let's　go　upstairs；　he　said。　'It's　late。　We're　both　tired。'
'Will　you　make　love　to　me？'
He　shook　his　head　slowly。　'Not　tonight。'
'All　right。'
They　went　to　the　stairs　together。　At　the　foot　of　them；　Donna　asked；　'So　what　es　next；　Vic？'
He　shook　his　head。　'I　just　don't　know。'
'Do　I　write　〃I　promise　never　to　do　it　again〃　five　hundred　times　on　the　blackboard　and　miss　recess？　Do　we　get　a　divorce？　Do　we　never　mention　it　again？　What？'　She　didn't　feel　hysterical；　only　tired；　but　her　voice　was　rising　in　a　way　she　didn't　like　and　hadn't　intended。　The　shame　was　the　worst；　the　shame　of　being　found　out　and　seeing　how　it　had　punched　his　face　in。　And　she　hated　him　as　well　as　herself　for　making　her　feel　so　badly　ashamed；　because　she　didn't　believe　she　was　responsible　for　the　factors　leading　up　to　the　final　decision　…　if　there　really　had　been　a　decision。
'We　ought　to　be　able　to　get　it　together；'　he　said；　but　she　did　not　mistake　him；　he　wasn't　talking　to　her。　'This　thing　？　He　looked　at　her　pleadingly。　'He　was　the　only　one；　wasn't　he？'
It　was　the　one　unforgivable　question；　the　one　he　had　no　right　to　ask。　She　left　him；　almost　ran　up　the　stairs；　before　everything　could　spill　out；　the　stupid　recriminations　and　accusations　that　would　not　solve　anything　but　only　muddy　up　whatever　poor　honesty　they　had　been　able　to　manage。
There　was　little　sleep　for　either　of　them　that　night。　And　the　fact　that　he　had　forgotten　to　call　Joe　Camber　and　ask　him　if　he　could　work　on　his　wife's　ailing　Pinto　Runabout　was　the　furthest　thing　from　Vic's　mind。
As　for　Joe　Camber　himself；　he　was　sitting　with　Gary　Pervier　in　one　of　the　decaying　lawn　chairs　which　dotted　Gary's　run…to…riot　side　yard。　They　were　drinking　vodka　martinis　out　of　McDonald's　glasses　under　the　stars。　Lightning　bugs　flickered　across　the　dark；　and　the　masses　of　honeysuckle　clinging　to　Gary's　fence　filled　the　hot　night　with　its　cloying；　heavy　scent。
Cujo　would　ordinarily　have　been　chasing　after　the　fireflies；　sometimes　barking；　and　tickling　both　men　no　end。　But　tonight　he　only　lay　between　them　with　his　nose　on　his　paws。　They　thought　he　was　sleeping；　but　he　wasn't。　He　simply　lay　there；　feeling　the　aches　that　filled　his　bones　and　buzzed　back　and　forth　in　his　head。　It　had　gotten　hard　for　him　to　think　what　came　next　in　his　simple　dog's　life；　something　had　gotten　in　the　way　of　ordinary　instinct。　When　he　slept；　he　had　dreams　of　unmon；　unpleasant　vividity。　In　one　of　these　he　had　savaged　THE　Boy；　had　ripped　his　throat　open　and　then　pulled　his　guts　out　of　his　body　in　steaming　bundles。　He　had　awakened　from　this　dream　twitching　and　whining。
He　was　continually　thirsty；　but　he　had　already　begun　to　shy　away　from　his　water　dish　some　of　the　time；　and　when　he　did　drink；　the　water　tasted　like　steel　shavings。　The　water　made　his　teeth　ache。　The　water　sent　bolts　of　pain　through　his　eyes。　And　now　he　lay　on　the　grass；　not　caring　about　the　lightning　bugs　or　anything　else。　The　voices　Of　THE　MEN　were　unimportant　rumbles　ing　from　somewhere　above　him。　They　meant　little　to　him　pared　to　his　own　growing　misery。
'Boston！'　Gary　Pervier　said；　and　cackled。　'Boston！　What　the　hell　are　you　going　to　do　in　Boston；　and　what　makes　you　think　I　could　afford　to　tag　along？　I　don't　think　I　got　enough　to　go　down　to　the　Norge　until　I　get　my　check　cashed。'
'Fuck　you；　you're　rolling　in　it；'　joe　replied。　He　was　getting　pretty　drunk。　'You　might　have　to　dig　into　what's　in　your　mattress　a　little；　that's　all。'
'Nothing　in　there　but　bedbugs；'　Gary　said；　and　cackled　again。　'Place　is　crawlin　with　em；　and　I　don't　give　a　shit。　You　ready　for　another　blast？'
Joe　held　out　his　glass。　Gary　had　the　makings　right　beside　his　chair。　He　mixed　in　the　dark　with　the　practiced；　steady；　and　heavy　hand　of　the　chronic　drinker。
'Boston！'　He　said　again；　handing　Joe　his　drink。　He　said　slyly；　'Kickin　up　your　heels　a　little；　Joey；　I　guess。'　Gary　was　the　only　man　in　Castle　Rock　…　perhaps　in　the　world　…　who　could　have　gotten　away　with　calling　him　Joey。　'Kicking　up　some　whoopee；　I　guess。　Never　known　you　to　go　further　than　Portsmouth　before。'
'I　been　to　Boston　once　or　twice；'　joe　said。　'You　better　look　out；　Pervert；　or　I'll　sic　my　dog　on　you。'
'You　couldn't　sic　that　dog　on　a　yellin　nigger　with　a　straight　razor　in　each　hand；'　Gary　said。　He　reached　down　and　ruffled　Cujo's　fur　briefly。　'What's　your　wife　say　about　it？'
'She　don't　know　we're　goin。　She　don't　have　to　know。'
'Oh；　yeah？'
'She's　takin　the　boy　down　to　Connecticut　to　see　her　sister　'n'　that　freak　she's　married　to。　They're　gonna　be　gone　a　week。　She　won　some　money　in　the　lottery。　Might　as　well　tell　you　that　right　out。　They　use　all　the　names　on　the　radio；　anyway。　It's　all　in　the　prize　form　she　had　to　sign。'
'Won　some　money　in　the　lottery；　did　she？'
'Five　thousand　dollars。'
Gary　whistled。　Cujo　flicked　his　ears　unfortably　at　the　sound。
Joe　told　Gary　what　Charity　had　told　him　at　supper；　leaving　out　the　argument　and　making　it　appear　a　straight　trade　that　had　been　his　idea：　The　boy　could　go　down　to　Connecticut　for　a　week　with　her；　and　up　to　Moosehead　for　a　week　with　him　in　the　fall。
'And　you're　gonna　go　down　to　Boston　and　spend　some　of　that　dividend　yourself；　you　dirty　dog；'　Gary　said。　He　clapped　Joe　on　the　shoulder　and　laughed。　'Oh；　you're　a　one；　all　right。'
'Why　shouldn't　I？　You　know　when　the　last　time　was　I　had　a　day　off？　I　don't。　Can't　remember。　I　ain't　got　much　on　this　week。　I'd　planned　to　take　most　of　a　day　and　a　half　pulling　the　motor　on　Richie's　International；　doing　a　valve　job　and　all；　but　with　that　chainfall　it　won't　take　four　hours。　I'll　get　him　to　bring　it　in　tomorrow　and　I　can　do　it　tomorrow　afternoon。　I　got　a　transmission　job；　but　that's　just　a　teacher。　From　the　grammar　school。　I　can　put　that　back。　A　few　other　things　the　same　way。　I'll　just　call　em　up　and　tell　em　I'm　having　a　little　holiday。'
'What　you　gonna　do　down　in　Beantown？'
'Well；　maybe　see　the　Dead　Sox　play　a　couple　at　Fenway。　Go　down　there　to　Washington　Street　'
'The　bat　zone！　Hot　damn；　I　knew　it！'　Gary　snorted　laughter　and　slapped　his　leg。　'See　some　of　those　dirty　shows　and　try　to　catch　the　clap！'
'Wouldn't　be　much　fun　alone。'
'Well；　I　guess　I　could　tag　along　with　you　if　you　was　willin　to　put　some　of　that　money　my　way　until　I　get　my　check　cashed。'
'I'd　do　that；'　Joe　said。　Gary　was　a　drunkard；　but　he　took　a　debt　seriously。
'I　ain't　been　with　a　woman　for　about　four　years；　I　guess；'　Gary　said　reminiscently。　'Lost　most　of　the　old　sperm　factory　over　there　in　France。　What's　left；　sometimes　it　works；　sometimes　it　don't。　Might　be　fun　to　find　out　if　I　still　got　any　ram　left　in　my　ramrod。'
'Ayuh；'　Joe　said。　He　was　slurring　now；　and　his　cars　were　buzzing。　'And　don't　forget　the　baseball。　You　know　when　the　last　time　was　I　went　to　Fenway？'
'No。'
'Nine…teen…sixty…eight；'　Joe　said；　leaning　forward　and　tapping　out　each　syllable　on　Gary's　arm　for　emphasis。　He　spilled　most　of　his　new　drink　in　the　process。　'Before　my　kid　was　born。　They　played　the　Tigers　and　lost　six　to　four；　those　suckers。　Norm　Cash　hit　a　homer　in　the　top　of　the　eighth。'
'When　you　thinking　of　going》'
'Monday　afternoon　around　three　；　I　thought。　The　wife　and　the　boy　will　want　to　go　out　that　morning；　I　guess。　I'll　take　them　in　to　the　Greyhound　station　in　Portland。　That　gives　me　the　rest　of　the　morning　and　half　the