sk.cujo-第37节

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ly　against　Roger's　arm；　emphasizing。　'There　was　no　breach　of　faith。　He　has　to　say　that；　Rog。　He　has　to　get　up　in　front　of　the　American　people　and　tell　them　there　was　no　breach　of　faith。　What　there　was；　there　was　a　mistake　made　by　a　pany　which　manufactures　food　dye。　The　mistake　was　not　made　by　the　Sharp　pany。　He　has　to　say　that。　And　most　important　of　all；　he　has　to　say　he's　sorry　that　mistake　happened　and　that；　although　no　one　was　hurt；　he's　sorry　people　were　frightened。'
Roger　nodded；　then　shrugged。　'Yes；　I　see　the　thrust　of　it。　But　neither　the　old　man　or　the　kid　will　go　for　it；　Vic。　They　want　to　bury　the　b　…'
'Yes；　yes；　yes！'　Vic　cried；　actually　making　Roger　flinch。　He　jumped　to　his　feet　and　began　to　walk　jerkily　up　and　down　the　screening　room's　short　aisle。　'Sure　they　do；　and　they're　right；　he's　dead　and　he　has　to　be　buried；　the　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　has　to　be　buried；　Zingers　has　already　been　buried。　But　the　thing　we've　got　to　make　them　see　is　that　it　can't　be　a　midnight　burial。　That's　the　exact　point！　Their　impulse　is　to　go　at　this　thing　like　a　Mafia　button　man　。。。　or　a　scared　relative　burying　a　cholera　victim。'
He　leaned　over　Roger；　so　close　that　their　noses　were　almost　touching。
'Our　job　is　to　make　them　understand　that　the　Cereal　Professor　will　never　rest　easy　unless　he's　interred　in　broad　daylight。　And　I'd　like　to　make　the　whole　country　mourners　at　his　burial。'
'You're　cr　…'　Roger　began　then　closed　his　mouth　with　a　snap。
At　long　last　Vic　saw　that　scared；　vague　expression　go　out　of　his　partner's　eyes。　A　sudden　sharpening　happened　in　Roger's　face；　and　the　scared　expression　was　replaced　by　a　slightly　mad　one。　Roger　began　to　grin。　Vic　was　so　relieved　to　see　that　grin　that　he　forgot　about　Donna　and　what　had　happened　with　her　for　the　first　time　since　he　had　gotten　Kemp's　note。　The　job　took　over　pletely；　and　it　was　only　later　that　he　would　wonder；　slightly　dumbfounded；　how　long　it　had　been　since　he　had　felt　that　pure；　trippy；　wonderful　feeling　of　being　fully　involved　with　something　he　was　good　at。
'On　the　surface；　we　just　want　him　to　repeat　the　things　Sharp　has　been　saying　since　it　happened；'　Vic　went　on。　'But　when　the　Cereal　Professor　himself　says　them
'It　es　full　circle；'　Roger　murmured。　He　lit　another　cigarette。
'Sure；　right。　We　can　maybe　pitch　it　to　the　old　man　as　the　final　scene　in　the　Red　Razberry　Zingers　farce。　ing　clean。　Getting　it　behind　us　~'
'Taking　the　bitter　medicine。　Sure；　that'd　appeal　to　the　old　goat。　Public　penance　。。。　scourging　himself　with　whips。　。　。'
'And　instead　of　going　out　like　a　dignified　guy　that　took　a　pratfall　in　a　mudpuddle；　everyone　laughing　at　him；　he　goes　out　like　Douglas　MacArthur；　saying　old　soldiers　never　die；　they　just　fade　away。　That's　the　surface　of　the　thing。　But　underneath；　we're　looking　for　a　tone　。。。　a　feeling。　。　。　。'　He　was　crossing　the　border　into　Roger's　country　now。　If　he　could　only　delineate　the　shape　of　what　he　meant；　the　idea　that　had　e　to　him　over　coffee　at　Bentley's；　Roger　would　take　it　from　there。
'MacArthur；'　Roger　said　softly。　'But　that's　it；　isn't　it？　The　tone　is　farewell。　The　feeling　is　regret。　Give　people　the　feeling　that　he's　been　unjustly　treated；　but　it's　too　late　now。　And
He　looked　at　Vic；　almost　startled。
'What？'
'Prime　time；'　Roger　said。
'Huh？'
'The　spots。　We　run　em　in　prime　time。　These　ads　are　for　the　parents；　not　the　kids。　Right？'
'Yeah；　yeah。'
'If　we　ever　get　the　damned　things　made。'
Vic　grinned。　'We'll　get　them　made。'　And　using　one　of　Roger's　terms　for　good　ad　copy：　'It's　a　tank；　Roger。　We'll　drive　it　right　to　fuck　over　them　if　we　have　to。　As　long　as　we　can　get　something　concrete　down　before　we　go　to　Cleveland。　。　。　。'
They　sat　and　talked　it　over　in　the　tiny　screening　room　for　another　hour；　and　when　they　left　to　go　back　to　the　hotel；　both　of　them　sweaty　and　exhausted；　it　was　full　dark。
'Can　we　go　home　now；　Mommy？'　Tad　asked　apathetically。
'Pretty　soon；　honey。'
She　looked　at　the　key　in　the　ignition　switch。　Three　other　keys　on　the　ring：　house　key；　garage　key；　and　the　key　that　opened　the　Pinto's　hatchback。　There　was　a　piece　of　leather　attached　to　the　ring　with　a　mushroom　branded　on　it。　She　had　bought　the　keyring　in　Swanson's；　a　Bridgton　department　store；　back　in　April。　Back　in　April　when　she　had　been　so　disillusioned　and　scared；　never　knowing　what　real　fear　was；　real　fear　was　trying　to　crank　your　kid's　window　shut　while　a　rabid　dog　drooled　on　the　backs　of　your　hands。
She　reached　out。　She　touched　the　leather　tab。　She　pulled　her　hand　back　again。
The　truth　was　this：　She　was　afraid　to　try。
It　was　quarter　past　seven。　The　day　was　still　bright；　although　the　Pinto's　shadow　trailed　out　long；　almost　to　the　garage　door。　Although　she　did　not　know　it；　her　husband　and　his　partner　were　still　watching　kinescopes　of　the　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　at　Image…Eye　in　Cambridge。　She　didn't　know　why　no　one　had　answered　the　SOS　she　had　been　beeping　out。　In　a　book；　someone　would　have　e。　It　was　the　heroine's　reward　for　having　thought　up　such　a　clever　idea。　But　no　one　had　e。
Surely　the　sound　had　carried　down　to　the　ramshackle　house　at　the　foot　of　the　hill。　Maybe　they　were　drunk　down　there。　Or　maybe　the　owners　of　the　two　cars　in　the　driveway　（dooryard；　her　mind　corrected　automatically；　up　here　they　call　it　a　dooryard）　had　both　gone　off　somewhere　in　a　third　car。　She　wished　she　could　see　that　house　from　here；　but　it　was　out　of　sight　beyond　the　descending　flank　of　the　hill。
Finally　she　had　given　the　SOS　up。　She　was　afraid　that　if　she　kept　tooting　the　horn　it　would　drain　the　Pinto's　battery；　which　had　been　in　since　they　got　the　car。　She　still　believed　the　Pinto　would　start　when　the　engine　was　cool　enough。　It　always　had　before。
But　you're　afraid　to　try；　because　if　it　doesn't　start　what　then？
She　was　reaching　for　the　ignition　again　when　the　dog　stumbled　back　into　view。　It　had　been　lying　out　of　sight　in　front　of　the　Pinto。　Now　it　moved　slowly　toward　the　barn；　it's　head　down　and　its　tail　drooping。　It　was　staggering　and　weaving　like　a　drunk　near　the　bitter　end　of　a　long　toot。　Without　looking　back；　Cujo　slipped　into　the　shadows　of　the　building　and　disappeared。
She　drew　her　hand　away　from　the　key　again。
'Mommy？　Aren't　we　going？'
'Let　me　think；　hon；'　she　said。
She　looked　to　her　left；　out　the　driver's　side　window。　Eight　running　steps　would　take　her　to　the　back　door　of　the　Camber　house。　In　high　school　she　had　been　the　star　of　her　high　school's　girls'　track　team；　and　she　still　jogged　regularly。　She　could　beat　the　dog　to　the　door　and　inside；　she　was　sure　of　that。　There　would　be　a　telephone。　One　call　to　Sheriff　Bannerman's　office　and　this　horror　would　end。　On　the　other　hand；　if　she　tried　cranking　the　engine　again；　it　might　not　start　。。。　but　it　would　bring　the　dog　on　the　run。　She　knew　hardly　anything　about　rabies；　but　she　seemed　to　remember　reading　at　some　time　or　other　that　rabid　animals　were　almost　supernaturally　sensitive　to　sounds。　Loud　noises　could　drive　them　into　a　frenzy。
'Mommy？'
'Shhh；　Tad。　Shhh！'
Eight　running　steps。　Dig　it。
Even　if　Cujo　was　lurking　and　watching　inside　the　garage　just　out　of　sight；　she　felt　sure　…　she　knew　…　she　could　win　a　footrace　to　the　back　door。　The　telephone；　yes。　And　。。。　a　man　like　Joe　Camber　surely　kept　a　gun。　Maybe　a　whole　rack　of　them。　What　pleasure　it　would　give　her　to　blow　that　fucking　dog　'S　head　to　so　much　oatmeal　and　strawberry　jam！
Eight　running　steps。
Sure。　Dig　on　it　awhile。
And　what　if　that　door　giving　on　the　porch　was　locked？　Worth　the　risk？
Her　heart　thudded　heavily　in　her　breast　as　she　weighed　the　chances。　If　she　had　been　alone；　that　would　have　been　one　thing。　But　suppose　the　door　was　locked？　She　could　beat　the　dog　to　the　door；　but　not　to　the　door　and　then　back　to　the　car。　Not　if　it　came　running；　not　if　it　charged　her　as　it　had　done　before。　And　what　would　Tad　do？　What　if　Tad　saw　his　mother　being　savaged　by　a　two…hundred…pound　mad　dog；　being　ripped　and　bitten；　being　pulled　open　
No。　They　were　safe　here。
Try　the　engine　again！
She　reached　for　the　ignition；　and　part　of　her　mind　clamored　that　it　would　he　safer　to　wait　longer；　until　the　engine　was　perfectly　cool　
Perfectly　cool？　They　had　been　here　three　hours　or　more　already。
She　grasped　the　key　and　turned　it。
The　engine　cranked　briefly　once；　twice；　three　times　…　and　then　caught　with　a　roar。
'Oh；　thank　God！'　she　cried。
'Mommy？'　Tad　asked　shrilly。　'Are　we　going？　Are　we　going？'
'We're　going；'　she　said　grimly；　and　threw　the　transmission　into　reverse。　Cujo　lunged　out　of　the　barn　。。。　and　then　just　stood　there；　watching。　'Fuck　you　dog！'　she　yelled　at　it　triumphantly。
She　touched　the　gas　pedal。　The　Pinto　rolled　back　perhaps　two　feet　…　and　stalled。
'No！'　she　screamed　as　the　red　idiot　lights　came　on　again。　Cujo　had　taken　another　two　steps　when　the　engine　cut　out；　but　now　he　only　stood　there　silent；　his　head　down。　Watching　me；　the　thought　occurred　again。　His　shadow　trailed　out　behind　him；　as　clear　as　a　silhouette　cut　out　of　black　crepe　paper。
Donna　fumbled　for　the　ignition　switch　and　turned　it　from　ON　to　START。　The　motor　began　to　rum　over　again；　but　this　time　it　didn't　catch。　She　could　hear　a　harsh　panting　sound　in　her　own　ears　and　didn't　realize　for　several　seconds　that　she　was　making　the　sound　herself　…　in　some　vauge　way　she　had　the　idea　that　it　must　be　the　dog。　She　ground　the　starter；　grim