sk.cujo-第44节

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r　the　ceiling。　Donna　had　been　about　fourteen　at　the　time；　and　she　remembered　that　her　mother's　utter；　hysterical　rage　had　both　frighened　and　sickened　her。　She　had　been　sickened　because　her　mother　was　throwing　a　tantrum　in　front　of　the　people　who　loved　and　needed　her　most　over　the　opinion　of　a　group　of　casual　acquaintances　who　were　ing　over　to　drink　free　booze　and　munch　up　a　lot　of　free　canapes。　She　had　been　frightened　because　she　could　see　no　logic　in　her　mother's　tantrum　。。。　and　because　of　the　expression　she　had　seen　in　her　father's　eyes。　It　had　been　a　kind　of　resigned　disgust。　That　had　been　the　first　time　she　had　really　believed　…　believed　in　her　gut　…　that　she　was　going　to　grow　up　and　bee　a　woman；　a　woman　with　at　least　a　fighting　chance　to　be　a　better　woman　than　her　own　mother；　who　could　get　into　such　a　frightening　state　over　what　was　really　such　a　little　thing。。。。
She　dosed　her　eyes　and　tried　to　dismiss　the　whole　train　of　thought；　uneasy　at　the　vivid　emotions　that　memory　called　up。　SPCA；　greenhouse　effect；　garbage　disposals；　what　next？　How　I　Lost　My　Virginity？　Six　Well…Loved　Vacations？　The　mailman；　that　was　the　thing　to　think　about；　the　goddam　mailman。
'Mommy；　maybe　the　car　will　start　now。'
'Honey；　I'm　scared　to　try　it　because　the　battery　is　so　low。'
'But　we're　just　sitting　here；'　he　said；　sounding　petulant　and　tired　and　cross。　'What　does　it　matter　if　the　battery's　low　or　not　if　we're　just　sitting　here？　Try　it！'
'Don't　you　go　giving　me　Orders；　kiddo；　or　I'll。　whack　your　ass　for　you！'
He　cringed　away　from　her　hoarse；　angry　voice　and　she　cursed　herself　again。　He　was　scratchy　。。。　so；　who　could　blame　him？　Besides；　he　was　right。　That　was　what　had　really　made　her　angry。　But　Tad　didn't　understand；　the　real　reason　she　didn't　want　to　try　the　engine　again　was　because　she　was　afraid　it　would　bring　the　dog。　She　was　afraid　it　would　bring　Cujo；　and　more　than　anything　else　she　didn't　want　that。
Grimly；　she　turned　the　key　in　the　ignition。　The　Pinto's　engine　cranked　very　slowly　now；　with　a　draggy；　protesting　sound。　h　coughed　twice　but　did　not　fire。　She　turned　the　key　off　and　tapped　the　horn。　It　gave　a　foggy；　low　honk　that　probably　didn't　carry　fifty　yards；　let　alone　to　that　house　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill。
'Mere；'　she　said　briskly　and　cruelly。　'Are　you　happy？　Good。'
Tad　began　to　cry。　He　began　the　way　she　always　remembered　it　beginning　when　he　was　a　baby：　his　mouth　drawing　into　a　trembling　bow；　the　tears　spilling　down　his　cheeks　even　before　the　first　sobs　came。　She　pulled　him　to　her　then；　saying　she　was　sorry；　saying　she　didn't　mean　to　be　mean；　it　was　just　that　she　was　upset　too；　telling　him　that　it　would　be　over　as　soon　as　the　madman　got　there；　that　she　would　take　him　home　and　wash　his　hair。　And　thought：　A　fighting　chance　to　be　a　better　woman　than　your　mother。　Sure。　Sure；　kid。　You're　just　like　her。　That's　just　the　kind　of　thing　she　would　have　said　in　a　situation　like　this。　When　you're　feeling　bad；　what　you　do　is　spread　the　misery；　share　the　wealth。　Well；　like　mother　like　daughter；　right？　And　maybe　when　Tad　grows　up；　he'll　feel　the　same　way　about　you　as　you　feel　about　
'Why　is　it　so　hot；　Mommy？'　Tad　asked　dully。
'The　greenhouse　effect；'　she　answered；　without　even　thinking　about　it。　She　wasn't　up　to　this；　and　she　knew　it　now。　If　this　was；　in　any　sense；　a　final　examination　on　motherhood　…　or　on　adulthood　itself　…　then　she　was　flagging　the　test。　How　long　had　they　been　stuck　in　this　driveway？　Fifteen　hours　at　the　very　most。　And　she　was　cracking　up；　falling　apart。
'Can　I　have　a　Dr　Pepper　when　we　get　home；　Mommy？'　The　Monster　Words；　sweaty　and　wrinkled；　lay　limply　on　his　lap。
'All　you　can　drink；'　she　said；　and　hugged　him　tight。　But　the　feel　of　his　body　was　frighteningly　wooden。　I　shouldn't　have　shouted　at　him；　she　thought　distractedly。　If　only　I　hadn't　shouted。
But　she　would　do　better；　she　promised　herself。　Because　the　madman　would　be　along　soon。
'I　think　the　muh　…　I　think　the　doggy's　going　to　eat　us；'　Tad　said。
She　started　to　reply　and　then　didn't。　Cujo　still　wasn't　around。　The　sound　of　the　Pinto's　engine　turning　over　hadn't　brought　him。　Maybe　he　was　asleep。　Maybe　he　had　had　a　convulsion　and　died。　That　would　be　wonderful　。。。　especially　if　it　had　been　a　slow　convulsion。　A　painful　one。　She　looked　at　the　back　door　again。　It　was　so　temptingly　near。　It　was　locked。　She　was　sure　of　that　now。　When　people　went　away；　they　locked　up。　It　would　be　foolhardy　to　try　for　the　door；　especially　with　the　mailman　due　so　soon。　Play　it　as　though　it　were　real；　Vic　sometimes　said。　She　would　have　to。　because　it　was　real。　Better　to　assume　the　dog　was　still　alive；　and　lying　just　inside　those　half…open　garage　doors。　Lying　in　the　shade。
The　thought　of　shade　made　her　mouth　water。
It　was　almost　eleven　o'clock　then。　It　was　about　forty…five　minutes　later　when　she　spotted　something　in　the　grass　beyond　the　edge　of　Tad's　side　of　the　car。　Another　fifteen　minutes　of　examination　convinced　her　that　it　was　an　old　baseball　bat　with　a　friction…taped　handle；　half　obscured　by　witch　grass　and　timothy。
A　few　minutes　after　that；　just　before　noon；　Cujo　stumbled　out　of　the　barn；　blinking　his　red；　rheumy　eyes　stupidly　in　the　hot　sun。
When　they　e　to　take　you　down；
When　they　bring　that　wagon　'round；
When　they　e　to　call　on　you
And　drag　your　poor　body　down　。。。
Jerry　Garcia's　voice；　easy　but　somehow　weary；　came　floating　down　the　hall；　magnified　and　distorted　by　someone's　transistor　radio　until　it　sounded　as　if　the　vocal　were　floating　down　a　long　steel　tube。　Closer　by；　someone　was　moaning。　That　morning；　when　he　went　down　to　the　smelly　industrial　bathroom　to　shave　and　shower；　there　had　been　a　puddle　of　vomit　in　one　of　the　urinals　and　a　large　quantity　of　dried　blood　in　one　of　the　washbasins。
'Shake　it；　shake　it；　Sugaree；'　Jerry　Garcia　sang；　'just　don't　tell　'em　you　know　me。'
Steve　Kemp　stood　at　the　window　of　his　room　on　the　fifth　floor　of　the　Portland　YMCA；　looking　down　at　Spring　Street；　feeling　bad　and　not　knowing　why。　His　head　was　bad。　He　kept　thinking　about　Donna　Trenton　and　how　he　had　fucked　her　over　…　fucked　her　over　and　then　hung　around。　Hung　around　for　what？　What　the　fuck　had　happened？
He　wished　he　were　in　Idaho。　Idaho　had　been　much　on　his　mind　lately。　So　why　didn't　he　stop　honking　his　donk　and　just　go？　He　didn't　know。　He　didn't　like　not　knowing。　He　didn't　like　all　these　questions　screwing　up　his　head。　Questions　were　counterproductive　to　a　state　of　serenity；　and　serenity　was　necessary　to　the　development　of　the　artist。　He　had　looked　at　himself　this　morning　m　one　of　the　toothpaste…spotted　mirrors　and　had　thought　he　looked　old。　Really　old。　When　he　came　back　to　his　room　he　had　seen　a　cockroach　zigzagging　busily　across　the　floor。　The　omens　were　bad。
She　didn't　give　me　the　brush　because　I'm　old；　he　thought。　I'm　not　old。　She　did　it　because　her　itch　was　scratched；　because　she's　a　bitch；　and　because　I　gave　her　a　spoonful　of　her　own　medicine。　How　did　Handsome　Hubby　like　his　little　love　note；　Donna？　Did　Handsome　Hubby　dig　it？
Did　hubby　get　his　little　love　note？
Steve　crushed　his　cigarette　out　in　the　jar　top　that　served　the　room　as　an　ashtray。　That　was　really　the　central　question；　wasn't　it？　With　that　one　answered；　the　answers　to　the　other　questions　would　drop　into　place。　The　hateful　hold　she　had　gotten　over　him　by　telling　him　to　get　lost　before　he　was　ready　to　end　the　affair　（she　had　humiliated　him；　goddammit）；　for　one　thing　…　for　one　very　big　thing。
Suddenly　he　knew　what　to　do；　and　his　heart　began　to　thud　heavily　with　anticipation。　He　put　a　hand　into　his　pocket　and　jingled　the　change　there。　He　went　out。　It　was　just　past　noon；　and　in　Castle　Rock；　the　mailman　for　whom　Donna　hoped　had　begun　that　part　of　his　rounds　which　covered　the　Maple　Sugar　Road　and　Town　Road　No。　3。
Vic；　Roger；　and　Rob　Martin　spent　Tuesday　morning　at　Image…Eye　and　then　went　out　for　beers　and　burgers。　A　few　burgers　and　a　great　many　beers　later；　Vic　suddenly　realized　that　he　was　drunker　than　he　had　ever　been　at　a　business　luncheon　in　his　life。　Usually　he　had　a　single　cocktail　or　a　glass　of　white　wine；　he　had　seen　too　many　good　New　York　admen　drown　themselves　slowly　in　those　dark　places　just　off　Madison　Avenue；　talking　to　their　friends　about　campaigns　they　would　never　mount　。。。　or；　if　they　became　drunk　enough；　to　the　barmen　in　those　places　about　novels　which　they　would　assuredly　never　write。
It　was　a　strange　occasion；　half　victory　celebration；　half　wake。　Rob　had　greeted　their　idea　of　a　final　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　ad　with　tempered　enthusiasm；　saying　that　he　could　knock　it　a　mile　。。。　always　assuming　he　was　given　the　chance。　That　was　the　wake　half。　Without　the　approval　of　old　and　his　fabled　kid；　the　greatest　spot　in　the　world　would　them　no　good。　They　would　all　be　out　on　their　asses。
Under　the　circumstances；　Vic　supposed　it　was　all　right　to　get　loaded。
Now；　as　the　main　rush　of　the　restaurant's　lunchtime　clientele　came　in；　the　three　of　them　sat　in　their　shirtsleeves　at　a　er　booth；　the　remains　of　their　burgers　on　waxed　paper；　beer　bottles　scattered　around　the　table；　the　ashtray　overflowing。　Vic　was　reminded　of　the　day　he　and　Roger　had　sat　in　the　Yellow　Sub　back　in　Portland；　discussing　this　little　safari。　Back　when　everything　that　had　been　wrong　had　been　wrong　with　the　business。　Incredibly；　he　felt　a　wave　of　nostalgia　for　that