sk.cujo-第70节

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He　could　have　reminded　her　that　she'd　had　Tad's　welfare　in　mind　above　her　own　all　the　time。　That　the　reason　she　hadn't　gone　for　the　door　was　because　of　what　would　have　happened　to　Tad　if　the　dog　had　gotten　to　her　before　she　could　get　inside。　He　could　have　told　her　that　the　siege　had　probably　weakened　the　dog　as　much　as　it　had　Donna　herself；　and　if　she　had　tried　Cujo　with　the　baseball　bat　earlier　on；　the　oute　might　have　been　terribly　different；　as　it　was；　the　dog　had　almost　killed　her　in　the　end。　But　he　understood　that　these　points　had　been　brought　to　her　attention　again　and　again；　by　himself　and　by　others；　and　that　not　all　the　logic　in　the　world　could　blunt　the　pain　of　ing　upon　that　mute　pile　of　coloring　books；　or　seeing　the　swing；　empty　and　motionless　at　the　bottom　of　its　arc；　in　the　back　yard。　Logic　could　not　blunt　her　terrible　sense　of　personal　failure。　Only　time　could　do　those　things；　and　time　would　do　an　imperfect　job。
He　said；　'I　couldn't　save　him　either。'
'You　…'
'I　was　so　sure　it　was　Kemp。　If　I'd　gone　up　there　earlier；　if　I　hadn't　fallen　asleep；　even　if　I　hadn't　talked　to　Roger　on　the　phone。'
'No；'　she　said　gently。　'Don't。'
'I　have　to。　I　guess　you　do　too。　We'll　just　have　to　get　along。　That's　what　people　do；　you　know？　They　just　get　along。　And　try　to　help　each　other。'
'I　keep　feeling　him　sensing　him　。。。　around　every　er。'
'Yeah。　Me　too。'
He　and　Roger　had　taken　all　of　Tad's　toys　to　the　Salvation　Army　two　Saturdays　ago。　When　it　was　done；　they　had　e　back　here　and　had　a　few　beers　in　front　of　the　ballgame；　not　talking　much。　And　when　Roger　went　home；　Vic　went　upstairs　and　sat　on　the　bed　in　Tad's　room　and　wept　until　it　seemed　the　weeping　would　pull　all　his　insides　apart。　He　wept　and　wanted　to　die　but　he　hadn't　died　and　the　next　day　he　had　gone　back　to　work。
'Make　us　some　coffee；'　he　said；　and　slapped　her　lightly　on　the　rump。　'I'll　light　a　fire。　Chilly　in　here。'
'All　right。'　She　got　up。　'Vic？'
'What？'
Her　throat　worked。　'I　love　you　too。'
'Thanks；'　he　said。　'I　think　I　needed　that。'
She　smiled　wanly　and　went　to　make　the　coffee。　And　they　got　through　the　evening；　although　Tad　was　still　dead。　They　got　through　the　next　day　as　well。　And　the　next。　It　was　not　much　better　at　the　end　of　August；　nor　in　September；　but　by　the　time　the　leaves　had　turned　and　began　to　fall；　it　was　a　little　better。　A　little。
She　was　wired　with　tension　and　trying　not　to　show　it。
When　Brett　came　back　from　the　barn；　knocked　the　snow　from　his　boots；　and　let　himself　in　the　kitchen　door；　she　was　sitting　at　the　kitchen　table；　drinking　a　cup　of　tea。　For　a　moment　he　only　looked　at　her；　He　had　lost　some　weight　and　had　grown　taller　in　the　last　six　months。　The　total　effect　was　to　make　him　look　gangling；　where　he　had　always　before　seemed　pact　and　yet　lithe。　His　grades　during　the　first　quarter　hadn't　been　so　good；　and　he　had　been　in　trouble　twice　…　scuffles　in　the　schoolyard　both　times；　probably　over　what　had　happened　this　last　summer。　But　his　second…quarter　marks　had　been　a　lot　better。
'Mom？　Momma？　Is　it　…'
'Alva　brought　him　over；'　she　said。　She　set　the　teacup　on　the　saucer　carefully；　and　it　did　not　chatter。　'No　law　says　you　have　to　keep　him。'
'Has　he　had　his　shots？'　Brett　asked；　and　her　heart　broke　a　little　that　this　should　be　his　first　question。
'As　a　matter　of　fact；　he　has；'　she　said。　'Alva　tried　to　slip　that　over　on　me；　but　I　made　him　show　me　the　Yet's　bill。　Nine　dollars；　it　was。　Distemper　and　rabies。　Also；　there's　a　tube　of　cream　for　ticks　and　ear　mites。　If　you　don't　want　him；　Alva　will　give　me　my　nine　dollars　back。'
Money　had　bee　important　to　them。　For　a　little　bit　she　hadn't　been　sure　if　they　would　be　able　to　keep　the　place；　or　even　if　they　should　try　to　keep　it。　She　had　talked　it　over　with　Brett；　being　level　with　him。　There　had　been　a　small　life　insurance　policy。　Mr。　Shouper　at　the　Casco　Bank　in　Bridgton　had　explained　to　her　that　if　the　money　was　put　in　a　special　trust　account；　it　plus　the　lottery　money　would　make　nearly　all　the　outstanding　mortgage　payments　over　the　next　five　years。　She　had　landed　a　decent　job　in　the　packing　and　billing　department　of　Castle　Rock's　one　real　industry；　Trace　Optical。　The　sale　of　Joe's　equipment　…　including　the　new　chainfall　…　had　brought　them　in　an　additional　three　thousand　dollars。　It　was　possible　for　them　to　keep　the　place；　she　had　explained　to　Brett；　but　it　was　apt　to　be　a　hard　scrabble。　The　alternative　was　an　apartment　in　town。　Brett　had　slept　on　it；　and　it　had　turned　out　that　what　he　wanted　was　what　she　wanted　…　to　keep　the　home　place。　And　so　they　had　stayed。
'What's　his　name？'　Brett　asked。
'Doesn't　have　a　name。　He's　just　weaned。'
'Is　he　a　breed？'
'Yes；'　she　said；　and　then　laughed。　'He's　a　Heinz。　Fifty…seven　Varieties。'
He　smiled　back；　and　the　smile　was　strained。　But　Charity　reckoned　it　better　than　no　smile　at　all。
'Could　he　e　in？　It's　started　to　snow　again。'
'He　can　e　in　if　you　put　down　papers。　And　if　he　piddles　around；　you　clean　it　up。'
'All　right。'　He　opened　the　door　to　go　out。
'What　do　you　want　to　call　him；　Brett？'
'I　don't　know；'　Brett　said。　There　was　a　long；　long　pause。　'I　don't　know　yet。　I'll　have　to　think　on　it。
She　had　an　impression　that　he　was　crying；　and　restrained　an　impulse　to　go　to　him。　Besides；　his　back　was　to　her　and　she　couldn't　really　tell。　He　was　getting　to　be　a　big　boy；　and　as　much　as　it　pained　her　to　know　it；　she…understood　that　big　boys　often　don't　want　their　mothers　to　know　they're　crying。
He　went　outside　and　brought　the　dog　back　in；　carrying　it　cradled　in　his　arms。　It　remained　unnamed　until　the　following　spring；　when　for　no　reason　either　of　them　could　exactly　pinpoint；　they　began　to　call　it　Willie。　It　was　a　small；　lively；　short…haired　dog；　mostly　terrier。　Somehow　it　just　looked　like　a　Willie。　The　name　stuck。
Much　later；　that　spring；　Charity　got　a　small　pay　raise。　She　began　to　put　away　ten　dollars　a　week。　Toward's　Brett's　college。
Shortly　before　those　mortal　events　in　the　Camber　dooryard；　Cujo's　remains　were　cremated。　The　ashes　went　out　with　the　trash　and　were　disposed　of　at　the　Augusta　waste…treatment　plant。　It　would　perhaps　not　be　amiss　to　point　out　that　he　had　always　tried　to　be　a　good　dog。　He　had　tried　to　do　all　the　things　his　MAN　and　his　WOMAN　and　most　of　all　his　Boy；　had　asked　or　expected　of　him。　He　would　have　died　for　them；　if　that　had　been　required。　He　had　never　wanted　to　kill　anybody。　He　had　been　struck　by　something；　possibly　destiny；　or　fate；　or　only　a　degenerative　nerve　disease　called　rabies。　Free　will　was　not　a　factor。
The　small　cave　into　which　Cujo　had　chased　the　rabbit　was　never　discovered。　Eventually；　for　whatever　vague　reasons　small　creatures　may　have；　the　bats　moved　on。　The　rabbit　was　unable　to　get　out　and　it　starved　to　death　in　slow；　soundless　misery。　Its　bones；　so　far　as　I　know；　still　remain　there　with　the　bones　of　those　small　animals　unlucky　enough　to　have　tumbled　into　that　place　before　it。
I'm　tellin　you　so　you'll　know；　
I'm　tellin　you　so　you'll　know；　
I'm　tellin　you　so　you'll　know；　
Ole　Blue's　gone　where　the　good　dogs　go。
…FOLK　SONG
September　1977　…　March　1981



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