sk.cujo-第9节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


pse。
'Hey；　that's　more　like　it；'　Gary　said；　ruffling　the　big　dog's　fur。　It　had　been　one　scorcher　of　a　week；　and　more　ing；　according　to　George　Meara；　who　had　heard　it　from　Aunt　Evvie　Chalmers。　He　supposed　that　was　it。　Dogs　felt　the　heat　even　more　than　people　did；　and　he　guessed　there　was　no　rule　against　a　mutt　getting　testy　once　in　a　while。　But　it　sure　had　been　funny；　hearing　Cujo　growl　like　that。　If　Joe　Camber　had　told　him；　Gary　wouldn't　have　believed　it。
'Go　get　your　other　biscuit；'　Gary　said；　and　pointed。
Cujo　turned　around；　went　to　the　biscuit；　picked　it　up；　mouthed　it　…　a　long　string　of　saliva　depending　from　his　mouth　…and　then　dropped　it。　He　looked　at　Gary　apologetically。
'You；　turnin　down　chow？'　Gary　said　unbelievingly。　'You？'
Cujo　picked　up　the　dog　biscuit　again　and　ate　it。
'That's　better；'　Gary　said。　'A　little　heat　ain't　gonna　killya。　Ain't　gonna　kill　me　either；　but　it　bitches　the　shit　outta　my　hemorrhoids。　Well；　I　don't　give　a　shit　if　they　get　as　big　as　fucking　golfballs。　You　know　it？'　He　swatted　a　mosquito。
Cujo　lay　down　beside　Gary's　chair　as　Gary　picked　up　his　screwdriver　again。　It　was　almost　time　to　go　in　and　freshen　it　up；　as　the　country…club　cunts　said。
'Freshen　up　my　ass；'　Gary　said。　He　gestured　at　the　roof　of　his　house；　and　a　sticky　mixture　of　orange　juice　and　vodka
trickled　down　his　sunburned；　scrawny　arm。　'Look　at　that　chimbly；　Cuje　ole　guy。　Fallin　right　the　fuck　down。　And　you　know　what？　I　don't　give　a　shit。　The　whole　place　could　fall　flat　and　I　wouldn't　fart　sideways　to　a　dime。　You　know　that？'
Cujo　thumped　his　tail　a　little。　He　didn't　know　what　this　MAN　was　saying；　but　the　rhythms　were　familiar　and　the　patterns　were　soothing。　These　polemics　had　gone　on　a　dozen　times　a　week　since　。。。　well；　as　far　as　Cujo　was　concerned；　since　forever。　Cujo　liked　this　MAN；　who　always　had　food。　just　lately　Cujo　didn't　seem　to　want　food；　but　if　THE　MAN　wanted　him　to　eat；　he　would。　Then　he　could　lie　here　…　as　he　was　now　…　and　listen　to　the　soothing　talk。　All　in　all；　Cujo　didn't　feel　very　well。　He　hadn't　growled　at　THE　~　because　he　was　hot　but　simply　because　he　didn't　feel　good。　For　a　moment　there　…　just　a　moment　…　he　had　felt　like　biting　THE
'Got　your　nose　in　the　brambles；　looks　like；'　Gary　said。　'What　was　you　after？　Woodchuck？　Rabbit？'
Cujo　thumped　his　tail　a　little。　Crickets　sang　in　the　rampant　bushes。　Behind　the　house；　honeysuckle　grew　in　a　wild　drift；　calling　the　somnolent　bees　of　a　summer　afternoon。　Everything　in　Cujo's　life　should　have　been　right；　but　somehow　it　wasn't。　He　just　didn't　feel　good　at　all。
'I　don't　even　give　a　shit　if　all　that　Georgia　redneck's　teeth　fall　out；　and　all　of　Ray…Gun's　teeth　too；'　Gary　said；　and　stood　up　unsteadily。　The　lawn　chair　fell　over　and　collapsed　itself。　If　you　had　guessed　that　Gary　Pervier　didn't　give　a　shit；　you　would　have　been　right。　'Scuse　me；　boy。'　He　went　inside　and　built　himself　another　screwdriver。　'Me　kitchen　was　buzzing；　fly…blown　horror　of　split…open　green　garbage　bags；　empty　cans；　and　empty　liquor　bottles。
When　Gary　came　back　out　again；　fresh　drink　in　hand；　Cujo　had　left。
On　the　last　day　of　June；　Donna　Trenton　came　back　from　downtown　Castle　Rock　（the　locals　called　it　'downstreet'；　but　at　least　she　hadn't　picked　up　that　particular　Maine…ism　yet）；　where　she　had　dropped　Tad　off　at　his　afternoon　daycamp　and　picked　up　a　few　groceries　at　the　Agway　Market。　She　was　hot　and　tired；　and　the　sight　of　Steve　Kemp's　battered　Ford　Econoline　van　with　the　gaudy　desert　murals　painted　on　the　sides　suddenly　turned　her　furious。
Anger　had　simmered　all　day。　Vic　had　told　her　about　the　impending　trip　at　breakfast；　and　when　she　had　protested　being　left　alone　with　Tad　for　what　might　be　ten　days　or　two　weeks　or　God　only　knew；　he　made　it　clear　to　her　exactly　what　the　stakes　were。　He　had　thrown　a　scare　into　her；　and　she　didn't　like　to　be　frightened。　Up　until　this　morning　she　had　treated　the　Red　Razberry　Zingers　affair　as　a　joke　…　a　rather　good　one　at　Vic　and　Roger's　expense。　She　had　never　dreamed　that　such　an　absurd　thing　could　have　such　serious　consequences。
Then　Tad　had　been　scratchy　about　going　off　to　the　daycamp；　plaining　that　a　bigger　boy　had　pushed　him　down　last　Friday。　The　bigger　boy's　name　was　Stanley　Dobson；　and　Tad　was　afraid　that　Stanley　Dobson　might　push　him　down　again　today。　He　had　cried　and　clutched　onto　her　when　she　got　him　to　the　American　Legion　field　where　the　camp　was　held；　and　she'd　had　to　pry　his　fingers　loose　from　her　blouse　finger　by　finger；　making　her　feel　more　like　a　Nazi　than　a　mom：　You　vill　go　to　daykemp；　ja？　ja；　mein　Mamma！　Sometimes　Tad　seemed　so　young　for　his　age；　so　vulnerable。　Weren't　only　children　supposed　to　be　precocious　and　resourceful？　His　fingers　had　been　chocolatey　and　had　left　fingerprints　on　her　blouse。　They　reminded　her　of　the　bloodstained　handprints　you　sometimes　saw　in　cheap　detective　magazines。
To　add　to　the　fun；　her　Pinto　had　started　to　act　funny　on　the　way　home　from　the　market；　jerking　and　hitching；　as　if　it　had　an　automotive　case　of　the　hiccups。　It　had　smoothed　out　after　a　bit；　but　what　could　happen　once　could　happen　again；　and　
…　and；　just　to　put　a　little　icing　on　the　cake；　here　was　Steve　Kemp。
'Well；　no　bullshit'　she　muttered；　grabbed　her　bag　of
groceries；　and　got　out；　a　pretty；　dark…haired　woman　of　twenty…nine；　tall；　gray…eyed。　She　somehow　managed　to　look　tolerably　fresh　in　spite　of　the　relentless　heat；　her　Tad…printed　blouse；　and　academy…gray　shorts　that　felt　pasted　to　her　hips　and　fanny。
She　went　up　the　steps　quickly　and　into　the　house　by　the　porch　door。　Steve　was　sitting　in　Vic's　living…room　chair。　He　was　drinking　one　of　Vic's　beers。　He　was　smoking　a　cigarette　…presumably　one　of　his　own。　The　TV　was　on；　and　the　agonies　of　General　Hospital　played　out　there；　in　living　color。
'Tlhe　princess　arrives；'　Steve　said　with　the　lopsided　grin　she　had　once　found　so　charming　and　interestingly　dangerous。　'I　thought　you　were　never　going　to　…'
'I　want　you　out　of　here；　you　son　of　a　bitch；'　she　said　tonelessly；　and　went　through　into　the　kitchen。　She　put　the　grocery　bag　down　on　the　counter　and　started　putting　things　away。　She　could　not　remember　when　she　had　last　been　so　angry；　so　furious　that　her　stomach　had　tied　itself　in　a　gripping；　groaning　knot。　One　of　the　endless　arguments　with　her　mother；　maybe。　One　of　the　real　horrorshows　before　she　had　gone　away　to　school。　When　Steve　came　up　behind　her　and　slipped　his　tanned　arms　around　her　bare　midriff；　she　acted　with　no　thought　at　all；　she　brought　her　elbow　back　into　his　lower　chest。　Her　temper　was　not　cooled　by　the　obvious　fact　that　he　had　anticipated　her。　He　played　a　lot　of　tennis；　and　her　elbow　felt　as　if　it　had　struck　a　stone　wall　coated　with　a　layer　of　hard　rubber。
She　turned　around　and　looked　into　his　grinning；　bearded　face。　She　stood　five…eleven　and　was　an　inch　taller　than　Vic　when　she　wore　heels；　but　Steve　was　nearly　six…five。
'Didn't　you　hear　me？　I　want　you　out　of　here！'
'Now；　what　for？'　he　asked。　'The　little　one　is　off　making　beaded　loincloths　or　shooting　apples　off　the　heads　of　counselors　with　his　little　bow　and　arrow　。。。　or　whatever　they　do　。。。　and　hubby　is　busting　heavies　at　the　office。。。　and　now　is　the　time　for　Castle　Rock's　prettiest　hausfrau　and　Castle　Rock's　resident　poet　and　tennis　bum　to　make　all　the　bells　of　sexual　congress　chime　in　lovely　harmony。'
'I　see　you　parked　out　in　the　driveway；'　Donna　said。　'Why　not　just　tape　a　big　sign　to　the　side　of　your　van？　I'M　FUCKING　DONNA　TRENTON；　or　something　witty　like　that？'
'I've　got　every　reason　to　park　in　the　driveway；'　Steve　said；　still　grinning。　'I've　got　that　dresser　in　the　back。　Stripped　clean。　Even　as　I　wish　you　were　yourself；　my　dear。'
'You　can　put　it　on　the　porch。　I'll　take　care　of　it。　While　you're　doing　that；　I'll　write　you　a　check。'
His　smile　faded　a　little。　For　the　first　time　since　she　had　e　in；　the　surface　charm　slipped　a　little　and　she　could　see　the　real　person　underneath。　It　was　a　person　she　didn't　like　at　all；　a　person　that　dismayed　her　when　she　thought　of　him　in　connection　with　herself。　She　had　lied　to　Vic；　gone　behind　his　back；　in　order　to　go　to　bed　with　Steve　Kemp。　She　wished　that　what　she　felt　now　could　be　something　as　simple　as　rediscovering　herself；　as　after　a　nasty　bout　of　fever。　Or　rediscovering　herself　as　Vic's　mate。　But　when　you　took　the　bark　off　it；　the　simple　fact　was　that　Steve　Kemp　…　publishing　poet；　itinerant　furniture　stripper　and　refinisher；　chair　caner；　fair　amateur　tennis　player；　excellent　afternoon　lover　…　was　a　turd。
'Be　serious；'　he　said。
'Yeah；　no　one　could　reject　handsome；　sensitive　Steven　Kemp；'　she　said。　iesgot　to　be　a　joke。　Only　it's　not。　So　what　you　do；　handsome；　sensitive　Steven　Kemp；　is　put　the　dresser　on　the　porch；　get　your　check；　and　blow。'
'Don't　talk　to　me　like　that；　Donna。'　His　hand　moved　to　her　breast　and　squeezed。　It　hurt。　She　began　to　feel　a　little　scared　as　well　as　angry。　＇But　hadn't　she　been　a　little　scared　all　along？　Hadn't　that　been　part　of　the　nasty；　scuzzy　little　thrill　of　W＇
She　slapped　his　hand　away。
'Don't　you　get　on　my　case；　Donna。'　He　wasn't　smiling　now。　'It's　too　goddam　hot。'
'Me？　On　your　case？　You　were　here　when　I　came　in。'　Being　frightened　of　him　had　made　her　angrier　than　ever。　He　wore　a　heavy　black　beard　that　climbed　high　on　his　cheekbones；　and　it　occurred　to　her　suddenly　that　although