sk.petsematary-第60部分

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　　He　popped　the　top　and　drank　deeply。　He　was　drunk　now；　drunk　for　fair；　and　there　would　be　a　big　head　for　him　to　deal　with　tomorrow。　How　I　Went　to　My　Son's　Funeral　with　a　Han　gover　by　Louis　Creed；　author　of　How　I　Just　Missed　Him　at　the　Crucial　Moment　and　numerous　other　works。
　　Drunk。　Sure。　And　he　suspected　now　that　the　reason　he　had　gotten　drunk　was　so　he　could　consider　this　crazy　idea　soberly。
　　In　spite　of　everything；　the　idea　had　that　deadly　attraction；　that　sick　luster；　that　glamour。　Yes；　that　above　all　else…it　had　glamour。
　　Jud　was　back；　speaking　in　his　mind：
　　You　do　it　because　it　gets　hold　of　you。　You　do　it　because　that　burial　place　is　a　secret　place；　and　you　want　to　share　the　secret　you　make　up　reasons。　。　。　they　seem　like　good　reasons　but　mostly　you　do　it　because　you　want　to。　Or　because　you　have　to。
　　Jud's　voice；　low　and　drawling　with　Yankee　intonation；　Jud's　voice　chilling　his　flesh；　bringing　out　the　goosebumps；　making　the　hackles　on　the　back　of　his　neck　rise。
　　These　are　secret　things；　Louis　。　。　。　the　soil　of　a　man's　heart　is　stonier。　。　。　like　the　soil　up　in　the　old　Micmac　burying　ground。　A　man　grows　what　he　can。　。　。　and　he　tends　it。
　　Louis　began　to　go　over　the　other　things　Jud　had　told　him　about　the　Micmac　burying　ground。　He　began　to　collate　the　data；　to　sort　through　it；　to　press　it…he　proceeded　in　exactly　the　same　way　he　had　once　readied　himself　for　big　exams。
　　The　dog。　Spot。
　　I　could　see　all　the　places　where　the　barbed　wire　had　hooked　him…there　was　no　fur　in　any　of　those　places；　and　the　flesh　looked　dimpled　in。
　　The　bull。　Another　file　turned　over　in　Louis's　mind。
　　Lester　Morgan　buried　his　prize　hull　up　there。　Black　Angus　bull；　named　Hanratty　。　。　。　Lester　dragged　him　all　the　way　up　there　on　a　sledge　。　。　。　shot　him　dead　two　weeks　later。　That　bull　turned　mean；　really　mean。　But　he's　the　only　animal　I　ever　heard　of　that　did。
　　He　turned　mean。
　　The　soil　of　a　man's　heart　is　stonier。
　　He　turned　really　mean。
　　He's　the　only　animal　I　ever　heard　of　that　did。
　　Mostly　you　do　it　because　once　you've　been　up　there；　it's　your　place。
　　The　flesh　looked　dimpled　in。
　　Hanratty；　ain't　that　a　silly　name　for　a　bull？
　　A　man　grows　what　he　can。　。　。　and　tends　it。
　　They're　my　rats。　And　my　birds。　I　bought　the　fuckers。
　　It's　your　place；　a　secret　place；　and　it　belongs　to　you；　and　you　belong　to　it。
　　He　turned　mean；　but　he's　the　only　animal　I　ever　heard　of　that　did。
　　What　do　you　want　to　buy　next；　Louis；　when　the　wind　blows　hard　at　night　and　the　moon　lays　a　white　path　through　the　woods　to　that　place？　Want　to　climb　those　stairs　again？　When　they're　watching　a　horror　movie；　everyone　in　the　audience　knows　the　hero　or　the　heroine　is　stupid　to　go　up　those　stairs；　but　in　real　life　they　always　do…they　smoke；　they　don't　wear　seat　belts；　they　move　their　family　in　beside　a　busy　highway　where　the　big　rigs　drone　back　and　forth　all　day　and　all　night。　So；　Louis；　what　do　you　say？　Want　to　climb　the　stairs？　Would　you　like　to　keep　your　dead　son　or　go　for　what's　behind　Door　Number　One；　Door　Number　Two；　or　Door　Number　Three？
　　Hey…ho；　let's　go。
　　Turned　mean。　。　。　only　animal。　。　。　the　flesh　looked。　。　。　a　man　yours。　。　。　his。　。
　　Louis　dumped　the　rest　of　the　beer　down　the　sink；　feeling　suddenly　that　he　was　going　to　vomit。　The　room　was　moving　around　in　great　swinging　motions。
　　There　was　a　knock　at　the　door。
　　For　a　long　time…it　seemed　like　a　long　time；　anyway…he　believed　it　was　only　in　his　head；　a　hallucination。　But　the　knocking　just　went　on　and　on；　patient；　implacable。　And　suddenly　Louis　found　himself　thinking　of　the　story　of　the　monkey's　paw；　and　a　cold　terror　slipped　into　him。　He　seemed　to　feel　it　with　total　physical　reality…it　was　like　a　dead　hand　that　had　been　kept　in　a　refrigerator；　a　dead　hand　which　had　suddenly　taken　on　its　own　disembodied　life　and　slipped　inside　his　shirt　to　clutch　the　flesh　over　his　heart。　It　was　a　silly　image；　fulsome　and　silly；　but　oh；　it　didn't　feel　silly。　No。
　　Louis　went　to　the　door　on　feet　he　could　not　feel　and　lifted　the　latch　with　nerveless　fingers。　And　as　he　swung　it　open；　he　thought：　It'll　be　Pascow。　Like　they　said　about　Jim　Morrison；　back　from　the　dead　and　bigger　than　ever。　Pascow　standing　there　in　his　jogging　shorts；　big　as　life　and　as　mouldy　as　month…old　bread；　Pascow　with　his　horribly　ruined　head；　Pascow　bringing　the　warning　again：　Don't　go　up　there。　What　was　that　old　song　by　the　Animals？　Baby　please　don't　go；　baby　PLEASE　don't　go；　you　know　I　love　you　so；　baby　please　don't　go。
　　The　door　swung　open　and　standing　there　on　his　front　step　in　the　blowing　dark　of　this　midnight；　between　the　day　of　the　funeral　parlor　visitation　and　the　day　of　his　son's　burial；　was　Jud　Crandall。　His　thin　white　hair　blew　randomly　in　the　chilly　dark。
　　Louis　tried　to　laugh。　Time　seemed　to　have　turned　cleverly　back　on　itself。　It　was　Thanksgiving　again。　Soon　they　would　put　the　stiff；　unnaturally　thickened　body　of　Ellie's　cat　Winston　Churchill　into　a　plastic　garbage　bag　and　start　off。　Oh；　do　not　ask　what　is　it；　let　us　go　and　make　our　visit。
　　〃Can　I　e　in；　Louis？〃　Jud　asked。　He　took　a　pack　of　Chesterfields　from　his　shirt　pocket　and　poked　one　into　his　mouth。
　　〃Tell　you　what；〃　Louis　said。　〃It's　late　and　I've　been　drinking　a　pile　of　beer。〃
　　〃Ayuh；　I　could　smell　it；〃　Jud　said。　He　struck　a　match。　The　wind　snuffed　it。　He　struck　another　around　cupped　hands；　but　the　hands　trembled　and　betrayed　the　match　to　the　wind　again。　He　got　a　third　match；　prepared　to　strike　it；　and　then　looked　up　at　Louis　standing　in　the　doorway。　〃I　can't　get　this　thing　lit；〃　Jud　said。　〃Gonna　let　me　in　or　not；　Louis？〃
　　Louis　stepped　aside　and　let　Jud　walk　in。
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　　They　sat　at　the　kitchen　table　over　beers…first　time　we've　ever　tipped　one　in　our　kitchen；　Louis　thought；　a　little　surprised。　Halfway　across　the　living　room；　Ellie　had　cried　out　in　her　sleep；　and　both　of　them　had　frozen　like　statues　in　a　children's　game。　The　cry　had　not　been　repeated。
　　〃Okay；〃　Louis　said；　〃what　are　you　doing　over　here　at　quarter　past　twelve　on　the　morning　my　son　gets　buried？　You're　a　friend；　Jud；　but　this　is　stretching　it。〃
　　Jud　drank；　wiped　his　mouth　with　the　heel　of　his　hand；　and　looked　directly　at　Louis。　There　was　something　clear　and　positive　in　his　eyes；　and　Louis　at　last　looked　down　from　it。
　　〃You　know　why　I'm　here；〃　Jud　said。　〃You're　thinking　about　things　that　are　not　to　be　thought　of；　Louis。　Worse　still；　I　fear　you're　considering　them。〃
　　〃I　wasn't　thinking　about　anything　but　going　up　to　bed；〃　Louis　said。　〃I　have　a　burying　to　go　to　tomorrow。〃
　　〃I'm　responsible　for　more　pain　in　your　heart　than　you　should　have　tonight；〃　Jud　said　softly。　〃For　all　I　know；　I　may　even　have　been　responsible　for　the　death　of　your　son。〃
　　Louis　looked　up；　startled。　〃What…？　Jud；　don't　talk　crazy！〃
　　〃You　are　thinking　of　trying　to　put　him　up　there；〃　Jud　said。　〃Don't　you　deny　the　thought　has　crossed　your　mind；　Louis。〃
　　Louis　did　not　reply。
　　〃How　far　does　its　influence　extend？〃　Jud　said。　〃Can　you　tell　me　that？　No。　I　can't　answer　that　question　myself；　and　I've　lived　my　whole　life　in　this　patch　of　the　world。　I　know　about　the　Micmacs；　and　that　place　was　always　considered　to　be　a　kind　of　holy　place　to　them。　。　。　but　not　in　a　good　way。　Stanny　B。　told　me　that。　My　father　told　me　too…later　on。　After　Spot　died　the　second　time。　Now　the　Micmacs；　the　state　of　Maine；　and　the　government　of　the　United　States　are　arguing　in　court　about　who　owns　that　land。　Who　does　own　it？　No　one　really　knows；　Louis。　Not　anymore。　Different　people　laid　claim　to　it　at　one　time　or　another；　but　no　claim　ever　stuck。　Anson　Ludlow；　the　great…grandson　of　this　town's　founding　father；　for　one。　His　claim　was　maybe　the　best　for　a　white　man；　since　Joseph　Ludlow　the　Elder　had　the　whole　shebang　as　a　grant　from　Good　King　Georgie　back　when　Maine　was　just　a　big　province　of　the　Massachusetts　Bay　Colony。　But　even　then　he　would　have　been　in　a　hell　of　a　court　fight　because　there　was　cross…claims　to　the　land　by　other　Ludlows　and　by　a　fellow　named　Peter　Dimmart；　who　claimed　he　could　prove　pretty　convincingly　that　he　was　a　Ludlow　on　the　other　side　of　the　sheets。　And　Joseph　Ludlow　the　Elder　was　money…poor　but　land…rich　toward　the　end　of　his　life；　and