sk.dreamcatcher-第14部分

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e　Fire　Marshal　said；　anyway。'　Jonesy　nodded。　'Not　an　unmon　story。'
　　　　'The　insurance　paid　the　value　of　the　place；　but　we　had　nowhere　to　hunt。　I　thought　probably　that'd　be　the　end　of　it；　and　then　Steve　found　this　nice　place　over　in　Kineo。　I　think　it's　probably　an　unincorporated　township；　just　another　part　of　the　Jefferson　Tract；　but　Kineo's　what　they　call　it；　the　few　people　who　live　there。　Do　you　know　where　I　mean？'
　　　　'I　know　it；'　Jonesy　said；　speaking　through　lips　that　felt　oddly　numb。　He　was　getting　another　of　those　telephone　calls　from　nowhere。　Hole　in　the　Wall　was　about　twenty　miles　east　of　Gosselin's。　Kineo　was　maybe　thirty　miles　to　the　west　of　the　market。　That　was　fifty　miles　in　all。　Was　he　supposed　to　believe　that　the　man　sitting　on　the　couch　with　just　his　head　sticking　out　of　the　down　forter　had　wandered　fifty　miles　since　being　lost　the　previous　afternoon？　It　was　absurd。　It　was　impossible。
　　　　'Smells　good；'　McCarthy　said。
　　　　And　it　did；　but　Jonesy　no　longer　felt　hungry。


3

He　was　just　bringing　the　chow　over　to　the　couch　when　he　heard　feet　stamping　on　the　stone　outside　the　door。　A　moment　later　the　door　opened　and　Beaver　came　in。　Snow　swirled　around　his　legs　in　a　dancing　mist。
　　　　'Jesus…Christ…bananas；'　the　Beav　said。　Pete　had　once　made　a　list　of　Beav…isms；　and　Jesus…Christ…bananas　was　high　on　it；　along　with　such　standbys　as　doodlyfuck　and　Kiss　my　bender。　They　were　exclamations　both　Zen　and　profane。　'I　thought　I　was　gonna　end　up　spendin　the　night　out　there；　then　I　saw　the　light。'　Beav　raised　his　hands　roofward；　fingers　spread。　'Seen　de　light；　lawd；　yessir；　praise　Je…'　His　glasses　started　to　unfog　then；　and　he　saw　the　stranger　on　the　couch。　He　lowered　his　hands；　slowly；　then　smiled。　That　was　one　of　the　reasons　Jonesy　had　loved　him　ever　since　grade…school；　although　the　Beav　could　be　tiresome　and　wasn't　the　brightest　bulb　in　the　chandelier；　by　any　means：　his　first　reaction　to　the　unplanned　and　unexpected　wasn't　a　frown　but　a　smile。
　　　　'Hi；'　he　said。　'I'm　Joe　Clarendon。　Who're　you？'
　　　　'Rick　McCarthy；'　he　said；　and　got　to　his　feet。　The　forter　tumbled　off　him　and　Jonesy　saw　he　had　a　pretty　good　potbelly　pooching　out　the　front　of　his　sweater。　Well；　he　thought；　nothing　strange；　about　that；　at　least；　it's　the　middle…aged　man's　disease；　and　it's　going　to　kill　us　in　our　millions　during　the　next　twenty　years　or　so。
　　　　McCarthy　stuck　out　his　hand；　started　to　step　forward；　and　almost　tripped　over　the　fallen　forter。　If　Jonesy　hadn't　reached　out　and　grabbed　his　shoulder；　steadying　him；　McCarthy　probably　would　have　fallen　forward；　very　likely　cleaning　out　the　coffee…table　on　which　the　food　was　now　set。　Again　Jonesy　was　struck　by　the　man's　queer　ungainliness　…　it　made　him　think　of　himself　a　little　that　past　spring；　as　he　had　learned　to　walk　all　over　again。　He　got　a　closer　look　at　the　patch　on　the　guy's　cheek；　and　sort　of　wished　he　hadn't。　It　wasn't　frostbite　at　all。　It　looked　like　a　skin…tumor　of　some　kind；　or　perhaps　a　portwine　stain　with　stubble　growing　out　of　it。
　　　　'Who；　whoa；　shake　it　but　don't　break　it；'　Beaver　said；　springing　forward。　He　grabbed　McCarthy's　hand　and　pumped　it　until　Jonesy　thought　McCarthy　would　end　up　swan…diving　into　the　coffee…table　after　all。　He　was　glad　when　the　Beav　…　all　five…feet…six　of　him；　with　snow　still　melting　into　all　that　long　black　hippie　hair　…　stepped　back。　The　Beav　was　still　smiling；　more　broadly　than　ever。　With　the　shoulder…length　hair　and　the　thick　glasses；　he　looked　like　either　a　math　genius　or　a　serial　killer。　In　fact；　he　was　a　carpenter。
　　　　'Rick　here's　had　a　time　of　it；'　Jonesy　said。　'Got　lost　yesterday　and　spent　last　night　in　the　woods。'
　　　　Beaver's　smile　stayed　on　but　became　concerned。　Jonesy　had　an　idea　what　was　ing　next　and　willed　Beaver　not　to　say　it　he　had　gotten　the　impression　that　McCarthy　was　a　fairly　religious　man　who　might　not　care　much　for　profanity　…　but　of　course　asking　Beaver　to　clean　up　his　mouth　was　like　asking　the　wind　not　to　blow。
　　　　'Bitch…in…a…buzzsaw！'　he　cried　now。　'That's　fuckin　terrible！　Sit　down！　Eat！　You　too；　Jonesy。'　　　　　　　
　　　　'Nah；'　Jonesy　said；　'you　go　on　and　eat　that。　You're　the　one　who　just　came　in　out　of　the　snow。'
　　　　'You　sure？'
　　　　'I　am。　I'll　just　scramble　myself　some　eggs。　Rick　can　catch　you　up　on　his　story。'　Maybe　it'll　make　more　sense　to　you　than　it　does　to　me；　he　thought。
　　　　'Okay。'　Beaver　took　off　his　Jacket　（red）　and　his　vest　（orange；　of　course）。　He　started　to　toss　them　on　the　woodpile；　then　thought　better　of　it。　'Wait；　wait；　got　something　you　might　want。'　He　stuck　his　hand　deep　into　one　of　the　pockets　of　his　down　jacket；　rummaged；　and　came　out　with　a　paperback　book；　considerably　bent　but　seemingly　none　the　worse　for　wear　otherwise。　Little　devils　with　pitchforks　danced　across　the　cover　…　Small　Vices；　by　Robert　Parker。　It　was　the　book　Jonesy　had　been　reading　in　the　stand。
　　　　The　Beav　held　it　out　to　him；　smiling。　'I　left　your　sleeping…bag；　but　I　figured　you　wouldn't　be　able　to　sleep　tonight　unless　you　knew　who　the　fuck　done　it。'
　　　　'You　shouldn't　have　gone　up　there；'　Jonesy　said；　but　he　was　touched　in　a　way　only　Beaver　could　touch　him。　The　Beav　had　e　back　through　the　blowing　snow　and　hadn't　been　able　to　make　out　if　Jonesy　was　up　in　the　tree…stand　or　not；　not　for　sure。　He　could　have　called；　but　for　the　Beav；　calling　wasn't　enough；　only　seeing　was　believing。
　　　　'Not　a　problem；　Beaver　said；　and　sat　down　next　to　McCarthy；　who　was　looking　at　him　as　a　person　might　look　at　a　new　and　rather　exotic　kind　of　small　animal。
　　　　'Well；　thanks；'　Jonesy　said。　'You　get　around　that　sandwich。　I'm　going　to　do　eggs。'　He　started　away；　then　stopped。　'What　about　Pete　and　Henry？　You　think　they'll　make　it　back　okay？'
　　　　he　Beav　opened　his　mouth；　but　before　he　could　answer　the　wind　gasped　around　the　cabin　again；　making　the　walls　creak　and　rising　to　a　grim　whistle　in　the　eaves。
　　　　'Aw；　this　is　just　a　cap　of　snow；'　Beaver　said　when　the　gust　died　away。
　　　　'They'll　make　it　back。　Getting　out　again　if　there　es　a　real　norther；　that　might　be　a　different　story。'　He　began　to　gobble　the　grilled　cheese　sandwich。　Jonesy　went　over　to　the　kitchen　to　scramble　some　eggs　and　heat　up　another　can　of　soup。　He　felt　better　about　McCarthy　now　that　Beaver　was　here。　The　truth　was　he　always　felt　better　when　the　Beav　was　around。　Crazy　but　true。


4

By　the　time　he　got　the　eggs　scrambled　and　the　soup　hot；　McCarthy　was　chatting　away　to　Beaver　as　if　the　two　of　them　had　been　friends　for　the　last　ten　years。　If　McCarthy　was　offended　by　the　Beav's　litany　of　mostly　ic　profanity；　that　was　outweighed　by　Beav's　considerable　charm。　'There's　no　explaining　it；'　Henry　had　once　told　Jonesy。　'He's　a　tribble；　that's　all　…　you　can't　help　liking　him。　It's　why　his　bed　is　never　empty　…　it　sure　isn't　his　looks　women　respond　to。'
　　　　Jonesy　brought　his　eggs　and　soup　into　the　living　area；　working　not　to　limp　…　it　was　amazing　how　much　more　his　his　hip　hurt　in　bad　weather；　he　had　always　thought　that　was　an　old　wives'　tale　but　apparently　it　was　not　…　and　sat　in　one　of　the　chairs　at　the　end　of　the　couch。　McCarthy　had　been　doing　more　talking　than　eating；　it　seemed。　He'd　barely　touched　his　soup；　and　had　eaten　only　half　of　his　grilled　cheese。
　　　　'How　you　boys　doin？'　Jonesy　asked。　He　shook　pepper　onto　his　eggs　and　fell　to　with　a　will　…　his　appetite　had　made　a　plete　eback；　it　seemed。
　　　　'We're　two　happy　whoremasters；'　Beaver　said；　but　although　he　sounded　as　chipper　as　ever；　Jonesy　thought　he　looked　worried；　perhaps　even　alarmed。　'Rick's　been　telling　me　about　his　adventures。　It's　as　good　as　a　story　in　one　of　those　men's　magazines　they　had　in　the　barber　shop　when　I　was　a　kid。'　He　turned　back　to　McCarthy；　still　smiling　…　that　was　the　Beav；　always　smiling　…　and　flicked　a　hand　through　the　heavy　fall　of　his　black　hair。　'Old　Man　Castonguay　was　the　barber　on　our　side　of　Derry　when　I　was　a　kid；　and　he　scared　me　so　fuckin　bad　with　those　clippers　of　his　that　I　been　stayin　away　from　em　ever　since。'
　　　　McCarthy　gave　a　weak　little　smile　but　made　no　reply。　He　picked　up　the　other　half　of　his　cheese　sandwich；　looked　at　it；　then　put　it　back　down　again。　The　red　mark　on　his　cheek　glowed　like　a　brand。　Beaver；　meanwhile；　rushed　on；　as　if　he　was　afraid　of　what　McCarthy　might　say　if　given　half　a　chance。　Outsi