sk.dreamcatcher-第33部分

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　　　　'Shirt；　schmirt；　who　gives　a　shit？'　Jonesy　wants　to　know。
　　　　'Let's　just…'
　　　　'Hold　your　horses；'　the　Beav　says。　'This　is　a　good　shirt。'　Except　when　he　picks　it　up；　they　see　that　it　isn't。　New；　yes　a　brand…new　Derry　Tigers　shirt；　with　19　on　the　back。　Pete　doesn't　give　a　shit　for　football；　but　the　rest　of　them　recognize　it　as　Richie　Grenadeau's　number。　Good；　no　…　not　anymore。　It's　ripped　deeply　at　the　back　collar；　as　if　the　person　wearing　it　had　tried　to　run　away；　then　been　grabbed　and　hauled　back。
　　　　'Guess　I　was　wrong；'　the　Beav　says　sadly；　and　drops　it　again。　'e　on。'
　　　　But　before　they　get　very　far；　they　e　across　something　else　…　this　time　it's　yellow　instead　of　red；　that　bright　yellow　plastic　only　a　kid　could　love。　Henry　trots　ahead　of　the　others　and　picks　it　up。　It's　a　lunchbox　with　Scooby…Doo　and　his　friends　on　it；　all　of　them　running　from　what　appears　to　be　a　haunted　house。　Like　the　shirt　it　looks　new；　not　anything　that's　been　lying　out　here　for　any　length　of　time；　and　all　at　once　Henry　is　starting　to　have　a　bad　feeling　about　this；　starting　to　wish　they　hadn't　detoured　into　this　deserted　driveway　by　this　deserted　building　at　all　。　。　。　or　at　least　had　saved　it　for　another　day。　Which；　even　at　fourteen；　he　realizes　is　stupid。　When　it　es　to　pussy；　he　thinks；　you　either　go　or　you　don　9　t；　there's　no　such　thing　as　saving　it　for　another　day。
　　　　'I　hate　that　fuckin　show；　Pete　says；　looking　over　Henry's　shoulder　at　the　lunchbox。　'They　never　change　their　clothes；　did　you　ever　notice　that？　Wear　the　same　fuckin　thing；　show　in　and　show　out。'
　　　　Jonesy　takes　the　Scooby…Doo　lunchbox　from　Henry　and　turns　it　to　look　at　something　he's　seen　pasted　on　the　end。　The　wild　look　has　gone　out　of　Jonesy's　eyes；　he's　frowning　slightly；　and　Henry　has　an　idea　Jonesy　is　also　wishing　they'd　just　gone　on　and　played　some　two…on…two。
　　　　The　sticker　on　the　side　reads：　I　BELONG　TO　DOUGLAS　CAVELL；　19　MAPLE　LANE；　DERRY；　MAINE。　IF　THE　BOY　I　BELONG　TO　IS　LOST；　CALL　949…1864。　THANKS！
　　　　Henry　opens　his　mouth　to　say　the　lunchbox　and　the　shirt　must　belong　to　a　kid　who　goes　to　The　Retard　Academy　…　he's　sure　of　it　just　looking　at　the　sticker；　which　is　almost　like　the　tag　their　fucking　dog　wears　…　but　before　he　can；　there　is　a　scream　from　the　far　side　of　the　building；　over　where　the　big　kids　play　baseball　in　the　summer。　It's　full　of　hurt；　that　scream；　but　what　starts　Henry　running　before　he　can　even　think　about　it　is　the　surprise　in　it；　the　awful　surprise　of　someone　who　has　been　hurt　or　scared　（or　both）　for　the　very　first　time。
　　　　The　others　follow　him。　They　run　up　the　weedy　right　rut　of　the　driveway；　the　one　closest　to　the　building；　in　single　file：　Henry；　Jonesy；　the　Beav；　and　Pete。
　　　　There　is　hearty　male　laughter。　'Go　on　and　eat　it；'　someone　says。　'Eat　it　and　you　can　go。　Duncan　might　even　give　you　your　pants　back。'
　　　　'Yeah；　if　you…'　Another　boy；　probably　Duncan；　begins　and　then　he　stops；　staring　at　Henry　and　his　friends。
　　　　'Hey　you　guys；　quit　it！'　Beaver　shouts。　'Just　fucking　quit　it！'　Duncan's　friends　…　there　are　two　of　them；　both　wearing　Derry　High　School　jackets　…　realize　they　are　no　longer　unobserved　at　their　afternoon's　entertainment；　and　turn。　Kneeling　on　the　gravel　amid　them；　dressed　only　in　underpants　and　one　sneaker；　his　face　smeared　with　blood　and　dirt　and　snot　and　tears；　is　a　child　of　an　age　Henry　cannot　determine。　He's　not　a　little　kid；　not　with　that　powdering　of　hair　on　his　chest；　but　he　has　the　look　of　a　little　kid　just　the　same。　His　eyes　have　a　Chinese　tilt　and　are　bright　green；　swimming　with　tears。
　　　　On　the　red　brick　wall　behind　this　little　group；　printed　in　large　white　letters　which　are　fading　but　still　legible；　is　this　message：　NO　BOUNCE；　NO　PLAY。　Which　probably　means　keep　the　games　and　the　balls　away　from　the　building　and　out　in　the　vacant　lot　where　the　deep　ruts　of　the　basepaths　and　the　ragged　hill　of　the　pitcher's　mound　can　still　be　seen；　but　who　can　say　for　sure？　NO　BOUNCE；　NO　PLAY。　In　the　years　to　e　they　will　say　this　often；　it　will　bee　one　of　the　private　catch…phrases　of　their　youth　and　has　no　exact　meaning。　Who　knows？　perhaps　es　closest。　Or　What　can　you　do？　It　is　always　best　spoken　with　a　shrug；　a　smile；　and　hands　tipped　up　to　the　sky。
　　　　'Who　the　fuck're　you？'　one　of　the　big　boys　asks　the　Beav。　On　his　left　hand　he's　wearing　what　looks　like　a　batting　glove　or　maybe　a　golf　glove　。　。　。　something　athletic；　anyway。　In　it　is　the　dried　dog…turd　he　has　been　trying　to　make　the　mostly　naked　boy　eat。
　　　　'What　are　you　doing？'　Jonesy　asks；　horrified。　'You　tryin　to　make　him　eat　that？　The　fuck's　wrong　with　you？'
　　　　The　kid　holding　the　dog…turd　has　a　wide　swatch　of　white　tape　across　the　bridge　of　his　nose；　and　Henry　utters　a　bark　of　recognition　that　is　half　surprise　and　half　laughter。　It's　too　perfect；　isn't　it？　They're　here　to　look　at　the　pussy　of　the　Homeing　Queen　and　here；　by　God；　is　the　Homeing　King；　whose　football　season　has　apparently　been　ended　by　nothing　worse　than　a　broken　nose；　and　who　is　currently　passing　his　time　doing　stuff　like　this　while　the　rest　of　the　team　practices　for　this　week's　game。　　　　
　　　　Richie　Grenadeau　hasn't　noticed　Henry's　look　of　recognition；　he's　staring　at　Jonesy。　Because　he　has　been　startled　and　because　Jonesy's　tone　of　disgust　is　so　pletely　unfeigned；　Richie　at　first　takes　a　step　backward。　Then　he　realizes　that　the　kid　who　has　dared　to　speak　to　him　in　such　reproving　tones　is　at　least　three　years　younger　and　a　hundred　pounds　lighter　than　he　is。　The　sagging　hand　straightens　again。
　　　　'I'm　gonna　make　him　eat　this　piece　of　shit；'　he　says。　'Then　he　can　go。　You　go　now；　snotball；　unless　you　want　half'
　　　　'Yeah；　fuck　off；'　the　third　boy　says。　Richie　Grenadeau　is　big　but　this　boy　is　even　bigger；　a　six…foot…five　hulk　whose　face　flames　with　acne。　'While　you　got　th…'
　　　　'I　know　who　you　are；'　Henry　says。
　　　　Richie's　eyes　switch　to　Henry。　He　looks　suddenly　wary　。　。　。　but　he　also　looks　pissed　off。　'Fuck　off；　sonny。　I　mean　it。'
　　　　'You're　Richie　Grenadeau。　Your　picture　was　in　the　paper。
　　　　
　　　　What　do　you　think　people　will　say　if　we　tell　em　what　we　caught　you　doing？'
　　　　'You're　not　gonna　tell　anyone　anything；　because　you'll　be　fuckin　dead；'　the　one　named　Duncan　says。　He　has　dirty…blond　hair　falling　around　his　face　and　down　to　his　shoulders。　'Get　outta　here。　Beat　feet。'
　　　　Henry　pays　no　attention　to　him。　He　stares　at　Richie　Grenadeau。　He　is　aware　of　no　fear；　although　there's　no　doubt　these　three　boys　could　stomp　them　flat；　he　is　burning　with　an　outrage　he　has　never　felt　before；　never　even　suspected。　The　kid　kneeling　on　the　ground　is　undoubtedly　retarded；　but　not　so　retarded　he　doesn't　understand　these　three　big　boys　intended　to　hurt　him；　tore　off　his　shirt；　and　then…
　　　　Henry　has　never　in　his　life　been　closer　to　getting　good　and　beaten　up；　or　been　less　concerned　with　it。　He　takes　a　step　forward；　fists　clenching。　The　kid　on　the　ground　sobs；　head　now　lowered；　and　the　sound　is　a　constant　tone　in　Henry's　head；　feeding　his　fury。
　　　　'I'll　tell；'　he　says；　and　although　it　is　a　little　kid's　threat；　he　doesn't　sound　like　a　little　kid　to　himself。　Nor　to　Richie；　apparently；　Richie　takes　a　step　backward　and　the　gloved　hand　with　the　dried　turd　in　it　sags　again。　For　the　first　time　he　looks　alarmed。　'Three　against　one；　a　little　retarded　kid；　fuck　yeah；　man；　I'll　tell。　I'll　tell　and　I　know　who　you　are！'
　　　　Duncan　and　the　big　boy　…　the　only　one　not　wearing　a　high…school　jacket　…　step　up　on　either　side　of　Richie。　The　boy　in　the　underpants　is　behind　them　now；　but　Henry　can　still　hear　the　pulsing　drone　of　his　sobs；　it's　in　his　head；　beating　in　his　head　and　driving　him　fucking　crazy。
　　　　'All　right；　okay；　that's　it；'　the　biggest　boy　says。　He　grins；　showing　several　holes　where　teeth　once　lived。　'You're　gonna　die　now。'
　　　　'Pete；　you　run　when　they　e；'　Henry　says；　never　taking　his　eyes　from　Richie　Grenadeau。　'Run　home　and　tell　your　mother。'　And；　to　Richie：　'You'll　never　catch　him；　either。　He　runs　like　the　fucking　wind。'
　　　　Pete's　voice　sounds　thin　but　not　scared。　'You　got　it；　Henry。'　'And　the　worse　you　beat　us　up；　the　worse　it's　gonna　be　for　you；　Jonesy　says。　Henry　has　already　seen　this；　but　for　Jonesy　it　is　a　revelation；　he's　almost　laughing。　'Even　if　you　really　did　kill　us；　what　good　would　it　do　you？