sk.dreamcatcher-第40部分

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　　　　So　she　leads　them　back　to　the　house　where　they'll　spend　so　much　of　their　time　in　the　following　years　…　the　house　at　19　Maple　Lane　…　only　it　is　really　Duddits　who　leads　the　way；　prancing；　skipping；　sometimes　lifting　his　yellow　Scooby…Doo　lunchbox　over　his　head；　but　always；　Beaver　notices；　keeping　at　almost　exactly　the　same　place　on　the　sidewalk；　about　a　foot　from　the　grass　margin　between　the　walk　and　the　street。　Years　later；　after　the　thing　with　the　Rinkenhauer　girl；　he　will　consider　what　Mrs　Cavell　said。　They　all　will。　He　sees　the　line。


4

'Jonesy？'　Beaver　called。
　　　　No　answer。　Christ；　it　seemed　like　Jonesy　had　been　gone　a　long
　　　　time。　Probably　hadn't　been；　but　there　was　no　way　Beaver　could　tell；　he'd　forgotten　to　put　on　his　watch　that　morning。　Stupid；　but　then；　he'd　always　been　stupid；　he　ought　to　be　used　to　it　by　now。　Next　to　Jonesy　and　Henry；　both　he　and　Pete　had　been　stupid。　Not　that　Jonesy　or　Henry　had　ever　treated　them　that　way　…　that　was　one　of　the　great　things　about　them。
　　　　'Jonesy？'
　　　　Still　nothing。　Probably　he　was　having　trouble　finding　the　tape；　that　was　all。
　　　　There　was　a　vile　little　voice　far　back　in　Beaver's　head　telling　him　that　the　tape　had　nothing　to　do　with　it；　that　Jonesy　had　just　gone　Powder　River；　leaving　him　here　to　sit　on　the　toilet　like　Danny　Glover　in　that　movie；　but　he　wouldn't　listen　to　that　voice　because　Jonesy　would　never　do　anything　like　that。　They　were　friends　to　the　end；　always　had　been。
　　　　That's　right；　the　vile　voice　agreed。　You　were　friends。　And　this　is　the　end。
　　　　'Jonesy？　You　there；　man？'
　　　　Still　nothing。　Maybe　the　tape　had　fallen　off　the　nail　it　had　been　hung　on。　　　　
　　　　Nothing　from　beneath　him；　either。　And　hey；　it　really　wasn't　possible　that　McCarthy　had　shit　some　kind　of　monster　into　the　john；　was　it？　That　he'd　given　birth　to　…　Gasp！　…　The　Beast　in　the　Bowl？　It　sounded　like　a　horror…movie　spoof　on　Saturday　Night　Live。　And　even　if　that　had　happened；　The　Beast　in　the　Bowl　had　probably　drowned　by　now；　drowned　or　gone　deep。　A　line　from　a　story　suddenly　occurred　to　him；　one　they'd　read　to　Duddits　…　taking　turns；　and　it　was　good　there　were　four　of　them　because　when　Duddits　liked　something　he　never　got　tired　of　it。
　　　　'Eee　doool！'　Duddits　would　shout；　running　to　one　of　them　with　the　book　held　high　over　his　head；　the　way　he'd　carried　his　lunchbox　home　that　first　day。　'Eee　doool；　eee　doool！'　Which　in　this　case　meant　Read　Pool！　Read　Pool！　The　book　was　McElligot's　Pool；　by　Dr。　Seuss；　the　first　memorable　couplet　of　which　went；　'Young　man；'　（argued　the　farmer）　'You're　sort　of　a　fool！　You'll　never　catch　fish　in　McElligot's　Pool！'　But　there　had　been　fish；　at　least　in　the　imagination　of　the　little　boy　in　the　story。　Plenty　of　fish。　Big　fish。
　　　　No　splashes　from　beneath　him；　though。　No　bumps　on　the　underside　of　the　lid；　either。　Not　for　awhile　now。　He　could　maybe　risk　one　quick　look；　just　raise　the　lid　a　little　and　slam　it　back　down　if　anything…
　　　　But　sit　tight；　buddy　was　the　last　thing　Jonesy　had　said　to　him；　and　that　was　what　he'd　better　do。
　　　　Jonesy's　most　likely　a　mile　down　the　road　by　now；　the　vile　voice　estimated。　A　mile　down　the　road　and　still　picking　up　speed。
　　　　'No；　he　ain't；'　Beaver　said。　'Not　Jonesy。'
　　　　He　shifted　a　little　bit　on　the　closed　seat；　waiting　for　the　thing　to　jump；　but　it　didn't。　It　might　be　sixty　yards　away　by　now　and　swimming　with　the　turds　in　the　septic　tank。　Jonesy　had　said　it　was　too　big　to　go　down；　but　since　neither　of　them　had　actually　seen　it；　there　was　no　way　to　tell　for　sure；　was　there？　But　in　either　case；　Monsieur　Beaver　Clarendon　was　going　to　sit　right　here。　Because　he'd　said　he　would。　Because　time　always　seemed　slower　when　you　were　worried　or　scared。　And　because　he　trusted　Jonesy。　Jonesy　and　Henry　had　never　hurt　him　or　made　fun；　not　of　him　and　not　of　Pete。　And　none　of　them　had　ever　hurt　Duddits　or　made　fun　of　him；　either。
　　　　Beav　snorted　laughter。　Duddits　with　his　Scooby…Doo　lunchbox。　Duddits　on　his　belly；　blowing　the　fluff　off　dandelions。　Duddits　running　around　in　his　back　yard；　happy　as　a　bird　in　a　tree；　yeah；　and　people　who　called　kids　like　him　special　didn't　know　the　half　of　it。　He　had　been　special；　all　right；　their　present　from　a　fucked…up　world　that　usually　didn't　give　you　jack…shit。　Duddits　had　been　their　own　special　thing；　and　they　had　loved　him。


5

They　sit　in　the　sunny　kitchen　nook　…　the　clouds　have　gone　away　as　if　by　magic　…　drinking　iced　tea　and　watching　Duddits；　who　drank　his　ZaRex　（awful…looking　orange　stuff）　in　three　or　four　huge　splattering　gulps　and　then　ran　out　back　to　play。
　　　　Henry　does　most　of　the　talking；　telling　Mrs　Cavell　that　the　boys　were　just　'kinda　pushing　him　around。'　He　says　that　they　got　a　little　bit　rough　and　ripped　his　shirt；　which　scared　Duddits　and　made　him　cry。　There　is　no　mention　of　how　Richie　Grenadeau　and　his　friends　took　off　his　pants；　no　mention　of　the　nasty　after…school　snack　they　wanted　Duddits　to　eat；　and　when　Mrs　Cavell　asks　them　if　they　know　who　these　big　boys　were；　Henry　hesitates　briefly　and　then　says　no；　just　some　big　boys　from　the　high　school；　he　didn't　know　any　of　them；　hot　by　name。　She　looks　at　Beaver；　Jonesy；　and　Pete；　they　all　shake　their　heads。　It　may　be　wrong　…　dangerous　to　Duddits　in　the　long　run；　as　well　…　but　they　can't　step　that　far　outside　the　rules　which　govern　their　lives。　Already　Beaver　cannot　understand　where　they　found　the　sack　to　intervene　in　the　first　place；　and　later　the　others　will　say　the　same。　They　marvel　at　their　courage；　they　also　marvel　that　they　aren't　in　the　fuckin　hospital。
　　　　She　looks　at　them　sadly　for　a　moment；　and　Beaver　realizes　she　knows　a　lot　of　what　they　aren't　telling；　probably　enough　to　keep　her　awake　that　night。　Then　she　smiles。　Right　at　Beaver　she　smiles；　and　it　makes　him　tingle　all　the　way　down　to　his　toes。　'What　a　lot　of　zippers　you　have　on　your　jacket！'　she　says。
　　　　Beaver　smiles。　'Yes；　ma'am。　It's　my　Fonzie　jacket。　It　was　my　brother's　first。　These　guys　make　fun　of　it；　but　I　like　it　just　the　same。'
　　　　'Happy　Days；'　she　says。　'We　like　it；　too。　Duddits　likes　it。　Perhaps　you'd　like　to　e　over　some　night　and　watch　it　with　us。　With　him。'　Her　smile　grows　wistful；　as　if　she　knows　nothing　like　that　will　ever　happen。
　　　　'Yeah；　that'd　be　okay；'　Beav　says。
　　　　'Actually　it　would；'　Pete　agrees。
　　　　They　sit　for　a　little　without　talking；　just　watching　him　play　in　the　back　yard。　There's　a　swing…set　with　two　swings。　Duddits　runs　behind　them；　pushing　them；　making　the　swings　go　by　themselves。　Sometimes　he　stops；　crosses　his　arms　over　his　chest；　turns　the　clockless　dial　of　his　face　up　to　the　sky；　and　laughs。
　　　　'Seems　all　right　now；'　Jonesy　says；　and　drinks　the　last　of　his　tea。　'Guess　he's　forgotten　all　about　it。'
　　　　Mrs　Cavell　has　started　to　get　up。　Now　she　sits　back　down；　giving　him　an　almost　startled　look。　'Oh　no；　not　at　all；'　she　says。　'He　remembers。　Not　like　you　and　I；　perhaps；　but　he　remembers　things。　He'll　probably　have　nightmares　tonight；　and　when　we　go　into　his　room　…　his　father　and　me　…　he　won't　be　able　to　explain。　That's　the　worst　for　him；　he　can't　tell　what　it　is　he　sees　and　thinks　and　feels。　He　doesn't　have　the　vocabulary。'
　　　　She　sighs。
　　　　'In　any　case；　those　boys　won't　forget　about　him。　What　if　they're　laying　for　him　now？　What　if　they're　laying　for　you？'
　　　　'We　can　take　care　of　ourselves；'　Jonesy　says；　but　although　his　voice　is　stout　enough；　his　eyes　are　uneasy；
　　　　'Maybe；'　she　says。　'But　what　about　Duddits？　I　can　walk　him　to　school　…　I　used　to；　and　I　suppose　I'll　have　to　again；　for　awhile　at　least；　anyway　…　but　he　loves　to　walk　home　on　his　own　so　much。'
　　　　'It　makes　him　feel　like　a　big　boy；'　Pete　says。
　　　　She　reaches　across　the　table　and　touches　Pete's　hand；　making　him　blush。　'That's　right；　it　makes　him　feel　like　a　big　boy。'
　　　　'You　know；'　Henry　says；　'we　could　walk　him。　We　all　go　together　to　the　junior　high；　and　it　would　be　easy　enough　to　e　down　here　from　Kansas　Street。'…
　　　　Roberta　Cavell　only　sits　there　without　saying　anything；　a　little　birdie…woman　in　a　print　dress；　looking　at　Henry　attentively；　like　someone　waiting　for　the　punchline　of　a　joke。
　　　　'Would　that　be　okay；　Missus　Cavell？'　Beaver　asks　her。　'Because　we　could　do　it；　easy。　Or　maybe　you　don't　want　us　to。'
　　　　Something　plicated　happens　t