sk.dreamcatcher-第86部分

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luttering　like　pirate's　finery；　are　the　orange　bandannas　his　father　made　his　son　wear　when　Beaver　insisted　on　wearing　such　a　damned　foolish　unhunterly　thing　in　the　woods。　The　outfit　looks　pretty　funny；　but　there's　nothing　funny　about　that　agonized　face　tilted　up　toward　the　maple's　nearly　bare　branches。　The　Beav's　cheeks　are　streaming　with　tears。
　　　　Henry　breaks　into　a　run。　Pete　and　Jonesy　follow　suit；　their　breath　puffing　white　in　the　chill　morning　air。　The　needle…strewn　ground　under　Henry's　feet　is　almost　as　hard　and　cold　as　the　granite　doorstep。
　　　　He　drops　to　his　knees　beside　Beaver；　scared　and　somehow　awed　by　those　tears。　Because　the　Beav　isn't　just　misting　up；　like　the　hero　of　a　movie　who　may　be　allowed　to　shed　a　manly　drop　or　two　when　his　dog　or　his　girlfriend　dies；　Beav　is　running　like　Niagara　Falls。　From　his　nose　hang　two　ropes　of　clear　glistening　snot。　You　never　saw　stuff　like　that　in　the　movies。
　　　　'Gross；'　Pete　says。
　　　　Henry　looks　at　him　impatiently；　but　then　he　sees　Pete　isn't　looking　at　Beaver　but　past　him；　at　a　steaming　puddle　of　vomit。　In　it　are　kernels　of　last　night's　corn　（Lamar　Clarendon　believes　passionately　in　the　virtues　of　canned　food　when　it　es　to　camp　cooking）　and　strings　of　last　night's　fried　chicken。　Henry's　stomach　takes　a　big　unhappy　lurch。　And　just　as　it　starts　to　settle；　Jonesy　yarks。　The　sound　is　like　a　big　liquid　belch。　The　puke　is　brown。
　　　　'Gross！'　Pete　almost　screams　it　this　time。
　　　　Beaver　doesn't　seem　to　even　notice。　'Henry！'　he　says。　His　eyes；　submerged　beneath　twin　lenses　of　tears；　are　huge　and　spooky。　They　seem　to　peer　past　Henry's　face　and　into　the　supposedly　private　rooms　behind　his　forehead。
　　　　'Beav；　it's　okay。　You　had　a　bad　dream。'
　　　　'Sure；　a　bad　dream。'　Jonesy's　voice　is　thick；　his　throat　still　plated　with　puke。　He　tries　to　clear　it　with　a　thick　ratching　noise　that　is　somehow　worse　than　what　just　came　out　of　him；　then　bends　over　and　spits。　His　hands　are　planted　on　the　legs　of　his　longhandles；　and　his　bare　back　is　covered　with　bumps。
　　　　Beav　takes　no　notice　of　Jonesy；　nor　of　Pete　as　Pete　kneels　down　on　his　other　side　and　puts　a　clumsy；　tentative　arm　around　Beav's　shoulders。　Beav　continues　to　look　only　at　Henry。
　　　　'His　head　was　off；'　Beaver　whispers。
　　　　Jonesy　also　drops　to　his　knees；　and　now　all　three　of　them　are　surrounding　the　Beav；　Henry　and　Pete　to　either　side；　Jonesy　in　front。　There　is　vomit　on　Jonesy's　chin。　He　reaches　to　wipe　it　away；　but　Beaver　takes　his　hand　before　he　can。　The　boys　kneel　beneath　the　maple；　and　suddenly　they　are　all　one。　It　is　brief；　this　sense　of　union；　but　as　vivid　as　their　dream。　It　is　the　dream；　but　now　they　are　all　awake；　the　sensation　is　rational；　and　they　cannot　disbelieve。
　　　　Now　it　is　Jonesy　the　Beav　is　looking　at　with　his　spooky　swimming　eyes。　Clutching　Jonesy's　hand。
　　　　'It　was　laying　in　the　ditch　and　his　eyes　were　full　of　mud。'
　　　　'Yeah；'　Jonesy　whispers　in　an　awed　and　shaky　voice。　'Oh　jeez；　it　was。'
　　　　'Said　he'd　see　us　again；　remember？'　Pete　asks。　'One　at　a　time　or　all　together。　He　said　that。'
　　　　Henry　hears　these　things　from　a　great　distance；　because　he's　back　in　the　dream。　Back　at　the　scene　of　the　accident。　At　the　bottom　of　a　trash…littered　embankment　where　there　is　a　soggy　piece　of　marsh；　created　by　a　blocked　drainage　culvert。　He　knows　the　place；　it's　on　Route　7；　the　old　Derry…Newport　Road。　Lying　overturned　in　the　muck　and　the　murk　is　a　burning　car。　The　air　stinks　of　gas　and　burning　tires。　Duddits　is　crying。　Duddits　is　sitting　halfway　down　the　trashy　slope　and　holding　his　yellow　Scooby…Doo　lunchbox　against　his　chest　and　crying　his　eyes　out。
　　　　A　hand　protrudes　from　one　of　the　windows　of　the　overturned　car。　It's　slim；　the　nails　painted　candy…apple　red。　The　car's　other　two　occupants　have　been　thrown　clear；　one　of　them　almost　thirty　damn　feet。　This　one's　facedown；　but　Henry　still　recognizes　him　by　the　masses　of　soaked　blond　hair。　It's　Duncan；　the　one　who　said　you're　not　gonna　tell　anyone　anything；　because　you'll　be　fuckin　dead。　Only　Duncan's　the　one　who　wound　up　dead。
　　　　Something　floats　against　Henry's　shin。　'Don't　pick　that　up！'　Pete　says　urgently；　but　Henry　does。　It's　a　brown　suede　moccasin。　He　has　just　time　to　register　this；　and　then　Beaver　and　Jonesy　shriek　in　terrible　childish　harmony。　They　are　standing　together；　ankle…deep　in　the　muck；　both　of　them　wearing　their　hunting　clothes：　Jonesy　in　his　new　bright　orange　parka；　bought　special　from　Sears　for　this　trip　（and　Mrs　Jones　still　tearfully；　unpersuadably　convinced　that　her　son　win　be　killed　in　the　woods　by　a　hunter's　bullet；　cut　down　in　his　prime）；　Beaver　in　his　tattered　motorcycle　jacket　（What　a　lot　of　zippers！　Duddie's　Mom　had　said　admiringly；　thus　winning　Beaver's　love　and　admiration　forever）　with　the　orange　bandannas　tied　up　and　down　the　arms。　They　aren't　looking　at　the　third　body；　the　one　lying　just　outside　the　driver's　door；　but　Henry　does；　just　for　a　moment　（still　holding　the　moccasin；　like　a　small　waterlogged　canoe；　in　his　hands）；　because　something　is　terribly；　fundamentally　wrong　with　it；　so　wrong　that　for　a　moment　he　cannot　tell　what　it　might　be。　Then　he　realizes　that　there's　nothing　above　the　collar　of　the　corpse's　high…school　jacket。　Beaver　and　Jonesy　are　screaming　because　they　have　seen　what　should　have　been　above　it。　They　have　seen　Richie　Grenadeau's　head　lying　faceup；　glaring　at　the　sky　from　a　blood…spattered　stand　of　cattails。　Henry　knows　it's　Richie　at　once。　Even　though　the　swatch　of　tape　no　longer　rides　the　bridge　of　his　nose；　there　is　no　mistaking　the　guy　who　was　trying　to　feed　Duddits　a　piece　of　shit　that　day　behind　Tracker's。
　　　　Duds　is　up　there　on　the　bank；　crying　and　crying；　that　crying　that　gets　into　your　head　like　a　sinus　headache；　and　if　it　goes　on　it　will　drive　Henry　mad。　He　drops　the　moc　and　slogs　around　the　back　of　the　burning　car　to　where　Beaver　and　Jonesy　stand　with　their　arms　around　each　other。
　　　　'Beaver！　Beav！'　Henry　shouts；　but　until　he　reaches　out　and　gives　Beaver　a　hard　shake；　Beaver　just　continues　to　stare　at　the　severed　head；　as　if　hypnotized。
　　　　Finally；　though；　Beaver　looks　at　him。　'His　head's　off；'　he　says；　as　if　this　were　not　evident。　'Henry；　his　head's…'
　　　　'Never　mind　his　head；　take　care　of　Duddits！　Make　him　stop　that　goddam　crying！'
　　　　'Yeah；'　Pete　says。　He　looks　at　Richie's　head；　that　final　dead　glare；　then　looks　away；　mouth　twitching。　'It's　drivin　me　fuckin　bugshit。'
　　　　'Like　chalk　on　a　chalkboard；'　Jonesy　mutters。　Above　his　new　orange　parka；　his　skin　is　the　color　of　old　cheese。　'Make　him　stop；　Beav。'
　　　　'H…H…H…'
　　　　'Don't　be　a　dweeb；　sing　him　the　fuckin　song！'　Henry　shouts。　He　can　feel　mucky　water　oozing　up　between　his　toes。　'The　lullaby；　the　goddam　lullaby！'
　　　　For　a　moment　the　Beav　looks　as　though　he　still　doesn't　understand；　but　then　his　eyes　clear　a　little　and　he　says　'Oh！'　He　goes　slogging　toward　the　embankment　where　Duddits　sits；　clutching　his　bright　yellow　lunchbox　and　howling　as　he　did　on　the　day　they　met　him。　Henry　sees　something　that　he　barely　has　time　to　notice：　there　is　blood　caked　around　Duddits's　nostrils；　and　there's　a　bandage　on　his　left　shoulder。　Something　is　poking　out　of　it；　something　that　looks　like　white　plastic。
　　　　'Duddits；'　the　Beav　says；　climbing　the　embankment。　'Duddle；　honey；　don't。　Don't　cry　no　more；　don't　look　at　it　no　more；　it's　not　for　you　to　look　at；　it's　so　fuckin　gross　。　。　。'
　　　　At　first　Duddits　takes　no　notice；　just　goes　on　howling。　Henry　thinks；　He　cried　himself　into　a　nosebleed　and　that's　the　blood　part；　but　what's　that　white　thing　sticking　out　of　his　shoulder？　　　　
　　　　Jonesy　has　actually　raised　his　hands　to　cover　his　ears。　Pete　has　got　one　of　his　on　top　of　his　head；　as　if　to　keep　it　from　blowing　off。　Then　Beaver　takes　Duddits　in　his　arms；　just　as　he　did　a　few　weeks　earlier；　and　be　ins　to　sing　in　that　high　clear　voice　that　you'd　never　think　could　e　out　of　a　scrub　like　the　Beav。　　　　
　　　　'Baby's　boat's　a　silver　dream；　sailing　near　and　far　。　。　。'　　　　
　　　　And　oh　miracle　of　blessed　miracles；　Duddits　begins　to　quiet。
　　　　Speaking　from　the　er　of　his　mouth；　Pete　says：　'Where　are　we；　Henry？　Where　the　fuck　are　we？'
　　　　'In　a　dream；'　Henry　says；　and　all　at　once　the　four　of　them　are　back　under　the　maple　tree　at　Hole　in　the　Wall；　kneeling　together　in　their　under