sk.cujo-第12部分

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uld　fail　and　they　would　have　to　go　crawling　back　with　their　tails　between　their　legs。　That　hadn't　happened；　because　Vic　and　Roger　had　worked　their　butts　off。　But　that　had　also　meant　that　she　was　left　with　a　growing…up　child　and　too　much　time　on　her　hands。
She　could　count　her　life's　close　friends　on　the　fingers　of　one　hand。　She　was　confident　that　the　ones　she　made　would　be　her　friends　forever；　e　bell　or　high　water；　but　she　had　never　made　friends　quickly　or　easily。　She　had　toyed　with　the　idea　of　getting　her　Maine　certification　…　Maine　and　New　York　were　reciprocal；　it　was　mostly　a　matter　of　filling　out　some　forms。　Then　she　could　go　see　the　Superintendent　of　Schools　and　get　her　name　put　on　the　sub　list　for　Castle　Rock　High。　It　was　a　ridiculous　notion；　and　she　shelved　it　after　running　some　figures　on　her　pocket　calculator。　Gasoline　and　sitters'　fees　would　eat　up　most　of　the　twenty…eight　bucks　a　day　she　might　have　made。
I've　bee　the　fabled　Great　American　Housewife；　she　had　thought　dismally　one　day　last　winter；　watching　sleet　spick　and　spack　down　against　the　porch　storm　windows。
Sitting　home；　feeding　Tab　his　franks　and　beans　and　his　toasted　cheese　sandwiches　and　Campbell's　Soup　for　lunch；　getting　my　slice　of　life　from　Lisa　on　As　the　World　Turns　and　from　Mike　on　The　Young　and　the　Restless。　Every　now　and　then　we　jive　it　up　with　a　Wheel　of　fortune　session。　She　could　go　over　and　see　Joanie　Welsh；　who　had　a　little　girl　about　Tad's　age；　but　Joanie　always　made　her　uneasy。　She　was　three　years　older　than　Donna　and　ten　pounds　heavier。　The　extra　ten　pounds　did　not　seem　to　bother　her。　She　said　her　husband　liked　her　that　way。　Joanie　was　contented　with　things　as　they　were　in　Castle　Rock。
A　little　at　a　time；　the　shit　had　started　to　back　up　in　the　pipe。　She　started　to　sharpshoot　at　Vic　about　little　things；　sublimating　the　big　things　because　they　were　hard　to　define　and　even　harder　to　articulate。　Things　like　loss　and　fear　and　getting　older。　Things　like　being　lonely　and　then　getting　terrified　of　being　lonely。　Things　like　hearing　a　song　on　the　radio　that　you　remembered　from　high　school　and　bursting　into　tears　for　no　reason。　Feeling　jealous　of　Vic　because　his　fife　was　a　daily　struggle　to　build　something；　he　was　a　knight…errant　with　a　family　crest　embossed　on　his　shield；　and　her　life　was　back　here；　getting　Tad　through　the　day；　jollying　him　when　he　was　cranky；　listening　to　his　raps；　fixing　his　meals　and　snacks。　It　was　a　life　lived　in　the　trenches。　Too　much　of　it　was　waiting　and　listening。
And　all　along　she　had　thought　that　things　would　begin　to　smooth　out　when　Tad　was　older；　the　discovery　that　it　wasn't　true　brought　on　a　kind　of　low…level　horror。　This　past　year　he　had　been　out　of　the　house　three　mornings　a　week；　at　jack　and　Jill　Nursery　School；　this　summer　it　had　been　five　afternoons　a　week　at　playcamp。　When　he　was　gone　the　house　seemed　shockingly　empty。　Doorways　leaned　and　gaped　with　no　Tad　to　fill　them；　the　staircase　yawned　with　no　Tad　halfway　up；　sitting　there　in　his　pajama　bottoms　before　his　nap；　owlishly　looking　at　one　of　his　picture　books。
Doors　were　mouths；　stairways　throats。　Empty　rooms　became　traps。
So　she　washed　floors　that　didn't　need　to　be　washed。　She　watched　the　soaps。　She　thought　about　Steve　Kemp；　with　whom　she'd　had　a　little　flirtation　since　he　had　rolled　into　town　the　previous　fall　with　Virginia　license　plates　on　his　van　and　had　set　up　a　small　stripping　and　refinishing　business。　She　had　caught　herself　sitting　in　front　of　the　TV　with　no　idea　what　was　going　on　because　she　had　been　thinking　about　the　way　his　deep　tan　contrasted　with　his　tennis　whites；　or　the　way　his　ass　pumped　when　he　moved　fast。　And　finally　she　had　done　something。　And　today　She　felt　her　stomach　knot　up　and　she　ran　for　the　bathroom；　her　hands　plastered　to　her　mouth；　her　eyes　wide　and　starey。　She　made　it；　barely；　and　tossed　up　everything。　She　looked　at　the　mess　she　had　made；　and　with　a　groan　she　did　it　again。
When　her　stomach　felt　better　（but　her　legs　were　all　atremble　again；　something　lost；　something　gained）；　she　looked　at　herself　in　the　bathroom　mirror。　Her　face　was　thrown　into　hard　and　unflattering　relief　by　the　fluorescent　bar。　Her　skin　was　too　white；　her　eyes　red…rimmed。　Her　hair　was　plastered　to　her　skull　in　an　unflattering　helmet。　She　saw　what　she　was　going　to　look　like　when　she　was　old；　and　the　most　terrifying　thing　of　all　was　that　right　now；　if　Steve　Kemp　was　here；　she　thought　she　would　let　him　make　love　to　her　if　he　would　only　hold　her　and　kiss　her　and　say　that　she　didn't　have　to　be　afraid；　that　time　was　a　myth　and　death　was　a　dream；　that　everything　was　okay。
A　sound　came　out　of　her；　a　screaming　sob　that　could　surely　not　have　been　born　in　her　chest。　It　was　the　sound　of　a　madwoman。
She　lowered　her　head　and　cried。
Charity　Camber　sat　on　the　double　bed　she　shared　with　her　husband；　Joe；　and　looked　down　at　something　she　held　in　her　hands。　She　had　just　e　back　from　the　store；　the　same　one　Donna　Trenton　patronized。　Now　her　hands　and　feet　and　cheeks　felt　numb　and　cold；　as　if　she　had　been　out　with　Joe　on　the　snowmobile　for　too　long。　But　tomorrow　as　the　first　of
July；　the　snowmobile　was　put　neatly　away　in　the　back　shed　with　its　tarp；　snugged　down。
It　can't　be。　There's　been　some　mistake。
But　there　was　no　mistake。　She　had　checked　half　a　dozen　times；　and　there　was　no　mistake。
After　all；　it　has　to　happen　to　somebody；　doesn't　it？
Yes；　of　course。　To　somebody。　But　to　her？
She　could　hear　Joe　pounding　on　something　in　his　garage；　a　high；　belling　sound　that　beat　its　way　into　the　hot　afternoon　like　a　hammer　shaping　thin　metal。　There　was　a　pause；　and　then；　faintly：　'Shit！'
The　hammer　struck　once　more　and　there　was　a　longer　pause。　Then　her　husband　hollered：　'Brett！'
She　always　cringed　a　little　when　he　raised　his　voice　that　way　and　yelled　for　their　boy。　Brett　loved　his　father　very　much；　but　Charity　had　never　been　sure　just　how　Joe　felt　about　his　son。　That　was　a　dreadful　thing　to　be　thinking；　but　it　was　true。　Once；　about　two　years　ago；　she　had　had　a　horrible　nightmare；　one　she　didn't　think　she　would　ever　forget。　She　dreamed　that　her　husband　drove　a　pitchfork　directly　into　Brett's　chest。　The　tines　went　right　through　him　and　poked　out　the　back　of　Brett's　T…shirt；　holding　it　out　the　way　tent　poles　hold　a　tent　up　in　the　air。　Little　sucker　didn't　e　when　I　hollered　him　down；　her　dream　husband　said；　and　she　had　awakened　with　a　jerk　beside　her　real　husband；　who　had　been　sleeping　the　sleep　of　beer　beside　her　in　his　boxer　shorts。　The　moonlight　had　been　falling　through　the　window　and　onto　the　bed　where　she　now　sat；　moonlight　in　a　cold　and　uncaring　flood　of　light；　and　she　had　understood　just　how　afraid　a　person　could　be；　how　fear　was　a　monster　with　yellow　teeth；　set　afoot　by　an　angry　God　to　eat　the　unwary　and　the　unfit。　Joe　had　used　his　hands　on　her　a　few　times　in　the　course　of　their　marriage；　and　she　had　learned。　She　wasn't　a　genius；　maybe；　but　her　mother　hadn't　raised　any　fools。　Now　she　did　what　Joe　told　her　and　rarely　argued。　She　guessed　Brett　was　that　way　too。　But　she　feared　for　the　boy　sometimes。
She　went　to　the　window　in　time　to　see　Brett　run　across　the　yard　and　into　the　barn。　Cujo　traded　at　Brett's　heels；　looking　hot　and　dispirited。
Faintly：　'Hold　this　for　me；　Brett。'
More　faintly：　'Sure；　Daddy。'
The　hammering　started　again；　that　merciless　icepick　sound：　Whing！　Whing！　Whing！　She　imagined　Brett　holding　something　against　something　…　a　coldchisel　against　a　frozen　bearing；　maybe；　or　a　square　spike　against　a　lockbolt。　Her　husband　a　Pall　Mall　jittering　in　the　er　of　his　thin　mouth；　his　T…shirt　sleeves　rolled　up；　swinging　a　five…pound　pony…hammer。　And　if　he　was　drunk　。。。　if　his　aim　was　a　little　off　。
In　her　mind　she　could　hear　Brett's　agonized　bowl　as　the　hammer　mashed　his　hand　to　a　red；　splintered　pulp；　and　she　crossed　her　arms　over　her　bosom　against　the　vision。
She　looked　at　the　thing　in　her　hand　again　and　wondered　if　there　was　a　way　she　could　use　it。　More　than　anything　in　the　world；　she　wanted　to　go　to　Connecticut　to　see　her　sister　Holly。　It　had　been　six　years　now；　in　the　summer　of　1974　…　she　remembered　well　enough；　because　it　had　been　a　bad　summer　for　her　except　for　that　one　pleasant　weekend。　'Seventy…four　had　been　the　year　Brett's　night　problems　had　begun　…restlessness；　bad　dreams；　and