sk.cujo-第35部分

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Groceries　stowed；　likewise　Tad；　she　got　behind　the　wheel　and　started　the　Pinto。　Now　it'll　fuck　up；　she　thought；　but　the　Pinto　took　them　docilely　up　the　street　to　Mario's；　which　purveyed　delicious　pizza　stuffed　with　enough　calories　to　put　a　spare　tire　on　a　lumberjack。　She　did　a　passable　job　of　parallel　parking；　ending　up　only　eighteen　inches　or　so　from　the　curb；　and　took　Tad　in；　feeling　better　than　she　had　all　day。　Maybe　Vic　had　been　wrong；　maybe　it　had　been　bad　gas　or　dirt　in　the　fuel　line　and　it　had　finally　worked　its　way　out　of　the　car's　system。　She　hadn't　looked　forward　to　going　out　to　Joe　Camber's　Garage。　It　was　too　far　out　in　the　boonies　（what　Vic　always　referred　to　with　high　good　humor　as　East　Galoshes　Corners　…but　of　course　he　could　afford　high　good　humor；　he　was　a　man）；　and　she　had　been　a　little　scared　of　Camber　the　one　time　she　had　met　him。　He　was　the　quintessential　back…country　Yankee；　grunting　instead　of　talking；　sullen…faced。　And　the　dog　。。。　what　was　his　name？　Something　that　sounded　Spanish。　Cujo；　that　was　it。　The　same　name　William　Wolfe　of　the　SLA　had　taken；　although　Donna　found　it　impossible　to　believe　that　Joe　Camber　had　named　his　Saint　Bernard　after　a　radical　robber　of　banks　and　kidnapper　of　rich　young　heiresses。　She　doubted　if　Joe　Camber　had　ever　heard　of　the　Symbionese　Liberation　Army。　The　dog　had　seemed　friendly　enough；　but　it　had　made　her　nervous　to　see　Tad　patting　that　monster　…　the　way　it　made　her　nervous　to　stand　and　watch　him　close　the　car　door　himself。　Cujo　looked　big　enough　to　swallow　the　likes　of　Tad　in　two　bites。
She　ordered　Tad　a　hot　pastrami　sandwich　because　he　didn't　care　much　for　pizza　…　kid　sure　didn't　get　that　from　my　side　of　the　family；　she　thought　…　and　a　pepperoni　and　onion　pizza　with　double　cheese　for　herself。　They　ate　at　one　of　the　tables　overlooking　the　road。　My　breath　will　be　fit　to　knock　over　a　horse；　she　thought。　and　then　realised　it　didn't　matter。　She　had　managed　to　alienate　both　her　husband　and　the　guy　who　came　to　visit　in　the　course　of　the　last　six　weeks　or　so。
That　brought　depression　cruising　her　way　again；　and　once　again　she　forced　it　back　。。。　but　her　arms　were　getting　a　little　tired。
They　were　almost　home　and　Springsteen　was　on　the　radio　when　the　Pinto　started　doing　it　again。
At　first　there　was　a　small　jerk。　That　was　followed　by　a　bigger　one。　She　began　to　pump　the　accelerator　gently；　sometimes　that　helped。
Mommy？'　Tad　asked；　alarmed。
It's　all　right；　Tad；'　she　said；　but　it　wasn't。　The　Pinto　began　to　jerk　hard；　throwing　them　both　against　their　seatbelts　with　enough　force　to　lock　the　harness　clasps。　The　engine　chopped　and　roared。　A　bag　fell　over　in　the　hatchback　partment；　spilling　cans　and　bottles。　She　heard　something　break。
'You　goddamned　shitting　thing！'　she　cried　in　an　exasperated　fury。　She　could　see　their　house　just　below　the　brow　of　the　hill；　mockingly　close；　but　she　didn't　think　the　Pinto　was　going　to　get　them　there。
Frightened　as　much　by　her　shout　as　by　the　car's　spasms；　Tad　began　to　cry；　adding　to　her　confusion　and　upset　and　anger。
'Shut　up！'　she　yelled　at　him。　'Oh　Christ；　just　shut　up；　Tad！'
He　began　to　cry　harder；　and　his　hand　went　to　the　bulge　in　his　back　pocket；　where　the　Monster　Words；　folded　up　to　packet　size；　were　stowed　away。　Touching　them　made　him　feel　a　little　bit　better。　Not　much；　but　a　little。
Donna　decided　she　was　going　to　have　to　pull　over　and　stop；　there　was　nothing　else　for　it。　She　began　to　steer　toward　the　shoulder；　using　the　last　of　her　forward　motion　to　get　there。　They　could　use　Tad's　wagon　to　pull　the　groceries　up　to　the　house　and　then　decide　what　to　do　about　the　Pinto。　Maybe　
just　as　the　Pinto's　offside　wheels　crunched　over　the　sandy　gravel　at　the　edge　of　the　road；　the　engine　backfired　twice　and　then　the　jerks　smoothed　out　as　they　had　done　on　previous　occasions。　A　moment　later　she　was　scooting　up　to　the　driveway　of　the　house　and　turning　in。　She　drove　uphill；　shifted　to　park；　pulled　the　emergency　brake；　turned　off　the　motor；　leaned　over　the　wheel；　and　cried。
'Mommy？'　Tad　said　miserably。　Don't　cry　no　more；　he　tried　to　add；　but　he　had　no　voice　and　he　could　only　mouth　the　words　soundlessly；　as　if　struck　dumb　by　laryngitis。　He　looked　at　her　only；　wanting　to　fort；　not　knowing　just　how　it　was　done。　forting　her　was　his　daddy's　job；　not　his；　and　suddenly　he　hated　his　father　for　being　somewhere　else。　The　depth　of　his　emotion　both　shocked　and　frightened　him；　and　for　no　reason　at　all　he　suddenly　saw　his　closet　door　ing　open　and　spilling　out　a　darkness　that　stank　of　something　low　and　bitter。
At　last　she　looked　up；　her　face　puffy。　She　found　a　handkerchief　in　her　purse　and　wiped　her　eyes。　'I'm　sorry；　honey。　I　wasn't　really　shouting　at　you。　I　was　shouting　at　this　。。。　this　thing。'　She　struck　the　steering　wheel　with　her　hand；　hard。　'Ow！'　She　put　the　edge　of　her　hand　in　her　mouth　and　then　laughed　a　little。　It　wasn't　a　happy　laugh。
'Guess　it's　still　kerflooey；'　Tad　said　glumly。
'I　guess　it　is；'　she　agreed；　almost　unbearably　lonesome　for　Vic。　'Well；　let's　get　the　things　in。　We　got　the　supplies　anyway；　Cisco。'
'Right；　Pancho；'　he　said。　'I'll　get　my　wagon。'
He　brought　his　Redball　Flyer　down　and　Donna　loaded　the　three　bags　into　it；　after　repacking　the　bag　that　had　fallen　over。　It　had　been　a　ketchup　bottle　that　had　shattered。　You'd　figure　it；　wouldn't　you？　Half　a　bottle　of　Heinz　had　puddled　out　on　the　powder…blue　pile　carpeting　of　the　hatchback。　It　looked　as　if　someone　had　mitted　hara…kiri　back　there。　She　supposed　she　could　sop　up　the　worst　of　it　with　a　sponge；　but　the　stain　would　still　show。　Even　if　she　used　a　rug　shampoo　she　was　afraid　it　would　show。
She　tugged　the　wagon　up　to　the　kitchen　door　at　the　side　of　the　house　while　Tad　pushed。　She　lugged　the　groceries　in　and　was　debating　whether　to　put　them　away　or　clean　up　the　ketchup　before　it　could　set　when　the　phone　rang。　Tad　was　off　for　it　like　a　sprinter　at　the　sound　of　a　gun。　He　had　gotten　very　good　at　answering　the　phone。
'Yes；　who　is　it　please？'
He　listened；　grinned；　then　held　out　the　phone　to　her。
Figures；　she　thought。　Someone　who'll　want　to　talk　for　two　hours　about　nothing。　To　Tad　she　said；　'Do　you　know　who　it　is；　hon？'
'Sure；'　he　said。　'It's　Dad。'
Her　heart　began　to　beat　more　rapidly。　She　took　the　phone　from　Tad　and　said；　'Hello？　Vic？'
'Hi；　Donna。'　It　was　his　voice　all　right；　but　so　reserved　。。。　so　careful。　It　gave　her　a　deep　sinking　feeling　that　she　didn't　need　on　top　of　everything　else。
'Are　you　all　right？'　she　asked。
'Sure。'
'I　just　thought　you'd　call　later。　If　at　all。
'Well；　we　went　right　over　to　Image…Eye。　They　did　all　the　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　spots；　and　what　do　you　think？　They　can't　find　the　frigging　kinescopes。　Roger's　ripping　his　hair　out　by　the　roots。'
'Yes；'　she　said；　nodding。　'He　hates　to　be　off　schedule；　doesn't　he？'
'That's　an　understatement。'　He　sighed　deeply。　'So　I　just　thought；　while　they　were　looking　。　。　。'
He　trailed　off　vaguely；　and　her　feelings　of　depression　…　her　feelings　of　sinking　…feelings　that　were　so　unpleasant　and　yet　so　childishly　passive；　turned　to　a　more　active　sense　of　fear。　Vic　never　trailed　off　like　that；　not　even　if　he　was　being　distracted　by　stuff　going　on　at　his　end　of　the　wire。　She　thought　of　the　way　he　had　looked　on　Thursday　night；　so　ragged　and　close　to　the　edge。
'Vic；　are　you　all　right？'　She　could　hear　the　alarm　in　her　voice　and　knew　he　must　hear　it　too；　even　Tad　looked　up　from　the　coloring　book　with　which　he　had　sprawled　out　on　the　hall　floor；　his　eyes　bright；　a　tight　little　frown　on　his　small　forehead。
'Yeah；'　he　said。　'I　just　started　to　say　that　I　thought　I'd　call　now；　while　they're　rummaging　around。　Won't　have　a　chance　later　tonight；　I　guess。　How's　Tad？'
'Tad's　fine。'
She　smiled　at　Tad　and　then　tipped　him　a　wink。　Tad　smiled　back；　the　lines　on　his　forehead　smoothed　out；　and　he　went　back　to　his　coloring。　He　sounds　tired　and　I'm　not　going　to　lay　all　that　shit　about　the　car　on　him；　she　thought；　and　then　found　herself　going　right　ahead　and　doing　it　anyway。
She　heard　the　familiar　whine　of　self…pity　creeping　into　her　voice　and　struggled　to　keep　it　out。　Why　was　she　even　telling　him　all　of　this；　for　heaven's　sake？　He　sounded　like　he　was　falling　apart；　and　she　was　prattling　on　about　her　Pinto's　carburetor　and　a　spilled　bottle　of　ketchup。
'Yeah；　it　sounds　li