sk.cujo-第50部分

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A　few　minutes　after　that；　just　before　noon；　Cujo　stumbled　out　of　the　barn；　blinking　his　red；　rheumy　eyes　stupidly　in　the　hot　sun。
When　they　e　to　take　you　down；
When　they　bring　that　wagon　'round；
When　they　e　to　call　on　you
And　drag　your　poor　body　down　。。。
Jerry　Garcia's　voice；　easy　but　somehow　weary；　came　floating　down　the　hall；　magnified　and　distorted　by　someone's　transistor　radio　until　it　sounded　as　if　the　vocal　were　floating　down　a　long　steel　tube。　Closer　by；　someone　was　moaning。　That　morning；　when　he　went　down　to　the　smelly　industrial　bathroom　to　shave　and　shower；　there　had　been　a　puddle　of　vomit　in　one　of　the　urinals　and　a　large　quantity　of　dried　blood　in　one　of　the　washbasins。
'Shake　it；　shake　it；　Sugaree；'　Jerry　Garcia　sang；　'just　don't　tell　'em　you　know　me。'
Steve　Kemp　stood　at　the　window　of　his　room　on　the　fifth　floor　of　the　Portland　YMCA；　looking　down　at　Spring　Street；　feeling　bad　and　not　knowing　why。　His　head　was　bad。　He　kept　thinking　about　Donna　Trenton　and　how　he　had　fucked　her　over　…　fucked　her　over　and　then　hung　around。　Hung　around　for　what？　What　the　fuck　had　happened？
He　wished　he　were　in　Idaho。　Idaho　had　been　much　on　his　mind　lately。　So　why　didn't　he　stop　honking　his　donk　and　just　go？　He　didn't　know。　He　didn't　like　not　knowing。　He　didn't　like　all　these　questions　screwing　up　his　head。　Questions　were　counterproductive　to　a　state　of　serenity；　and　serenity　was　necessary　to　the　development　of　the　artist。　He　had　looked　at　himself　this　morning　m　one　of　the　toothpaste…spotted　mirrors　and　had　thought　he　looked　old。　Really　old。　When　he　came　back　to　his　room　he　had　seen　a　cockroach　zigzagging　busily　across　the　floor。　The　omens　were　bad。
She　didn't　give　me　the　brush　because　I'm　old；　he　thought。　I'm　not　old。　She　did　it　because　her　itch　was　scratched；　because　she's　a　bitch；　and　because　I　gave　her　a　spoonful　of　her　own　medicine。　How　did　Handsome　Hubby　like　his　little　love　note；　Donna？　Did　Handsome　Hubby　dig　it？
Did　hubby　get　his　little　love　note？
Steve　crushed　his　cigarette　out　in　the　jar　top　that　served　the　room　as　an　ashtray。　That　was　really　the　central　question；　wasn't　it？　With　that　one　answered；　the　answers　to　the　other　questions　would　drop　into　place。　The　hateful　hold　she　had　gotten　over　him　by　telling　him　to　get　lost　before　he　was　ready　to　end　the　affair　（she　had　humiliated　him；　goddammit）；　for　one　thing　…　for　one　very　big　thing。
Suddenly　he　knew　what　to　do；　and　his　heart　began　to　thud　heavily　with　anticipation。　He　put　a　hand　into　his　pocket　and　jingled　the　change　there。　He　went　out。　It　was　just　past　noon；　and　in　Castle　Rock；　the　mailman　for　whom　Donna　hoped　had　begun　that　part　of　his　rounds　which　covered　the　Maple　Sugar　Road　and　Town　Road　No。　3。
Vic；　Roger；　and　Rob　Martin　spent　Tuesday　morning　at　Image…Eye　and　then　went　out　for　beers　and　burgers。　A　few　burgers　and　a　great　many　beers　later；　Vic　suddenly　realized　that　he　was　drunker　than　he　had　ever　been　at　a　business　luncheon　in　his　life。　Usually　he　had　a　single　cocktail　or　a　glass　of　white　wine；　he　had　seen　too　many　good　New　York　admen　drown　themselves　slowly　in　those　dark　places　just　off　Madison　Avenue；　talking　to　their　friends　about　campaigns　they　would　never　mount　。。。　or；　if　they　became　drunk　enough；　to　the　barmen　in　those　places　about　novels　which　they　would　assuredly　never　write。
It　was　a　strange　occasion；　half　victory　celebration；　half　wake。　Rob　had　greeted　their　idea　of　a　final　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　ad　with　tempered　enthusiasm；　saying　that　he　could　knock　it　a　mile　。。。　always　assuming　he　was　given　the　chance。　That　was　the　wake　half。　Without　the　approval　of　old　and　his　fabled　kid；　the　greatest　spot　in　the　world　would　them　no　good。　They　would　all　be　out　on　their　asses。
Under　the　circumstances；　Vic　supposed　it　was　all　right　to　get　loaded。
Now；　as　the　main　rush　of　the　restaurant's　lunchtime　clientele　came　in；　the　three　of　them　sat　in　their　shirtsleeves　at　a　er　booth；　the　remains　of　their　burgers　on　waxed　paper；　beer　bottles　scattered　around　the　table；　the　ashtray　overflowing。　Vic　was　reminded　of　the　day　he　and　Roger　had　sat　in　the　Yellow　Sub　back　in　Portland；　discussing　this　little　safari。　Back　when　everything　that　had　been　wrong　had　been　wrong　with　the　business。　Incredibly；　he　felt　a　wave　of　nostalgia　for　that　day　and　wondered　what　Tad　and　Donna　were　doing。　Got　to　call　them　tonight；　he　thought。　If　I　can　stay　sober　enough　to　remember；　that　is。
'So　what　now？'　Rob　asked。　'You　hangin　out　in　Boston　or　going　on　to　New　York？　I　can　get　you　guys　tickets　to　the　Boston…Kansas　City　series；　if　you　want　them。　Might　cheer　you　up　to　watch　George　Brett　knock　a　few　holes　in　the　Ieft…field　wall。'
Vic　looked　at　Roger；　who　shrugged　and　said；　'On　to　New　York；　I　guess。　Thanks　are　in　order；　Rob；　but　I　don't　think　either　opus　are　in　the　mood　for　baseball。'
'There's　nothing　more　we　can　do　here；'　Vic　agreed。　'We　had　a　lot　of　time　scheduled　on　this　trip　for　brainstorming；　but　I　guess　we're　all　agreed　to　go　with　the　final　spot　idea。'
'There's　still　plenty　of　rough　edges；'　Rob　said。　'Don't　get　too　proud。'
'We　can　mill　off　the　rough　edges；'　Roger　said。　'One　day　with　the　marketing　people　ought　to　do　it；　I　think。　You　agree；　Vic？'
'It　might　take　two；'　Vic　said。　'Still；　there's　no　reason　why　we　can't　tie　things　up　a　lot　earlier　than　we'd　expected。'
'Then　what？'
Vic　grinned　bleakly。　'Then　we　call　old　man　Sharp　and　make　an　appointment　to　see　him。　I；　imagine　we'll　end　tip　going　straight　on　to　Cleveland　from　New　York。　The　Magical　Mystery　Tour。'
'See　Cleveland　and　die；'　Roger　said　gloomily；　and　poured　the　remainder　of　his　beer　into　his　glass。　'I　just　can't　wait　to　see　that　old　fart。'
'Don't　forget　the　young　fart；'　Vic　said；　grinning　a　little。
'How　could　I　forget　that　little　prick？'　Roger　replied。　'Gentlemen；　I　propose　another　round。'
Rob　looked　at　his　watch。　'I　really　ought　to　…'
'One　last　round；'　Roger　insisted。　'Auld　Lang　Sync；　if　you　want。'
Rob　shrugged。　'Okay。　But　I　still　got　a　business　to　run；　don't　forget　that。　Although　without　Sharp　Cereals；　there's　going　to　be　space　for　a　lot　of　long　lunches。'　He　raised　his　glass　in　the　air　and　waggled　it　until　a　waiter　saw　him　and　nodded　back。
'Tell　me　what　you　really　think；'　Vic　said　to　Rob。　'No　bullshit。　You　think　it's　a　bust？'
Rob　looked　at　him；　seemed　about　to　speak；　then　shook　his　head。
Roger　said；　'No；　go　ahead。　We　all　set　out　to　sea　in　the　same　pea…green　boat。　Or　Red　Razberry　Zingers　carton；　or　whatever。　You　think　it's　no　go；　don't　you？'
'I　don't　think　there's　a　chance　in　hell；'　Rob　said。　'You'll　work　up　a　good　presentation　…　you　always　do。　You'll　get　your　background　work　done　in　New　York；　and　I　have　a　feeling　that　everything　the　market…research　boys　can　tell　you　on　such　short　notice　is　all　going　to　be　in　your　favor。　And　Yancey　Harrington。。。。　I　think　he'll　emote　his　fucking　heart　out。　His　big　deathbed　scene。　He'II　he　so　good　he'll　make　Bette　Davis　in　Dark　Victory　look　like　Ali　MacGraw　in　Love
'Oh；　but　it's　not　like　that　at　all　…'　Roger　began。
Rob　shrugged。　'Yeah；　maybe　that's　a　little　unfair。　Okay。　Call　it　his　curtain　call；　then。　Whatever　you　want　to　call　it；　I've　been　in　this　business　long　enough　to　believe　that　there　wouldn't　he　a　dry　eye　in　the　house　after　that　mercial　was　shown　over　a　three…　or　four…week　period。　It　would　knock　~body　on　their　asses。　But　…'
The　beers　came。　The　waiter　said　to　Rob；　'Mr。　Johnson　asked　me　to　tell　you　that　he　has　several　parties　of　three　waiting；　Mr。　Martin。'
'Well；　you　run　back　and　tell　Mr。　Johnson　that　the　boys　are　on　their　last　round　and　to　keep　his　undies　dry。　Okay；　Rocky？'
The　waiter　smiled；　emptied　the　ashtray；　and　nodded。
He　left。　Rob　turned　back　to　Vic　and　Roger。　'So　what's　the　bottom　line？　You're　bright　boys。　You　don't　need　a　one…legged　cameraman　with　a　snootful　of　beer　to　tell　you　where　the　bear　shat　in　the　buckwheat。'
'Sharp　just　won't　apologize；'　Vic　said。　'That's　what　you　think；　isn't　it？'　Rob　saluted　him　with　his　bottle　of　beer。　'Goto　the　head　of　the　class。'
'It's　not　an　apology；'　Roger　said　plaintively。　'It's　a　fucking　explanation。'
'You　see　it　that　way；'　Rob　answered；　'but　will　he）　Ask　yourself　that。　I've　met　that　old　geezer　a　couple　of　times。　He'd　see　it　in　terms　of　the　captain　deserting　the　sinking　ship　ahead　of　the　women　and　children；　giving　up　the　Alamo；　every　stereotype