sk.carrie-第14部分

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'You'll　get　over　it；'　Sue　said。
'If　only　the　rest　of　you　had　walked　out　with　me　。。。　Jesus　Sue；　why　didn't　you？　We　could　have　had　them　by　the　balls。　I　never　figured　you　for　an　establishment　pawn。'
Sue　felt　her　face　grow　hot。　'I　don't　know　about　anyone　else；　but　I　wasn't　being　anybody's　pawn。　I　took　the　punishment　because　I　thought　I　earned　it。　We　did　a　suck…off　thing。　End　of　statement。'
'Bullshit。　That　fucking　Carrie　runs　around　saying　everyone　but　her　and　her　gilt…edged　momma　are　going　to　bell　and　you　can　stick　up　for　her？　We　should　have　taken　those　rags　and　stuffed　them　down　her　throat。'
'Sure。　Yeah。　See　you　around；　Chris。'　She　pushed　out　of　the　booth。
This　time　it　was　Chris　who　coloured　the　blood　slammed　to　her　face　in　a　sudden　rush；　as　if　a　red　cloud　had　passed　over　some　inner　sun。
'Aren't　you　getting　to　be　the　Joan　of　Arc　around　here！　I　seem　to　remember　you　were　in　there　pitching　with　the　rest　of　us。'
'Yes；'　Sue　said　trembling。　'But　I　stopped。'
'Oh；　aren't　you　just　it？'　Chris　marvelled。　'Oh　my　yes。　Take　your　root　beer　with　you。　I'm　afraid　I　might　touch　it　and　turn　to　gold。'
She　didn't　take　her　root　beer。　She　turned　and　half…walked；　half…stumbled　out。　The　upset　inside　her　was　very　great；　too　great　yet　for　either　tears　or　anger。　She　was　a　getalong　girl；　and　it　was　the　first　fight　she　had　been　in；　physical　or　verbal；　since　grade…school　pigtail　pulling。　And　it　was　the　first　time　in　her　life　that　she　had　actively　espoused　a　Principle。
And　of　course　Chris　had　hit　her　in　just　the　right　place；　had　hit　her　exactly　where　she　was　most　vulnerable：　She　way　being　a　hypocrite；　there　seemed　no　way　to　avoid　that；　and　deeply；　sheathed　within　her　and　hateful；　was　the　knowledge　that　one　of　the　reasons　she　had　gone　to　Miss　Desjardin's　hour　of　calisthenics　and　sweating　runs　around　the　gym　Floor　had　nothing　to　do　with　nobility。　She　wasn't　going　to　miss　her　last　Spring　Ball　for　anything。　Not　for　anything。
Tommy　was　nowhere　in　sight。
She　began　to　walk　back　toward　the　school；　her　stomach　churning　unhappily；　Little　Miss　Sorority；　Suzy　Creemcheese；　The　Nice　Girl　who　only　does　It　with　the　boy　she　plans　to　marry　…　with　the　proper　Sunday　supplement　coverage；　of　course。　Two　kids。　Beat　the　living　shit　out　of　them　if　they　show　any　signs　of　honesty；　screwing；　fighting；　or　refusing　to　grin　each　time　some　mythic　honcho　yelled　frog。
Spring　Ball。　Blue　gown。　Corsage　kept　all　the　afternoon　in　the　fridge。　Tommy　in　a　white　dinner　jacket；　cummerbund；　black　pants；　black　shoes。　Parents　taking　photos　posed　by　the　living…room　sofa　with　Kodak　Starflashes　and　Polaroid　Big…Shots。　Crepe　masking　the　stark　gymnasium　girders。　Two　bands：　one　rock；　one　mellow。　No　fifth　wheels　need　apply。　Mortimer　Snurd；　please　keep　out。　Aspiring　country　club　members　and　future　residents　of　Kleen　Korners　only。
The　tears　finally　came　and　she　began　to　run。
From　The　Shadow　Exploded　（p。　60）：
The　following　excerpt　is　from　a　letter　to　Donna　Kellogg　from　Christine　Hargensen。　The　Kellogg　girl　moved　from　Chamberlain　to　Providence；　Rhode　Island；　in　the　fall　of　1978。　She　was　apparently　one　of　Chris　Hargensen's　few　close　friends　and　a　confidante。　The　letter　is　postmarked　May　17；1979：
'So　I'm　out　of　the　Prom　and　my　yellow…guts　father　says　he　won't　give　them　what　they　deserve。　But　they're　not　going　to　get　away　with　it。　I　don't　know　what　exactly　I'm　going　to　do　yet　but　I　guarantee　you　everyone　is　going　to　get　a　big　fucking　surprise　。　。　。'
It　was　the　seventeenth。　May　seventeenth。　She　crossed　the；　day　off　the　calendar　in　her　room　as　soon　as　she　slipped　into　her　long　white　nightgown。　She　crossed　off　each　day　as　it　passed　with　a　heavy　black　felt　pen；　and　she　supposed　it　expressed　a　very　bad　attitude　toward　life。　She　didn't　really　care。　The　only　thing　she　really　cared　about　was　knowing　that　Momma　was　going　to　make　her　go　back　to　school　tomorrow　and　she　would　have　to　face　all　of　Them。
She　sat　down　in　the　small　Boston　rocker　（bought　and　paid　for　with　her　own　money）　beside　the　window；　closed　her　eyes；　and　swept　Them　and　all　the　clutter　of　her　conscious　thoughts　from　her　mind。　It　was　like　sweeping　a　floor。　Lift　the　rug　of　your　subconscious　mind　and　sweep　all　the　dirt　under。　Good…bye。
She　opened　her　eyes。　She　looked　at　the　hairbrush　on　her　bureau。
Flex。
She　was　lifting　the　hairbrush。　It　was　heavy。　It　was　like　lifting　a　barbell　with　very　weak　arms。　Oh。　Grunt。
The　hairbrush　slid　to　the　edge　of　the　bureau；　slid　out　past　the　point　where　gravity　should　have　toppled　it；　and　then　dangled；　as　if　on　an　invisible　string。　Carrie's　eyes　had　closed　to　slits。　Veins　pulsed　in　her　temples。　A　doctor　might　have　been　interested　in　what　her　body　was　doing　at　that　instant；　it　made　no　rational　sence。　Respiration　had　fallen　to　sixteen　breaths　per　minute。　Blood　pressure　up　to　190/100。　Heartbeat　up　to　140　…　higher　than　astronauts　under　the　heavy　g…load　of　lift…off。　Temperature　down　to　94。3。　Her　body　was　burning　energy　that　seemed　to　be　ing　from　nowhere　and　seemed　to　be　going　nowhere。　An　electroencephalogram　would　have　shown　alpha　waves　that　were　no　longer　waves　at　all；　but　great；　jagged　spikes。
She　let　the　hairbrush　down　carefully。　Good。　Last　night　she　had　dropped　it。　Lose　all　your　points；　go　to　jail。
She　closed　her　eyes　again　and　rocked。　Physical　functions　began　to　revert　to　the　norm；　her　respiration　speeded　until　she　was　nearly　panting。　The　rocker　had　a　slight　squeak。　Wasn't　annoying；　though。　Was　soothing。　Rock；　rock。　Clear　your　mind。
'Carrie？'　Her　mother's　voice；　slightly　disturbed；　floated　up。
（she's　getting　interference　like　the　radio　when　you　turn　on　the　blender　good　good）
'Have　you　said　your　prayers；　Carrie？'
'I'm　saying　them；'　she　called　back。
Yes。　She　was　saying　them；　all　right。
She　looked　at　her　small　studio　bed。
Flex。
Tremendous　weight。　Huge。　Unbearable。
The　bed　trembled　and　then　the　end　came　up　perhaps　three　inches。
It　dropped　with　a　crash。　She　waited；　a　small　smile　playing　about　her　lips；　for　Momma　to　call　upstairs　angrily。　She　didn't。　So　Carrie　got　up；　went　to　her　bed。　and　slid　between　the　cool　sheets。　Her　head　ached　and　she　felt　giddy；　as　she　always　did　after　these　exercise　sessions。　Her　heart　was　pounding　in　a　fierce；　scary　way。
She　reached　over；　turned　off　the　light；　and　lay　back。　No　pillow。　Momma　didn't　allow　her　a　pillow。
She　thought　of　imps　and　families　and　witches。
（am　i　a　witch　momma　the　devil's　whore）
riding　through　the　night；　souring　milk；　overturning　butter　chums；　blighting　crops　while　They　huddled　inside　their　houses　with　hex　signs　scrawled　on　Their　doors。
She　closed　her　eyes；　slept；　and　dreamed　of　huge；　living　stones　crashing　through　the　night；　seeking　out　Momma；　seeking　out　Them。　They　were　trying　to　run；　trying　to　hide。　But　the　rock　would　not　hide　them；　the　dead　tree　gave　no　shelter。
From　My　Name　is　Susan　Snell；　by　Susan　Snell　（New　York：　Simon　&　Schuster；　1986）；　pp。　i…iv：
There's　one　thing　no　one　has　understood　about　what　happened　in　Chamberlain　on　Prom　Night。　The　press　hasn't　understood　it；　the　scientists　at　Duke　University　haven't　understood　it；　David　Congress　hasn't　understood　it　…　although　his　The　Shadow　Exploded　is　probably　the　only　half…decent　book　written　on　the　subject　…　and　certainly　The　White　mission；　which　used　me　as　a　handy　scapegoat；　did　not　understand　it。
This　one　thing　is　the　most　fundamental　fact：　We　were　kids。
Carrie　was　seventeen；　Chris　Hargensen　was　seventeen；　I　was　seventeen；　Tommy　Ross　was　eighteen；　Billy　Nolan　（who　spent　a　year　repeating　the　ninth　grade；　presumably　before　he　learned　how　to　shoot　his　cuffs　during　examinations）　was　nineteen　。。。
Older　kids　react　in　more　socially　acceptable　ways　than　younger　kids；　but　they　still　have　a　way　of　making　bad　decisions；　of　over…reacting；　or　underestimating。
In　the　first　section　which　follows　this　introduction　I　must　show　these　tendencies　in　myself　as　well　as　I　am　able。　Yet　the　matter　which　I　am　going　to　discuss　is　at　the　root　of　my　involvement　in　Prom　Night；　and　if　I　am　to　clear　my　name；　I　must　begin　by　recalling　scenes　which　I　find　particularly　painful　。。。
I　have　told　this　story　before；　most　notoriously　before　The　White　mission；　which　received　it　with　incredulity。　In　the　wake　of　two　hundred　deaths　and　the　destruction　of　an　entire　town；　it　is　so　easy　to　forget　one　thing。　We　were　kids。　We　were　kids。　We　were　kids　trying