sk.everythingseventual-第101部分

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nd　that　excited　broken…glass　voice。
　　'Hey；　no；'　I　said；　'that's　okay。　You　go　on　and　take　care　of　your　brother。'　I　opened　the　door　and　what　I　feared　happened…he　reached　out　and　took　hold　of　my　arm　with　his　twisted　old　man's　hand。　It　was　the　hand　with　which　he　kept　tearing　at　his　crotch。
　　'You　just　say　the　word！'　he　told　me。　His　voice　was　hoarse；　confidential。　His　fingers　were　pressing　deep　into　the　flesh　just　below　my　armpit。　'I'll　take　you　right　to　the　hospital　door！　Ayuh！　Don't　matter　if　I　never　saw　you　before　in　my　life　nor　you　me！　Don't　matter　aye；　yes；　no；　nor　maybe！　I'll　take　you　right　。　。　。　there！'
　　'It's　okay；'　I　repeated；　and　all　at　once　I　was　fighting　an　urge　to　bolt　out　of　the　car；　leaving　my　shirt　behind　in　his　grip　if　that　was　what　it　took　to　get　free。　It　was　as　if　he　were　drowning。　I　thought　that　when　I　moved；　his　grip　would　tighten；　that　he　might　even　go　for　the　nape　of　my　neck；　but　he　didn't。　His　fingers　loosened；　then　slipped　away　entirely　as　I　put　my　leg　out。　And　I　wondered；　as　we　always　do　when　an　irrational　moment　of　panic　passes；　what　I　had　been　so　afraid　of　in　the　first　place。　He　was　just　an　elderly　carbon…based　life…form　in　an　elderly　Dodge's　pee…smelling　ecosystem；　looking　disappointed　that　his　offer　had　been　refused。　Just　an　old　man　who　couldn't　get　fortable　in　his　truss。　What　in　God's　name　had　I　been　afraid　of？
　　'I　thank　you　for　the　ride　and　even　more　for　the　offer；'　I　said。　'But　I　can　go　out　that　way'…I　pointed　at　Pleasant　Street…'and　I'll　have　a　ride　in　no　time。'
　　He　was　quiet　for　a　moment；　then　sighed　and　nodded。　'Ayuh；　that's　the　best　way　to　go；'　he　said。　'Stay　right　out　of　town；　nobody　wants　to　give　a　fella　a　ride　in　town；　no　one　wants　to　slow　down　and　get　honked　at。'
　　He　was　right　about　that；　hitchhiking　in　town；　even　a　small　one　like　Gates　Falls；　was　futile。　I　guess　he　had　spent　some　time　riding　his　thumb。
　　'But　son；　are　you　sure？　You　know　what　they　say　about　a　bird　in　the　hand。'
　　I　hesitated　again。　He　was　right　about　a　bird　in　the　hand；　too。　Pleasant　Street　became　Ridge　Road　a　mile　or　so　west　of　the　blinker；　and　Ridge　Road　ran　through　fifteen　miles　of　woods　before　arriving　at　Route　196　on　the　outskirts　of　Lewiston。　It　was　almost　dark；　and　it's　always　harder　to　get　a　ride　at　night…when　headlights　pick　you　out　on　a　country　road；　you　look　like　an　escapee　from　Wyndham　Boys'　Correctional　even　with　your　hair　bed　and　your　shirt　tucked　in。　But　I　didn't　want　to　ride　with　the　old　man　anymore。　Even　now；　when　I　was　safely　out　of　his　car；　I　thought　there　was　something　creepy　about　him…maybe　it　was　just　the　way　his　voice　seemed　full　of　exclamation　points。　Besides；　I've　always　been　lucky　getting　rides。
　　'I'm　sure；'　I　said。　'And　thanks　again。　Really。'
　　'Anytime；　son。　Anytime。　My　wife　。　。　。'　He　stopped；　and　I　saw　there　were　tears　leaking　from　the　corners　of　his　eyes。　I　thanked　him　again；　then　slammed　the　door　shut　before　he　could　say　anything　else。
　　I　hurried　across　the　street；　my　shadow　appearing　and　disappearing　in　the　light　of　the　blinker。　On　the　far　side　I　turned　and　looked　back。　The　Dodge　was　still　there；　parked　beside　Frank's　Fountain　&　Fruits。　By　the　light　of　the　blinker　and　the　streetlight　twenty　feet　or　so　beyond　the　car；　I　could　see　him　sitting　slumped　over　the　wheel。　The　thought　came　to　me　that　he　was　dead；　that　I　had　killed　him　with　my　refusal　to　let　him　help。
　　Then　a　car　came　around　the　corner　and　the　driver　flashed　his　high　beams　at　the　Dodge。　This　time　the　old　man　dipped　his　own　lights；　and　that　was　how　I　knew　he　was　still　alive。　A　moment　later　he　pulled　back　into　the　street　and　piloted　the　Dodge　slowly　around　the　corner。　I　watched　until　he　was　gone；　then　looked　up　at　the　moon。　It　was　starting　to　lose　its　orange　bloat；　but　there　was　still　something　sinister　about　it。　It　occurred　to　me　that　I　had　never　heard　of　wishing　on　the　moon　before…the　evening　star；　yes；　but　not　the　moon。　I　wished　again　I　could　take　my　own　wish　back；　as　the　dark　drew　down　and　I　stood　there　at　the　crossroads；　it　was　too　easy　to　think　of　that　story　about　the　monkey's　paw。
　　
　　I　walked　out　Pleasant　Street；　waving　my　thumb　at　cars　that　went　by　without　even　slowing。　At　first　there　were　shops　and　houses　on　both　sides　of　the　road；　then　the　sidewalk　ended　and　the　trees　closed　in　again；　silently　retaking　the　land。　Each　time　the　road　flooded　with　light；　pushing　my　shadow　out　ahead　of　me；　I'd　turn　around；　stick　out　my　thumb；　and　put　what　I　hoped　was　a　reassuring　smile　on　my　face。　And　each　time　the　oning　car　would　swoosh　by　without　slowing。　Once　someone　shouted　out；　'Get　a　job；　monkeymeat！'　and　there　was　laughter。
　　I'm　not　afraid　of　the　dark…or　wasn't　then…but　I　began　to　be　afraid　I'd　made　a　mistake　by　not　taking　the　old　man　up　on　his　offer　to　drive　me　straight　to　the　hospital。　I　could　have　made　a　sign　reading　NEED　A　RIDE；　MOTHER　SICK　before　starting　out；　but　I　doubted　if　it　would　have　helped。　Any　psycho　can　make　a　sign；　after　all。
　　I　walked　along；　sneakers　scuffing　the　gravelly　dirt　of　the　soft　shoulder；　listening　to　the　sounds　of　the　gathering　night：　a　dog；　far　away；　an　owl；　much　closer；　the　sigh　of　a　rising　wind。　The　sky　was　bright　with　moonlight；　but　I　couldn't　see　the　moon　itself　just　now…the　trees　were　tall　here；　and　had　blotted　it　out　for　the　time　being。
　　As　I　left　Gates　Falls　farther　behind；　fewer　cars　passed　me。　My　decision　not　to　take　the　old　man　up　on　his　offer　seemed　more　foolish　with　each　passing　minute。　I　began　to　imagine　my　mother　in　her　hospital　bed；　mouth　turned　down　in　a　frozen　sneer；　losing　her　grip　on　life　but　trying　to　hold　onto　that　increasingly　slippery　bark　for　me；　not　knowing　I　wasn't　going　to　make　it　simply　because　I　hadn't　liked　an　old　man's　shrill　voice；　or　the　pissy　smell　of　his　car。
　　I　breasted　a　steep　hill　and　stepped　back　into　moonlight　again　at　the　top。　The　trees　were　gone　on　my　right；　replaced　by　a　small　country　graveyard。　The　stones　gleamed　in　the　pale　light。　Something　small　and　black　was　crouched　beside　one　of　them；　watching　me。　I　took　a　step　closer；　curious。　The　black　thing　moved　and　became　a　woodchuck。　It　spared　me　a　single　reproachful　red…eyed　glance　and　was　gone　into　the　high　grass。　All　at　once　I　became　aware　that　I　was　very　tired；　in　fact　close　to　exhausted。　I　had　been　running　on　pure　adrenaline　since　Mrs。　McCurdy　called　five　hours　before；　but　now　that　was　gone。　That　was　the　bad　part。　The　good　part　was　that　useless　sense　of　frantic　urgency　left　me；　at　least　for　the　time　being。　I　had　made　my　choice；　decided　on　Ridge　Road　instead　of　Route　68；　and　there　was　no　sense　beating　myself　up　over　it…fun　is　fun　and　done　is　done；　my　mother　sometimes　said。　She　was　full　of　stuff　like　that；　little　Zen　aphorisms　that　almost　made　sense。　Sense　or　nonsense；　this　one　forted　me　now。　If　she　was　dead　when　I　got　to　the　hospital；　that　was　that。　Probably　she　wouldn't　be。　Doctor　said　it　wasn't　too　bad；　according　to　Mrs。　McCurdy；　Mrs。　McCurdy　had　also　said　she　was　still　a　young　woman。　A　bit　on　the　heavy　side；　true；　and　a　heavy　smoker　in　the　bargain；　but　still　young。
　　Meantime；　I　was　out　here　in　the　williwags　and　I　was　suddenly　tired　out…my　feet　felt　as　if　they　had　been　dipped　in　cement。
　　There　was　a　stone　wall　running　along　the　road　side　of　the　cemetery；　with　a　break　in　it　where　two　ruts　ran　through。　I　sat　on　the　wall　with　my　feet　planted　in　one　of　these　ruts。　From　this　position　I　could　see　a　good　length　of　Ridge　Road　in　both　directions。　When　I　saw　headlights　ing　west；　in　the　direction　of　Lewiston；　I　could　walk　back　to　the　edge　of　the　road　and　put　my　thumb　out。　In　the　meantime　I'd　just　sit　here　with　my　backpack　in　my　lap　and　wait　for　some　strength　to　e　back　into　my　legs。
　　A　groundmist；　fine　and　glowing；　was　rising　out　of　the　grass。　The　trees　surrounding　the　cemetery　on　three　sides　rustled　in　the　rising　breeze。　From　beyond　the　graveyard　came　the　sound　of　running　water　and　the　occasional　plunk…plunk　of　a　frog。　The　place　was　beautiful　and　oddly　soothing；　like　a　picture　in　a　book　of　romantic　poems。
　　I　looked　both　ways　along　the　road。　Nothing　ing；　not　so　much　as　a　glow　on　the　horizon。　Putting　my　pack　down　in　the　wheelrut　where　I'd　been　dangling　my　feet；　I　got　up　and　walked　into　the　cemetery。　A　lock　of　hair　had　fallen　onto　my　brow；　the　wind　blew　it　off。