sk.misery-第15部分

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e　on　my　side　…　〃　she　spoke　these　last　words　with　intense；　smoking　sarcasm　（and；　Paul　believed；　more　self…hate　than　she　would　ever　know）　〃and　so　I'm　not　even　going　to　take　time　to　put　you　back　in　your　bed。〃　She　smiled；　a　pulling　of　the　lips　that　was　grotesquely　puppet…like；　and　slipped　to　his　side　in　her　silent　white　nurse〃　shoes。　Her　fingers　touched　his　hair。　He　flinched。　He　tried　not　to　but　couldn't　help　it。　Her　dead…alive　smile　widened。
　〃Although　I　suspect　we　may　have　to　put　off　the　actual　start　of　Misery's　Retum　for　a　day　。　。　。　or　two　。　。　。　perhaps　even　three。　Yes；　it　may　be　as　long　as　three　days　before　you　are　able　to　sit　up　again。　Because　of　the　pain。　Too　bad。　I　had　champagne　chilling　in　the　fridge。　I'll　have　to　put　it　back　in　the　shed。〃
　〃Annie；　really；　I　can　start　if　you'll　just　…　〃
　〃No；　Paul。〃　She　moved　to　the　door　and　then　turned；　looking　at　him　with　that　stony　face。　Only　her　eyes；　those　tarnished　dimes；　were　fully　alive　under　the　shelf　of　her　brow。　〃There　is　one　thought　I　would　like　to　leave　you　with。　You　may　think　you　can　fool　me；　or　trick　me；　I　know　I　look　slow　and　stupid。　But　I　am　not　stupid；　Paul；　and　I　am　not　slow。〃　Suddenly　her　face　broke　apart。　The　stony　obduracy　shattered　and　what　shone　through　was　the　countenance　of　an　insanely　angry　child。　For　a　moment　Paul　thought　the　extremity　of　his　terror　might　kill　him。　Had　he　thought　he　had　gained　the　upper　hand？　Had　he？　Could　one　possibly　play　Scheherazade　when　one's　captor　was　insane？
　She　rushed　across　the　room　at　him；　thick　legs　pumping；　knees　flexing；　elbows　chopping　back　and　forth　in　the　stale　sickroom　air　like　pistons。　Her　hair　bounced　and　joggled　around　her　face　as　it　came　loose　from　the　bobby…pins　that　held　it　up。　Now　her　passage　was　not　silent；　it　was　like　the　tread　of　Goliath　striding　into　the　Valley　of　Bones。　The　picture　of　the　Arc　de　Triomphe　cracked　affrightedly　on　the　wall。
　〃Geeeee…yahhh！〃　she　screamed；　and　brought　her　fist　down　on　the　bunched　salt…dome　that　had　been　Paul　Sheldon's　left　knee。
　He　threw　his　head　back　and　howled；　veins　standing　out　in　his　neck　and　on　his　forehead。　Pain　burst　out　from　his　knee　and　shrouded　him；　whitely　radiant；　in　the　center　of　a　nova。
　She　tore　the　typewriter　off　the　board　and　slammed　it　down　on　the　mantel；　lifting　its　weight　of　dead　metal　as　he　might　have　lifted　an　empty　cardboard　box。
　〃So　you　just　sit　there；〃　she　said；　lips　pulled　back　in　that　grinning　rictus；　〃and　you　think　about　who　is　in　charge　here；　and　all　the　things　I　can　do　to　hurt　you　if　you　behave　badly　or　try　to　trick　me。　You　sit　there　and　you　scream　if　you　want　to；　because　no　one　can　hear　you。　No　one　stops　here　because　they　all　know　Annie　Wilkes　is　crazy；　they　all　know　what　she　did；　even　if　they　did　find　me　innocent。〃　She　walked　back　to　the　door　and　turned　again；　and　he　screamed　again　when　she　did；　in　anticipation　of　another　bull…like　charge；　and　that　made　her　grin　more　widely。
　〃I'll　tell　you　something　else；〃　she　said　softly。　〃They　think　I　got　away　with　it；　and　they　are　right。　Think　about　that；　Paul；　while　I'm　in　town　getting　your　cockadoodie　paper。〃　She　left；　slamming　the　bedroom　door　hard　enough　to　shake　the　house。　Then　there　was　the　click　of　the　lock。
　He　leaned　back　in　the　chair；　shaking　all　over；　trying　not　to　shake　because　it　hurt；　not　able　to　help　it。　Tears　streamed　down　his　cheeks。　Again　and　again　he　saw　her　flying　across　the　room；　again　and　again　he　saw　her　bringing　her　fist　down　on　the　remains　of　his　knee　with　all　the　force　of　an　angry　drunk　hammering　on　an　oak　bar；　again　and　again　he　was　swallowed　in　that　terrible　blue…white　nova　of　pain。
　〃Please；　God；　please；〃　he　moaned　as　the　Cherokee　started　outside　with　a　bang　and　a　roar。　〃Please；　God；　please　…　let　me　out　of　this　or　kill　me　。　。　。　let　me　out　of　this　or　kill　me。〃　The　roar　of　the　engine　faded　off　down　the　road　and　God　did　neither　and　he　was　left　with　his　tears　and　the　pain；　which　was　now　fully　awake　and　raving　through　his　body。
　
　
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　He　thought　later　that　the　world；　in　its　unfailing　perversity；　would　probably　construe　those　things　which　he　did　next　as　acts　of　heroism。　And　he　would　probably　let　them　…　but　in　fact　what　he　did　was　nothing　more　than　a　final　staggering　grab　for　self…preservation。
　Dimly　he　seemed　to　hear　some　madly　enthusiastic　sportscaster　…　Howard　Cosell　or　Warner　Wolf　or　perhaps　that　all…time　crazy　Johnny　Most　…　describing　the　scene；　as　if　his　effort　to　get　at　her　drug　supply　before　the　pain　killed　him　was　some　strange　sporting　event　…　a　trial　substitution　for　Monday　Night　Football；　perhaps。　What　would　you　call　a　sport　like　that；　anyway？　Run　for　the　Dope？
　〃I　just　cannot　believe　the　guts　this　Sheldon　kid　is　displaying　today！　the　sportscaster　in　Paul　Sheldon's　head　was　enthusing。　〃I　don't　believe　anyone　in　Annie　Wilkes　Stadium　…　or　in　the　home　viewing　audience；　for　that　matter　…　thought　he　had　the　sly…test　chance　of　getting　that　wheelchair　moving　after　the　blow　he　took；　but　I　believe　。　。　。　yes；　it　is！　It's　moving！　Let's　look　at　the　replay！〃　Sweat　ran　down　his　forehead　and　stung　his　eyes。　He　licked　a　mixture　of　salt　and　tears　off　his　lips。　The　shuddering　would　not　stop。　The　pain　was　like　the　end　of　the　world。　He　thought：　There　es　a　point　when　the　very　discussion　of　pain　bees　redundant。　No　one　knows　there　is　pain　the　size　of　this　in　the　world。　No　one。　It　is　like　being　possessed　by　demons。
　It　was　only　the　thought　of　the　pills；　the　Novril　that　she　kept　somewhere　in　the　house；　which　got　him　moving。　The　locked　bedroom　door　。　。　。　the　possibility　the　dope　might　not　be　in　the　downstairs　bathroom　as　he　had　surmised　but　hidden　somewhere　。　。　。　the　chance　she　might　e　back　and　catch　him　。　。　。　these　things　mattered　not　at　all；　these　things　were　only　shadows　behind　the　pain。　He　would　deal　with　each　problem　as　it　came　up　or　he　would　die。　That　was　all。
　Moving　caused　the　band　of　fire　below　his　waist　and　in　his　legs　to　sink　in　deeper；　cinching　his　legs　like　belts　studded　with　hot；　inward…pointing　spikes。　But　the　chair　did　move。　Very　slowly　the　chair　began　to　move。
　He　had　managed　about　four　feet　before　realizing　he　was　going　to　do　nothing　more　useful　than　roll　the　wheelchair　past　the　door　and　into　the　far　er　unless　he　could　turn　it。
　He　grasped　the　right　wheel；　shuddering；　（think　of　the　pills；　think　of　the　relief　of　the　pills）　and　bore　down　on　it　as　hard　as　he　could。　Rubber　squeaked　minutely　on　the　wooden　floor；　the　cries　of　mice。　He　bore　down；　once　strong　and　now　flabby　muscles　quivering　like　jelly；　lips　peeling　back　from　his　gritted　teeth；　and　the　wheelchair　slowly　pivoted。
　He　grasped　both　wheels　and　got　the　chair　moving　again。　This　time　he　rolled　five　feet　before　stopping　to　straighten　himself　out。　Once　he'd　done　it；　he　grayed　out。
　He　swam　back　to　reality　five　minutes　later；　hearing　the　dim；　goading　voice　of　that　sportscaster　in　his　head：　〃He's　trying　to　get　going　again！　I　just　cannot　be…leeve　the　guts　of　this　Sheldon　kid！〃　The　front　of　his　mind　only　knew　about　the　pain；　it　was　the　back　that　directed　his　eyes。　He　saw　it　near　the　door　and　rolled　over　to　it。　He　reached　down；　but　the　tips　of　his　fingers　stopped　a　clear　three　inches　short　of　the　floor；　where　one　of　the　two　or　three　bobby…pins　that　had　fallen　from　her　hair　as　she　charged　him　lay。　He　bit　his　lip；　unaware　of　the　sweat　running　down　his　face　and　neck　and　darkening　his　pajama　shirt。
　〃I　don't　think　he　can　get　that　pin；　folks　…　it's　been　a　fan…tas…tic　effort；　but　I'm　afraid　this　is　where　it　all　ends。〃　Well；　maybe　not。
　He　let　himself　slouch　to　the　right　in　the　wheelchair；　at　first　trying　to　ignore　the　pain　in　his　right　side　…　pain　that　felt　like　an　increasing　bubble　of　pressure；　something　similar　to　a　tooth　impaction　…　and　then　giving　way　and　screaming。　As　she　said；　there　was　no　one　to　hear　him　anyway。
　The　tips　of　his　fingers　still　hung　an　inch　from　the　floor；　brushing　back　and　forth　just　above　the　bobby…pin；　and　his　right　hip　really　felt　as　if　it　might　simply　explode　outward　in　a　squirt　of　some　vile　white　bone…jelly。
　Oh　God　please　please　help　me　…　He　slumped　farther　in　spite　of　the　pain。　His　fingers　brushed　the　pin　but　succeeded　only　in　pushing　it　a　quarter　of　an　inch　away。　Paul　slid　down　in　the　chair；　still　slumped　to　the　right；　and　screamed　again　at　the　pain　in　his　lower　legs。　His　eyes　were　bulging；　his　mouth　was　open；　his　tongue　straight　down　between　his　teeth　like　the　pull　on　a　window…shade。　Little　drops　of　spittle　ran　from　its　tip　and　spatted　on　the　floor。
　He　pinched　the　bobby…pin　between　his　fingers　。　。　。　tweezed　it　。　。　。　almost　lost　it　。　。　。　and　then　it　was　locked　in　his　fist。
　Straightening　up　brought　a　fresh　slough　of　pain；　and　when　the　act　was　acplished　he　could　do　no　more　than　sit　and　pant　for　awhile；　his　head　tilted　as　far　as　the　unc　promising　back　of　the　wheelchair　would　allow；　the　bobby…pin　lying　on　the　board　across　the　chair's　arms。　For　awhile　he　was　quite　sure　he　was　going　to　puke；　but　that　passed。
　What　are　you　doing？　part　of　his　mind　scolded　wearily　after　awhile。　Are　you　waiting　for　the　pain　to　go　away？　It　won't。　She's　always　quoting　her　mother；　but　your　own　mother　had　a　few　sayings；　too；　didn't　she？
　Yes。　She　had。
　Sitting　there；　head　thrown　back；　face　shiny　with　sweat；　hair　plastered　to　his　forehead；　Paul　spoke　one　of　them　aloud　now；　almost　as　an　incantation：　〃There　may　be　fairies；　there　may　be　elves；　but　God　helps　those　who　help　themselves。〃　Yeah。　So　stop　waiting；　Paulie　…　the　only　elf　that's　going　to　show　up　here　is　that　all…time　heavyweight；　Annie　Wilkes。
　He　got　moving　again；　rolling　the　wheelchair　slowly　across　to　the　door。　She　had　locked　it；　but　he　believed　he　might　be　able　to　unlock　it。　Tony　Bonasaro；　who　was　now　only　so　many　blackened　flakes　of　ash；　had　been　a　car…thief。　As　part　of　his　preparation　for　writing　Fast　Cars；　Paul　had　studied　the　mechanics　of　car…thievery　with　a　tough　old　ex…cop　named　Tom　Twyford。　Tom　had　shown　him　how　to　hot…wire　an　ignition；　how　to　use　the　thin　and　limber　strip　of　metal　car…thieves　called　Slim　Jims　to　yank　the　lock　on　a　car　door；　how　to　short　out　a　car　burglar　alarm。
　Or；　Tom　had　said　on　a　spring　day　in　New　York　some　two　and　a　half　years　ago；　let's　say　you　don't　want　to　steal　a　car　at　all。　You　got　a　car；　but　you're　a　little　low　on　gas。　You　got　a　hose；　but　the　car　you　pick　for　the　free　donation　has　got　a　locking　gas…