sk.misery-第17部分

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　small　boxes　marked　SAMPLES。　At　the　bottom　a　few　pills　and　capsules；　different　colors；　rolled　around　loose。　Some；　like　Motrim　and　Lopressor；　the　hypertension　drug　his　father　had　taken　during　the　last　three　years　of　his　life；　he　knew。　Others　he　had　never　heard　of。
　〃Novril；〃　he　muttered；　raking　wildly　through　the　box　while　sweat　ran　down　his　face　and　his　legs　pounded　and　throbbed。　〃Novril；　where's　the　fucking　Novril？〃　No　Novril。　He　pushed　the　flaps　of　the　carton　closed　and　shoved　it　back　into　the　linen　closet；　making　only　a　token　effort　to　replace　it　in　the　same　place　it　had　been。　Should　be　all　right；　the　place　looked　like　a　goddam　junk…heap　…　Leaning　far　to　his　left；　he　was　able　to　snag　a　second　carton。　He　opened　it　and　was　hardly　able　to　credit　what　he　was　seeing。
　Darvon。　Darvocet。　Darvon　pound。　Morphose　and　Morphose　plex。　Librium。　Valium。　And　Novril。　Dozens　and　dozens　and　dozens　of　sample　boxes。　Lovely　boxes。　Dear　boxes。　O　lovely　dear　sainted　boxes。　He　clawed　one　open　and　saw　…　the　capsules　she　gave　him　every　six　hours；　enclosed　in　their　little　blisters。
　NOT　TO　BE　DISPENSED　WITHOUT　PHYSICIAN'S　PRESCRIPTION；　the　box　said。
　〃Oh　dear　Jesus；　the　doctor　is　in！〃　Paul　sobbed。　He　tore　the　cellophane　apart　with　his　teeth　and　chewed　up　three　of　the　capsules；　barely　aware　of　the　bruisingly　bitter　taste。　He　halted；　stared　at　the　five　that　were　left　encased　in　their　mutilated　cellophane　sheet；　and　gobbled　a　fourth。
　He　looked　around　quickly；　chin　down　on　his　breastbone；　eyes　crafty　and　frightened。　Although　he　knew　it　was　too　soon　to　be　feeling　any　relief；　he　did　feel　it　…　having　the　pills；　it　seemed；　was　even　more　important　than　taking　the　pills。　It　was　as　if　he　had　been　given　control　of　the　moon　and　the　tides　…　or　had　just　reached　up　and　taken　it。　It　was　a　huge　thought；　awesome　。　。　。　and　yet　also　frightening；　with　undertones　of　guilt　and　blasphemy。
　If　she　es　back　now　…　〃All　right　…　okay。　I　get　the　message。〃　He　looked　into　the　carton；　trying　to　calculate　how　many　of　the　sample　boxes　he　might　be　able　to　take　without　her　realizing　a　little　mouse　named　Paul　Sheldon　had　been　nibbling　away　at　the　supply。
　He　giggled　at　this；　a　shrill；　relieved　sound；　and　he　realized　the　medication　wasn't　just　working　on　his　legs。　He　had　gotten　his　fix；　if　you　wanted　to　be　perfectly　vulgar　about　it。
　Get　moving；　idiot。　You　have　no　time　to　enjoy　being　stoned。
　He　took　five　of　the　boxes　…　a　total　of　thirty　capsules。　He　had　to　restrain　himself　from　taking　more。　He　stirred　the　remaining　boxes　and　bottles　around；　hoping　the　result　would　look　no　more　or　less　helter…skelter　than　it　had　when　he　first　peered　into　the　box。　He　refolded　the　flaps　and　slipped　the　box　back　into　the　linen　closet。
　A　car　was　ing。
　He　straightened　up；　eyes　wide。　His　hands　dropped　to　the　arms　of　the　wheelchair　and　gripped　them　with　panicky　tightness。　If　it　was　Annie；　he　was　screwed　and　that　was　the　end　of　it。　He　would　never　be　able　to　maneuver　this　balky；　oversized　thing　back　to　the　bedroom　in　time。　Maybe　he　could　whack　her　once　with　the　O…Cedar　mop　or　something　before　she　wrung　his　neck　like　a　chicken。
　He　sat　in　the　wheelchair　with　the　sample　boxes　of　Novril　in　his　lap　and　his　broken　legs　stuck　stiffly　out　in　front　of　him　and　waited　for　the　car　to　pass　or　turn　in。
　The　sound　swelled　endlessly　。　。　。　then　began　to　diminish。
　Okay。　Do　you　need　a　more　graphic　warning；　Paul…baby？
　As　a　matter　of　fact；　he　did　not。　He　took　a　final　glance　at　the　cartons。　They　looked　to　him　about　as　they　had　when　he　had　first　seen　them　…　although　he　had　been　looking　at　them　through　a　haze　of　pain　and　could　not　be　pletely　sure　but　he　knew　that　the　piles　of　boxes　might　not　be　as　random　as　they　had　looked；　oh；　not　at　all。　She　had　the　heightened　awareness　of　the　deep　neurotic；　and　might　have　had　the　position　of　each　box　carefully　memorized。　She　might　take　one　casual　glance　in　here　and　immediately　realize　in　some　arcane　way　what　had　happened。　This　knowledge　did　not　bring　fear　but　a　sense　of　resignation　…　he　had　needed　the　medication；　and　he　had　somehow　managed　to　escape　his　room　and　get　it。　If　there　were　consequences；　punishment；　he　could　face　them　with　at　least　the　understanding　that　he　could　have　done　nothing　but　what　he　had　done。　And　of　all　she　had　done　to　him；　this　resignation　was　surely　a　symptom　of　the　worst　…　she　had　turned　him　into　a　pain…racked　animal　with　no　moral　options　at　all。
　He　slowly　backed　the　wheelchair　across　the　bathroom；　glancing　behind　himself　occasionally　to　make　sure　he　wasn't　wandering　off…course。　Before；　such　a　movement　would　have　made　him　scream　with　pain；　but　now　the　pain　was　disappearing　under　a　beautiful　glassiness。
　He　rolled　into　the　hall　and　then　stopped　as　a　terrible　thought　struck　him：　if　the　bathroom　floor　had　been　slightly　damp；　or　even　a　bit　dirty　…　He　stared　at　it；　and　for　a　moment　the　idea　that　he　must　have　left　tracks　on　those　clean　white　tiles　was　so　persuasive　that　he　actually　saw　them。　He　shook　his　head　and　looked　again。　No　tracks。　But　the　door　was　open　farther　than　it　had　been。　He　rolled　forward；　swung　the　wheelchair　slightly　to　the　right　so　he　could　lean　over　and　grab　the　knob；　and　pulled　the　door　half…closed。　He　eyed　it；　then　pulled　it　a　bit　closer　to　the　jamb。　There。　That　looked　right。
　He　was　reaching　for　the　wheels；　meaning　to　pivot　the　chair　so　he　could　roll　back　to　his　room；　when　he　realized　he　was　pointed　more　or　less　toward　the　living　room；　and　the　living　room　was　where　most　people　kept　their　telephone　and　…　Light　bursting　in　his　mind　like　a　flare　over　a　foggy　meadow。
　〃Hello；　Sidewinder　Police　Station；　Officer　Humbuggy　speaking。〃
　〃Listen　to　me；　Officer　Humbuggy。　Listen　very　carefully　and　don't　interrupt；　because　I　don't　know　how　much　time　I　have。　My　name　is　Paul　Sheldon。　I'm　calling　you　from　Annie　Wilkes's　house。　I've　been　her　prisoner　here　for　at　least　two　weeks；　maybe　as　long　as　a　month。　I　…　〃
　〃Annie　Wilkes！〃
　〃Get　out　here　tight　away。　Send　an　ambulance。　And　for　Christ's　sake　get　here　before　she　gets　back　。
　〃Before　she　gets　back；〃　Paul　moaned。　〃Oh　yeah　〃　Far　out。〃　What　makes　you　think　she　even　has　a　phone？　Who　have　you　ever　heard　her　call？　Who　would　she　call？　Her　good　friends　the　Roydmans？
　Just　because　she　doesn't　have　anyone　to　chatter　with　all　day　doesn't　mean　she　is　incapable　of　understanding　that　accidents　can　happen；　she　could　fall　downstairs　and　break　an　arm　or　a　leg；　the　barn　might　catch　on　fire　…　How　many　times　have　you　heard　this　supposed　telephone　ring？
　So　now　there's　a　requirement？　Your　phone　has　to　ring　at　least　once　a　day　or　Mountain　Bell　es　and　takes　it　out？　Besides；　I　haven't　even　been　conscious　most　of　the　time。
　You're　pushing　your　luck。　You're　pushing　your　luck　and　you　know　it。
　Yes。　He　knew　it；　but　the　thought　of　that　telephone；　the　imagined　sensation　of　the　cool　black　plastic　under　his　fingers；　the　click　of　the　rotary　dial　or　the　single　booping　sound　as　he　touch…toned　0　…　these　were　seductions　too　great　to　resist。
　He　worked　the　wheelchair　around　until　it　was　directly　facing　the　parlor；　and　then　he　rolled　down　to　it。
　The　place　smelled　musty；　unaired；　obscurely　tired。　Although　the　curtains　guarding　the　bow　windows　were　only　half…drawn；　affording　a　lovely　view　of　the　mountains；　the　room　seemed　too　dark　…　because　its　colors　were　too　dark；　he　thought。　Dark　red　predominated；　as　if　someone　had　spilled　a　great　deal　of　venous　blood　in　here。
　Over　the　mantel　was　a　tinted　photograph　portrait　of　a　forbidding　woman　with　tiny　eyes　buried　in　a　fleshy　face。　The　rosebud　mouth　was　pursed。　The　photograph；　enclosed　in　a　rococo　frame　of　gold　gilt；　was　the　size　of　the　President's　photograph　in　the　lobby　of　a　big…city　post　office。　Paul　did　not　need　a　notarised　statement　telegram　to　tell　him　that　this　was　Annie's　sainted　mother。
　He　rolled　farther　into　the　room。　The　left　side　of　the　wheelchair　struck　a　small　occasional　table　covered　with　ceramic　gewgaws。　They　chattered　together　and　one　of　them　…　a　ceramic　penguin　sitting　on　a　ceramic　ice…block　…　fell　off　the　side。
　Without　thinking；　he　reached　out　and　grabbed　it。　The　gesture　was　almost　casual　。　。　。　and　then　reaction　set　in。　He　held　the　penguin　tightly　in　his　curled　fist；　trying　to　will　the　shakes　away。　You　caught　it；　no　sweat；　besides；　there's　a　rug　on　the　floor；　probably　wouldn't　have　broken　anyway　…　But　if　it　HAD！　his　mind　screamed　back。　If　it　HAD！　Please；　you　have　to　go　back　to　your　room　before　you　leave　something　。　。　。　a　track　。　。　。
　No。　Not　yet。　Not　yet；　no　matter　how　frightened　he　was。　Because　this　had　cost　him　too　much。　If　there　was　a　payoff；　he　was　going　to　have　it。
　He　looked　around　the　room；　which　was　stuffed　with　heavy　graceless　furniture。　It　should　have　been　dominated　by　the　bow　windows　and　the　gorgeous　view　of　the　Rockies　beyond　them　but　was　instead　dominated　by　the　picture　of　that　fleshy　woman　imprisoned　in　the　ghastly　glaring　frame　with　its　twists　and　curlicues　and　frozen　gilded　swags。
　On　a　table　at　the　far　end　of　the　couch；　where　she　would　sit　to　watch　TV；　was　a　plain　dialer　telephone。
　Gently；　hardly　daring　to　breathe；　he　put　the　ceramic　penguin　（NOW　MY　TALE　IS　TOLD！　the　legend　on　the　block　of　ice　read）　back　on　the　knickknack　table　and　rolled　across　the　room　toward　the　phone。
　There　was　an　occasional　table　in　front　of　the　sofa；　he　gave　it　a　wide　berth。　On　it　was　a　spray　of　dried　flowers　in　an　ugly　green　vase；　and　the　whole　thing　looked　topheavy；　ready　to　tip　over　if　he　so　much　as　brushed　it。
　No　cars　ing　outside　…　only　the　sound　of　the　wind。
　He　grasped　the　handset　of　the　phone　in　one　hand　and　slowly　picked　it　up。
　A　queer　predestinate　sense　of　failure　filled　his　mind　even　before　he　got　the　handset　to　his　ear　and　heard　the　nothing。　He　replaced　the　receiver　slowly；　a　line　from　an　old　Roger　Miller　song　occurring　to　him　and　seeming　to　make　a　certain　senseless　sense：　No　phone；　no　pool；　no　pets　。　。　。　I　ain't　got　no　cigarettes。　。　。
　He　traced　the　phone　cord　with　his　eye；　saw　the　small　square　module　on　the　baseboard；　saw　that　the　jack　was　plugged　into　it。　Everything　looked　in　perfect　working　order。
　Like　the　barn；　with　its　heat…tapes。
　Keeping　up　appearances　is　very；　very　important。
　He　closed　his　eyes　and　saw　Annie　removing　the　jack　and　squeezing　Elmer's　Glue　into　the　hole　in　the　module。　Saw　her　replacing　the　jack　in　the　dead…w