sk.misery-第6部分

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t　matter。　They　would　still　want　Misery；　Misery；　Misery。
　It's　hard　to　follow　。　。　。　he's　not　interesting　。　。　。　and　the　profanity！
　The　anger　sparked　again。　Anger　at　her　obdurate　density；　anger　that　she　could　actually　kidnap　him　…　keep　him　prisoner　here；　force　him　into　a　choice　between　drinking　dirty　rinse…water　from　a　floor…bucket　or　suffering　the　pain　of　his　shattered　legs　…　and　then；　on　top　of　all　that；　find　the　nerve　to　criticize　the　best　thing　he　had　ever　written。
　〃Bugger　you　and　the　effword　you　rode　in　on；〃　he　said；　and　he　suddenly　felt　better　again；　felt　himself　again；　even　though　he　knew　this　rebellion　was　petty　and　pitiful　and　meaningless　…　she　was　in　the　barn　where　she　couldn't　hear　him；　and　the　tide　was　safely　in　over　the　splintered　pilings。　Still　。　。　。
　He　remembered　her　ing　in　here；　withholding　the　capsules；　coercing　permission　to　read　the　manuscript　of　Fast　Cars。　He　felt　a　flush　of　shame　and　humiliation　warming　his　face；　but　now　they　were　mixed　with　real　anger：　it　had　bloomed　from　a　spark　into　a　tiny　sunken　flame。　He　had　never　shown　anyone　a　manuscript　before　he　had　proof…read　it　and　then　retyped　it。　Never。　Not　even　Bryce；　his　agent。　Never。　Why；　he　didn't　even　…　For　a　moment　his　thoughts　broke　off　cleanly。　He　could　hear　the　dim　sound　of　a　cow　mooing。
　Why；　he　didn't　even　make　a　copy　until　the　second　draft　was　done。
　The　manuscript　copy　of　Fast　Cars　which　was　now　in　Annie　Wilkes's　possession　was；　in　fact；　the　only　existing　copy　in　the　whole　world。　He　had　even　burned　his　notes。
　Two　years　of　hard　work；　she　didn't　like　it；　and　she　was　crazy。
　Misery　was　what　she　liked；　Misery　was　who　she　liked；　not　some　foul…talking　little　spic　car…thief　from　Spanish　Harlem。
　He　remembered　thinking：　Turn　the　pages　of　the　manuscript　into　paper　hats　if　you　want；　just　。　。　。　please　。　。　。
　The　anger　and　humiliation　surged　again；　awakening　the　first　dull　answering　throb　in　his　legs。　Yes。　The　work；　the　pride　in　your　work；　the　worth　of　the　work　itself　。　。　。　all　those　things　faded　away　to　the　magic…lantern　shades　they　really　were　when　the　pain　got　bad　enough。　That　she　would　do　that　to　him　…　that　she　could；　when　he　had　spent　most　of　his　adult　life　thinking　the　word　writer　was　the　most　important　definition　of　himself　…　made　her　seem　utterly　monstrous；　something　he　must　escape。　She　really　was　an　idol；　and　if　she　didn't　kill　him；　she　might　kill　what　was　in　him。
　Now　he　heard　the　eager　squeal　of　the　pig　…　she　had　thought　he　would　mind；　but　he　thought　Misery　was　a　wonderful　name　for　a　pig。　He　remembered　how　she　had　imitated　it；　the　way　her　upper　lip　had　wrinkled　toward　her　nose；　how　her　cheeks　had　seemed　to　flatten；　how　she　had　actually　looked　like　a　pig　for　a　moment：　Whoink！　WHOINKK！
　From　the　barn；　her　voice：　〃Sooo…ey；　pig…pig…pig！〃　He　lay　back；　put　his　arm　over　his　eyes；　and　tried　to　hold　onto　the　anger；　because　the　anger　made　him　feel　brave。　A　brave　man　could　think。　A　coward　couldn't。
　Here　was　a　woman　who　had　been　a　nurse　…　he　was　sure　of　that。　Was　she　still　a　nurse？　No；　because　she　did　not　go　work。　Why　did　she　no　longer　practice　her　trade？　That　seemed　obvious。　Not　all　her　gear　was　stowed　right；　lots　of　it　was　rolling　around　in　the　holds。　If　it　was　obvious　to　him　even　through　the　haze　of　pain　he　had　been　living　in；　it　would　surely　have　been　obvious　to　her　colleagues。
　And　he　had　a　little　extra　information　on　which　to　judge　just　how　much　of　her　gear　wasn't　stowed　right；　didn't　he？　She　had　dragged　him　from　the　wreck　of　his　car　and　instead　of　calling　the　police　or　an　ambulance　she　had　installed　him　in　her　guest…room；　put　IV　drips　in　his　arms　and　a　shitload　of　dope　in　his　body。　Enough　so　he　had　gone　into　what　she　called　respiratory　depression　at　least　once。　She　had　told　no　one　he　was　here；　and　if　she　hadn't　by　now；　that　meant　she　didn't　mean　to。
　Would　she　have　behaved　in　this　same　fashion　if　it　had　been　Joe　Blow　from　Kokomo　she　had　hauled　out　of　the　wreck？　No。　No；　he　didn't　think　so。　She　had　kept　him　because　he　was　Paul　Sheldon；　and　she　…　〃She's　my　number…one　fan；〃　Paul　muttered；　and　put　an　arm　over　his　eyes。
　An　awful　memory　bloomed　there　in　the　dark：　his　mother　had　taken　him　to　the　Boston　Zoo；　and　he　had　been　looking　at　a　great　big　bird。　It　had　the　most　beautiful　feathers　…　red　and　purple　and　royal　blue　…　that　he　had　ever　seen　。　。　。　and　the　saddest　eyes。　He　had　asked　his　mother　where　the　bird　came　from　and　when　she　said　Africa　he　had　understood　it　was　doomed　to　die　in　the　cage　where　it　lived；　far　away　from　wherever　God　had　meant　it　to　be；　and　he　cried　and　his　mother　bought　him　an　ice…cream　cone　and　for　awhile　he　had　stopped　crying　and　then　he　remembered　and　started　again　and　so　she　had　taken　him　home；　telling　him　as　they　rode　the　trolley　back　to　Lynn　that　he　was　a　bawl…baby　and　a　sissy。
　Its　feathers。　Its　eyes。
　The　throbbing　in　his　legs　began　to　cycle　up。
　No。　No；　no。
　He　pressed　the　crook　of　his　elbow　more　tightly　against　his　eyes。　From　the　barn　he　could　hear　spaced　thudding　noises。　Impossible　to　tell　what　they　were；　of　course；　but　in　his　imagination　（your　MIND　your　CREATIVITY　that　is　all　I　meant）　he　could　see　her　pushing　bales　of　hay　out　of　the　loft　with　the　heel　of　her　boot；　could　see　them　tumbling　to　the　barn　floor。
　Africa。　That　bird　came　from　Africa。　From　…　Then；　cutting　cleanly　through　this　like　a　sharp　knife；　came　her　agitated；　almost…screaming　voice：　Do　you　think　that　when　they　put　me　up　there　on　the　stand　in　Den　…　Up　on　the　stand。　When　they　put　me　up　on　the　stand　in　Denver。
　Do　you　swear　to　tell　the　truth；　the　whole　truth；　nothing　but　the　truth；　so　help　you　God？
　（〃I　don't　know　where　he　gets　it。〃）　I　do。
　（〃He's　ALWAYS　writing　things　like　this　down。〃）　State　your　name。
　（〃Nobody　on　my　side　of　the　family　had　an　imagination　like　his。〃）　Annie　Wilkes。
　（〃So　vivid！〃）　My　name　is　Annie　Wilkes。
　He　willed　her　to　say　more；　she　would　not。
　〃e　on；〃　he　muttered；　his　arm　over　his　eyes　…　this　was　the　way　he　thought　best；　the　way　he　imagined　best。　His　mother　liked　to　tell　Mrs　Mulvaney　on　the　other　side　of　the　fence　what　a　marvellous　imagination　he　had；　so　vivid；　and　what　wonderful　little　stories　he　was　always　writing　down　（except；　of　course；　when　she　was　calling　him　a　sissy　and　a　bawl…baby）。　〃e　on；　e　on；　e　on。〃　He　could　see　the　courtroom　in　Denver；　could　see　Annie　Wilkes　on　the　stand；　not　wearing　jeans　now　but　a　rusty　purple…black　dress　and　an　awful　hat。　He　could　see　that　the　courtroom　was　crowded　with　spectators；　that　the　judge；　vas　bald　and　wearing　glasses。　The　judge　had　a　white　moustache。　There　was　a　birthmark　beneath　the　white　moustache。　The　white　moustache　covered　most　of　it　but　not　quite　all。
　Annie　Wilkes。
　（He　read　at　just　three！　Can　you　imagine！〃）　That　spirit　of　。　。　。　of　fan…love　。　。　。
　（〃He's　always　writing　things　down；　making　things　up。〃）　Now　I　must　rinse。
　（Africa。　That　bird　came　from〃）　〃e　on；〃　he　whispered；　but　could　get　no　further。　The　bailiff　asked　her　to　state　her　name；　and　over　and　over　again　she　said　it　was　Annie　Wilkes；　but　she　said　no　more；　she　sat　there　with　her　fibrous　solid　ominous　body　displacing　air　and　said　her　name　over　and　over　again　but　no　more　than　that。
　Still　trying　to　imagine　why　the　ex…nurse　who　had　taken　him　prisoner　might　have　once　been　put　on　the　stand　in　Denver；　Paul　drifted　off　to　sleep。
　
　
　12
　
　He　was　in　a　hospital　ward。　Great　relief　swept　through　him　…　so　great　he　felt　like　crying。　Something　had　happened　when　he　was　asleep；　someone　had　e；　or　perhaps　Annie　had　had　a　change　of　heart　or　mind。　It　didn't　matter。　He　had　gone　to　sleep　in　the　monster…woman's　house　and　had　awakened　in　the　hospital。
　But　surely　they　would　not　have　put　him　in　a　long　ward　like　this？　It　was　as　big　as　an　airplane　hangar！　Identical　rows　of　men　（with　identical　bottles　of　nutrient　hung　from　identical　IV　trays　beside　their　beds）　filled　the　place。　He　sat　up　and　saw　that　the　men　themselves　were　also　identical　…　they　were　all　him。　Then；　distantly；　he　heard　the　clock　chime；　and　understood　that　it　was　chiming　from　beyond　the　wall　of　sleep。　This　was　a　dream。　Sadness　replaced　the　relief。
　The　door　at　the　far　end　of　the　huge　ward　opened　and　in　came　Annie　Wilkes　…　only　she　was　dressed　in　a　long　aproned　dress　and　there　was　a　mobcap　on　her　head；　she　was　dressed　as　Misery　Chastain　in　Misery's　Love。　Over　one　arm　she　held　a　wicker　basket。　There　was　a　towel　over　the　contents。　She　folded　the　towel　back　as　he　watched。　She　reached　in　and　took　out　a　handful　of　something　and　flung　it　into　the　face　of　the　first　sleeping　Paul　Sheldon。　It　was　sand；　he　saw　this　was　Annie　Wilkes　pretending　to　be　Misery　Chastain　pretending　to　be　the　sandman。　Sandwoman。
　Then　he　saw　that　the　first　Paul　Sheldon's　face　had　turned　a　ghastly　white　as　soon　as　the　sand　struck　it　and　fear　jerked　him　out　of　the　dream　and　into　the　bedroom；　where　Annie　Wilkes　was　standing　over　him。　She　was　holding　the　fat　paperback　of　Misery's　Child　in　one　hand。　Her　bookmark　suggested　she　was　about　three…quarters　of　the　way　through。
　〃You　were　moaning；〃　she　said。
　〃I　had　a　bad　dream。〃
　〃What　was　it　about？〃　The　first　thing　which　was　not　the　truth　that　popped　into　his　head　was　what　he　replied：　〃Africa。〃
　
　
　13
　
　She　came　in　late　the　following　morning；　her　face　the　color　of　ashes。　He　had　been　dozing；　but　he　came　awake　at　once；　jerking　up　on　his　elbows。
　〃Miss　Wilkes？　Annie？　Are　you　all　r　…　〃
　〃No。〃　Christ；　she's　had　a　heart　attack；　he　thought；　and　there　was　a　moment's　alarm　which　was　immediately　replaced　by　joy。　Let　her　have　one！　A　big　one！　A　fucking　chest…buster！　He　would　be　more　than　happy　to　crawl　to　the　telephone；　no　matter　how　much　it　might　hurt。　He　would　crawl　to　the　telephone　over　broken　glass；　if　that　was　what　it　took。
　And　it　was　a　heart　attack　。　。　。　but　not　the　right　kind。
　She　came　toward　him；　not　quite　staggering　but　rolling；　the　way　a　sailor　will　when　he's　just　gotten　off　his　ship　at　the　enc　of　a　long　voyage。
　〃What　…　〃　He　tried　to　shrink　away　from　her；　but　there　was　no　place　to　go。　There　was　only　the　headboard；　and　behind　that；　the　wall。
　〃No！〃　She　reached　the　side　of　the　bed；　bumped　it；　wavered　and　for　a　moment　seemed　on　the　verge　of　falling　on　top　of　him。　Then　she　just　stood　there；　looking　down　at　him　out　of　her　paper…white　face；　the　cords　on　her　neck　standing　out；　one　vein　pulsing　in　the　center　of　her　f