sk.dreamcatcher-第105部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！




11

Old　Mr　Beckwith's　final　words　on　the　subject　before　driving　on　down　the　road　in　his　mail…truck　had　been　these：　Way　I　heard　it；　the　folks　in　Boston'll　be　drinking　her　in　their　morning　coffee　tight　around　Valentine's　Day。　Then　he'd　given　Jonesy　a　grin。　I　don't　drink　the　water　myself；　I　stick　to　beer。
　　　　In　Massachusetts；　as　in　Australia；　you　say　that　beah。


12

Jonesy　had　paced　around　his　office　twelve　or　fourteen　times　now。　He　stopped　for　a　moment　behind　his　desk　chair；　absently　rubbing　his　hip；　then　set　off　again；　still　counting；　good　old　obsessive…pulsive　Jonesy。
　　　　One　。　。　。　two　。　。　。　three　。　。　。
　　　　The　story　of　the　Russian　woman　was　certainly　a　fine　one；　a　superior　example　of　the　Small　Town　Creepy　Yarn　（haunted　houses　where　multiple　murders　had　taken　place　and　the　sites　of　terrible　roadside　accidents　were　also　good）；　and　it　certainly　cast　a　clear　light　on　Mr　Gray's　plans　for　Lad；　the　unfortunate　border　collie；　but　what　good　did　it　do　him　to　know　where　Mr　Gray　was　going？　After　all　。　。　。
　　　　Back　to　the　chair　again；　forty…eight；　forty…nine；　fifty；　and　wait　a　minute；　just　wait　a　goddam　minute。　The　first　time　he'd　gone　around　the　room；　he'd　done　it　in　just　thirty…four　paces；　hadn't　he？　So　how　could　it　be　fifty　this　time？　He　wasn't　shuffling；　taking　baby　steps；　anything　like　that；　so　how…
　　　　You've　been　making　it　bigger。　Walking　around　it　and　making　it　bigger。　Because　you　were　restless。　It's　your　room；　after　all。　I　bet　you　could　make　it　as　big　as　the　Waldorf…Astoria　ballroom；　if　you　wanted　to　。　。　。　and　Mr　Gray　couldn't　stop　you。
　　　　'Is　that　possible？'　Jonesy　whispered。　He　stood　by　his　desk　chair；　one　hand　on　the　back；　like　a　man　posing　for　a　portrait。　He　didn't　need　an　answer　to　his　question；　eyesight　was　enough。　The　room　was　bigger。
　　　　Henry　was　ing。　If　he　had　Duddits　with　him；　following　Mr　Gray　would　be　easy　enough　no　matter　how　many　times　Mr　Gray　changed　vehicles；　because　Duddits　saw　the　line。　He　had　led　them　to　Richie　Grenadeau　in　a　dream；　later　he　had　led　them　to　Josie　Rinkenhauer　in　reality；　and　he　could　direct　Henry　now　as　easily　as　a　keen…nosed　hound　leads　a　hunter　to　the　fox's　earth。　The　problem　was　the　lead；　the　goddam　lead　that　Mr　Gray　had。　An　hour　at　least。　Maybe　more。　And　once　Mr　Gray　had　chucked　the　dog　down　Shaft　12；　there　went　your　ballgame。　There'd　be　time　to　shut　off　Boston's　water　supply　…　theoretically　…　but　could　Henry　convince　anyone　to　take　such　an　enormous；　disruptive　step？　Jonesy　doubted　it。　And　what　about　all　the　people　along　the　way　who　would　drink　the　water　almost　immediately？　Sixty…five　hundred　in　Ware；　eleven　thousand　in　Athol；　over　a　hundred　and　fifty　thousand　in　Worcester。　Those　people　would　have　weeks　instead　of　months。　Only　days　in　some　cases。
　　　　Was　there　any　way　to　slow　the　son　of　a　bitch　down？　Give　Henry　a　chance　to　catch　up？
　　　Jonesy　looked　up　at　the　dreamcatcher；　and　as　he　did；　something　in　the　room　changed　…　there　was　a　sigh；　almost；　the　sort　of　sound　ghosts　are　reputed　to　make　at　séances。　But　this　was　no　ghost；　and　Jonesy　felt　his　arms　prickle。　At　the　same　time　his　eyes　filled　with　tears。　A　line　from　Thomas　Wolfe　occurred　to　him　…　o　lost；　a　stone；　a　leaf；　a　unfound　door。　Thomas　Wolfe；　whose　thesis　had　been　that　you　can't　go　home　again。
　　　　'Duddits？'　he　whispered。　The　hair　on　his　neck　had　stiffened。　'Duddie；　is　that　you？'
　　　　No　answer　。　。　。　but　when　he　looked　at　the　desk　where　the　useless　phone　had　stood；　he　saw　that　something　new　had　been　added。　Not　a　stone　or　a　leaf；　not　an　unfound　door；　but　a　cribbage　board　and　a　deck　of　cards。
　　　　Someone　wanted　to　play　the　game。


13

Hurt　pretty　much　all　the　time　now。　Mumma　know；　he　tell　Mumma。　Jesus　know；　he　tell　Jesus。　He　don't　tell　Henry；　Henry　hurts　too；　Henry　tired　and　make　sad。　Beaver　and　Pete　are　in　heaven　where　they　sitteth　at　the　right　hand　of　God　the　Father　all　mighty；　maker　of　heaven　and　earth　forever　and　ever；　Jesus'　sake；　hey　man。　That　makes　him　sad；　they　were　good　friends　and　played　games　but　never　made　fun。　Once　they　found　Josie　and　once　they　saw　a　tall　guy；　he　a　cowboy；　and　once　they　play　the　game。
　　　　This　a　game　too；　only　Pete　used　to　say　Duddits　it　doesn't　matter　if　you　win　or　booze　it's　how　you　play　the　game　only　this　time　it　does　matter；　it　does；　Jonesy　say　it　does；　Jonesy　hard　of　hearing　but　pretty　soon　it'll　be　better；　pretty　soon。　If　only　he　don't　hurt。　Even　his　Perco　don't　help。　His　throat　make　sore　and　his　body　shakes　and　his　belly　make　hurry　kind　of　like　when　he　has　to　go　poopoo；　kind　of　like　that；　but　he　doesn't　have　to　go　poopoo；　and　when　he　cough　sometimes　make　blood。　He　would　like　to　sleep　but　there　is　Henry　and　his　new　friend　Owen　that　was　there　the　day　they　found　Josie　and　they　say　If　only　we　could　slow　him　down　and　If　only　we　could　catch　up　and　he　has　to　stay　awake　and　help　them　but　he　has　to　close　his　eyes　to　hear　Jonesy　and　they　think　he's　asleep；　Owen　says　Shouldn't　we　wake　him　up；　what　if　the　son　of　a　bitch　turns　off　somewhere；　and　Henry　says　I　tell　you　I　know　where　he's　going；　but　we'll　wake　him　up　at　1…90　just　to　be　sure。　For　now　let　him　sleep；　my　God；　he　looks　so　tired。　And　again；　only　this　time　thinking　it：　If　only　we　could　slow　the　son　of　a　bitch　down。
　　　　Eyes　closed。　Arms　crossed　over　his　aching　chest。　Breathing　slow；　Mumma　say　breathe　slow　when　you　cough。　Jonesy's　not　dead；　not　in　heaven　with　Beaver　and　Pete；　but　Mr　Gray　say　Jonesy　locked　and　Jonesy　believes　him。　Jonesy's　in　the　office；　no　phone　and　no　facts；　hard　to　talk　to　because　Mr　Gray　is　mean　and　Mr　Gray　is　scared。　Scared　Jonesy　will　find　out　which　one　is　really　locked　up。
　　　　When　did　they　talk　most？
　　　　When　they　played　the　game。
　　　　The　game。
　　　　A　shudder　racks　him。　He　has　to　make　hard　think　and　it　hurts；　he　can　feel　it　stealing　away　his　strength；　the　last　little　bits　of　his　strength；　but　this　time　it's　more　than　just　a　game；　this　time　it　matters　who　wins　and　who　boozes；　so　he　gives　his　strength；　he　makes　the　board　and　he　makes　the　cards；　Jonesy　is　crying；　Jonesy　thinks　o　lost；　but　Duddits　Cavell　isn't　lost；　Duddits　sees　the　line；　the　line　goes　to　the　office；　and　this　time　he　will　do　more　than　peg　the　pegs。
　　　　Don't　cry　Jonesy；　he　says；　and　the　words　are　clear；　in　his　mind　they　always　are；　it　is　only　his　stupid　mouth　that　mushes　them　up。　Don't　cry；　I'm　not　lost。
　　　　Eyes　closed。　Arms　crossed。
　　　　In　Jonesy's　office；　beneath　the　dreamcatcher；　Duddits　plays　the　game。


14

'I've　got　the　dog；'　Henry　said。　He　sounded　exhausted。　'The　one　Perlmutter's　homed　in　on。　I've　got　it。　We're　a　little　bit　closer。　Christ；　if　there　was　just　a　way　to　slow　them　down！'
　　　　It　was　raining　now；　and　Owen　could　only　hope　they'd　be　south　of　the　freeze…line　if　it　went　over　to　sleet。　The　wind　was　gusting　hard　enough　to　sway　the　Hummer　on　the　road。　It　was　noon；　and　they　were　between　Saco　and　Biddeford。　Owen　glanced　into　the　rearview　mirror　and　saw　Duddits　in　the　back　seat；　eyes　closed；　head　back；　skinny　arms　crossed　on　his　chest。　His　plexion　was　an　alarming　yellow；　but　a　thin　line　of　bright　blood　trickled　from　the　er　of　his　mouth。
　　　　'Is　there　any　way　your　friend　can　help？'　Owen　asked。
　　　　'I　think　he's　trying。'
　　　　'I　thought　you　said　he　was　asleep。'
　　　　Henry　turned；　looked　at　Duddits；　then　looked　at　Owen。　'I　was　wrong；'　he　said。


15

Jonesy　dealt　the　cards；　threw　two　into　the　crib　from　his　hand；　then　picked　up　the　other　hand　and　added　two　more。
　　　　'Don't　cry；　Jonesy。　Don't　cry；　I'm　not　lost。'
　　　　Jonesy　glanced　up　at　the　dreamcatcher；　quite　sure　the　words　had　e　from　there。　'I'm　not　crying；　Duds。　Fuckin　allergies；　that's　all。　Now　I　think　you　want　to　play…'
　　　　'Two；'　said　the　voice　from　the　dreamcatcher。
　　　　Jonesy　played　the　deuce　from　Duddits's　hand　…　not　a　bad　lead；　actually　…　then　played　a　seven　from　his　own。　That　made　nine。　Duddits　had　a　six　in　his　hand；　the　question　was　whether　or　not…
　　　　'Six　for　fifteen；'　said　the　voice　from　the　dreamcatcher。　'Fifteen　for　two。　Kiss　my　bender！'
　　　　Jonesy　laughed　in　spite　of　himself　It　was　Duddits；　all　right；　but　for　a　moment　he　had　sounded　just　like　the　Beav。　'Go　on　and　peg　it；　then。'　And　watched；　fascinated；　as　one　of　the　pegs　on　the　board　rose；　floated；　and　settled　back　down　in　the　second　hole　on　First　Street。
　　　　Suddenly　he　understood　something。
　　　　'You　could　play　all　along；　couldn't　you；　Duds？　You　used　to　peg　all　crazy　just　because　it　made　us　laugh。'　The　idea　brought　fresh　tears　to　his　eyes。　All　those　years　they'd　thought　they　were　playing　with　Duddits；　he　had　been　playing　with　them。　And　on　that　day　behind　Tracker　Brothers；　who　had　found　whom？　Who　had　saved　whom？
　　　　'Twenty…one；'　he　said。
　　　　'Thirty…one　for　two。'　From　the　dreamcatcher。　And　once　again　the　unseen　hand　lifted　the　peg　and　played　it　two　holes　farther　on。　'He's　blocked　to　me；　Jonesy。'
　　　　'I　know。'　Jonesy　played　a　three。　Duddits　called　thirteen；　and　Jonesy　played　it　out　of　Duddits's　hand。
　　　　'But　you're　not。　You　can　talk　to　him。'
　　　　Jonesy　played　his　own　deuce　and　pegged　two。　Duddits　played；　pegged　one　for　last　card；　and　Jonesy　thought：　Outpegged　by　a　retard　…　what　do　you　know。　Except　this　Duddits　wasn't　retarded。　Exhausted　and　dying；　but　not　retarded。
　　　　They　pegged　their　hands；　and　Duddits　was　far　ahead　even　though　it　had　been　Jonesy's　crib。　Jonesy　swept　the　cards　together　and　began　to　shuffle　them。
　　　　'What　does　he　want；　Jonesy？　What　does　he　want　besides　water？'
　　　　Murder；　Jonesy　thought。　He　likes　to　kill　people。　But　no　more　of　that。　Please　God；　no　more　of　that。
　　　　'Bacon；'　he　said。　'He　does　like　bacon。'
　　　　He　began　to　shuffle　the　cards　。　。　。　then　froze　as　Duddits　filled　his　mind。　The　real　Duddits；　young　and　strong　and　ready　to　fight。


16

Behind　them；　in　the　back　seat；　Duddits　groaned　loudly。　Henry　turned　and　saw　fresh　blood；　red　as　byrus；　running　from　his　nostrils。　His　face　was　twisted　in　a　terrible　cramp　of　concentration。　Beneath　their　closed　lids；　his　eyeballs　rolled　rapidly　back　and　forth。
　　　　'What's　the　matter　with　him？'　Owen　asked。　'I　don't　know。'
　　　　Duddits　began　to　cough：　deep　and　racking　bronchial　sounds。　Blood　flew　from　between　his　lips　in　a　fine　spray。
　　　　'Wake　him　up；　Henry！　For　Christ's　sake；　wake　him　up！'
　　　　Henry　gave　Owen　Underhill　a　frightened　look。　They　were　approaching　Kennebunkport　now；　no　more　than　twenty　miles　from　the　New　Hampshire　border；　a