sk.dreamcatcher-第14部分

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he's　got　any　frostbite；　just　that　mess　on　his　cheek。'
　　　　'I　don't　know。　And　there's　something　else；'　Jonesy　said。　'How　e　he　doesn't　have　the　start　of　a　beard？'
　　　　'Huh？'　Beaver's　mouth　opened。　The　toothpick　hung　from　his　lower　lip。　Then；　very　slowly；　he　nodded。　'Yeah。　All　he's　got　is　stubble。'
　　　　'I'd　say　less　than　a　day's　growth。'
　　　　'I　guess　he　was　shavin；　huh？'
　　　　'Right；'　Jonesy　said；　picturing　McCarthy　lost　in　the　woods；　scared　and　cold　and　hungry　（not　that　he　looked　like　he'd　missed　many　meals；　that　was　another　thing）；　but　still　kneeling　by　a　stream　every　morning；　breaking　the　ice　with　a　booted　foot　so　he　could　get　to　the　water　beneath；　then　taking　his　trusty　Gillette　from　。　。　。　where？　His　coat　pocket？
　　　　'And　then　this　morning　he　lost　his　razor；　which　is　why　he's　got　the　stubble；'　the　Beav　said。　He　was　smiling　again；　but　there　didn't　seem　to　be　a　lot　of　humor　in　it。
　　　　'Yeah。　Same　time　he　lost　his　gun。　Did　you　see　his　teeth？'
　　　　Beaver　made　a　what…now　grimace。
　　　　'Four　gone。　Two　on　top；　two　on　the　bottom。　He　looks　like　the　What…me…worry　kid　that's　always　on　the　front　of　Mad　magazine。'
　　　　'Not　a　big　deal；　buddy。　I've　got　a　couple　of　AWOL　choppers　myself。'　Beaver　hooked　back　one　er　of　his　mouth；　baring　his　left　gum　in　a　one…sided　grin　Jonesy　could　have　done　without。　'Eee？　Ight　ack　ere。'
　　　　Jonesy　shook　his　head。　It　wasn't　the　same。　'The　guy's　a　lawyer；　Beav　…　he's　out　in　public　all　the　time；　his　looks　are　part　of　his　living。　And　these　babies　are　right　out　in　front。　He　didn't　know　they　were　gone。　I'd　swear　to　it。'
　　　　'You　don't　suppose　he　got　exposed　to　radiation　or　something；　do　you？'　Beaver　asked　uneasily。　'Your　teeth　fall　out　when　you　get　fuckin　radiation　poisonin；　I　saw　that　in　a　movie　one　time。　One　of　the　ones　you're　always　watching；　those　monster　shows。　You　don't　suppose　it's　that；　do　you？　Maybe　he　got　that　red　mark　the　same　time。'
　　　　'Yeah；　he　got　a　dose　when　the　Mars　Hill　Nuclear　Power　Plant　blew　up；'　Jonesy　said；　and　Beaver's　puzzled　expression　made　him　immediately　sorry　for　the　crack。　'Beav；　when　you　get　radiation　poisoning；　I　think　your　hair　falls　out；　too。'
　　　　The　Beaver's　face　cleared。　'Yeah；　that's　right。　The　guy　in　the　movie　ended　up　as　bald　as　Telly　what's…his…fuck；　used　to　play　that　cop　on　TV。'　He　paused。　'Then　the　guy　died。　The　one　in　the　movie；　I　mean；　not　Telly；　although　now　that　I　think　of　it…'
　　　　'This　guy's　got　plenty　of　hair；'　Jonesy　interrupted。　Let　Beaver　get　off　on　a　tangent　and　they　would　likely　never　get　back　to　the　point。　He　noticed　that；　out　of　the　stranger's　presence；　neither　of　them　called　him　Rick；　or　even　McCarthy。　Just　'the　guy；'　as　if　they　subconsciously　wanted　to　turn　him　into　something　less　important　than　a　man　…　something　generic；　as　if　that　would　make　it　matter　less　if　。　。　。　well；　if。
　　　　'Yeah；'　Beaver　said。　'He　does；　doesn't　he？　Plenty　of　hair。'
　　　　'He　must　have　amnesia。'
　　　　'Maybe；　but　he　remembers　who　he　is；　who　he　was　with；　shit　like　that。　Man；　that　was　some　trumpet…blast　he　blew；　wasn't　it？　And　the　stink！　Like　ether！'
　　　　'Yeah；'　Jonesy　said。　'I　kept　thinking　of　starter　fluid。　Diabetics　get　a　smell　when　they're　tipping　over。　I　read　that　in　a　mystery　novel；　I　think。'
　　　　'Is　it　like　starter　fluid？'
　　　　'I　can't　remember。'
　　　　They　stood　there　looking　at　each　other；　listening　to　the　wind。　It　crossed　Jonesy's　mind　to　tell　Beaver　about　the　lightning　the　guy　claimed　to　have　seen；　but　why　bother？　Enough　was　enough。
　　　　'I　thought　he　was　going　to　blow　his　cookies　when　he　leaned　forward　like　that；'　the　Beav　said。　'Didn't　you？'
　　　　Jonesy　nodded。
　　　　'And　he　don't　look　well；　not　at　all　well。'
　　　　'No。'
　　　　Beaver　sighed；　tossed　his　toothpick　in　the　trash；　and　looked　out　the　window；　where　the　snow　was　ing　down　harder　and　heavier　than　ever。　He　flicked　his　fingers　through　his　hair。　'Man；　I　wish　Henry　and　Pete　were　here。　Henry　especially。'
　　　　'Beav；　Henry's　a　psychiatrist。'
　　　　'I　know；　but　he's　the　closest　thing　to　a　doctor　we　got　…　and　I　think　that　fellow　needs　doctoring。'
　　　　Henry　actually　was　a　physician　…　had　to　be；　in　order　to　get　his　certificate　of　shrinkology　…　but　he'd　never　practiced　anything　except　psychiatry；　as　far　as　Jonesy　knew。　Still；　he　understood　what　Beaver　meant。
　　　　'Do　you　still　think　they'll　make　it　back；　Beav？'
　　　　Beaver　sighed。　'Half　an　hour　ago　I　would　have　said　for　sure；　but　it's　really　in　heavy。　I　think　so。'　He　looked　at　Jonesy　somberly；　there　was　not　much　of　the　usually　happy…go…lucky　Beaver　Clarendon　in　that　look。　'I　hope　so；'　he　said。

CHAPTER　THREE

HENRY'S　SCOUT


1

Now；　as　he　followed　the　Scout's　headlights　through　the　thickening　snow；　burrowing　as　if　through　a　tunnel　along　the　Deep　Cut　Road　toward　Hole　in　the　Wall；　Henry　was　down　to　thinking　about　ways　to　do　it。
　　　　There　was　the　Hemingway　Solution；　of　course　…　way　back　at　Harvard；　as　an　undergraduate；　he　had　written　a　paper　calling　it　that；　so　he　might　have　been　thinking　about　it　…　in　a　personal　way；　not　just　as　another　step　toward　fulfilling　some　twinky　course　requirement；　that　was　…　even　then。　The　Hemingway　Solution　was　a　shotgun；　and　Henry　had　one　of　those　now　。　。　。　not　that　he　would　do　it　here；　with　the　others。　The　four　of　them　had　had　a　lot　of　fine　times　at　Hole　in　the　Wall；　and　it　would　be　unfair　to　do　it　there。　It　would　pollute　the　place　for　Pete　and　Jonesy　…　for　Beaver　too；　maybe　Beaver　most　of　all；　and　that　wouldn't　be　right。　But　it　would　be　soon；　he　could　feel　it　ing　on；　something　like　a　sneeze。　Funny　to　pare　the　ending　of　your　life　to　a　sneeze；　but　that　was　probably　what　it　came　to。　Just　kerchoo；　and　then　hello　darkness；　my　old　friend。
　　　　When　implementing　the　Hemingway　Solution；　you　took　off　your　shoe　and　your　sock。　Butt　of　the　gun　went　on　the　floor。　Barrel　went　into　your　mouth。　Great　toe　went　around　the　trigger。　Memo　to　myself；　Henry　thought　as　the　Scout　fishtailed　a　little　in　the　fresh　snow　and　he　corrected　…　the　ruts　helped；　that　was　really　all　this　road　was；　a　couple　of　ruts　dug　by　the　skidders　that　used　it　in　the　summertime。　If　you　do　it　that　way；　take　a　laxative　and　don't　do　it　until　after　that　final　dump；　no　need　to　make　any　extra　mess　for　the　people　who　find　you。
　　　　'Maybe　you　better　slow　down　a　little；'　Pete　said。　He　had　a　beer　between　his　legs　and　it　was　half　gone；　but　one　wouldn't　be　enough　to　mellow　Pete　out。　Three　or　four　more；　though；　and　Henry　could　go　barrel…assing　down　this　road　at　sixty　and　Pete　would　just　sit　there　in　the　passenger　seat；　singing　along　with　one　of　those　horrible　fucking　Pink　Floyd　discs。　And　he　could　go　sixty；　probably；　without　putting　so　much　as　another　ding　in　the　front　bumper。　Being　in　the　ruts　of　the　Deep　Cut；　even　when　they　were　filled　with　snow；　was　like　being　on　rails。　If　it　kept　snowing　that　might　change；　but　for　now；　all　was　well。
　　　　'Don't　worry；　Pete　…　everything's　five…by…five。'
　　　　'You　want　a　beer？'
　　　　'Not　while　I'm　driving。'
　　　　'Not　even　out　here　in　West　Overshoe？'
　　　　'Later。'
　　　　Pete　subsided；　leaving　Henry　to　follow　the　bore　of　the　headlights；　to　thread　his　way　along　this　white　lane　between　the　trees。　Leaving　him　with　his　thoughts；　which　was　where　he　wanted　to　be。　It　was　like　returning　to　a　bloody　place　inside　your　mouth；　exploring　it　again　and　again　with　the　tip　of　your　tongue；　but　it　was　where　he　wanted　to　be。
　　　　There　were　pills。　There　was　the　old　Baggie…over…the…head…in…the…bathtub…trick。　There　was　drowning。　There　was　jumping　from　a　high　place。　The　handgun　in　the　ear　was　too　unsure　…　too　much　chance　of　waking　up　paralyzed　…　and　so　was　slitting　the　wrists；　that　was　for　people　who　were　only　practicing；　but　the　Japanese　had　a　way　of　doing　it　that　interested　Henry　very　much。　Tie　a　rope　around　your　neck。　Tie　the　other　end　to　a　large　rock。　Put　the　rock　on　the　seat　of　a　chair；　then　sit　down　with　your　back　braced　so　you　can't　fall　backward　but　have　to　keep　sitting。　Tip　the　chair　over　and　the　rock　rolls　off。　Subject　may　live　for　three　to　five　minutes　in　a　deepening　dream　of　asphyxiation。　Gray　fades　to　black；　hello　darkness；　my　old　friend。　He　had　read　about　that　method　in　one　of　Jonesy's　beloved　Kinsey　Milhone　detective　novels；　of　all　places。　Detective　novels　and　horror　movies：　those　were　the　things　that　floated　Jonesy's　boat。
　　　　On　the　whole；　Henry　leaned　toward　the　Hemingway　Solution。
　　　　Pete　finished　his　first　beer　and　popped　the　top　on　his　second；　looking　considerably　more　content。　'What'd　you　make　of　it？'　Pete　asked。
　　　　Henry　felt　called　to　from　that　other　universe；　the　one　where　the　living　actually　wanted　to　live。　As　always　these　days；　that　made　him　feel　impatient。　But　it　was　important　that　none　of　them　suspect；　and　he　had　an　idea　Jonesy　already　did；　a　little。　Beaver　might；　too。　They　were　the　ones　who　could　sometimes　see　inside。　Pete　didn't　have　a　clue；　but　he　might　say　the　wrong　thing　to　one　of　the　others；　about　how　preoccupied　ole　Henry　had　gotten；　like　there　was　something　on　his　mind；　something　heavy；　and　Henry　didn't　want　that。　This　was　going　to　be　the　last　trip　to　Hole　in　the　Wall　for　the　four　of　them；　the　old　Kansas　Street　gang；　the　Crimson　Pirates　of　the　third　and　fourth　grades；　and　he　wanted　it　to　be　a　good　one。　He　wanted　them　to　be　shocked　when　they　heard；　even　Jonesy；　who　saw　into　him　the　most　often　and　always　had。　He　wanted　them　to　say　they'd　had　no　idea。　Better　that　than　the　three　of　them　sitting　around　with　their　heads　hung；　not　able　to　make　eye　contact　with　one　another　except　in　fleeting　glances；　thinking　that　they　should　have　known；　they　had　seen　the　signs　and　should　have　done　something。　So　he　came　back　to　that　other　universe；　simulating　interest　smoothly　and　convincingly。　Who　could　do　that　better　than　a　headshrinker？
　　　　'What　did　I　make　of　what？'
　　　　Pete　rolled　his　eyes。　'At　Gosselin's；　dimbulb！　All　that　stuff　Old　Man　Gosselin　was　talking　about。'
　　　　'Peter；　they　don't　call　him　Old　Man　Gosselin　for　nothing。　He's　eighty　if　he's　a　day；　and　if　there's　one　thing　old　women　and　old　men　are　not　short　on；　it's　hysteria。'　The　Scout　…　no　spring　chicken　itself；　fourteen　years　old　and　far　into　its　second　trip　around　the　odometer　popped　out　of　the　ruts　and　immediately　skidded；　four…wheel　drive　or　not。　Henry　steered　into　the　skid；　almost　laughing　when　Pete　dropped　his　beer　onto　the　floor　and　yelled；　'Whoa　…　fuck；　watch　out！'
　　　　Henry　let　off　on　the　gas　until　he　f