sk.dreamcatcher-第22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！


him　nervous。　Except　that　was　stupid。　People　didn't　just　explode；　did　they？　Still；　he　had　to　get　him　a　little　help　here。　Because　she　was　giving　him　the　Willies；　bigtime。
　　　　He　got　two　of　the　pieces　of　wood　Henry　had　scrounged；　added　them　to　the　fire；　debated；　and　added　a　third。　Sparks　rose；　whirling；　and　winked　out　against　the　sloping　piece　of　corrugated　tin。　'I'll　be　back　before　that　all　burns　down；　but　if　you　want　to　add　on　another；　be　my　guest。　Okay？'
　　　　Nothing。　He　suddenly　felt　like　shaking　her；　but　he　had　a　mile　and　a　half　to　walk；　up　to　the　Scout　and　back　here　again；　and　he　had　to　save　his　strength。　Besides；　she'd　probably　fart　again。　Or　burp　right　in　his　face。
　　　　'Okay；'　he　said。　'Silence　gives　consent；　that's　what　Mrs　White　always　used　to　say　back　in　the　fourth　grade。'
　　　　He　got　to　his　feet；　bracing　his　knee　as　he　did　so；　grimacing　and　slipping；　almost　falling；　but　finally　getting　up　because　he　needed　that　beer；　goddammit；　needed　it；　and　there　was　no　one　to　get　it　except　for　him；　Probably　he　was　an　alcoholic。　In　fact；　there　was　no　probably　about　it；　and　he　supposed　eventually　he'd　have　to　do　something　about　it；　but　for　now　he　was　on　his　own；　wasn't　he？　Yes；　because　this　bitch　was　gone；　nothing　left　of　her　but　some　nasty　gas　and　that　creepy　jackalope　eye。　If　she　needed　to　put　some　more　wood　on　the　fire　she'd　just　have　to　do　it；　but　she　wouldn't　need　to；　he'd　be　back　long　before　then。　It　was　only　a　mile　and　a　half。　Surely　his　leg　would　hold　him　that　long。
　　　　'I'll　be　back；'　he　said。　He　leaned　over　and　massaged　his　knee。　Stiff；　but　not　too　bad。　Really　not　too　bad。　He'd　just　put　the　beer　in　a　bag　…　maybe　a　box　of　Hi　Ho　crackers　for　the　bitch　while　he　was　at　it　…　and　be　right　back。　'You　sure　you're　okay？'
　　　　Nothing。　Just　the　eye。
　　　　'Silence　gives　consent；'　he　repeated；　and　began　walking　back　up　the　Deep　Cut　Road；　following　the　wide　drag…mark　of　the　tarpaulin　and　their　almost…filled…in　tracks。　He　walked　in　little　hitches；　pausing　to　rest　every　ten　or　twelve　steps　。　。　。　and　to　massage　his　knee。　He　stopped　once　to　look　back　at　the　fire。　It　already　looked　small　and　insubstantial　in　the　gray　early　afternoon　light。　'This　is　fuckin　crazy；'　he　said　once；　but　he　kept　on　going。


2

He　got　to　the　end　of　the　straight　stretch　all　right；　and　halfway　up　the　hill　all　right。　He　was　just　starting　to　walk　a　little　faster；　to　trust　the　knee　a　little　when　…　ha…ha；　asshole；　fooled　ya　…　it　locked　again；　turning　to　something　that　felt　like　pig…iron；　and　he　went　down；　yelling　squeezed　curses　through　his　clenched　teeth。
　　　　It　was　as　he　sat　there　cursing　in　the　snow　that　he　realized　something　very　odd　was　going　on　out　here。　A　large　buck　went　walking　past　him　on　the　left；　with　no　more　than　a　quick　glance　at　the　human　from　which　it　would　have　fled　in　great；　springy　bounds　on　any　other　day。　Running　along　almost　under　its　feet　was　a　red　squirrel。
　　　　Pete　sat　there　in　the　lessening　snow　…　huge　flakes　falling　in　a　shifting　wave　that　looked　like　lace　…　with　his　leg　stuck　out　in　front　of　him　and　his　mouth　open。　There　were　more　deer　ing　along　the　road；　other　animals；　too；　walking　and　hopping　like　refugees　fleeing　some　disaster。　There　were　even　more　of　them　in　the　woods；　a　wave　moving　east。
　　　　'Where　you　guys　going？'　he　asked　a　snowshoe　rabbit　that　went　lolloping　past　him　with　its　ears　laid　along　its　back。　'Big　coverall　game　at　the　rez？　Casting　call　for　a　new　Disney　cartoon？　Got　a…'
　　　　He　broke　off；　the　spit　in　his　mouth　drying　up　to　something　that　felt　like　an　electric　mist。　A　black　bear；　fat　with　its　pre…hibernation　stuffing；　was　ambling　through　the　screen　of　thin　second…growth　trees　to　his　left。　It　went　with　its　head　down　and　its　rump　switching　from　side　to　side；　and　although　it　never　spared　Pete　so　much　as　a　look；　Pete's　illusions　about　his　place　here　in　the　big　north　woods　were　for　the　first　time　entirely　stripped　away。　He　was　nothing　but　a　heap　of　tasty　white　meat　that　happened　to　still　be　breathing。　Without　his　rifle；　he　was　more　defenseless　than　the　squirrel　he'd　seen　scurrying　around　the　buck's　feet　…　if　noticed　by　a　bear；　the　squirrel　could　at　least　run　up　the　nearest　tree；　all　the　way　to　the　thin　top　branches　where　no　bear　could　possibly　follow。　The　fact　that　this　bear　never　so　much　as　looked　at　him　didn't　make　Pete　feel　much　better。　Where　there　was　one；　there　would　be　more；　and　the　next　one　might　not　be　so　preoccupied。
　　　　Once　he　was　sure　the　bear　was　gone；　Pete　struggled　to　his　feet　again；　his　heart　hammering。　He　had　left　that　foolish　farting　woman　back　there　alone；　but　really；　how　much　protection　would　he　have　been　able　to　provide　if　a　bear　decided　to　attack？　The　thing　was；　he　had　to　get　his　rifle。　Henry's　too；　if　he　could　carry　it。　For　the　next　five　minutes　…　until　he　got　to　the　top　of　the　hill　…　Pete　thought　about　firepower　first　and　beer　second。　By　the　time　he　began　his　cautious　descent　on　the　other　side；　however；　he　was　back　to　beer。　Put　it　in　a　bag　and　hang　the　bag　over　his　shoulder。　And　no　stopping　to　drink　one　on　the　way　back。　He'd　have　one　when　he　was　sitting　in　front　of　the　campfire　again。　It　would　be　a　reward　beer；　and　there　was　nothing　better　than　a　reward　beer。
　　　　You're　an　alcoholic。　You　know　that；　don't　you？　Fucking　alcoholic。
　　　　Yes；　and　what　did　that　mean？　That　you　couldn't　fuck　up。
　　　　Couldn't　get　caught　leaving　a　semi…atose　woman　alone　in　the　woods；　let's　say；　while　you　went　off　in　search　of　the　suds。　And　once　he　got　back　to　the　shelter；　he　had　to　remember　to　toss　his　empties　deep　into　the　woods。　Although　Henry　might　know　anyway。　The　way　they　always　seemed　to　know　stuff　about　each　other　when　they　were　together。　And　mental　link　or　no　mental　link；　you　had　to　get　up　pretty　goddam　early　in　the　morning　to　put　one　over　on　Henry　Devlin。
　　　　Yet　Pete　thought　Henry　would　probably　let　him　alone　about　the　beer。　Unless；　that　was；　Pete　decided　the　time　had　e　to　talk　about　it。　To　maybe　ask　Henry　for　help。　Which　Pete　might　do；　in　time。　Certainly　he　didn't　like　the　way　he　felt　about　himself　right　now；　leaving　that　woman　alone　back　there　said　something　about　Peter　Moore　that　wasn't　so　nice。　But　Henry　。。。　there　was　something　wrong　with　Henry；　too；　this　November。　Pete　didn't　know　if　Beaver　felt　it；　but　he　was　pretty　sure　Jonesy　did。　Henry　was　kind　of　tucked　up。　He　was　maybe　even…
　　　　From　behind　him　there　came　a　wet　grunt。　Pete　screamed　and　whirled　around。　His　knee　locked　up　again；　locked　up　savagely；　but　in　his　fright　he　barely　noticed。　It　was　the　bear；　the　bear　had　circled　back　behind　him；　that　bear　or　another　one…
　　　　It　wasn't　a　bear。　It　was　a　moose；　and　it　walked　past　Pete　with　no　more　than　a　glance　as　he　fell　into　the　road　again；　cursing　low　in　his　throat　and　holding　his　leg；　looking　up　into　the　lightly　falling　snow　and　cursing　himself　for　a　fool。　An　alcoholic　fool。
　　　　He　had　a　frightening　few　moments　when　it　seemed　that　this　time　the　knee　wasn't　going　to　let　go　…　he'd　torn　something　in　it　and　here　he　would　lie　in　the　exodus　of　animals　until　Henry　finally　returned　on　the　snowmobile；　and　Henry　would　say　What　the　fuck　are　you　doing　here？　Why　did　you　leave　her　alone？　As　if　I　didn't　know。
　　　　But　at　last　he　was　able　to　get　up　again。　The　best　he　could　do　was　a　gimpy　sidesaddle　hobble；　but　it　was　better　than　lying　in　the　snow　a　couple　of　yards　from　a　fresh　pile　of　steaming　moose　shit。　He　could　now　see　the　overturned　Scout；　its　wheels　and　undercarriage　covered　with　fresh　snow。　He　told　himself　that　if　his　latest　fall　had　happened　on　the　other　side　of　the　hill；　he　would　have　gone　back　to　the　woman　and　the　fire；　but　that　now；　with　the　Scout　actually　in　sight；　it　was　better　to　go　on。　That　the　guns　were　his　main　objective；　the　bottles　of　Bud　just　an　extra　added　attraction。　And　almost　believed　it。　As　far　as　getting　back　。　。　。　well；　he　would　make　it　somehow。　He'd　gotten　this　far；　hadn't　he？
　　　　Fifty　yards　or　so　from　the　Scout；　he　heard　a　rapidly　approaching　whup…whup…whup　…　the　unmistakable　sound　of　a　helicopter。　He　looked　skyward　eagerly；　preparing　himself　to　stand　upright　long　enough　to　wave　…　God；　if　anyone　needed　a　little　help　from　the　sky；　it　was　him　…　but　the　helicopter　never　quite　broke　through　the　low　ceiling。　For　a　moment　he　saw　a　dark　shape　running　through　the　dreck　almost　directly　above　him；　the　bleary　flash　of　its　lights；　as　well　…　and　then　the　sound　of　the　copter　was　moving　off　to　the　east；　in　the　direction　the　animals　were　running。　He　was　dismayed　to　feel　a　nasty　sense　of　relief　lurking　just　below　his　disappointment：　if　the　helicopter　had　landed；　he　never　would've　gotten　to　the　beer；　and　he　had　e　all　this　way；　all　this　damn　way。


3

Five　minutes　later　he　was　down　on　his　knees　and　climbing　carefully　into　the　overturned　Scout。　He　quickly　learned　that　his　bad　knee　wouldn't　support　him　for　long　（it　was　swelled　against　his　jeans　now　like　a　big　painful　loaf　of　bread）；　and　more　or　less　swam　into　the　snow…coated　interior。　He　didn't　like　it；　all　the　smells　seemed　too　strong；　all　the　dimensions　too　close。　It　was　almost　like　crawling　into　a　grave；　one　that　smelled　of　Henry's　cologne。
　　　　The　groceries　were　sprayed　all　over　the　back；　but　Pete　barely　gave　the　bread　and　cans　and　mustard　and　the　package　of　red　hot　dogs　（red　dogs　were　about　all　Old　Man　Gosselin　carried　for　meat）　a　glance。　It　was　the　beer　he　was　interested　in；　and　it　looked　like　only　one　bottle　had　broken　when　the　Scout　turned　turtle。　Drunk's　luck。　The　smell　was　strong　…　of　course　the　one　he'd　been　drinking　from　had　spilled　as　well　…　but　beer　was　a　smell　he　liked。　Henry's　cologne；　on　the　other　hand　。　。　。　phew；　Jesus。　In　a　way　it　was　as　bad　as　the　smell　of　the　crazy　lady's　gas。　And　he　didn't　know　why　the　smell　of　cologne　should　make　him　think　of　coffins　and　graves　and　funeral　flowers；　but　it　did。
　　　　'Why　would　you　want　to　wear　cologne　in　the　woods　anyway；　old　sport？'　he　asked；　the　words　ing　out　in　little　puffs　of　white　vapor。　And　the　answer　of　course　was　that　Henry　hadn't　been　…　the　smell　wasn't　really　here　at　all；　just　the　smell　of　beer。　For　the　first　time　in　a　long　time　Pete　found　himself　thinking　about　the　pretty　real　estate　lady　who　had　lost　her　keys　outside　the　Bridgton　Pharmacy；　and　how　he　had　known　she　wasn't　going　to　meet　him　for　dinner；　didn't　want　to　be　within　ten　miles　of　him。　Was　smelling　nonexistent　cologne　like　that？　He　didn't　know；　only　th