sk.dreamcatcher-第5部分

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heir　guns　will　be　leaning　in　the　corner　of　the　kitchen；　their　hunting　licenses　hung　over　the　hook　on　the　back　door。
　　　　He　will　be　with　his　friends；　and　that　always　feels　like　ing　home。　For　a　week；　that　polarizing　filter　may　lift　a　little　bit。　They　will　talk　about　old　times；　they　will　laugh　at　Beaver's　outrageous　profanities；　and　if　one　or　more　of　them　actually　shoots　a　deer；　that　will　be　an　extra　added　attraction。　Together　they　are　still　good。　Together　they　still　defeat　time。
　　　　Far　in　the　background；　Barry　Newman　drones　on　and　on。　Pork　chops　and　mashed　potatoes　and　corn　on　the　cob　dripping　with　butter　and　Pepperidge　Farm　chocolate　cake　and　a　bowl　of　Pepsi　Cola　with　four　scoops　of　Ben　and　Jerry's　Chunky　Monkey　ice　cream　floating　in　it　and　eggs　fried　eggs　boiled　eggs　poached　。　。　。
　　　　Henry　nods　in　all　the　right　places　and　hears　it　all　without　really　listening。　This　is　an　old　psychiatric　skill。
　　　　God　knows　Henry　and　his　old　friends　have　their　problems。　Beaver　is　terrible　when　it　es　to　relationships；　Pete　drinks　too　much　（way　too　much　is　what　Henry　thinks）；　Jonesy　and　Carla　have　had　a　near…miss　with　divorce；　and　Henry　is　now　struggling　with　a　depression　that　seems　to　him　every　bit　as　seductive　as　it　does　unpleasant。　So　yes；　they　have　their　problems。　But　together　they　are　still　good；　still　able　to　light　it　up；　and　by　tomorrow　night　they　will　be　together。　For　eight　days；　this　year。　That's　good。
　　　　'I　know　I　shouldn't；　but　I　just　get　this　pulsion　early　in　the　morning。　Maybe　it's　low　blood　sugar；　I　think　it　might　be　that。　Anyway；　I　ate　the　rest　of　the　pound…cake　that　was　in　the　fridge；　then　I　got　in　the　car　and　drove　down　to　Dunkin'　Donuts　and　I　got　a　dozen　of　the　Dutch　Apple　and　four　or…'
　　　　Henry；　still　thinking　about　the　annual　hunting　trip　that　starts　tomorrow；　isn't　aware　of　what　he　is　saying　until　it　is　out。
　　　　'Maybe　this　pulsive　eating；　Barry；　maybe　it　has　something　to　do　with　thinking　you　killed　your　mother。　Do　you　think　that's　possible？'
　　　　Barry's　words　stop。　Henry　looks　up　and　sees　Barry　Newman　staring　at　him　with　eyes　so　wide　they　are　actually　visible。　And　although　Henry　knows　he　should　stop　…　he　has　no　business　doing　this　at　all；　it　has　absolutely　nothing　to　do　with　therapy　…　he　doesn't　want　to　stop。　Some　of　this　may　have　to　do　with　thinking　about　his　old　friends；　but　most　of　it　is　just　seeing　that　shocked　look　on　Barry's　face；　and　the　pallor　of　his　cheek。　What　really　bugs　Henry　about　Barry；　he　supposes；　is　Barry's　placency。　His　inner　assurance　that　there　is　no　need　to　change　his　self…destructive　behavior；　let　alone　search　for　its　roots。
　　　　'You　do　think　you　killed　her；　don't　you？'　Henry　asks。　He　speaks　casually；　almost　lightly。
　　　　'I　…　I　never　…　I　resent…'
　　　　'She　called　and　she　called；　said　she　was　having　chest…pains；　but　of　course　she　said　that　often；　didn't　she？　Every　other　week。　Every　other　day；　it　sometimes　seemed。　Calling　downstairs　to　you。　〃Barry；　phone　Dr　Withers。　Barry；　call　an　ambulance。　Barry；　dial　911。〃'
　　　　They　have　never　talked　about　Barry's　parents。　In　his　soft；　fat；　implacable　way；　Barry　will　not　allow　it。　He　will　begin　to　discuss　them　…　or　seem　to　…　and　then　bingo；　he'll　be　talking　about　roast　lamb　again；　or　roast　chicken；　or　roast　duck　with　orange　sauce。　Back　to　the　inventory。　Hence　Henry　knows　nothing　about　Barry's　parents；　certainly　not　about　the　day　Barry's　mother　died；　falling　out　of　bed　and　pissing　on　the　carpet；　still　calling　and　calling；　three　hundred　pounds　and　so　disgustingly　fat；　calling　and　calling。　He　can　know　nothing　about　that　because　he　hasn't　been　told；　but　he　does　know。　And　Barry　was　thinner　then。　A　relatively　svelte　one…ninety。
　　　　This　is　Henry's　version　of　the　line。　Seeing　the　line。　Henry　hasn't　seen　it　for　maybe　five　years　now　（unless　he　sometimes　sees　it　in　dreams）；　thought　all　that　was　over；　and　now　here　it　is　again。
　　　　'You　sat　there　in　front　of　the　TV；　listening　to　her　yell；'　he　says。　'You　sat　there　watching　Ricky　Lake　and　eating　…　what？　…　a　Sara　Lee　cheesecake？　A　bowl　of　ice　cream？　I　don't　know。　But　you　let　her　yell。'
　　　　'Stop　it！'
　　　　'You　let　her　yell；　and　really；　why　not？　She'd　been　crying　wolf　her　whole　life。　You　are　not　a　stupid　man　and　you　know　that's　true。　This　sort　of　thing　happens。　I　think　you　know　that；　too。　You've　cast　yourself　in　your　own　little　Tennessee　Williams　play　simply　because　you　like　to　eat。　But　guess　what；　Barry？　It's　really　going　to　kill　you。　In　your　secret　heart　you　don't　believe　that；　but　it's　true。　Your　heart's　already　beating　like　a　premature　burial　victim　beating　his　fists　on　the　lid　of　a　coffin。　What's　it　going　to　be　like　eighty　or　a　hundred　pounds　from　now？'
　　　　'Shut…'
　　　　'When　you　fall；　Barry；　it's　going　to　be　like　the　fall　of　Babel　in　the　desert。　The　people　who　see　you　go　down　will　talk　about　it　for　years。　Man；　you'll　shake　the　dishes　right　off　the　shelves…'
　　　　'Stop　it！'　Barry　is　sitting　up　now；　he　hasn't　needed　Henry　to　give　him　a　hand　this　time；　and　he　is　deadly　pale　except　for　little　red　roses；　one　growing　in　each　check。
　　　　'…you'll　splash　the　coffee　right　out　of　the　cups；　and　you'll　piss　yourself　just　like　she　did…'
　　　　'STOP　IT！'　Barry　Newman　shrieks。　'STOP　IT；　YOU　MONSTER！'
　　　　But　Henry　can't。　Henry　can't。　He　sees　the　line　and　when　you　see　it；　you　can't　unsee　it。
　　　　'…unless　you　wake　up　from　this　poisoned　dream　you're　having。　You　see；　Barry…'
　　　　But　Barry　doesn't　want　to　see；　absolutely　will　not　see。　Out　the　door　he　runs；　vast　buttocks　jiggling；　and　he　is　gone。
　　　　At　first　Henry　sits　where　he　is；　not　moving；　listening　to　the　departing　thunder　of　the　one…man　buffalo　herd　that　is　Barry　Newman。
　　　　The　outer　room　is　empty；　he　has　no　receptionist；　and　with　Barry　gone；　the　week　is　over。　Just　as　well。　That　was　a　mess。　He　goes　to　the　couch　and　lies　down　on　it。
　　　　'Doctor；'　he　says；　'I　just　fucked　up。　'How　did　you　do　that；　Henry？
　　　　'I　told　a　patient　the　truth。
　　　　'lf　we　know　the　truth；　Henry；　does　it　not　set　us　free？
　　　　'No；'　he　replies　to　himself；　looking　up　at　the　ceiling。　'Not　in　the　slightest。
　　　　'Close　your　eyes；　Henry。
　　　　'All　right；　doctor。'
　　　　He　closes　his　eyes。　The　room　is　replaced　by　darkness；　and　that　is　good。　Darkness　has　bee　his　friend。　Tomorrow　he　will　see　his　other　friends　（three　of　them；　anyway）；　and　the　light　will　once　more　seem　good。　But　now　。　。　。　now　。。。
　　　　'Doctor？
　　　　'Yes；　Henry。
　　　　'This　is　a　bona　fide　case　of　same　shit；　different　day。　Do　you　know　that？
　　　　'What　does　that　mean；　Henry？　What　does　that　mean　to　you？
　　　　'Everything；'　he　says；　eyes　closed；　and　then　adds：　'Nothing。'　But　that's　a　lie。　Not　the　first　one　that　was　ever　told　in　here。
　　　　He　lies　on　the　couch；　eyes　closed　and　hands　folded　on　his　chest；　and　after　a　little　while　he　sleeps。
　　　　The　next　day　the　four　of　them　drive　up　to　Hole　in　the　Wall；　and　it　is　a　great　eight　days。　The　great　hunting　trips　are　ing　to　an　end；　only　a　few　left；　although　they　of　course　do　not　know　this。　The　real　darkness　is　still　a　few　years　away；　but　it　is　ing。
　　　　The　darkness　is　ing。


2001：　Jonesy's　Student…Teacher　Conference
　　　　
We　don't　know　the　days　that　will　change　our　lives。　Probably　just　as　well。　On　the　day　that　will　change　his；　Jonesy　is　in　his　third…floor　John　Jay　College　office；　looking　out　at　his　little　slice　of　Boston　and　thinking　how　wrong　T。S。　Eliot　had　been　to　call　April　the　cruelest　month　just　because　an　itinerant　carpenter　from　Nazareth　supposedly　got　himself　crucified　then　for　fomenting　rebellion。　Anyone　who　lives　in　Boston　knows　that　it's　March　that's　the　cruelest；　holding　out　a　few　clays　of　false　hope　and　then　gleefully　hitting　you　with　the　shit。　Today　is　one　of　the　untrustworthy　ones　when　it　looks　as　if　spring　might　really　be　ing；　and　he's　thinking　about　taking　a　walk　when　the　bit　of　impending　nastiness　just　ahead　is　over。　Of　course　at　this　point；　Jonesy　has　no　idea　how　nasty　a　day　can　get；　no　idea　that　he　is　going　to　finish　this　one　in　a　hospital　room；　smashed　up　and　fighting　for　his　goddam　life。
　　　　Same　shit；　different　day；　he　thinks；　but　this　will　be　different　shit　indeed。
　　　　That's　when　the　phone　rings；　and　he　grabs　it　at　once；　filled　with　a　hopeful　premonition：　it'll　be　the　Defuniak　kid；　calling　to　cancel　his　eleven…o'clock。　He's　gotten　a　whiff　of　what's　in　the　wind；　Jonesy　thinks；　and　that　is　very　possible。　Usually　it's　the　students　who　make　appointments　to　see　the　teacher。　When　a　kid　gets　a　message　saying　that　one　of　his　teachers　wants　to　see　him　。　。　。　well；　you　don't　have　to　be　a　rocket…scientist；　as　the　saying　goes。
　　　　'Hello；　it's　Jones；'　he　says。
　　　　'Hey；　Jonesy；　how's　life　treating　you？'
　　　　He'd　know　that　voice　anywhere。　'Henry！　Hey！　Good；　life's　good！'
　　　　Life　does　not；　in　fact；　seem　all　that　great；　not　with　Defuniak　due　in　a　quarter　of　an　hour；　but　it's　all　relative；　isn't　it？　pared　to　where　he's　going　to　be　twelve　hours　from　now；　hooked　up　to　all　those　beeping　machines；　one　operation　behind　him　and　three　more　ahead　of　him；　Jonesy　is；　as　they　say；　farting　through　silk。
　　　　'Glad　to　hear　it。'
　　　　Jonesy　might　have　heard　the　heaviness　in　Henry's　voice；　but　more　likely　it's　a　thing　he　senses。
　　　　'Henry？　What's　wrong？'
　　　　Silence。　Jonesy　is　about　to　ask　again　when　Henry　answers。
　　　　'A　patient　of　mine　died　yesterday。　I　happened　to　see　the　obit　in　the　paper。　Barry　Newman；　his　name　was。'　Henry　pauses。　'He　was　a　couch　man。'
　　　　Jonesy　doesn't　know　what　that　means；　but　his　old　friend　is　hurting。　He　knows　that。
　　　　'Suicide？'
　　　　'Heart　attack。　At　the　age　of　twenty…nine。　Dug　his　grave　with　his　own　fork　and　spoon。'
　　　　'I'm　sorry。'
　　　　'He　hasn't　been　my　patient　for　almost　three　years。　I　scared　him　away。　I　had　one　of　those　things。　Do　you　know　what　I'm　talking　about？'
　　　　Jonesy　thinks　he　does。　'Was　it　the　line？'
　　　　Henry　sighs。　It　doesn't　sound　like　regret　to　Jonesy。　It　sounds　like　relief　'Yeah。　I　kind　of　socked　it　to　him。　He　took　off　like　his　ass　was　on　fire。'
　　　　'That　doesn't　make　you　responsible　for　his　coronary。'
　　　　'Maybe　you're　right。　But　that's　not　the　way　it　feels。'　A　pause。　And　then；　with　a　shade　of　amusement：　'Isn't　that　a　line　from　a　Jim　Croce　song？　Are　you　all　right；　Jonesy？'
　　　　'Me？　Yeah。　Why　do　you　ask？'
　　　　'I　don't　know；'　Henry　says。　'Only　。　。　。　I've　been　thinking　about　you　ever　since　I　opened　the　paper　and　saw　Barry's　picture　on　the　obituary　page。　I