sk.dreamcatcher-第53部分

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hange　the　past；　no　matter　how　you　try。
　　　　He　walks　across　the　bridge；　and　although　the　wind　is　a　little　cold；　he　still　enjoys　the　sun　on　his　face　and　the　way　it　breaks　into　a　million　bright　splinters　on　the　Charles。　He　sings　a　snatch　of　'Here　es　the　Sun；'　then　reverts　to　the　Pointer　Sisters：　Yes　we　cancan；　great　gosh　a'mighty。　Swinging　his　briefcase　in　rhythm。　His　sandwich　is　inside。　Egg　salad。　Mmm…mmmm；　Henry　said。　SSDD；　Henry　said。
　　　　Here　is　the　saxophonist；　and　surprise：　he's　not　on　the　end　of　the　Mass　Ave　Bridge　but　farther　up；　by　the　MIT　campus；　outside　one　of　those　funky　little　Indian　restaurants。　He's　shivering　in　the　cold；　bald；　with　nicks　on　his　scalp　suggesting　he　wasn't　cut　out　to　be　a　barber。　The　way　he's　playing　'These　Foolish　Things'　suggests　he　wasn't　cut　out　to　be　a　horn…player；　either；　and　Jonesy　wants　to　tell　him　to　be　a　carpenter；　an　actor；　a　terrorist；　anything　but　a　musician。　Instead；　Jonesy　actually　encourages　him；　not　dropping　the　quarter　he　previously　remembered　into　the　guy's　case　（it's　lined　with　scuffed　purple　velvet）；　but　a　whole　fistful　of　change　…　these　foolish　things；　indeed。　He　blames　it　on　the　first　warm　sun　after　a　long　cold　winter；　he　blames　it　on　how　well　things　turned　out　with　Defuniak。
　　　　The　sax…man　rolls　his　eyes　to　Jonesy；　thanking　him　but　still　blowing；　Jonesy　thinks　of　another　joke：　What　do　you　call　a　sax…player　with　a　credit　card？　An　optimist。
　　　　He　walks　on；　swinging　his　case；　not　listening　to　the　Jonesy　inside；　the　one　who　has　swum　upstream　from　November　like　some　time…travelling　salmon。　'Hey　Jonesy；　stop。　Just　a　few　seconds　should　be　enough。　Tie　your　shoe　or　something。　（No　good；　he's　wearing　loafers。　Soon　he　will　be　wearing　a　cast；　as　well。）　That　intersection　up　there　is　where　it　happens；　the　one　where　the　Red　Line　stops；　Mass　Ave　and　Prospect。　There's　an　old　guy　ing；　a　wonked…out　history　professor　in　a　dark　blue　Lincoln　Town　Car　and　he's　going　to　clean　you　like　a　house。'
　　　　But　it's　no　good。　No　matter　how　hard　he　yells；　it's　no　good。　The　phone　lines　are　down。　You　can't　go　back；　can't　kill　your　own　grandfather；　can't　shoot　Lee　Harvey　Oswald　as　he　kneels　at　a　sixth…floor　window　of　the　Texas　School　Book　Depository；　congealing　fried　chicken　on　a　paper　plate　beside　him　and　his　mail…order　rifle　aimed；　can't　stop　yourself　walking　across　the　intersection　of　Mass　Ave　and　Prospect　Street　with　your　briefcase　in　your　hand　and　your　copy　of　the　Boston　Phoenix　…　which　you　will　never　read　…　under　your　arm。　Sorry；　sir；　the　lines　are　down　somewhere　in　the　Jefferson　Tract；　it's　a　real　fuckarow　up　there；　your　call　cannot　go　through…
　　　　And　then；　oh　God；　this　is　new　…　the　message　does　go　through！　As　he　reaches　the　corner；　as　he　stands　there　on　the　curb；　just　about　to　step　down　into　the　crosswalk；　it　does　go　through！
　　　　'What？'　he　says；　and　the　man　who　was　stopped　beside　him；　the　first　one　to　bend　over　him　in　a　past　which　now　may　be　blessedly　canceled；　looks　at　him　suspiciously　and　says　'I　didn't　say　anything；'　as　though　there　might　be　a　third　with　them。　Jonesy　barely　hears　him　because　there　is　a　third；　there　is　a　voice　inside　him；　one　which　sounds　suspiciously　like　his　own；　and　it's　screaming　at　him　to　stay　on　the　curb；　to　stay　out　of　the　street…
　　　　Then　he　hears　someone　crying。　He　looks　across　to　the　far　side　of　Prospect　and　oh　God；　Duddits　is　there；　Duddits　Cavell　naked　except　for　his　Underoos；　and　there　is　brown　stuff　smeared　all　around　his　mouth。　It　looks　like　chocolate；　but　Jonesy　knows　better。　It's　dogshit；　that　bastard　Richie　made　him　eat　it　after　all；　and　people　over　there　are　walking　back　and　forth　regardless；　ignoring　him；　as　if　Duddits　wasn't　there。
　　　　'Duddits！'　Jonesy　calls。　'Duddits；　hang　on；　man；　I'm　ing！'
　　　　And　he　plunges　into　the　street　without　looking；　the　passenger　inside　helpless　to　do　anything　but　ride　along；　understanding　at　last　that　this　was　exactly　how　and　why　the　accident　happened　…　the　old　man；　yes；　the　old　man　with　early…stage　Alzheimer's　who　had　no　business　behind　the　wheel　of　a　car　in　the　first　place；　but　that　had　only　been　part　of　it。　The　other　part；　concealed　in　the　blackness　surrounding　the　crash　until　now；　was　this：　he　had　seen　Duddits　and　had　simply　bolted；　forgetting　to　look。
　　　　He　glimpses　something　more；　as　well：　some　huge　pattern；　something　like　a　dreamcatcher　that　binds　all　the　years　since　they　first　met　Duddits　Cavell　in　1978；　something　that　binds　the　future　as　well。
　　　　Sunlight　twinkles　on　a　windshield；　he　sees　this　in　the　er　of　his　left　eye。　A　car　ing；　and　too　fast。　The　man　who　was　beside　him　on　the　curb；　old　Mr　I…Didn't…Say…Anything；　cries　out：　'Watch　it；　guy；　watch　it！'　but　Jonesy　barely　hears　him。　Because　there　is　a　deer　on　the　sidewalk　behind　Duddits；　a　fine　big　buck；　almost　as　big　as　a　man。　Then；　just　before　the　Town　Car　strikes　him；　Jonesy　sees　the　deer　is　a　man；　a　man　in　an　orange　cap　and　an　orange　flagman's　vest。　On　his　shoulder；　like　a　hideous　mascot；　is　a　legless　weasel…thing　with　enormous　black　eyes。　Its　tail　…　or　maybe　it's　a　tentacle　…　is　curled　around　the　man's　neck。　How　in　God's　name　could　I　have　thought　he　was　a　deer？　Jonesy　thinks；　and　then　the　Lincoln　strikes　him　and　he　is　knocked　into　the　street。　He　hears　a　bitter；　muffled　snap　as　his　hip　breaks。


2

There　is　no　darkness；　not　this　time；　for　better　or　worse；　arc…sodiums　have　been　installed　on　Memory　Lane。　Yet　the　film　is　confused；　as　if　the　editor　took　a　few　too　many　drinks　at　lunch　and　forgot　just　how　the　story　was　supposed　to　go。　Part　of　this　has　to　do　with　the　strange　way　time　has　been　twisted　out　of　shape：　he　seems　to　be　living　in　the　past；　present；　and　future　all　at　the　same　time。
　　　　This　is　how　we　travel；　a　voice　says；　and　Jonesy　realizes　it　is　the　voice　he　heard　weeping　for　Marcy；　for　a　shot。　Once　acceleration　passes　a　certain　point；　all　travel　bees　time　travel。　Memory　is　the　basis　of　every　journey。
　　　　The　man　on　the　corner；　old　Mr　I…Didn't…Say…Anything；　bends　over　him；　asks　if　he's　all　right；　sees　that　he　isn't；　then　looks　up　and　says；　'Who's　got　a　cell　phone？　This　guy　needs　an　ambulance。'　When　he　raises　his　head；　Jonesy　sees　there's　a　little　cut　under　the　guy's　chin；　old　Mr　I…Didn't…Say…Anything　probably　did　it　that　morning　without　even　realizing　it。　That's　sweet；　Jonesy　thinks；　then　the　film　jumps　and　here's　an　old　dude　in　a　rusty　black　topcoat　and　a　fedora　hat　…　call　this　elderly　dickweed　old　Mr　What'd…l…Do。　He's　wandering　around　asking　people　that。　He　says　he　looked　away　for　a　moment　and　felt　a　thump　…　what'd　I　do？　He　says　he　has　never　liked　a　big　car　what'd　I　do？　He　says　he　can't　remember　the　name　of　the　insurance　pany；　but　they　call　themselves　the　Good　Hands　People　…　what'd　I　do？　There　is　a　stain　on　the　crotch　of　his　trousers；　and　as　Jonesy　lies　there　in　the　street　he　can't　help　feeling　a　kind　of　exasperated　pity　for　the　old　geezer　…　wishes　he　could　tell　him　You　want　to　know　what　you　did；　take　a　look　at　your　pants。　You　did　Number　One；　Q…E…fuckin…D。
　　　　The　film　jumps　again。　Now　there　are　even　more　people　gathered　around　him。　They　look　very　tall　and　Jonesy　thinks　it's　like　having　a　coffin's…eye　view　of　a　funeral。　That　makes　him　remember　a　Ray　Bradbury　story；　he　thinks　it's　called　'The　Crowd；'　where　the　people　who　gather　at　accident　sites　…　always　the　same　ones　determine　your　fate　by　what　they　say。　If　they　stand　around　you　murmuring　that　it　isn't　so　bad；　he's　lucky　the　car　swerved　at　the　last　second；　you'll　be　okay。　If；　on　the　other　hand；　the　people　who　make　up　the　crowd　start　saying　things　like　He　looks　bad　or　I　don't　think　he's　going　to　make　it；　you'll　die。　Always　the　same　people。　Always　the　same　empty；　avid　faces。　The　lookie…loos　who　just　have　to　see　the　blood　and　hear　the　groans　of　the　injured。
　　　　In　the　cluster　surrounding　him；　just　behind　old　Mr　I…Didn't…Say…Anything；　Jonesy　sees　Duddits　Cavell；　now　fully　dressed　and　looking　okay　…　no　dogshit　mustache；　in　other　words。　McCarthy　is　there；　too。　Call　him　old　Mr　I…Stand…at…the…Door…and…Knock；　Jonesy　thinks。　And　someone　else；　as　well。　A　gray　man。　Only　he's　not　a　man　at　all；　not　really；　he's　the　alien　that　was　standing　behind　him　while　Jonesy　was　at　the　bathroom　door。　Huge　black　eyes　dominate　a　face　which　is　otherwise　almost　featureless。　The　saggy　dewlapping　elephant's　skin　is　tighter　here；　old　Mr　ET…Phone…Home　hasn't　started　to　succumb　to　the　environment　yet。　But　he　will。　In　the　end；　this　world　will　dissolve　him　like　acid。
　　　　Your　head　exploded；　Jonesy　tries　to　tell　the　gray　man；　but　no　words　e　out；　his　mouth　won't　even　open。　And　yet　old　Mr　ET…Phone…Home　seems　to　hear　him；　because　that　gray　head　inclines　slightly。
　　　　He's　passing　out；　someone　says；　and　before　the　film　jumps　again　he　hears　old　Mr　What'd…I…Do；　the　guy　who　hit　him　and　smashed　his　hip　like　a　china　plate　in　a　shooting　gallery；　telling　someone　People　used　to　say　I　look　like　Laurence　Welk。


3

He's　unconscious　in　the　back　of　an　ambulance　but　watching　himself；　having　an　actual　out…of…body　experience；　and　here　is　something　else　new；　something　no　one　bothers　to　tell　him　about　later：　he　goes　into　V…tach　while　they　are　cutting　his　pants　off；　exposing　a　hip　that　looks　as　1　if　someone　had　sewn　two　large　and　badly　made　doorknobs　under　it。　V…tach；　he　knows　exactly　what　that　is　because　he　and　Carla　never　miss　an　episode　of　ER；　they　even　watch　the　reruns　on　TNT；　and　here　e　the　paddles；　here　es　the　goo；　and　one　of　the　EMTs　is　wearing　a　gold　crucifix　around　his　neck；　it　brushes　Jonesy's　nose　as　old　Mr　EMT　bends　over　what　is　essentially　a　dead　body；　and　holy　fuck　he　died　in　the　ambulance！　Why　did　no　one　ever　tell　him　that　he　died　in　the　fucking　ambulance？　Did　they　think　that　maybe　he　wouldn't　be　interested；　that　maybe　he'd　just　go　Ho…hum；　been　there；　done　that；　got　the　tee…shirt？　　　
　　　　'Clear！'　shouts　the　other　EMT；　and　just　before　they　hit　him　the　driver　looks　back　and　he　sees　it's　Duddits's　Mom。　Then　they　whack　him　with　the　juice　and　his　body　jumps；　all　that　white　meat　shakin　on　the　bone；　as　Pete　would　say；　and　although　the　Jonesy　watching　has　no　body；　he　feels　the　electricity　just　the　same；　a　great　big　pow　that　lights　up　the　tree　of　his　nerves　like　a　skyrocket。　Praise　Jesus　and　get…down　hallelujah。
　　　　The　part　of　him　on　the　stretcher　jumps　like　a　fish　pulled　from　the　water；　then　lies　still。　The　EMT　crouched　behind　Roberta　Cavell　looks　down　at