sk.dreamcatcher-第6部分

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　　　　'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　want　you　to　be　careful。'
　　　　Around　his　bones　（many　of　which　will　soon　be　broken）；　Jonesy　feels　a　slight　coldness。　'What　exactly　are　you　talking　about？'
　　　　'I　don't　know；'　Henry　says。　'Maybe　nothing。　But　。　。　。'
　　　　'Is　it　the　line　now？'　Jonesy　is　alarmed。　He　swings　around　in　his　chair　and　looks　out　the　window　at　the　chancy　spring　sunlight。　It　crosses　his　mind　that　maybe　the　Defuniak　kid　is　disturbed；　maybe　he's　carrying　a　gun　（packing　heat；　as　they　say　in　the　mystery　and　suspense　novels　Jonesy　likes　to　read　in　his　spare　time）　and　Henry　has　somehow　picked　this　up。
　　　　'I　don't　know。　The　most　likely　thing　is　that　I'm　just　having　a　displaced　reaction　from　seeing　Barry's　picture　on　the　all…done　page。　But　watch　yourself　the　next　little　while；　would　you？'
　　　　'Well　。　。　。　yeah。　I　can　do　that。'
　　　　'Good。'
　　　　'And　you're　okay？'
　　　　'I'm　fine。'
　　　　But　Jonesy　doesn't　think　Henry　is　fine　at　all。　He's　about　to　say　something　else　when　someone　clears　his　throat　behind　him　and　he　realizes　that　Defuniak　has　probably　arrived。
　　　　'Well；　that's　good；'　he　says；　and　swivels　around　in　his　chair。　Yep；　there's　his　eleven…o'clock　in　the　doorway；　not　looking　dangerous　at　all：　just　a　kid　bundled　into　a　big　old　duffel　coat　that's　too　heavy　for　the　day；　looking　thin　and　underfed；　wearing　one　earring　and　a　punky　haircut　that　spikes　over　his　worried　eyes。　'Henry；　I've　got　an　appointment。　I'll　call　you　back…'
　　　　'No；　that's　not　necessary。　Really。'
　　　　'You're　sure？'
　　　　'I　am。　But　there's　one　other　thing。　Got　thirty　more　seconds？'
　　　　'Sure；　you　bet。'　He　holds　up　a　finger　to　Defuniak　and　Defuniak　nods。　But　he　just　goes　on　standing　there　until　Jonesy　points　to　the　one　chair　in　the　little　office　besides　his　own　that　isn't　stacked　with　books。　Defuniak　goes　to　it　reluctantly。　Into　the　phone；　Jonesy　says；　'Shoot。'
　　　　'I　think　we　ought　to　go　back　to　Derry。　Just　a　quick　trip；　just　you　and　me。　See　our　old　friend。'
　　　　'You　mean…？'　But　he　doesn't　want　to　say　that　name；　that　baby…sounding　name；　with　a　stranger　in　the　room。
　　　　He　doesn't　have　to；　Henry　says　it　for　him。　Once　they　were　a　quartet；　then　for　a　little　while　they　were　five；　and　then　they　were　four　again。　But　the　fifth　one　has　never　exactly　left　them。　Henry　says　that　name；　the　name　of　a　boy　who　is　magically　still　a　boy。　About　him；　Henry's　worries　are　more　clear；　more　easily　expressed。　It　isn't　anything　he　knows；　he　tells　Jonesy；　just　a　feeling　that　their　old　pal　might　need　a　visit。
　　　　'Have　you　talked　to　his　mother？'　Jonesy　asked。
　　　　'I　think；'　Henry　says；　'it　might　be　better　if　we　just　。　。　。　you　know；　orbited　on　in　there。　How's　your　calendar　look　for　this　weekend？　Or　the　one　after？'
　　　　Jonesy　doesn't　need　to　check。　The　weekend　starts　day　after　tomorrow。　There's　a　faculty　thing　Saturday　afternoon；　but　he　can　easily　get　clear　of　that。
　　　　'I'm　fine　both　days　this　weekend；'　he　says。　'If　I　was　to　e　by　Saturday？　At　ten？'
　　　　'That'd　be　fine。'　Henry　sounds　relieved；　more　like　himself。　Jonesy　relaxes　a　little。　'You're　sure？'
　　　　'If　you　think　we　ought　to　go　see　。　。　。'　Jonesy　hesitates。　'　。　。　。　see　Douglas；　then　probably　we　should。　It's　been　too　long。'
　　　　'Your　appointment's　there；　isn't　he？'　　　
　　　　'Uh…huh。'
　　　　'Okay。　I'll　look　for　you　at　ten　on　Saturday。　Hey；　maybe　we'll　take　the　Scout。　Give　it　a　run。　How　would　that　be？'
　　　　'That　would　be　terrific。'
　　　　Henry　laughs。　'Carla　still　makin　your　lunch；　Jonesy？'
　　　　'She　is。　'Jonesy　looks　toward　his　briefcase。
　　　　'What　you　got　today？　Tuna　fish？'
　　　　'Egg　salad。'
　　　　'Mmm…mmm。　Okay；　I'm　out　of　here。　SSDD；　right？'
　　　　'SSDD；'　Jonesy　agrees。　He　can't　call　their　old　friend　by　his　right　name　in　front　of　a　student；　but　SSDD　is　all　right。　'Talk　to　you　I…'
　　　　'Arid　take　care　of　yourself　I　mean　it。'　The　emphasis　in　Henry's　voice　is　unmistakable；　and　a　little　scary。　But　before　Jonesy　can　respond　（and　what　he　would　say　with　Defuniak　sitting　in　the　corner；　watching　and　listening；　he　doesn't　know）；　Henry　is　gone。
　　　　Jonesy　looks　at　the　phone　thoughtfully　for　a　moment；　then　hangs　up。　He　flips　a　page　on　his　desk　calendar；　and　on　Saturday　he　crosses　out　Drinks　at　Dean　Jacobson's　house　and　writes　Beg　off　…　going　to　Derry　with　Henry　to　see　D。　But　this　is　an　appointment　he　will　not　keep。　By　Saturday；　Derry　and　his　old　friends　will　be　the　furthest　things　from　his　mind。
　　　　Jonesy　pulls　in　a　deep　breath；　lets　it　out；　and　transfers　his　attention　to　his　troublesome　eleven…o'clock。　The　kid　shifts　unfortably　in　his　chair。　He　has　a　pretty　good　idea　why　he's　been　summoned　here；　Jonesy　guesses。
　　　　'So；　Mr　Defuniak；'　he　says。　'You're　from　Maine；　according　to　your　records。'
　　　　'Uh；　yeah。　Pittsfield。　I…'
　　　　'Your　records　also　say　that　you're　here　on　scholarship；　and　that　you've　done　well。'
　　　　The　kid；　he　sees；　is　actually　a　lot　more　than　worried。　The　kid　is　on　the　verge　of　tears。　Christ；　but　this　is　hard。　Jonesy　has　never　had　to　accuse　a　student　of　cheating　before；　but　he　supposes　this　won't　be　the　last　time。　He　only　hopes　it　doesn't　happen　too　often。　Because　this　is　hard；　what　Beaver　would　call　a　fuckarow。
　　　　'Mr　Defuniak　…　David　…　do　you　know　what　happens　to　scholarships　if　the　students　holding　them　are　caught　cheating？　On　a　mid…term　exam；　let　us　say？'
　　　　The　kid　jerks　as　if　a　hidden　prankster　under　his　chair　has　just　triggered　a　low…voltage　electrical　charge　into　one　of　his　skinny　buttocks。　Now　his　lips　are　trembling　and　the　first　tear；　oh　God；　there　it　goes　down　his　unshaven　boy's　cheek。
　　　　'I　can　tell　you；　'Jonesy　says。　'Such　scholarships　evaporate。　That's　what　happens　to　them。　Poof；　and　gone　into　thin　air。'
　　　　There　is　a　folder　on　Jonesy's　desk。　He　opens　it　and　takes　out　a　European　History　mid…term；　one　of　those　multiple…choice　monstrosities　upon　which　the　Department；　in　its　great　unwisdom；　insists。　Written　on　top　of　this　one；　in　the　black　strokes　of　an　IBM　pencil　（'Make　sure　your　marks　are　heavy　and　unbroken；　and　if　you　need　to　erase；　erase　pletely'）；　is　the　name　DAVID　DEFUNIAK。
　　　　'I've　reviewed　your　course…work；　David；　I've　re…scanned　your　paper　on　feudalism　in　France　during　the　middle　ages；　I've　even　been　through　your　transcripts。　You　haven't　exhibited　brilliance；　but　you've　done　okay。　And　I'm　aware　that　you're　simply　satisfying　a　requirement　here　…　your　real　interests　don't　lie　in　my　field；　do　they？'
　　　　Defuniak　shakes　his　head　mutely。　The　tears　gleam　on　his　cheeks　in　that　untrustworthy　mid…March　sunlight。
　　　　There's　a　box　of　Kleenex　on　the　er　of　Jonesy's　desk；　and　he　tosses　it　to　the　boy；　who　catches　it　easily　even　in　his　distress。　Good　reflexes。　When　you're　nineteen；　all　your　wiring　is　still　nice　and　tight；　all　your　connections　nice　and　solid。
　　　　Wait　a　few　years；　Mr　Defuniak；　he　thinks。　I'm　only　thirty…seven　and　already　some　of　my　wires　are　getting　loose。
　　　　'Maybe　you　deserve　another　chance；　'Jonesy　says。
　　　　Slowly　and　deliberately；　he　begins　to　crumple　Defuniak's　midterm；　which　is　suspiciously　perfect；　A…plus　work；　into　a　ball。
　　　　'Maybe　what　happened　is　you　were　sick　the　day　of　the　mid…term；　and　you　never　took　it　at　all。'
　　　　'I　was　sick；'　David　Defuniak　says　eagerly。　'I　think　I　had　the　flu。'
　　　　'Then　maybe　I　ought　to　give　you　a　take…home　essay　instead　of　the　multiple…choice　test　to　which　your　colleagues　have　been　subjected。　If　you　want　it。　To　make　up　for　the　test　you　missed。　Would　you　want　that？'
　　　　'Yeah；'　the　kid　says；　wiping　his　eyes　madly　with　a　large　swatch　of　tissues。　At　least　he　hasn't　gone　through　all　that　small…time　cheapshit　stuff　about　how　Jonesy　can't　prove　it；　can't　prove　a　thing；　he'd　take　it　to　the　Student　Affairs　Council；　he'd　call　a　protest；　blah…blah…blahde…blah。　He's　crying　instead；　which　is　unfortable　to　witness　but　probably　a　good　sign　…　nineteen　is　young；　but　too　many　of　them　have　lost　most　of　their　consciences　by　the　time　they　get　there。　Defuniak　has　pretty　much　owned　up；　which　suggests　there　might　still　be　a　man　in　there；　waiting　to　e　out。　'Yeah；　that'd　be　great。'
　　　　'And　you　understand　that　if　anything　like　this　ever　happens　again…'
　　　　'It　won't；'　the　kid　says　fervently。　'It　won't；　Professor　Jones。'　Although　Jonesy　is　only　an　associate　professor；　he　doesn't　bother　to　correct　him。　Someday；　after　all；　he　will　be　Professor　Jones。　He　better　be；　he　and　his　wife　have　a　houseful　of　kids；　and　if　there　aren't　at　least　a　few　salary…bumps　in　his　future；　life　is　apt　to　be　a　pretty　tough　scramble。　They've　had　some　tough　scrambles　already。
　　　　'I　hope　not；'　he　says。　'Give　me　three　thousand　words　on　the　short…term　results　of　the　Norman　Conquest；　David；　all　right？　Cite　sources　but　no　need　of　footnotes。　Keep　it　informal；　but　present　a　cogent　thesis。　I　want　it　by　next　Monday。　Understood？'
　　　　'Yes。　Yes；　sir。'
　　　　'Then　why　don't　you　go　on　and　get　started。'　He　points　at　Defuniak's　tatty　footwear。　'And　the　next　time　you　think　of　buying　beer；　buy　some　new　sneakers　instead。　I　wouldn't　want　you　to　catch　the　flu　again。'
　　　　Defuniak　goes　to　the　door；　then　turns。　He　is　anxious　to　be　gone　before　Mr　Jones　changes　his　mind；　but　he　is　also　nineteen。　And　curious。　'How　did　you　know？　You　weren't　even　there　that　day。　Some　grad　student　proctored　the　test。'
　　　　'I　knew；　and　that's　enough；'　Jonesy　says　with　some　asperity。　'Go　on；　son。　Write　a　good　paper。　Hold　onto　your　scholarship。　I'm　from　Maine　myself　…　Derry　…　and　I　know　Pittsfield。　It's　a　better　place　to　be　from　than　to　go　back　to。'
　　　　'You　got　that　right；'　Defuniak　says　fervently。　'Thank　you。　Thank　you　for　giving　me　a　chance。'
　　　　'Close　the　door　on　your　way　out。'
　　　　Defuniak　…　who　will　spend　his　sneaker…money　not　on　beer　but　on　a　get…well　bouquet　for　Jonesy　…　goes　out；　obediently　closing　the　door　behind　him。　Jonesy　swings　around　and　looks　out　the　window　again。　The　sunshine　is　untrustworthy　but　enticing。　And　because　the　Defuniak　thing　went　better　than　he　had　expected；　he　thinks　he　wants　to　get　out　in　that　sunlight　before　more　March　clouds　…　and　maybe　snow　…　e　rolling　in。　He　has　planned　to　eat　in　his　office；　but　a　new　plan　occurs　to　him。　It　is　absolutely　the　worst　plan　of　his　life；　but　of　course　Jonesy　doesn't　know　that。　The　plan　is　to　grab　his　briefcase；　pick　up　a　copy　of　the