sk.dreamcatcher-第7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！


　up　a　copy　of　the　Boston　Phoenix；　and　walk　across　the　river　to　Cambridge。　He'll　sit　on　a　bench　and　eat　his　egg　salad　sandwich　in　the　sun。
　　　　He　gets　up　to　put　Defuniak's　file　in　the　cabinet　marked　D…F。　How　did　you　know？　the　boy　had　asked；　and　Jonesy　supposes　that　was　a　good　question。　An　excellent　question；　really；　The　answer　is　this：　he　knew　because　。　。　。　sometimes　he　does。　That's　the　truth；　and　there's　no　other。　If　someone　put　a　gun　to　his　head；　he'd　say　he　found　out　during　the　first　class　after　the　mid…term；　that　it　was　right　there　in　the　front　of　David　Defuniak's　mind；　big　and　bright；　flashing　on　and　off　in　guilty　red　neon：　CHEATER　CHEATER　CHEATER。
　　　　But　man；　that's　dope　…　he　can't　read　minds。　He　never　could。　Never…ever；　never…ever；　never…ever　could。　Sometimes　things　flash　into　his　head；　yes　…　he　knew　about　his　wife's　problems　with　pills　that　way；　and　he　supposes　he　might　have　known　in　that　same　way　that　Henry　was　depressed　when　he　called　（No；　it　was　in　his　voice；　doofus；　that's　all　it　was）；　but　stuff　like　that　hardly　ever　happens　anymore。　There　has　been　nothing　really　odd　since　the　business　with　Josie　Rinkenhauer。　Maybe　there　was　something　once；　and　maybe　it　trailed　them　out　of　their　childhoods　and　adolescence；　but　surely　it　is　gone　now。　Or　almost　gone。
　　　　Almost。
　　　　He　circles　the　words　going　to　Derry　on　his　desk　calendar；　then　grabs　his　briefcase。　As　he　does；　a　new　thought　es　to　him；　sudden　and　meaningless　but　very　powerful：　Watch　out　for　Mr　Gray。
　　　　He　stops　with　one　hand　on　his　doorknob。　That　was　his　own　voice；　no　doubt　about　it。
　　　　'What？'　he　asks　the　empty　room。
　　　　Nothing。
　　　　Jonesy　steps　out　of　his　office；　closes　the　door；　and　tests　the　lock。
　　　　In　the　er　of　his　door's　bulletin　board　is　a　blank　white　card。　Jonesy　unpins　it　and　turns　it　over。　On　the　flip　side　is　the　printed　message　BACK　AT　ONE　…　UNTIL　THEN　I'M　HISTORY。　He　pins　the　message　side　to　the　bulletin　board　with　perfect　confidence；　but　it　will　be　almost　two　months　before　Jonesy　enters　this　room　again　and　sees　his　desk　calendar　still　turned　to　St　Patrick's　Day。
　　　　Take　care　of　yourself；　Henry　said；　but　Jonesy　isn't　thinking　about　taking　care　of　himself。　He　is　thinking　about　March　sunlight。　He's　thinking　about　eating　his　sandwich。　He's　thinking　he　might　watch　a　few　girls　over　on　the　Cambridge　side　…　skirts　are　short；　and　March　winds　are　frisky。　He's　thinking　about　all　sorts　of　things；　but　watching　out　for　Mr　Gray　isn't　one　of　them。　Neither　is　taking　care　of　himself
　　　　This　is　a　mistake。　This　is　also　how　lives　change　forever。

P　A　R　T　　　O　N　E

CANCER


　　　　
　　　　
　　　This　shaking　keeps　me　steady。　I　should　know。
　　　What　falls　away　is　always。　And　is　near。
　　　I　wake　to　sleep；　and　take　my　waking　slow。
　　　I　learn　by　going　where　I　have　to　go。
　　　
　　　Theodore　Roethke

CHAPTER　ONE

McCARTHY

　　　　
1

Jonesy　almost　shot　the　guy　when　he　came　out　of　the　woods。　How　close？　Another　pound　on　the　Garand's　trigger；　maybe　just　a　half。　Later；　hyped　on　the　clarity　that　sometimes　es　to　the　horrified　mind；　he　wished　he　had　shot　before　he　saw　the　orange　cap　and　the　orange　flagman's　vest。　Killing　Richard　McCarthy　couldn't　have　hurt；　and　it　might　have　helped。　Killing　McCarthy　might　have　saved　them　all。


2

Pete　and　Henry　had　gone　to　Gosselin's　Market；　the　closest　store；　to　stock　up　on　bread；　canned　goods；　and　beer；　the　real　essential。　They　had　plenty　for　another　two　days；　but　the　radio　said　there　might　be　snow　ing。　Henry　had　already　gotten　his　deer；　a　good…sized　doe；　and　Jonesy　had　an　idea　Pete　cared　a　lot　more　about　making　sure　of　the　beer　supply　than　he　did　about　getting　his　own　deer　…　for　Pete　Moore；　hunting　was　a　hobby；　beer　a　religion。　The　Beaver　was　out　there　someplace；　but　Jonesy　hadn't　heard　the　crack　of　a　rifle　any　closer　than　five　miles；　so　he　guessed　that　the　Beav；　like　him；　was　still　waiting；
　　　　There　was　a　stand　in　an　old　maple　about　seventy　yards　from　the　camp　and　that　was　where　Jonesy　was；　sipping　coffee　and　reading　a　Robert　Parker　mystery　novel；　when　he　heard　something　ing　and　put　the　book　and　the　Thermos　aside。　In　other　years　he　might　have　spilled　the　coffee　in　his　excitement；　but　not　this　time。　This　time　he　even　took　a　few　seconds　to　screw　on　the　Thermos's　bright　red　stopper。
　　　　The　four　of　them　had　been　ing　up　here　to　hunt　in　the　first　week　of　November　for　twenty…six　years；　if　you　counted　in　the　times　Beav's　Dad　had　taken　them；　and　Jonesy　had　never　bothered　with　the　tree…stand　until　now。　None　of　them　had；　it　was　too　confining。　This　year　Jonesy　had　staked　it　out。　The　others　thought　they　knew　why；　but　they　only　knew　half　of　it。
　　　　In　mid…March　of　2001；　Jonesy　had　been　struck　by　a　car　while　crossing　a　street　in　Cambridge；　not　far　from　John　Jay　College；　where　he　taught。　He　had　fractured　his　skull；　broken　two　ribs；　and　suffered　a　shattered　hip；　which　had　been　replaced　with　some　exotic　bination　of　Teflon　and　metal。　The　man　who'd　struck　him　was　a　retired　BU　history　professor　who　was　…　according　to　his　lawyer；　anyway　…　in　the　early　stages　of　Alzheimer's；　more　to　be　pitied　than　punished。　So　often；　Jonesy　thought；　there　was　no　one　to　blame　when　the　dust　cleared。　And　even　if　there　was；　what　good　did　it　do？　You　still　had　to　live　with　what　was　left；　and　console　yourself　with　the　fact　that；　as　people　told　him　every　day　（until　they　forgot　the　whole　thing；　that　was）；　it　could　have　been　worse。
　　　　And　it　could　have　been。　His　head　was　hard；　and　the　crack　in　it　healed。　He　had　no　memory　of　the　hour　or　so　leading　up　to　his　accident　near　Harvard　Square；　but　the　rest　of　his　mental　equipment　was　fine。　His　ribs　healed　in　a　month。　The　hip　was　the　worst；　but　he　was　off　the　crutches　by　October；　and　now　his　limp　only　became　appreciable　toward　the　end　of　the　day。
　　　　Pete；　Henry；　and　the　Beav　thought　it　was　the　hip　and　only　the　hip　that　had　caused　him　to　opt　for　the　tree…stand　instead　of　the　damp；　cold　woods；　and　the　hip　was　certainly　a　factor　just　not　the　only　one。　What　he　had　kept　from　them　was　that　he　now　had　little　interest　in　shooting　deer。　It　would　have　dismayed　them。　Hell；　it　dismayed　Jonesy　himself。　But　there　it　was；　something　new　in　his　existence　that　he　hadn't　even　suspected　until　they　had　actually　gotten　up　here　on　November　eleventh　and　he　had　uncased　the　Garand。　He　wasn't　revolted　by　the　idea　of　hunting；　not　at　all　…　he　just　had　no　real　urge　to　do　it。　Death　had　brushed　by　him　on　a　sunny　day　in　March；　and　Jonesy　had　no　desire　to　call　it　back；　even　if　he　were　dealing　rather　than　receiving。


3
　　　　
What　surprised　him　was　that　he　still　liked　being　at　camp　…　in　some　ways；　better　than　ever。　Talking　at　night　…　books；　politics；　the　shit　they'd　gotten　up　to　as　kids；　their　plans　for　the　future。　They　were　in　their　thirties；　still　young　enough　to　have　plans；　plenty　of　them；　and　the　old　bond　was　still　strong。
　　　　And　the　days　were　good；　too　…　the　hours　in　the　tree…stand；　when　he　was　alone。　He　took　a　sleeping　bag　and　slid　into　it　up　to　his　hips　when　he　got　cold；　and　a　book；　and　a　Walkman。　After　the　first　day；　he　stopped　listening　to　the　Walkman；　discovering　that　he　liked　the　music　of　the　woods　better　…　the　silk　of　the　wind　in　the　pines；　the　rust　of　the　crows。　He　would　read　a　little；　drink　coffee；　read　a　little　more；　sometimes　work　his　way　out　of　the　sleeping　bag　（it　was　as　red　as　a　stoplight）　and　piss　off　the　edge　of　the　platform。　He　was　a　man　with　a　big　family　and　a　large　circle　of　colleagues。　A　gregarious　man　who　enjoyed　all　the　various　relationships　the　family　and　the　colleagues　entailed　（and　the　students；　of　course；　the　endless　stream　of　students）　and　balanced　them　well。　It　was　only　out　here；　up　here；　that　he　realized　the　attractions　of　silence　were　still　real；　still　strong。　It　was　like　meeting　an　old　friend　after　a　long　absence。
　　　　'You　sure　you　want　to　be　up　there；　man？'　Henry　had　asked　him　yesterday　morning。　'I　mean；　you're　wele　to　e　out　with　me。　We　won't　overuse　that　leg　of　yours；　I　promise。'
　　　　'Leave　him　alone；'　Pete　said。　'He　likes　it　up　there。　Don't　you；　Jones…boy？'
　　　　'Sort　of；'　he　said；　unwilling　to　say　much　more　…　how　much　he　actually　did　like　it；　for　instance。　Some　things　you　didn't　feel　safe　telling　even　your　closest　friends。　And　sometimes　your　closest　friends　knew；　anyway。
　　　　'Tell　you　something；'　the　Beav　said。　He　picked　up　a　pencil　and　began　to　gnaw　lightly　at　it　…　his　oldest；　dearest　trick；　going　all　the　way　back　to　first　grade。　'I　like　ing　back　and　seeing　you　there　…　like　a　lookout　in　the　crow's　nest　in　one　of　those　fuckin　Hornblower　books。　Keepin　an　eye　out；　you　know。'
　　　　'Sail；　ho；'　Jonesy　had　said；　and　they　all　laughed；　but　Jonesy　knew　what　the　Beav　meant。　He　felt　it。　Keeping　an　eye　out。　Just　thinking　his　thoughts　and　keeping　an　eye　out　for　ships　or　sharks　or　who　knew　what。　His　hip　hurt　ing　back　down；　the　pack　with　his　shit　in　it　was　heavy　on　his　back；　and　he　felt　slow　and　clumsy　on　the　wooden　rungs　nailed　to　the　trunk　of　the　maple；　but　that　was　okay。　Good；　in　fact。　Things　changed；　but　only　a　fool　believed　they　only　changed　for　the　worse。
　　　　That　was　what　he　thought　then。


4

When　he　heard　the　whicker　of　moving　brush　and　the　soft　snap　of　a　twig　…　sounds　he　never　questioned　were　those　of　an　approaching　deer　…　Jonesy　thought　of　something　his　father　said：　You　can't　make　yourself　be　lucky。　Lindsay　Jones　was　one　of　life's　losers　and　had　said　few　things　worth　mitting　to　memory；　but　that　was　one；　and　here　was　the　proof　of　it　again：　days　after　deciding　he　had　finished　with　deer　hunting；　here　came　one；　and　a　big　one　by　the　sound　a　buck；　almost　surely；　maybe　one　as　big　as　a　man。
　　　　That　it　was　a　man　never　so　much　as　crossed　Jonesy's　mind。　This　was　an　unincorporated　township　fifty　miles　north　of　Rangely；　and　the　nearest　hunters　were　two　hours'　walk　away。　The　nearest　paved　road；　the　one　which　eventually　took　you　to　Gosselin's　Market　（BEER　BAIT　OUT　OF　STATE　LICS　LOTTERY　TIX）；　was　at　least　sixteen　miles　away。
　　　　Well；　he　thought；　it　isn't　as　if　I　took　a　vow；　or　anything。
　　　　No；　he　hadn't　taken　a　vow。　Next　November　he　might　be　up　here　with　a　Nikon　instead　of　a　Garand；　but　it　wasn't　next　year　yet；　and　the　rifle　was　at　hand。　He　had　no　intention　of　looking　a　gift　deer　in　the　mouth。
　　　　Jonesy　screwed　the　red　stopper　into　the　Thermos　of　coffee　and　put　it　aside。　Then　he　pushed　the　sleeping　bag　off　his　lo