sk.dreamcatcher-第74部分

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　　　　'Miz　Cavell　…　Roberta？　It's　me；　Jonesy。'
　　　　'Jonesy？'　He　senses　her　deep　relief；　she　has　wanted　so　badly　for　Duddie's　friends　to　call　that　she　half…believes　she　is　imagining　this。　'Is　it　really　you？'
　　　　'Yeah；'　he　says。　'Me　and　the　other　guys。'　He　holds　out　the　telephone。
　　　　'Hi；　Mrs　Cavell；'　Henry　says。
　　　　'Hey；　what's　up？'　is　Pete's　contribution。
　　　　'Hi；　beautiful；'　Beaver　says　with　a　goony　grin。　He　has　been　more　or　less　in　love　with　Roberta　from　the　day　they　met　her。
　　　　Lamar　Clarendon　looks　over　at　the　sound　of　his　son's　voice；　winces；　then　goes　back　to　his　contemplation　of　the　Cheerios　and　Shredded　Wheat。　Go　right　ahead；　Lamar　told　the　Beav　when　Beaver　said　they　wanted　to　call　Duddits。　Dunno　why　you'd　want　to　talk　to　that　meringue…head；　but　it's　your　buffalo　nickel。
　　　　When　Jonesy　puts　the　phone　back　to　his　ear；　Roberta　Cavell　is　saying：　…get　back　to　Derry？　I　thought　you　were　hunting　up　in　Kineo　or　someplace。'
　　　　'We're　still　up　here；'　Jonesy　says。　He　looks　around　at　his　friends　and　is　astounded　to　see　they　are　hardly　sweating　at　all　…　a　slight　sheen　on　Henry's　forehead；　a　few　beads　on　Pete's　upper　lip；　and　that's　all。　Totally　Weirdsville。　'We　just　thought　。　。　。　um　。　。　。　that　we　better　call。'
　　　　'You　knew。'　Her　voice　was　flat　…　not　unfriendly　but　unquestioning。
　　　　'Um　。　。　。'　He　pulls　at　his　flannel　shirt；　fanning　it　against　his　chest。　'Yeah。'　　
　　　　There　are　a　thousand　questions　most　people　would　ask　at　this　point；　probably　starting　with　How　did　you　know？　or　What　in　God's　name　is　wrong　with　him？　but　Roberta　isn't　most　people；　and　she　has　already　had　the　best　part　of　a　month　to　see　how　they　are　with　her　son。　What　she　says　is；　'Hold　on；　Jonesy。　I'll　get　him。'
　　　　Jonesy　waits。　Far　off　he　can　still　hear　Duddits　wailing　and　Roberta；　softer。　Talking　to　him。　Cajoling　him　to　the　phone。　Using　what　are　now　magic　words　in　the　Cavell　household：　Jonesy；　Beaver；Pete；　Henry。　The　blatting　moves　closer；　and　even　over　the　phone　Jonesy　can　feel　it　working　its　way　into　his　head；　a　blunt　knife　that　digs　and　gouges　instead　of　cutting。　Yowch。　Duddits's　crying　makes　Henry's　elbow　seem　like　a　love…tap。　Meanwhile；　the　old　jungle…juice　is　rolling　down　his　neck　in　rivers。　His　eyes　fix　on　the　two　signs　above　the　phone。　PLEASE　LIMIT　ALL　CALLS　TO　5　MINS；　reads　one。　PROFAINITY　NOT　TOLERIDED；　reads　the　other。　Beneath　this　someone　has　gouged　Who　the　fuck　says　so。　Then　Duddits　is　on；　those　awful　bellowing　cries　right　there　in　his　ear。　Jonesy　winces　against　them；　but　in　spite　of　the　pain　it　is　impossible　to　be　mad　at　Duds。　Up　here　they　are　four；　all　together。　Down　there　he　is　one；　all　alone；　and　what　a　strange　one　he　is。　God　has　hurt　him　and　blessed　him　at　the　same　time；　it　makes　Jonesy　giddy　just　to　think　of　it。
　　　　'Duddits；'　he　says。　'Duddits；　it's　us。　Jonesy　。　。　。'　　　　
　　　　He　hands　the　phone　to　Henry。　'Hi；　Duddits；　it's　Henry　。　。　。'
　　　　Henry　hands　the　phone　to　Pete。　'Hi；　Duds；　it's　Pete；　stop　crying　now；　it's　all　right　。　。　。'
　　　　Pete　hands　the　phone　to　Beaver；　who　looks　around；　then　stretches　the　phone　as　far　toward　the　corner　as　the　cord　will　allow。　Cupping　his　hand　over　the　mouthpiece　so　the　old　men　by　the　stove　（not　to　mention　his　own　old　man；　of　course）　won't　hear　him；　he　sings　the　first　two　lines　of　the　lullaby。　Then　he　falls　quiet；　listening。　After　a　moment　he　flashes　the　rest　of　them　a　thumb…and…forefinger　circle。　Then　he　hands　the　phone　back　to　Henry。
　　　　'Duds？　Henry　again。　It　was　just　a　dream；　Duddits。　It　wasn't　real。　Okay？　It　wasn't　real　and　it's　over。　Just　。　。　。'　Henry　listens。　Jonesy　takes　the　opportunity　to　strip　off　his　flannel　shirt。　The　tee…shirt　beneath　is　soaked　right　through。
　　　　There　are　a　billion　things　in　the　world　Jonesy　doesn't　know　…　what　kind　of　link　he　and　his　friends　share　with　Duddits；　for　one　…　but　he　knows　he　can't　stay　in　here　in　Gosselin's　much　longer。　He　feels　like　he's　in　the　goddam　stove；　not　just　looking　at　it。　Those　old　farts　around　the　checkerboard　must　have　ice　in　their　bones。
　　　　Henry　is　nodding。　'That's　right；　like　a　scary　movie。'　He　listens；　frowning。　'No；　you　didn't。　None　of　us　did。　We　didn't　hurt　him。　We　didn't　hurt　any　of　them。'
　　　　And　just　like　that　…　bingo　…　Jonesy　knows　they　did。　They　didn't　mean　to；　exactly；　but　they　did。　They　were　scared　Richie　would　make　good　on　his　threat　to　get　them　。　。　。　and　so　they　got　him　first。
　　　　Pete　is　holding　out　his　hand　and　Henry　says；　'Pete　wants　to　talk　to　you；　Dud。'
　　　　He　hands　the　phone　to　Pete　and　Pete　is　telling　Duddits　to　just　forget　it；　be　chilly；　Willy；　they'll　be　home　soon　and　they'll　all　play　the　game；　they'll　have　fun；　they'll　have　a　fuckin　roll；　but　in　the　meantime…
　　　　Jonesy　raises　his　eyes　and　sees　one　of　the　signs　over　the　phone　has　changed。　The　one　on　the　left　still　says　PLEASE　LIMIT　ALL　CALLS　TO　5　MINS；　but　the　one　on　the　right　now　says　WHY　NOT　GO　OUTSIDE　IT'S　COOLER。　And　that's　a　good　idea；　such　a　good　idea。　No　reason　not　to；　either　…　the　Duddits　situation　is　clearly　under　control。
　　　　But　before　he　can　make　his　move；　Pete　is　holding　the　phone　out　to　him　and　saying；　'He　wants　to　talk　to　you；　Jonesy。'
　　　　For　a　moment　he　almost　bolts　anyway；　thinking　to　hell　with　Duddits；　to　hell　with　all　of　them。　But　these　are　his　friends；　together　they　all　caught　the　same　terrible　dream；　did　something　they　didn't　mean　to　do
　　　　（liar　fuckin　liar　you　meant　it　you　did）
　　　　　and　their　eyes　hold　him　where　he　is　in　spite　of　the　heat；　which　is　now　clamped　around　his　chest　like　a　suffocating　pad。　Their　eyes　insist　that　he's　a　part　of　this　and　mustn't　leave　while　Duddits　is　still　on　the　phone。　It's　not　how　you　play　the　game。
　　　　It's　our　dream　and　it's　not　over　yet；　their　eyes　insist　…　Henry's　most　of　all。　It's　been　going　on　since　the　day　we　found　him　there　behind　Tracker　Brothers；　down　on　his　knees　and　all　but　naked。　He　sees　the　line　and　now　we　see　it；　too。　And　although　we　may　perceive　it　in　different　ways；　part　of　us　will　always　see　the　line。　We'll　see　it　until　the　day　we　die。
　　　　There's　something　else　in　their　eyes；　too；　something　that　will　haunt　them；　all　unacknowledged；　until　the　day　they　die；　and　cast　its　shadow　over　even　their　happiest　days。　The　fear　of　what　they　did。　What　they　did　in　the　unremembered　part　of　their　shared　dream。
　　　　That's　what　keeps　him　where　he　is　and　makes　him　take　the　telephone　even　though　he　is　sweltering；　roasting；　fucking　melting。
　　　　'Duddits；'　he　says；　and　even　his　voice　sounds　hot。　'It's　really　okay。　I'm　gonna　let　you　talk　to　Henry　again；　it's　super…hot　in　here　and　I　have　to　get　a　breath　of　fresh…'
　　　　Duddits　interrupts　him；　his　voice　strong　and　urgent。　'Oh…oh…ow！　Ohee；　oh…oh…ow！　Ay！　Ay！　Isser　AY！'
　　　　They　have　always　understood　his　gabble　from　the　very　first；　and　Jonesy　understands　it　now：　Don't　go　out！　Jonesy；　don't　go　out！　Gray！　Gray！　Mister　GRAY！
　　　　Jonesy's　mouth　drops　open。　He　looks　past　the　heat…shimmering　stove；　down　the　aisle　where　Beaver's　hungover　father　is　now　making　a　listless　examination　of　the　canned　beans；　past　Mrs　Gosselin　at　the　old　scrolled　cash　register；　and　out　the　front　window。　That　window　is　dirty；　and　it's　filled　with　signs　advertising　everything　from　Winston　cigarettes　and　Moosehead　Ale　to　church　suppers　and　Fourth　of　July　picnics　that　happened　back　when　the　peanut…farmer　was　still　President　。　。　。　but　there's　still　enough　glass　for　him　to　look　through　and　see　the　thing　that's　waiting　for　him　outside。　It's　the　thing　that　came　up　behind　him　while　he　was　trying　to　hold　the　bathroom　door　closed；　the　thing　that　has　snatched　his　body。　A　naked　gray　figure　standing　beside　the　Citgo　pump　on　its　toeless　feet；　staring　at　him　with　its　black　eyes。　And　Jonesy　thinks：　It's　not　how　they　really　are；　it's　just　the　way　we　see　them。
　　　　As　if　to　emphasize　this；　Mr　Gray　raises　one　of　his　hands　and　brings　it　down。　From　the　tips　of　his　three　fingers；　little　specks　of　reddish…gold　float　upward　like　thistle。
　　　　Byrus；　Jonesy　thinks。
　　　　As　if　it　were　a　magic　word　in　a　fairy…tale；　everything　freezes。　Gosselin's　Market　bees　a　still…life。　Then　the　color　drains　out　of　it　and　it　bees　a　sepia…toned　photograph。　His　friends　are　growing　transparent　and　fading　before　his　eyes。　Only　two　things　still　seem　real：　the　heavy　black　receiver　of　the　pay　phone；　and　the　heat。　The　stifling　heat。
　　　　'Ay　UH！'　Duddits　cries　into　his　ear。　Jonesy　hears　a　long；　choking　intake　of　breath　which　he　remembers　so　well；　it　is　Duddits　readying　himself　to　speak　as　clearly　as　he　possibly　can。　'Ownzy！　Ownzy；　ake　UH！　Ake　UH！　Ake


2

up！　Wake　up！　Jonesy；　ake　up！
　　　　Jonesy　raised　his　head　and　for　a　moment　could　see　nothing。　His　hair；　heavy　and　sweat…clotted；　hung　in　his　eyes。　He　brushed　it　away；　hoping　for　his　own　bedroom　…　either　the　one　at　Hole　in　the　Wall；　or；　even　better；　the　one　back　home　in　Brookline　…　but　no　such　luck。　He　was　still　in　the　office　at　Tracker　Brothers。　He'd　fallen　asleep　at　the　desk　and　had　dreamed　of　how　they'd　called　Duddits　all　those　years　ago。　That　had　been　real　enough；　but　not　the　stuporous　heat。　If　anything；　Old　Man　Gosselin　had　always　kept　his　place　cold；　he　was　chintzy　that　way。　The　heat　had　crept　into　his　dream　because　it　was　hot　in　here；　Christ；　it　had　to　be　a　hundred　degrees；　maybe　a　hundred　and　ten。
　　　　Furnace　has　gone　nuts；　he　thought；　and　got　up。　Or　maybe　the　place　is　on　fire。　Either　way；　I　have　to　get　out。　Before　I　roast。
　　　　Jonesy　went　around　the　desk；　barely　registering　the　fact　that　the　desk　had　changed；　barely　registering　the　feel　of　something　brushing　the　top　of　his　head　as　he　burned　toward　the　door。　He　was　reaching　for　the　knob　with　one　hand　and　the　lock　with　the　other　when　he　remembered　Duddits　in　the　dream；　telling　him　not　to　go　out；　Mr　Gray　was　out　there　waiting。
　　　　And　he　was。　Right　outside　this　door。　Waiting　in　the　storehouse　of　memories；　to　which　he　now　had　total　access。
　　　　Jonesy　spread　his　sweaty　fingers　on　the　wood　of　the　door。　His　hair　fell　down　over　his　eyes　again；　but　he　barely　noticed。　'Mr　Gray；'　he　whispered。　'Are　you　out　there？　You　are；　aren't　you？'
　　　　No　response；　but　Mr　Gray　was；　all　right。　He　was　standing　with　his　hairless　rudiment　of　a　head　cocked　and　his　glass…black　eyes　fixed　on　the　doorknob；　waiting　for　it　to　turn。　Waiting　for　Jonesy　to　e　bursting　out。　And　then…？
　　　　Goodbye　annoying　human　thoughts。　Goodbye　distracting　and　disturbing　human　emotions。