sk.carrie-第18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！


（he's　not　ing）
（don't　think　about　it　a　watched　pot　doesn't　boil　hell　e）
（no　he　won't　he's　out　laughing　at　you　with　his　friends　and　after　a　little　bit　they'll　drive　by　in　one　of　their　fast　noisy　cars　laughing　and　hooting　and　yelling）
Miserably；　she　began　lifting　the　sewing　machine　up　and　down；　swinging　it　in　widening　arcs　throught　the　air。
'…and　protect　us　also　from　rebellious　daughters　imbued　with　the　willfulness　of　the　Wicked　One…'
'Shut　up！'　Carrie　screamed　suddenly。
There　was　startled　silence　for　a　moment；　and　then　the　babbling　chant　began　again。
Seven　thirty…three。
Not　ing
（then　i'll　wreck　the　house）
The　thought　came　to　her　naturally　and　cleanly。　First　the　sewing　machine；　driven　through　the　living　room　wall。　The　couch　through　a　window。　Tables；　chairs；　books　and　tracts　all　flying；　the　plumbing　ripped　loose　and　still　spurting；　like　arteries　ripped　free　of　flesh。　The　roof　itself；　if　that　were　within　her　power；　shingles　exploding　upward　into　the　night　like　startled　pigeons
Lights　splashed　gaudily　across　the　window。
Other　cars　had　gone　by；　making　her　heart　leap　a　little；　but　this　one　was　going　much　more　slowly。
（O）
She　ran　to　the　window；　unable　to　restrain　herself；　and　it　was　him；　Tommy；　just　climbing　out　of　his　car；　and　even　under　the　street　light　he　was　handsome　and　alive　and　almost　。。。　crackling。　The　odd　word　made　her　want　to　giggle。
Momma　had　stopped　praying。
She　grabbed　her　fight　silken　wrap　from　where　it　had　lain　across　the　back　of　her　chair　and　put　it　around　her　bare　shoulders。　She　bit　her　lip；　touched　her　hair；　and　would　have　sold　her　soul　for　a　mirror。　The　buzzer　in　the　hall　made　its　harsh　cry。
She　made　herself　wait；　controlling　the　twitch　in　her　hands；　for　the　second　buzz　Then　she　went　slowly；　with　silken　swish。
She　opened　the　door　and　he　was　there；　nearly　blinding　in　white　dinner　jacket　and　dark　dress　pants。
They　looked　at　each　other；　and　neither　said　a　word。
She　felt　that　her　heart　would　break　if　he　uttered　so　much　as　the　wrong　sound；　and　if　he　laughed　she　would　die。　She　felt　…actually；　physically…her　whole　miserable　life　narrow　to　a　point　that　might　be　an　end　or　the　beginning　of　a　widening　beam。
Finally；　helpless；　she　said：　'Do　you　like　me？'
He　said：　'You're　beautiful。'
She　was。
From　The　Shadow　Exploded　（p。　131）：
While　those　going　to　the　Ewen　Spring　Ball　were　gathering　at　the　high　school　or　just　leaving　pre…Prom　buffets；　Christine　Hargensen　and　William　Nolan　had　met　in　a　room　above　a　local　town…limits　tavern　called　The　Cavalier。　We　know　that　they　had　been　meeting　there　for　some　time；　that　is　in　the　records　of　the　White　mission。　What　we　don't　know　is　whether　their　plans　were　plete　and　irrevocable　or　if　they　went　ahead　almost　on　whim　。。。
'Is　it　time　yet？'　She　asked　him　in　the　darkness。
He　looked　at　his　watch。　'No。'
Faintly；　through　the　board　floor；　came　the　thump　of　the　juke　playing　She's　Got　To　Be　a　Saint；　by　Ray　Price。　The　Cavalier；　Chris　reflected；　hadn't　changed　their　records　since　the　first　time　she'd　been　there　with　a　forged　ID　two　years　ago。　Of　course　then　she'd　been　down　in　the　taprooms；　not　on　one　of　Sam；　Deveaux's　'specials。'
Billy's　cigarette　winked　fitfully　in　the　dark；　like　the　eye　of　an　uneasy　demon。　She　watched　it　introspectively。　She　hadn't　let　him　sleep　with　her　until　last　Monday；　when　he　had　promised　that　he　and　his　greaser　friends　would　help　her　pull　the　string　on　Carrie　White　if　she　actually　dared　to　go　to　the　Prom　with　Tommy　Ross。　But　they　had　been　here　before；　and　had　had　some　pretty　hot　necking　going　on　…　what　she　thought　of　as　Scotch　love　and　what　he　would　call；　in　his　unfailing　ability　to　pinpoint　the　vulgar　the　…　dry　humps。
She　had　meant　to　make　him　wait　until　he　had　actually　done　something；
（but　of　course　he　did　he　got　the　blood）
but　it　had　all　begun　to　slip　out　of　her　hands；　and　it　made　heir　uneasy。　If　she　had　not　given　in　willingly　on　Monday；　he　would　have　taken　her；　by　force。
Billy　had　not　been　her　first　lover；　but　he　was　the　first　she　could　not　dance　and　dandle　at　her　whim。　Before　him　her　boys　had　been　clever　marionettes　with　clear；　pimple…free　faces　and　parents　with　connections　and　country…club　memberships。　They　drove　their　own　VWs　or　Javelins　or　Dodge　Chargers。　They　went　to　UMass　or　Boston　College。　They　wore　fraternity　windbreakers　in　the　fall　and　muscle…shirts　with　bright　stripes　in　the　summer。　They　smoked　marijuana　a　great　deal　and　talked　about　the　funny　things　that　happened　to　them　when　they　were　wrecked。　They　began　by　treating　her　with　patronizing　good　fellowship　（all　high　school　girls；　no　matter　how　good…looking；　were　Bush　League）　and　always　ended　up　trotting　after　her　with　panting；　doglike　lust。　If　they　trotted　long　enough　and　spent　enough　in　the　Process　she　usually　let　them　go　to　bed　with　her。　Quite　often　she　lay　passively　beneath　them；　not　helping　or　hindering；　until　it　was　over。　Later；　she　achieved　her　own　solitary　climax　while　viewing　the　incident　as　a　single　closed　loop　of　memory。
She　had　met　Billy　Nolan　following　a　drug　bust　at　a　Cambridge　apartment。　Four　students；　including　Chris's　date　for　the　evening　had　been　busted　for　possession。　Chris　and　the　other　girls　were　charged　with　being　present　there。　Her　father　took　care　of　it　with　quiet　efficiency；　and　asked　her　if　she　knew　what　would　happen　to　his　image　and　his　practice　if　his　daughter　was　taken　up　on　a　drug　charge。　She　told　him　that　she　doubted　if　anything　could　hurt　either　one；　and　he　took　her　car　away。
Billy　offered　her　a　ride　home　from　school　one　afternoon　a　week　later　and　she　accepted。
He　was　what　the　other　kids　called　a　white…soxer　or　a　machine…shop　Chuck。　Yet　something　about　him　excited　her　and　now；　lying　drowsily　in　this　illicit　bed　（but　with　an　awakening　sense　of　excitement　and　pleasurable　fear）；　she　thought　it　might　have　been　his　car　…　at　least　at　the　start。
It　was　a　million　miles　from　the　machine…stamped；　anonymous　vehicles　of　her　fraternity　dates　with　their　ventless　windows；　fold…up　steering　wheels；　and　vaguely　unpleasant　smell　of　plastic　scat　covers　and　windshield　solvent。
Billy's　car　was　old；　dark；　somehow　sinister；　the　windshield　was　milky　around　the　edges；　as　if　a　cataract　was　beginning　to　form。　The　seats　were　loose　and　unanchored。　Beer　bottles　clicked　and　rolled　in　the　back　（her　fraternity　dates　drank　Budweiser；　Billy　and　his　friends　drank　Rheingold）；　and　she　had　to　place　her　feet　around　a　huge；　grease…clotted　Craftsman　toolkit　without　a　lid。　The　tools　inside　were　of　many　different　makes；　and　she　suspected　that　many　of　them　were　stolen。　The　car　smelled　of　oil　and　gas。　The　sound　of　straight　pipes　came　loudly　and　exhilaratingly　through　the　thin　floorboards。　A　row　of　dials　slung　under　the　dash　registered　amps；　oil　pressure；　and　tach　（whatever　that　was）。　The　back　wheels　were　jacked　and　the　hood　seemed　to　point　at　the　road。
And　of　course　he　drove　fast。
On　the　third　ride　home　one　of　the　bald　front　tyres　blew　at　sixty　miles　an　hour；　the　car　went　into　a　screaming　slide　and　she　shrieked　aloud；　suddenly　positive　of　her　own　death。　An　image　of　her　broken；　bloody　corpse；　thrown　against　the　base　of　a　telephone　pole　like　a　pile　of　rags；　flashed　through　her　mind　like　a　tabloid　photograph。　Billy　cursed　and　whipped　the　fuzz…covered　steering　wheel　from　side　to　side。
They　came　to　a　stop　on　the　left…hand　shoulder；　and　when　she　got　out　of　the　car　on　knees　that　threatened　to　buckle　at　every　step；　she　saw　that　they　had　left　a　looping　trail　of　scorched　rubber　for　seventy　feet
Billy　was　already　opening　the　trunk；　pulling　out　a　jack　and　muttering　to　himself。　Not　a　hair　was　out　of　place。
He　passed　her；　a　cigarette　already　dangling　from　the　corner　of　his　mouth。　'Bring　that　toolkit；　babe。'
She　was　flabbergasted。　Her　mouth　opened　and　closed　twice；　like　a　beached　fish；　before　she　could　get　the　words　out。　'I…I　will　not！　You　almost　k…you…almost…you　crazy　bastard！　Besides；　it's　dirty！'
He　turned　around　and　looked　at　her；　his　eyes　flat。　'You　bring　it　or　I　ain't　taking　you　to　the　fuckin　fights　tomorrow　night。'
'I　hate　the　fights！'　She　had　never　been；　but　her　anger　and　outrage　required　absolutes。　Her　fraternity　dates　took　her　to　rock　concerts；　which　she　hated。　They　always　ended　up　next　to　someone　who　hadn't　bathed　in　weeks。
He　shrugged；　went　back　to　the　front　end；　and　began　jacking。
She　brought　the　toolkit；　getting　grease　all　over　a　brandnew　sweater。　He　grunted　without　turning　around。　His　teeshirt　had　pulled　out　of　his　jeans；　and　the　flesh　of　his　back　was　smooth；　tanned；　alive　with　muscles。　It　fascinated　her；　and　she　felt　her　tongue　creep　into　the　corner　of　her　mouth。
She　helped　him　pull　the　tyre　of　the　wheel；　getting　her　hands　black。　The　car　rocked　alarmingly　on　the　jack；　and　the　spare　was　down　to　the　canvas　in　two　places。
When　the　job　was　finished　and　she　got　back　in；　there　were　heavy　smears　of　grease　across　both　the　sweater　and　the　expensive　red　skirt　she　was　wearing。
'If　you　think…'　she　began　as　he　got　behind　the　wheel。
He　slid　across　the　seat　and　kissed　her；　his　hands　moving　heavily　on　her；　from　waist　to　breasts。　His　breath　was　redolent　of　tobacco；　there　was　the　smell　of　Brylcreem　and　sweat。　She　broke　it　at　last　and　stared　down　at　herself；　gasping　for　breath。　The　sweater　was　blotted　with　road　grease　and　dirt　now。　Twenty…seven…fifty　in　Jordan　Marsh　and　it　was　beyond　anything　but　the　garbage　can。　She　was　intensely；　almost　painfully　excited。
'How　are　you　going　to　explain　that？'　he　asked；　and　kissed　her　again。　His　mouth　felt　as　if　he　might　be　grinning。'
'Feel　me；'　she　said　in　his　car。　'Feel　me　all　over。　Get　me　dirty。'
He　did。　One　nylon　split　like　a　gaping　mouth。　Her　skirt；　short　to　begin　with；　was　pushed　rudely　up　to　her　waist。　He　groped　greedily；　with　no　finesse　at　all。　And　something　…　perhaps　that；　perhaps　the　sudden　brush　with　death　…　brought　her　to　a　sudden；　jolting　orgasm。　She　had　gone　to　the　fights　with　him。
'Quarter　to　eight；'　he　said；　and　sat　up　in　bed。　He　put　on　the　lamp　and　began　to　dress；　His　body　still　fascinated　her。　She　thought　of　last　Monday　night；　and　how　it　had　been。　He　had
（no）
Tune　enough　to　think　of　that　later；　maybe；　when　it　would　do　something　for　her　besides　cause　useless　arousal。　She　swung　her　own　legs　over　the　edge　of　the　bed　and　slid　into　gossamer　panties。
'Maybe　it's　a　bad　idea；'　she　said；　not　sure　if　she　was　testing　him　or　herself。　'Maybe　we　ought　to　just　get　back　into　bed