sk.carrie-第4部分

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'Hey；　ol'　fart…face！　Ol'　prayin'　Carrie！'
Carrie　glared　at　him　with　sudden　smoking　rage。　The　bike　wobbled　on　its　training　wheels　and　suddenly　fell　over。　Tommy　screamed。　The　bike　was　on　top　of　him。　Carrie　smiled　and　walked　on。　The　sound　of　Tommy's　wails　was　sweet；　jangling　music　in　her　ears。
If　only　she　could　make　something　like　that　happen　whenever　she　liked。
（just　did）
She　stopped　dead　seven　houses　up　from　her　own；　staring　blankly　at　nothing。　Behind　her；　Tommy　was　climbing　tearfully　back　on　to　his　bike；　nursing　a　scraped　knee。　He　yelled　something　at　her；　but　she　ignored　it。　She　had　been　yelled　at　by　experts。
She　had　been　thinking：
（fall　off　that　bike　kid　push　you　off　that　bike　and　split　your　rotten　head）
And　something　had　happened
Her　mind　had　。。。　had　。。。　she　groped　for　a　word。　Had　flexed。　That　was　not　just　right；　but　it　was　very　close。　There　had　been　a　curious　mental　bending；　almost　like　an　elbow　curling　a　dumbbell。　That　wasn't　exactly　right　either；　but　it　was　all　she　could　think　of。　An　elbow　with　no　strength。　A　weak　baby　muscle。
Flex。
She　suddenly　stared　fiercely　at　Mrs　Yorraty's　big　picture　window。　She　thought：
（stupid　frumpty　old　bitch　break　that　window）
Nothing。　Mrs　Yorraty's　picture　window　glittered　serenely　in　the　fresh　nine　o'clock　glow　of　morning。　Another　cramp　gripped　Carrie's　belly　and　she　walked　on。
But　。。。
The　light。　And　the　ashtray；　don't　forget　the　ashtray。
She　looked　back
（old　bitch　hates　my　momma）
over　her　shoulder。　Again　it　seemed　that　something　flexed　。。。　but　very　weakly。　The　flow　of　her　thoughts　shuddered　as　if　there　had　been　a　sudden　bubbling　from　a　wellspring　deeper　inside。
The　picture　window　seemed　to　ripple。　Nothing　more。　It　could　have　been　her　eyes。　Could　have　been。
Her　head　began　to　feel　tired　and　fuzzy；　and　it　throbbed　with　the　beginning　of　a　headache。　Her　eyes　were　hot；　as　if　she　had　just　sat　down　and　read　the　Book　of　Revelations　straight　through。
She　continued　to　walk　down　the　street　toward　the　small　white　house　with　the　blue　shutters。　The　familiar　hate…love…dread　feeling　was　churning　inside　her。　Ivy　had　crawled　up　the　west　side　of　the　bungalow　（they　always　called　it　the　bungalow　because　the　White　house　sounded　like　a　political　joke　and　Momma　said　all　politicians　were　crooks　and　sinners　and　would　eventually　give　the　country　over　to　the　Godless　Reds　who　would　put　all　the　believers　of　Jesus　…　even　the　Catholics　…　up　against　the　wall）；　and　the　ivy　was　picturesque；　she　knew　it　was；　but　sometimes　she　hated　it。　Sometimes；　like　now；　the　ivy　looked　like　a　grotesque　giant　hand　ridged　with　great　veins　which　had　sprung　up　out　of　the　ground　to　grip　the　building。　She　approached　it　with　dragging　feet。
Of　course；　there　had　been　the　stones。
She　stopped　again；　blinking　vapidly　at　the　day。　The　stones。　Momma　never　talked　about　that；　Carrie　didn't　even　know　if　her　momma　still　remembered　the　day　of　the　stones。　It　was　surprising　that　she　herself　still　remembered　it。　She　had　been　a　very　little　girl　then。　How　old？　Three？　Four？　There　had　been　the　girl　in　the　white　bathing　suit；　and　then　the　stones　came。　And　things　had　flown　in　the　house。　Here　the　memory　was；　suddenly　bright　and　clear。　As　if　it　had　been　here　all　along；　just　below　the　surface；　waiting　for　a　kind　of　mental　puberty。
Waiting；　maybe；　for　today。
From　Carrie：　The　Black　Dawn　of　T。K。　（Esquire　Magazine；　September　12；　1980）　by　Jack　Gaver：
Estelle　Horan　had　lived　in　the　neat　San　Diego　suburb　of　Parrish　for　twelve　years；　and　outwardly　she　is　typical　Mrs　California：　She　wears　bright　print　shifts　and　smoked　amber　sunglasses；　her　hair　is　black…streaked　blonde；　she　drives　a　neat　maroon　Volkswagen　Formula　Vee　with　a　smile　decal　on　the　petrol　cap　and　a　green…flag　ecology　sticker　on　the　back　window。　Her　husband　is　an　executive　at　the　Parrish　branch　of　the　Bank　of　America；　her　son　and　daughter　are　certified　members　of　the　Southern　California　Sun　'n　Fun　Crowd；　burnished…brown　beach　creatures。　There　is　a　hibachi　in　the　small；　beautifully　kept　back　yard；　and　the　door　chimes　play　a　tinkly　phrase　from　the　refrain　of　'Hey；　Jude。'
But　Mrs　Horan　still　carries　the　thin；　difficult　soil　of　New　England　somewhere　inside　her；　and　when　she　talks　of　Carrie　White　her　face　takes　on　an　odd；　pinched　look　that　is　more　like　Lovecraft　out　of　Arkham　than　Kerouac　out　of　Southern　Cat。
'Of　course　she　was　strange；'　Estelle　Horan　tells　me。　lighting　a　second　Virginia　Slim　a　moment　after　stubbing　out　her　first。　'The　whole　family　was　strange。　Ralph　was　a　construction　worker；　and　people　on　the　street　said　he　carried　a　Bible　and　a　。38　revolver　to　work　with　him　every　day。　The　Bible　was　for　his　coffee　break　and　lunch。　The　。38　was　in　case　he　met　Antichrist　on　the　job；　I　can　remember　the　Bible　myself。　The　revolver　。。。　who　knows？　He　was　a　big　olive…skinned　man　with　his　hair　always　shaved　into　a　flattop　crewcut。　He　always　looked　mean。　And　you　didn't　meet　his　eyes；　not　ever。　They　were　so　intense　they　actually　seemed　to　glow。　When　you　saw　him　ing　you　crossed　the　street　and　you　never　stuck　out　your　tongue　at　his　back；　not　ever。　That's　how　spooky　he　was。'
She　pauses；　puffing　clouds　of　cigarette　smoke　toward　the　pseudo…redwood　beams　that　cross　the　ceiling。　Stella　Horan　lived　on　Carlin　Street　until　she　was　twenty；　muting　to　day　classes　at　Lewin　Business　College　in　Motton。　But　she　remembers　the　incidents　of　the　stones　very　clearly。
'There　are　times；'　she　says；　'when　I　wonder　if　I　might　have　caused　it。　Their　back　yard　was　next　to　ours；　and　Mrs　White　had　put　in　a　hedge　but　it　hadn't　grown　out　yet。　She'd　called　my　mother　dozens　of　times　about　〃the　show〃　I　was　putting　on　in　my　back　yard。　Well；　my　bathing　suit　was　perfectly　decent　…　prudish　by　today's　standards　…　nothing　but　a　plain　old　one…piece　Jantzen。　Mrs　White　used　to　go　on　and　on　about　what　a　scandal　it　was　for　〃her　baby。〃　My　mother。。…。　well；　she　tries　to　be　polite；　but　her　temper　is　so　quick。　I　don't　know　what　Margaret　White　did　to　finally　push　her　over　the　edge　…　called　me　the　Whore　of　Babylon；　I　suppose　…　but　my　mother　told　her　our　yard　was　our　yard　and　I'd　go　out　and　dance　the　hootchie…kootchie　buck　naked　if　that　was　her　pleasure　and　mine。　She　also　told　her　that　she　was　a　dirty　old　woman　with　a　can　of　worms　for　a　mind。　There　was　a　lot　more　shouting；　but　that　was　the　upshot　of　it。
'I　wanted　to　stop　sunbathing　right　then。　I　hate　trouble。　It　upsets　my　stomach。　But　Mom…when　she　gets　a　case；　she's　a　terror。　She　came　home　from　Jordan　Marsh　with　a　little　white　bikini。　Told　me　I　might　as　well　get　all　the　sun　I　could。　〃After　all；〃　she　said；　〃the　privacy　of　our　own　back　yard　and　all。〃
Stella　Horan　smiles　a　little　at　the　memory　and　crushes　out　her　cigarette。
'I　tried　to　argue　with　her；　tell　her　I　didn't　want　any　more　trouble；　didn't　want　to　be　a　pawn　in　their　back…fence　war。　Didn't　do　a　bit　of　good。　Trying　to　stop　my　mum　when　she'　gets　a　bee　in　her　hat　is　like　trying　to　stop　a　Mack　truck　going　downhill　with　no　brakes。　Actually；　there　was　more　to　it。　I　was　scared　of　the　Whites。　Real　religious　nuts　are　nothing　to　fool　with。　Sure；　Ralph　White　was　dead；　but　what　if　Margaret　still　had　that　。38　around？
'But　there　I　was　on　Saturday　afternoon；　spread　out　'　on　a　blanket　in　the　back　yard；　covered　with　suntan　lotion　and　listening　to　Top　Forty　on　the　radio。　Mom　hated　that　stuff　and　usually　she'd　yell　out　at　least　twice　for　me　to　turn　it　down　before　she　went　nuts。　But　that　day　she　turned　it　up　twice　herself。　I　started　to　feel　like　the　Whore　of　Babylon　myself
'But　nobody　came　out　of　the　Whites'　place。　Not　even　the　old　lady　to　hang　her　wash。　That's　something　else　…　she　never　hung　any　undies　on　the　back　line。　Not　even　Carrie's；　and　she　was　only　three　back　then。　Always　in　the　house。
'I　started　to　relax。　I　guess　I　was　thinking　Margaret　must　have　taken　Carrie　to　the　park　to　worship　God　in　the　raw　or　something。　Anyway；　after　a　little　while　I　rolled　on　my　back；　put　one　arm　over　my　eyes；　and　dozed　off。
'When　I　woke　up；　Carrie　was　standing　next　to　me　and　looking　down　at　my　body。'
She　breaks　off；　frowning　into　space。　Outside；　the　cars　are　whizzzing　by　endlessly。　I　can　hear　the　steady　little　whine　my　tape　recorder　makes。　But　it　all　seems　a　little　too　brittle；　too　glossy；　just　a　cheap　patina　over　a　darker　world　…　a　real　world　where　nightmares　happen。
'She　was　such　a　pretty　girl；'　Stella　Horan　resumes；　fighting　another　cigarette。　'I've　seen　some　high　school　pictures　of　her；　and　that　horrible　fuzzy　black…and…white　photo　on　the　cover　of　Newsweek。　I　look　at　them　and　all　I　can　think　is；　Dear　God；　where　did　she　go？　What　did　that　woman　do　to　her？　Then　I　feel　sick　and　sorry。　She　was　so　pretty；　with　pink　cheeks　and　bright　brown　eyes；　and　her　hair　the　shade　of　blonde　you　know　will　darken　and　get　mousy。　Sweet　is　the　only　word　that　fits。　Sweet　and　bright　and　innocent。　Her　mother's　sickness　hadn't　touched　her　very　deeply；　not　then。
'I　kind　of　started　up　awake　and　tried　to　smile。　It　was　hard　to　think　what　to　do。　I　was　logy　from　the　sun　and　my　mind　felt　sticky　and　slow。　I　said　〃Hi。〃　She　was　wearing　a　little　yellow　dress；　sort　of　cute　but　awfully　long　for　a　little　girl　in　the　summer。　It　came　down　to　her　shins。
'She　didn't　smile　back。　She　just　pointed　and　said；　〃What　are　those？〃
'I　looked　down　and　saw　that　my　top　had　slipped　while　I　was　asleep。　So　I　fixed　it　and　said；　〃Those　are　my　breasts；　Carrie；〃
'Then　she　said…very　solemnly：　〃I　wish　I　had　some。〃
'I　said：　〃You　have　to　wait；　Carrie。　You　won't　start　to　get　them　for　another　。。。　oh。　eight　or　nine　years。〃
〃'No；　I　won't；〃　she　said。　〃Momma　says　good　girls　don't。〃　She　looked　strange　for　a　little　girl；　half　sad　and　half　self…righteous。
'I　could　hardly　believe　it；　and　the　first　thing　that　popped　into　my　mind　also　popped　right　out　of　my　mouth。　I　said：　〃Well；　I'm　a　good　girl。　And　doesn't　your　mother　have　breasts？〃
'She　lowered　her　head　and　said　something　so　softly　I　couldn't　hear　it。　When　I　asked　her　to　repeat　it；　she　looked　at　me　defiantly　and　said　that　her　momma　had　been　bad　when　she　made　her　and　that　was　why　she　had　them。　She　called　them　dirtypillows；　as　if　it　was　all　one　word。
'I　couldn't　believe　it。　I　was　just　dumbfounded。　There　was　nothing　at　all　I　could　think　to　say。　We　just　stared　at　each　other；　and　what　I　wanted　to　do　was　grab　that　sad　little　scrap　of　a　girl　and　run　away　with　her。
'And　that　was　when　Margaret　White　came　out　of　her　back　do