sk.petsematary-第59部分

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e。　Now；　when　he　could　have　really　used　the　big　old　dinosaur；　lie　didn't　dare　chance　it。　The　Civic　was　a　hatchback；　and　Louis　was　nervous　about　going　hack　to　Ludlow　with　the　pick；　shovel；　and　spade　in　there。　Jud　Crandall's　eyes　were　sharp；　and　there　was　nothing　wrong　with　his　brains　either。　He　would　know　what　was　up。
　　Then　it　occurred　to　him　that　there　was　no　real　reason　to　go　back　to　Ludlow　anyway。　Louis　recrossed　the　Chamberlain　Bridge　into　Bangor　and　checked　into　the　Howard　Johnson's　Motor　Lodge　on　the　Odlin　Road…once　again　near　the　airport；　once　again　near　Pleasantview　Cemetery　where　his　son　was　buried。　He　checked　in　under　the　name　Dee　Dee　Ramone　and　paid　cash　for　his　room。
　　He　tried　to　nap；　reasoning　that　he　would　be　glad　of　the　rest　before　tomorrow　morning。　In　the　words　of　some　Victorian　novel　or　other；　there　was　wild　work　ahead　of　him　tonight…enough　wild　work　to　last　a　lifetime。
　　But　his　brain　simply　would　not　shut　down。
　　He　lay　on　the　anonymous　motel　bed　beneath　a　nondescript　motel　print　of　picturesque　boats　at　dock　beside　a　picturesque　old　wharf　in　a　picturesque　New　England　harbor；　fully　dressed　except　for　his　shoes；　his　wallet；　coins；　and　keys　on　the　night　table　beside　him；　his　hands　behind　his　head。　That　feeling　of　coldness　still　held；　he　felt　totally　unplugged　from　his　people；　the　places　that　had　bee　so　familiar　to　him；　even　his　work。　This　could　have　been　any　Howard　Johnson's　in　the　world…in　San　Diego　or　Duluth　or　Bangkok　or　Charlotte　Amalie。　He　was　nowhere；　and　now　and　then　a　thought　of　surpassing　oddity　struck　him：　before　he　saw　any　of　those　familiar　places　and　faces　again；　he　would　see　his　son。
　　His　plan　kept　unreeling　in　his　mind。　He　looked　at　it　from　all　angles；　poked　it；　prodded　it；　looked　for　holes　or　soft　places。　And　he　felt　that　in　truth　he　was　walking　along　a　narrow　beam　over　a　gulf　of　insanity。　Madness　was　all　around　him；　softly　fluttering　as　the　wings　of　night…hunting　owls　with　great　golden　eyes：　he　was　heading　into　madness。
　　The　voice　of　Tom　Rush　echoed　dreamily　in　his　head：　0　death　your　hands　are　clammy　。　。　。　I　feel　them　on　my　knees　。　。　。　you　came　and　took　my　mother。　。　。　won't　you　e　back　after　me？
　　Madness。　Madness　all　around；　close；　hunting　him。
　　He　walked　the　balance　beam　of　rationality；　he　studied　his　plan。
　　Tonight；　around　eleven　o'clock；　he　would　dig　up　his　son's　grave；　remove　the　body　from　the　coffin　in　which　it　lay；　wrap　Gage　in　a　cutdown　piece　of　the　tarpaulin；　and　put　it　in　the　trunk　of　the　Civic。　He　would　replace　the　coffin　and　refill　the　grave。　He　would　drive　to　Ludlow；　take　Gage's　body　from　the　trunk。　。　。　and　take　a　walk。　Yes；　he　would　take　a　walk。
　　If　Gage　returned；　the　single　path　forked　into　two　possibilities。　Along　one；　he　saw　Gage　returning　as　Gage；　perhaps　stunned　or　slow　or　even　retarded　（only　in　the　deepest　recesses　of　his　mind　did　Louis　allow　himself　to　hope　that　Gage　would　return　whole；　and　just　as　he　had　been…but　surely　even　that　was　possible；　wasn't　it？）；　but　still　his　son；　Rachel's　son；　Ellie's　brother。
　　Along　the　other；　he　saw　some　sort　of　monster　emerging　from　the　woods　behind　the　house。　He　had　accepted　so　much　that　he　did　not　balk　at　the　idea　of　monsters；　or　even　of　daemons；　discorporeal　beings　of　evil　from　the　outerworid　which　might　well　take　charge　of　a　reanimated　body　from　which　the　original　soul　had　fled。
　　Either　way；　he　and　his　son　would　be　alone。　And　he　would。
　　I　will　make　a　diagnosis。
　　Yes。　That　is　what　he　would　do。
　　I　will　make　a　diagnosis；　not　only　of　his　body　but　of　his　spirit。　I　will　make　allowances　for　the　trauma　of　the　accident　itself；　which　he　may　or　may　not　remember。　Keeping　the　example　of　Church　before　me；　I　will　expect　retardation；　perhaps　mild；　perhaps　profound。　I　will　judge　our　ability　to　reintegrate　Gage　into　our　family　on　the　basis　of　what　I　see　over　a　period　of　from　twenty…four　to　seventy…two　hours。　And　if　the　loss　is　too　great…or　if　he　es　back　as　Timmy　Baterman　apparently　came　back；　as　a　thing　of　evil…i　will　kill　him。
　　As　a　doctor；　he　felt　he　could　kill　Gage；　if　Gage　was　only　the　vessel　containing　some　other　being；　quite　easily。　He　would　not　allow　himself　to　be　swayed　by　its　pleadings　or　its　wiles。　He　would　kill　it　as　he　would　kill　a　rat　carrying　bubonic　plague。　There　need　be　no　melodrama　about　it。　A　pill　in　solution；　perhaps　two　or　three　of　them。　If　necessary；　a　shot。　There　was　morphine　in　his　bag。　The　following　night；　he　would　return　the　lifeless　clay　to　Pleasantview　and　reenter　it；　simply　trusting　that　his　luck　would　hold　a　second　time　（you　don't　even　know　if　it　will　hold　once；　he　reminded　himself）。　He　had　considered　the　easier　and　safer　alternative　of　the　Pet　Sematary；　but　he　would　not　have　his　son　up　there。　There　were　a　lot　of　reasons。　A　child　burying　his　pet　five　years　or　ten　years　or　even　twenty　years　later　might　stumble　on　the　remains…　that　was　one　reason。　But　the　most　pelling　one　was　simpler。　The　Pet　Sematary　might　be。　。　。　too　close。
　　The　reinterment　pleted；　he　would　fly　to　Chicago　and　join　his　family。　Neither　Rachel　nor　Ellie　would　ever　need　to　know　about　his　failed　experiment。
　　Then；　looking　along　the　other　path…the　path　he　hoped　for　blindly　with　all　his　love　for　his　son：　he　and　Gage　would　leave　the　house　when　the　examination　period　was　over；　would　leave　at　night。　He　would　take　certain　papers　with　him　and　plan　never　to　return　to　Ludlow　again。　He　and　Gage　would　check　into　a　motel…perhaps　this　very　one　in　which　he　now　lay。
　　The　following　morning　he　would　cash　every　account　they　had；　converting　everything　into　American　Express　traveler's　checks　（don't　leave　home　with　your　resurrected　son　without　them；　he　thought）　and　flat　cash。　He　and　Gage　would　fly　somewhere…　Florida；　most　likely。　From　there　he　would　call　Rachel；　tell　her　where　he　was；　tell　her　to　take　Ellie　and　catch　a　plane　without　telling　her　mother　and　father　where　she　was　going。　Louis　believed　he　could　convince　her　to　do　this。　Ask　no　questions；　Rachel。　Just　e。　e　now。　This　minute。
　　He　would　tell　her　where　he　（they）　were　staying。　Some　motel。　She　and　Ellie　would　arrive　in　a　rental　car。　He　would　bring　Gage　to　the　door　when　they　knocked。　Perhaps　Gage　would　be　wearing　a　bathing　suit。
　　And　then…　Ah；　but　beyond　that　he　did　not　dare　go；　instead　he　turned　back　to　the　plan's　beginning　and　began　to　go　over　it　again。　He　supposed　that　if　things　worked　out；　it　would　mean　accumulating　the　identification　minutae　of　whole　new　lives　so　that　Irwin　Goldman　could　not　use　his　overflowing　checkbook　to　trace　them。　Such　things　could　be　done。
　　Vaguely；　he　remembered　arriving　at　the　Ludlow　house；　tense；　tired；　and　more　than　a　little　scared；　and　having　some　fantasy　about　just　driving　down　to　Orlando　and　hiring　on　as　a　medic　at　Disney　World。　Maybe　that　wasn't　so　farfetched　after　all。
　　He　saw　himself；　dressed　in　white；　resuscitating　a　pregnant　woman　who　had　foolishly　gone　on　the　Magic　Mountain　ride　and　had　fainted。　Stand　back；　stand　back；　give　her　some　air；　he　heard　himself　saying；　and　the　woman　opened　her　eyes　and　smiled　gratefully　at　him。
　　As　his　mind　spun　out　this　not　disagreeable　fantasy；　Louis　fell　asleep。　He　slept　as　his　daughter　awoke　in　an　airplane　somewhere　above　Niagara　Falls；　screaming　from　a　nightmare　of　clutching　hands　and　stupid　yet　merciless　eyes；　he　slept　as　the　stewardess　rushed　down　the　aisle　to　see　what　was　wrong；　he　slept　as　Rachel；　totally　unnerved；　tried　to　soothe　her；　he　slept　as　Ellie　cried　over　and　over　again：　It's　Gage！　Mommy！　It's　Gage！　it's　Gage！　Gage　is　alive！　Gage　has　got　the　knife　from　Daddy's　bag！　Don't　let　him　get　me！　Don't　let　him　get　Daddy！
　　He　slept　as　Ellie　quieted　at　last　and　lay　shuddering　against　her　mother's　breast；　her　eyes　wide　and　tearless；　and　as　Dory　Goldman　thought　what　an　awful　thing　all　of　this　had　been　for　Eileen；　and　how　much　she　reminded　Dory　of　Rachel　after　Zelda　had　died。
　　He　slept　and　woke　up　at　a　quarter　past　five；　with　the　afternoon　light　beginning　to　slant　down　toward　the　ing　night。
　　Wild　work；　he　thought　stupidly　and　got　up。
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　　By　the　time　United　Airlines　flight　419　touched　down　at　O'Hare　Airport　and　offloaded　its　passengers　at　ten　minutes　past　three；　central　standard　time；　Ellie　Creed　was　in　a　state　of　low　hysteria；　and　Rachel　was　very　frightened。
　　If　you　touched　Ellie　casually　on　the　shoulder；　she　jumped　and　stared　around　at　you　with　big　walleyes；　and　her　whole　body　quivered　steadily　and　without　letup。　It　was　as　if　she　were　full　of　electricity。　The　nightmare　on　the　airplane　had　been　bad　enough；　but　this。　。　。　Rachel　simply　didn't　know　how　to　cope　with　it。
　　Going　into　the　terminal；　Ellie　tripped　over　her　own　feet　and　fell　down。　She　did　not　get　up　but　merely　lay　there　on　the　carpet　with　people　passing　around　her　（or　looking　down　at　her　with　that　mildly　sympathetic　but　disconnected　glance　of　people　who　are　in　transit　and　cannot　be　bothered）　until　Rachel　picked　her　up　in　her　arms。
　　〃Ellie；　what's　wrong　with　you？〃　Rachel　asked。
　　But　Ellie　would　not　answer。　They　moved　across　the　lobby　toward　the　luggage　carousels；　and　Rachel　saw　her　mother　and　father　waiting　there　for　them。　She　waved　at　them　with　her　free　hand；　and　they　came　over。
　　〃They　told　us　not　to　go　to　the　gate　and　wait　for　you；〃　Dory　said；　〃so　we　thought。　。　。　Rachel？　How's　Eileen？〃
　　〃Not　good。〃
　　〃Is　there　a　ladies'　room；　Mommy？　I'm　going　to　throw　up。〃
　　〃Oh；　God；〃　Rachel　said　despairingly　and　took　her　by　the　hand。　There　was　a　ladies'　room　across　the　lobby；　and　she　led　Ellie　toward　it　quickly。
　　〃Rachel；　shall　I　corner'　Dory　called。
　　〃No；　get　the　luggage；　you　know　what　it　looks　like。　We're　okay。〃
　　Mercifully　the　ladies'　room　was　deserted。　Rachel　led　Ellie　to　one　of　the　stalls；　fumbling　in　her　purse　for　a　dime；　and　then　she　saw…thank　God…that　the　locks　on　three　of　them　were　broken。　Over　one　broken　lock；　someone　had　written　in　grease　pencil：　
　　SIR　JOHN　CRAPPER　WAS　A　SEXIST　PIG！
　　Rachel　pulled　the　door　open　quickly；　Ellie　was　now　moaning　and　holding　her　stomach。　She　retched　twice；　but　there　was　no　vomiting；　they　were　the　dry　heaves　of　total　nervous　exhaustion。
　　When　Ellie　told　her　she　felt　a　little　better；　Rachel　took　her　over　to　the　basins　and　washed　her　daughter's　face。　Ellie　was　wretchedly　white；　and　there　were　circles　under　her　eyes。
　　〃Ellie；　what　is　wr