sk.petsematary-第70部分

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。　gone。
　　At　last　Louis　began　to　move　again。　His　shoulders　and　back　were　a　frozen　ache　of　torment。　He　wore　an　undergarment　of　sweat　from　neck　to　ankles。　The　season's　first　mosquitoes；　new…hatched　and　hungry；　found　him　and　sat　down　to　a　late　snack。
　　The　Wendigo；　dear　Christ；　that　was　the　Wendigo…the　creature　that　moves　through　the　north　country；　the　creature　that　can　touch　you　and　turn　you　into　a　cannibal。　That　was　it。　The　Wendigo　has　just　passed　within　sixty　yards　of　me。
　　He　told　himself　not　to　be　ridiculous；　to　be　like　Jud　and　avoid　ideas　about　what　might　be　seen　or　heard　beyond　the　Pet　Sematary…they　were　loons；　they　were　St。　Elmo's　fire；　they　were　the　members　of　the　New　York　Yankees'　bullpen。　Let　them　be　anything　but　the　creatures　which　leap　and　crawl　and　slither　and　shamble　in　the　world　between。　Let　there　be　God；　let　there　be　Sunday　morning；　let　there　be　smiling　Episcopalian　ministers　in　shining　white　surplices　。　。　。　but　let　there　not　be　these　dark　and　draggling　horrors　on　the　nightside　of　the　universe。
　　Louis　walked　on　with　his　son；　and　the　ground　began　to　firm　up　again　under　his　feet。　Only　moments　later　he　came　to　a　felled　tree；　its　crown　visible　in　the　fading　mist　like　a　gray…green　feather　duster　dropped　by　a　giant's　housekeeper。
　　The　tree　was　broken　off…splintered　off…and　the　break　was　so　fresh　that　the　yellowish…white　pulp　still　bled　sap　that　was　warm　to　Louis's　touch　as　he　climbed　over　。　。　。　and　on　the　other　side　was　a　monstrous　indentation　out　of　which　he　had　to　scramble　and　climb；　and　although　juniper　and　low　pump…laurel　bushes　had　been　stamped　right　into　the　earth；　he　would　not　let　himself　believe　it　was　a　footprint。　He　could　have　looked　back　to　see　if　it　had　any　such　configuration　once　he　had　climbed　beyond　and　above　it；　but　he　would　not。　He　only　walked　on；　skin　cold；　mouth　hot　and　arid；　heart　flying。
　　The　squelch　of　mud　under　his　feet　soon　ceased。　For　a　while　there　was　the　faint　cereal　sound　of　pine　needles　again。　Then　there　was　rock。　He　had　nearly　reached　the　end。
　　The　ground　began　to　rise　faster。　He　barked　his　shin　painfully　on　an　outcropping。　But　this　was　not　just　a　rock。　Louis　reached　out　clumsily　with　one　hand　（the　strap　of　his　elbow；　which　had　grown　numb；　screamed　briefly）　and　touched　it。
　　Steps　here。　Cut　into　the　rock。　Just　follow　me。　We　get　to　the　top　and　we're　there。
　　So　he　began　to　climb　and　the　exhilaration　returned；　once　more　beating　exhaustion　back。　。　。　at　least　a　little　way。　His　mind　tolled　off　the　steps　as　he　rose　into　the　chill；　as　he　climbed　back　into　that　ceaseless　river　of　wind；　stronger　now；　rippling　his　clothes；　making　the　piece　of　canvas　tarp　Gage　was　wrapped　in　stutter　gunshot　sounds　like　a　lifted　sail。
　　He　cocked　his　head　back　once　and　saw　the　mad　sprawl　of　the　stars。　There　were　no　constellations　he　recognized；　and　he　looked　away　again；　disturbed。　Beside　him　was　the　rock　wall；　not　smooth　but　splintered　and　gouged　and　friable；　taking　here　the　shape　of　a　boat；　here　the　shape　of　a　badger；　here　the　shape　of　a　man's　face　with　hooded；　frowning　eyes。　Only　the　steps　that　had　been　carved　from　the　rock　were　smooth。
　　Louis　gained　the　top　and　only　stood　there　with　his　head　down；　swaying；　sobbing　breath　in　and　out　of　his　lungs。　They　felt　like　cruelly　punched　bladders；　and　there　seemed　to　be　a　large　splinter　sticking　into　his　side。
　　The　wind　ran　through　his　hair　like　a　dancer；　roared　in　his　ears　like　a　dragon。
　　The　light　was　brighter　this　night；　had　it　been　overcast　the　other　time　or　had　he　just　not　been　looking？　It　didn't　matter。　But　he　could　see；　and　that　was　enough　to　start　another　chill　worming　down　his　back。
　　It　was　just　like　the　Pet　Sematary。
　　Of　course　you　knew　that；　his　mind　whispered　as　he　surveyed　the　piles　of　rocks　that　had　once　been　cairns。　You　knew　that；　or　should　have　known　it…not　concentric　circles　but　the　spiral　。　。
　　Yes。　Here　on　top　of　this　rock　table；　its　face　turned　up　to　cold　starlight　and　to　the　black　distances　between　the　stars；　was　a　gigantic　spiral；　made　by　what　the　old…timers　would　have　called　Various　Hands。　But　there　were　no　real　cairns；　Louis　saw；　every　one　of　them　had　been　burst　apart　as　something　buried　beneath　returned　to　life。　。　。　and　clawed　its　way　out。　Yet　the　rocks　themselves　had　fallen　in　such　a　way　that　the　shape　of　the　spiral　was　apparent。
　　Has　anyone　ever　seen　this　from　the　air？　Louis　wondered　randomly　and　thought　of　those　desert　drawings　that　one　tribe　of　Indians　or　another　had　made　in　South　America。　Has　anyone　ever　seen　it　from　the　air；　and　if　they　did；　what　did　they　think；　I　wonder？
　　He　kneeled　and　set　Gage's　body　on　the　ground　with　a　groan　of　relief。
　　At　last　his　consciousness　began　to　e　back。　He　used　his　pocketknife　to　cut　the　tape　holding　the　pick　and　shovel　slung　over　his　back。　They　fell　to　the　ground　with　a　clink。　Louis　rolled　over　and　lay　down　for　a　moment；　spread…eagled；　staring　blankly　at　the　stars。
　　What　was　that　thing　in　the　woods？　Louis；　Louis；　do　you　really　think　anything　good　can　e　at　the　climax　of　a　play　where　something　like　that　is　among　the　cast　of　characters？
　　But　now　it　was　too　late　to　back　out；　and　he　knew　it。
　　Besides；　he　gibbered　to　himself；　it　may　still　e　out　all　right；　there　is　no　gain　without　risk；　perhaps　no　risk　without　love。　There's　still　my　bag；　not　the　one　downstairs　but　the　one　in　our　bathroom　on　the　high　shelf；　the　one　I　sent　Jud　for　the　night　Norma'　had　her　heart　attack。　There　are　syringes；　and　if　something　happens。　。　。　something　bad。　。　。　no　one　has　to　know　but　me。
　　His　thoughts　dissolved　into　the　inarticulate；　droning　mutter　of　prayer　even　as　his　hands　groped　for　the　pick　。　。　。　and　still　on　his　knees；　Louis　began　to　dig　into　the　earth。　Each　time　he　brought　the　pick　down　he　collapsed　over　the　end　of　it；　like　an　old　Roman　falling　on　his　sword。　Yet　little　by　little　the　hole　took　shape　and　deepened。　He　clawed　the　rocks　out；　and　most　he　simply　pushed　aside　along　with　the　growing　pile　of　stony　dirt。　But　some　of　them　he　saved。
　　For　the　cairn。
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　　Rachel　slapped　her　face　until　it　began　to　tingle；　and　still　she　kept　nodding　off。　Once　she　snapped　fully　awake　（she　was　in　Pittsfield　now　and　had　the　turnpike　all　to　herself）；　and　it　seemed　to　her　for　a　split　second　that　dozens　of　silvery；　merciless　eyes　were　looking　at　her；　twinkling　like　cold；　hungry　fire。
　　Then　they　resolved　themselves　into　the　small　reflectors　on　the　guardrail　posts。　The　Chevette　had　drifted　far　over　into　the　breakdown　lane。
　　She　wrenched　the　wheel　to　the　left　again；　the　tires　wailing；　and　she　believed　she　heard　a　faint　tick！　that　might　have　been　her　right　front　bumper　just　kissing　off　one　of　those　guardrail　posts。　Her　heart　leaped　in　her　chest　and　began　to　bang　so　hard　between　her　ribs　that　she　saw　small　specks　before　her　eyes；　growing　and　shrinking　in　time　with　its　beat。　And　yet　a　moment　later；　in　spite　of　her　close　shave；　her　scare；　and　Robert　Gordon　shouting　〃Red　Hot〃　on　the　radio；　she　was　drowsing　off　again。
　　A　crazy；　paranoid　thought　came　to　her。　〃Paranoid；　all　right；〃　she　muttered　under　the　rock　and　roll。　She　tried　to　laugh…but　she　couldn't。　Not　quite。　Because　the　thought　remained；　and　in　the　eye　of　the　night；　it　gained　a　spooky　kind　of　credibility。　She　began　to　feel　like　a　cartoon　figure　who　has　run　into　the　rubber　band　of　a　gigantic　slingshot。　Poor　guy　finds　forward　motion　harder　and　harder；　until　at　last　the　potential　energy　of　the　rubber　band　equalizes　the　actual　energy　of　the　runner　。　。　。　inertia　bees　what？　。　。　。　elementary　physics。　。　。　something　trying　to　hold　her　back。　。　。　stay　out　of　this；　you。　。　。　and　a　body　at　rest　tends　to　remain　at　rest　。　。　。　Gage's　body；　for　instance　。　。　。　once　set　in　motion。
　　This　time　the　scream　of　tires　was　louder；　the　shave　a　lot　closer；　for　a　moment　there　was　the　queeling；　grailing　sound　of　the　Chevette　running　along　the　guardrail　cables；　scraping　paint　down　to　the　twinkling　metal；　and　for　a　moment　the　wheel　didn't　answer；　and　then　Rachel　was　standing　on　the　brake；　sobbing；　she　had　been　asleep　this　time；　not　just　dozing　but　asleep　and　dreaming　at　sixty　miles　an　hour；　and　if　there　had　been　no　guardrail。　。　。　or　if　there　had　been　an　overpass　stanchion。　。
　　She　pulled　over　and　put　the　car　in　park　and　wept　into　her　hands；　bewildered　and　afraid。
　　Something　is　trying　to　keep　me　away　from　him。
　　When　she　felt　she　had　control　of　herself；　she　began　to　drive　again…the　little　car's　steering　did　not　seem　impaired；　but　she　supposed　the　Avis　pany　would　have　some　serious　questions　for　her　when　she　returned　their　car　to　BIA　tomorrow。
　　Never　mind。　One　thing　at　a　time。　Got　to　get　some　coffee　into　me…that's　the　first　thing。
　　When　the　Pittsfield　exit　came　up；　Rachel　took　it。　About　a　mile　down　the　road　she　came　to　bright　arc…sodium　lights　and　the　steady　mutter…growl　of　diesel　engines。　She　pulled　in；　had　the　Chevette　filled　up　（〃Somebody　put　a　pretty　good　ding　along　the　side　of　her；〃　the　gas　jockey　said　in　an　almost　admiring　voice）；　and　then　went　into　the　diner；　which　smelled　of　deep…fat　grease；　vulcanized　eggs　。　。　。　and；　blessedly；　of　good　strong　coffee。
　　Rachel　had　three　cups；　one　after　another；　like　medicine…black；　sweetened　with　a　lot　of　sugar。　A　few　truckers　sat　at　the　counter　or　in　the　booths；　kidding　the　waitresses；　who　somehow　all　managed　to　look　like　tired　nurses　filled　with　bad　news　under　these　fluorescent　lights　burning　in　the　night's　little　hours。
　　She　paid　her　check　and　went　back　out　to　where　she　had　parked　the　Chevette。　It　wouldn't　start。　The　key；　when　turned；　would　cause　the　solenoid　to　utter　a　dry　click；　but　that　was　all。
　　Rachel　began　to　beat　her　fists　slowly　and　forcelessly　against　the　steering　wheel。　Something　was　trying　to　stop　her。　There　was　no　reason　for　this　car；　brand…new　and　with　less　than　five　thousand　miles　on　its　odometer；　to　have　died　like　this；　but　it　had。　Somehow　it　had；　and　here　she　was；　stranded　in　Pittsfield；　still　almost　fifty　miles　from　home。
　　She　listened　to　the　steady　drone　of　the　big　trucks；　and　it　came　to　her　with　a　sudden；　vicious　certainty　that　the　truck　which　had　killed　her　son　was　here　among　them　。　。　。　not　muttering　but　chuckling。
　　Rachel　lowered　her　head　and　began　to　cry。
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　　Louis　stumbled　over　something　and　fell　full…length　on　the　ground。　For　a　moment　he　didn't　th