sk.everythingseventual-第51部分

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ything　I　sent　would　go　through　TransCorp　in　Chicago；　but　that　wasn't　going　to　matter。　They　weren't　going　to　suspect　a　thing。　Not　if　I　was　careful。
　　And；　of　course；　if　there　was　anybody　there。
　　There　was。　My　puter　connected　with　the　library's　puter；　and　a　menu　flashed　on　my　screen。　For　just　a　moment；　something　else　flashed　on　my　screen；　as　well。
　　A　smim。
　　In　the　lower　righthand　corner。　Just　a　flicker。
　　I　sent　the　message　about　the　best　Police　song　and　added　a　little　touch　of　my　own　down　in　The　Dead　Folks'　Nook：　a　sankofite。
　　I　could　write　more…things　have　started　to　happen；　and　I　believe　that　soon　they'll　be　happening　fast…but　I　don't　think　it　would　be　safe。　Up　to　now；　I've　just　talked　about　myself。　If　I　went　any　further；　I'd　have　to　talk　about　other　people。　But　there　are　two　more　things　I　want　to　say。
　　First；　that　I'm　sorry　for　what　I've　done…for　what　I　did　to　Skipper；　even。　I'd　take　it　back　if　I　could。　I　didn't　know　what　I　was　doing。　I　know　that's　a　piss…poor　excuse；　but　it's　the　only　one　I　have。
　　Second；　I've　got　it　in　mind　to　write　one　more　special　letter　。　。　。　the　most　special　of　all。
　　I　have　Mr。　Sharpton's　e…mail　address。　And　I　have　something　even　better：　a　memory　of　how　he　stroked　his　lucky　tie　as　we　sat　in　his　big　expensive　Mercedes。　The　loving　way　he　ran　his　palm　over　those　silk　swords。　So；　you　see；　I　know　just　enough　about　him。　I　know　just　what　to　add　to　his　letter；　how　to　make　it　eventual。　I　can　close　my　eyes　and　see　one　word　floating　there　in　the　darkness　behind　my　lids…floating　there　like　black　fire；　deadly　as　an　arrow　fired　into　the　brain；　and　it's　the　only　word　that　matters：
　　EXCALIBUR。
　　　
　　　
　　　
　　　L。T。'S　THEORY　OF　PETS
　　
　　
　　I　guess　if　I　have　a　favorite　in　this　collection　of　stories；　'L。T。'　would　be　it。　The　origin　of　the　story；　so　far　as　I　can　remember；　was　a　'Dear　Abby'　column　where　Abby　opined　that　a　pet　is　just　about　the　worst　sort　of　present　one　can　give　anyone。　It　makes　the　assumption　that　the　pet　and　the　recipient　will　hit　it　off；　for　one　thing；　it　assumes　that　feeding　an　animal　twice　a　day　and　cleaning　up　its　messes　（both　indoors　and　out）　was　the　very　thing　you　had　been　pining　to　do。　So　far　as　I　can　remember；　she　called　the　giving　of　pets　'an　exercise　in　arrogance。'　I　think　that's　laying　it　on　a　bit　thick。　My　wife　gave　me　a　dog　for　my　fortieth　birthday；　and　Marlowe…a　Corgi　who's　now　fourteen　and　has　only　one　eye…has　been　an　honored　part　of　the　family　ever　since。　During　five　of　those　years　we　also　had　a　rather　crazed　Siamese　cat　named　Pearl。　It　was　while　watching　Marlowe　and　Pearl　interact…which　they　did　with　a　kind　of　cautious　respect…that　I　first　started　thinking　about　a　story　where　the　pets　in　a　marriage　would　imprint　not　upon　the　nominal　owner　of　each；　but　on　the　other。　I　had　a　marvelous　time　working　on　it；　and　whenever　I'm　called　upon　to　read　a　story　out　loud；　this　is　the　one　I　choose；　always　assuming　I　have　the　required　fifty　minutes　it　takes。　It　makes　people　laugh；　and　I　like　that。　What　I　like　even　more　is　the　unexpected　shift　in　tone；　away　from　humor　and　toward　sadness　and　honor；　which　occurs　near　the　end。　When　it　es；　the　reader's　defenses　are　down　and　the　story's　emotional　payoff　is　a　little　higher。　For　me；　that　emotional　payoff　is　what　it's　all　about。　I　want　to　make　you　laugh　or　cry　when　you　read　a　story　。　。　。　or　do　both　at　the　same　time。　I　want　your　heart；　in　other　words。　If　you　want　to　learn　something；　go　to　school。
　　
　　
　　My　friend　L。T。　hardly　ever　talks　about　how　his　wife　disappeared；　or　how　she's　probably　dead；　just　another　victim　of　the　Axe　Man；　but　he　likes　to　tell　the　story　of　how　she　walked　out　on　him。　He　does　it　with　just　the　right　roll　of　the　eyes；　as　if　to　say；　'She　fooled　me；　boys…right；　good；　and　proper！'　He'll　sometimes　tell　the　story　to　a　bunch　of　men　sitting　on　one　of　the　loading　docks　behind　the　plant　and　eating　their　lunches；　him　eating　his　lunch；　too；　the　one　he　fixed　for　himself…no　Lulubelle　back　at　home　to　do　it　for　him　these　days。　They　usually　laugh　when　he　tells　the　story；　which　always　ends　with　L。T。's　Theory　of　Pets。　Hell；　I　usually　laugh。　It's　a　funny　story；　even　if　you　do　know　how　it　turned　out。　Not　that　any　of　us　do；　not　pletely。
　　'I　punched　out　at　four；　just　like　usual；'　L。T。　will　say；　'then　went　down　to　Deb's　Den　for　a　couple　of　beers；　just　like　most　days。　Had　a　game　of　pinball；　then　went　home。　That　was　where　things　stopped　being　just　like　usual。　When　a　person　gets　up　in　the　morning；　he　doesn't　have　the　slightest　idea　how　much　may　have　changed　in　his　life　by　the　time　he　lays　his　head　down　again　that　night。　〃Ye　know　not　the　day　or　the　hour；〃　the　Bible　says。　I　believe　that　particular　verse　is　about　dying；　but　it　fits　everything　else；　boys。　Everything　else　in　this　world。　You　just　never　know　when　you're　going　to　bust　a　fiddle…string。
　　'When　I　turn　into　the　driveway　I　see　the　garage　door's　open　and　the　little　Subaru　she　brought　to　the　marriage　is　gone；　but　that　doesn't　strike　me　as　immediately　peculiar。　She　was　always　driving　off　someplace…to　a　yard　sale　or　someplace…and　leaving　the　goddam　garage　door　open。　I'd　tell　her；　〃Lulu；　if　you　keep　doing　that　long　enough；　someone'll　eventually　take　advantage　of　it。　e　in　and　take　a　rake　or　a　bag　of　peat　moss　or　maybe　even　the　power　mower。　Hell；　even　a　Seventh　Day　Adventist　fresh　out　of　college　and　doing　his　merit　badge　rounds　will　steal　if　you　put　enough　temptation　in　his　way；　and　that's　the　worst　kind　of　person　to　tempt；　because　they　feel　it　more　than　the　rest　of　us。〃　Anyway；　she'd　always　say；　〃I'll　do　better；　L。T。；　try；　anyway；　I　really　will；　honey。〃　And　she　did　do　better；　just　backslid　from　time　to　time　like　any　ordinary　sinner。
　　'I　park　off　to　the　side　so　she'll　be　able　to　get　her　car　in　when　she　es　back　from　wherever；　but　I　close　the　garage　door。　Then　I　go　in　by　way　of　the　kitchen。　I　cheek　the　mailbox；　but　it's　empty；　the　mail　inside　on　the　counter；　so　she　must　have　left　after　eleven；　because　he　don't　e　until　at　least　then。　The　mailman；　I　mean。
　　''Well；　Lucy's　right　there　by　the　door；　crying　in　that　way　Siamese　have…I　like　that　cry；　think　it's　sort　of　cute；　but　Lulu　always　hated　it；　maybe　because　it　sounds　like　a　baby's　cry　and　she　didn't　want　anything　to　do　with　babies。　〃What　would　I　want　with　a　rugmonkey？〃　she'd　say。
　　'Lucy　being　at　the　door　wasn't　anything　out　of　the　ordinary；　either。　That　cat　loved　my　ass。　Still　does。　She's　two　years　old　now。　We　got　her　at　the　start　of　the　last　year　we　were　married。　Right　around。　Seems　impossible　to　believe　Lulu's　been　gone　a　year；　and　we　were　only　together　three　to　start　with。　But　Lulubelle　was　the　type　to　make　an　impression　on　you。　Lulubelle　had　what　I　have　to　call　star　quality。　You　know　who　she　always　reminded　me　of？　Lucille　Ball。　Now　that　I　think　of　it；　I　guess　that's　why　I　named　the　cat　Lucy；　although　I　don't　remember　thinking　it　at　the　time。　It　might　have　been　what　you'd　call　a　subconscious　association。　She'd　e　into　a　room…Lulubelle；　I　mean；　not　the　cat…and　just　light　it　up　somehow。　A　person　like　that；　when　they're　gone　you　can　hardly　believe　it；　and　you　keep　expecting　them　to　e　back。
　　'Meanwhile；　there's　the　cat。　Her　name　was　Lucy　to　start　with；　but　Lulubelle　hated　the　way　she　acted　so　much　that　she　started　calling　her　Screwlucy；　and　it　kind　of　stuck。　Lucy　wasn't　nuts；　though；　she　only　wanted　to　be　loved。　Wanted　to　be　loved　more　than　any　other　pet　I　ever　had　in　my　life；　and　I've　had　quite　a　few。
　　'Anyway；　I　e　in　the　house　and　pick　up　the　cat　and　pet　her　a　little　and　she　climbs　up　onto　my　shoulder　and　sits　there；　purring　and　talking　her　Siamese　talk。　I　check　the　mail　on　the　counter；　put　the　bills　in　the　basket；　then　go　over　to　the　fridge　to　get　Lucy　something　to　eat。　I　always　keep　a　working　can　of　cat　food　in　there；　with　a　piece　of　tinfoil　over　the　top。　Saves　having　Lucy　get　excited　and　digging　her　claws　into　my　shoulder　when　she　hears　the　can　opener。　Cats　are　smart；　you　know。　Much　smarter　than　dogs。　They're　different　in　other　ways；　too。　It　might　be　that　the　biggest　division　in　the　world　isn't　men　and　women　but　folks　who　like　cats　and　folks　who　like　dogs。　Did　any　of　you　pork…packers　ever　think　of　that？
　　'Lulu　bitched　like　hell　about　having　an　open　can　of　cat　food　in　the　fridge；　even　one　with　a　piece　of　foil　over　the　top；　said　it　made　everything　in　there　taste　like　old　tuna；　but　I　wouldn't　give　in　on　that　one。　On　most　stuff　I　did　it　her　way；　but　that　cat　food　business　was　one　of　the　few　places　where　I　really　stood　up　for　my　rights。　It　didn't　have　anything　to　do　with　the　cat　food；　anyway。　It　had　to　do　with　the　cat。　She　just　didn't　like　Lucy；　that　was　all。　Lucy　was　her　cat；　but　she　didn't　like　it。
　　'Anyway；　I　go　over　to　the　fridge；　and　I　see　there's　a　note　on　it；　stuck　there　with　one　of　the　vegetable　magnets。　It's　from　Lulubelle。　Best　as　I　can　remember；　it　goes　like　this：
　　'　〃Dear　L。T。…I　am　leaving　you；　honey。　Unless　you　e　home　early；　I　will　be　long　gone　by　the　time　you　get　this　note。　I　don't　think　you　will　get　home　early；　you　have　never　got　home　early　in　all　the　time　we　have　been　married；　but　at　least　I　know　you'll　get　this　almost　as　soon　as　you　get　in　the　door；　because　the　first　thing　you　always　do　when　you　get　home　isn't　to　e　see　me　and　say；　'Hi　sweet　girl　I'm　home'　and　give　me　a　kiss　but　go　to　the　fridge　and　get　whatever's　left　of　the　last　nasty　can　of　Calo　you　put　in　there　and　feed　Screwlucy。　So　at　least　I　know　you　won't　just　go　upstairs　and　get　shocked　when　you　see　my　Elvis　Last　Supper　picture　is　gone　and　my　half　of　the　closet　is　mostly　empty　and　think　we　had　a　burglar　who　likes　ladies'　dresses　（unlike　some　who　only　care　about　what　is　under　them）。
　　'　〃I　get　irritated　with　you　sometimes；　honey；　but　I　still　think　you　re　sweet　and　kind　and　nice；　you　will　always　be　my　little　maple　duff　and　sugar　dumpling；　no　matter　where　our　paths　may　lead。　It's　just　that　I　have　decided　I　was　never　cut　out　to　be　a　Spam…packer's　wife。　I　don't　mean　that　in　any　conceited　way；　either。　I　even　called　the　Psychic　Hotline　last　week　as　I　struggled　with　this　decision；　lying　awake　night　after　night　（and　listening　to　you　snore；　boy；　I　don't　mean　to　hurt　your　feelings　but　have　you　ever　got　a　snore　on　you）；　and　I　was　given　this　message：　'A　broken　spoon　may　bee　a　fork。'　I　didn't　understand　that　at　first；　but　I　didn't　give