sk.petsematary-第65部分

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　　He　expected　an　argument；　perhaps　even　an　Ellie…style　tantrum。　He　might　even　have　weled　it…a　known　quantity；　as　that　look　was　not。　But　there　was　only　that　pallid；　disquieting　silence　which　seemed　so　deep。　He　could　have　asked　her　more　but　found　he　didn't　dare；　she　had　already　told　him　more　than　he　perhaps　wanted　to　hear。
　　Shortly　after　he　and　Ellie　returned　to　the　boarding　lounge；　the　flight　was　called。　Boarding　passes　were　produced；　and　the　four　of　them　got　in　line。　Louis　embraced　his　wife　and　kissed　her　hard。
　　She　clung　to　him　for　a　moment　and　then　let　him　go　so　he　could　pick　Ellie　up　and　buss　her　cheek。
　　Ellie　gazed　at　him　solemnly　with　her　sibyl's　eyes。　〃I　don't　want　to　go；〃　she　said　again　but　so　low　oniy　Louis　could　really　hear　over　the　shuffle　and　murmur　of　the　boarding　passengers。　〃I　don't　want　Mommy　to　go　either。〃
　　〃Ellie；　e　on；〃　Louis　said。　〃You'll　be　fine。〃
　　〃I'll　be　fine；〃　she　said；　〃but　what　about　you？　Daddy；　what　about　you？〃
　　The　line　had　begun　to　move　now。　People　were　walking　down　the　jetway　to　the　727。　Rachel　pulled　Ellie's　hand　and　for　a　moment　she　resisted；　holding　up　the　line；　her　eyes　fixed　on　her　father…and　Louis　found　himself　remembering　her　impatience　last　time；　her　cries　of　e　on…e　on…e　on。
　　〃Daddy？〃
　　〃Go　now；　Ellie。　Please。〃
　　Rachel　looked　at　Ellie　and　saw　that　dark；　dreamy　look　for　the　first　time。　〃Ellie？〃　she　said；　startled　and；　Louis　thought；　a　little　afraid。　〃You're　holding　up　the　line；　baby。〃
　　Ellie's　lips　trembled　and　grew　white。　Then　she　allowed　herself　to　be　led　into　the　jetway。　She　looked　back　at　him；　and　he　saw　naked　terror　in　her　face。　He　raised　his　hand　to　her　in　false　cheeriness。
　　Ellie　did　not　wave　back。
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　　As　Louis　left　the　BIA　terminal　building；　a　cold　cloak　fell　over　his　mind。　He　became　aware　that　he　meant　to　go　through　with　this。　His　mind；　which　had　been　sharp　enough　to　get　him　through　med　school　mostly　on　a　scholarship　and　what　his　wife　could　earn　pushing　coffee…and…danish　on　the　5　to　11　A。M。　shift　six　days　a　week；　had　taken　the　problem　over　and　broken　it　down　into　ponents；　as　if　this　was　just　another　prelim…the　biggest　one　he　had　ever　taken。　And　he　intended　to　pass　it　with　an　A　plus；　one　hundred　percent。
　　He　drove　to　Brewer；　the　little　city　across　the　Penobscot　River　from　Bangor。　He　found　a　parking　spot　across　the　street　from　Watson's　Hardware。
　　〃Can　I　help　you？〃　the　clerk　asked。
　　〃Yes；〃　Louis　said。　〃I'd　like　a　heavy　flashlight…one　of　the　square　ones…and　something　I　can　hood　it　with。〃
　　The　clerk　was　a　small　slim　man　with　a　high　forehead　and　sharp　eves。　He　smiled　now；　but　his　smile　was　not　particularly　pleasant。　〃Going　jacking；　good　buddy？〃
　　〃I　beg　your　pardon？〃
　　〃Gonna　jacklight　a　few　deer　tonight？〃
　　〃Not　at　all；〃　Louis　said；　unsmiling。　〃I　haven't　a　license　to　jack。〃　The　clerk　blinked　and　then　decided　to　laugh。　〃In　other　words；　mind　my　own　business；　huh？　Well；　look…you　can't　hood　one　of　those　big　lights；　but　you　can　get　a　piece　of　felt　and　poke　a　hole　in　the　middle　of　it。　Cut　the　beam　clown　to　a　penlight。〃
　　〃That　sounds　fine；〃　Louis　said。　〃Thanks。〃
　　〃Surely。　Anything　else　for　you　today？〃
　　〃Yes　indeed；〃　Louis　said。　〃I　need　a　pick；　a　shovel；　and　a　spade。　Short…handled　shovel；　long…handled　spade。　A　stout　length　of　rope；　eight　feet　long。　A　pair　of　work　gloves。　A　canvas　tarpaulin；　maybe　eight　by　eight。〃
　　〃I　can　do　all　that；〃　the　clerk　said。
　　〃I've　got　a　septic　tank　to　dig　up；〃　Louis　said。　〃It　looks　like　I'm　in　violation　of　the　zoning　ordinances；　and　I've　got　some　very　nosy　neighbors。　I　don't　know　if　hooding　my　light　will　do　any　good　or　not；　but　I　thought　I　might　give　it　a　try。　I　could　get　a　pretty　good　fine。〃
　　〃Oh…oh；〃　the　clerk　said；　〃better　get　a　clothespin　for　your　nose　while　you're　at　it。〃
　　Louis　laughed　dutifully。　His　purchases　came　to　58。60。　He　paid　cash。
　　As　gas　prices　went　up；　they　had　used　the　big　station　wagon　less　and　less。　For　some　time　it　had　had　a　bad　wheel…bearing；　but　Louis　had　kept　putting　off　the　repair　job。　This　was　partly　because　he　didn't　want　to　part　with　the　two　hundred　it　was　likely　to　cost；　hut　mostly　because　it　was　a　nuisance。　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；　lo