sk.cujo-第24章

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　。。。　there　was　a　contrast。　。　。'　She　looked　at　him。　'The　quiet　seemed　very　loud　by　parison。　That　was　when　I　started　to　get　scared。　Kindergarten　next　year；　I'd　think。　Half　a　day　every　day　instead　of　half　a　day　three　times　a　week。　The　year　after　that；　all　day　five　days　a　week。　And　there　would　still　be　all　those　hours　to　fill　up。　And　I　just　got　scared。'
'So　you　thought　you'd　fill　up　a　little　of　that　time　by　fucking　someone？'　he　asked　bitterly。
That　stung　her；　but　she　continued　on　grimly；　tracing　it　out　as　best　she　could；　not　raising　her　voice。　He　had　asked。　She　would　tell　him。
'I　didn't　want　to　be　on　the　Library　mittee　and　I　didn't　want　to　be　on　the　Hospital　mittee　and　run　the　bake　sales　or　be　in　charge　of　getting　the　starter　change　or　making　sure　that　not　everybody　is　making　the　same　Hamburger　Helper　casserole　for　the　Saturday…night　supper。　I　didn't　want　to　see　those　same　depressing　faces　over　and　over　again　and　listen　to　the　same　gossipy　stories　about　who　is　doing　what　in　this　town。　I　didn't　want　to　sharpen　my　claws　on　anyone　else's　reputation。'
The　words　were　gushing　out　of　her　now。　She　couldn't　have　stopped　them　if　she　wanted　to。
'I　didn't　want　to　sell　Tupperware　and　I　didn't　want　to　sell　Amway　and　I　didn't　want　to　give　Stanley　parties　and　I　don't　need　to　join　Weight　Watchers。　You　…'
She　paused　for　the　tiniest　second；　grasping　it；　feeling　the　weight　of　the　idea。
'You　don't　know　about　emptiness；　Vic。　Don't　think　you　do。　You're　a　man；　and　men　grapple。　Men　grapple；　and　women　dust。　You　dust　the　empty　rooms　and　you　listen　to　the　wind　blowing　outside　sometimes。　Only　sometimes　it　seems　like　the　wind's　inside；　you　know？　So　you　put　on　a　record；　Bob　Seger　or　J。　J。　Cale　or　someone；　and　you　can　still　hear　the　wind；　and　thoughts　e　to　you；　ideas；　nothing　good；　but　they　e。　So　you　clean　both　toilets　and　you　do　the　sink　and　one　day　you're　down　in　one　of　the　antique　shops　looking　at　little　pottery　knickknacks；　and　you　think　about　how　your　mother　had　a　shelf　of　knickknacks　like　that；　and　your　aunts　all　had　shelves　of　them；　and　your　grandmother　had　them　as　wen。'
He　was　looking　at　her　closely；　and　his　expression　was　so　honestly　perplexed　that　she　felt　a　wave　of　her　own　despair。
'It's　feelings；　I'm　talking　about；　not　facts！'
'Yes；　but　why　…'
'I'm　telling　you　why！　I'm　telling　you　that　I　got　so　I　was　spending　enough　time　in　front　of　the　mirror　to　see　how　my　face　was　changing；　how　no　one　was　ever　going　to　mistake　me　for　a　teenager　again　or　ask　to　see　my　driver's　license　when　I　ordered　a　drink　in　a　bar。　I　started　to　be　afraid　because　I　grew　up　after　all。　Tad's　going　to　preschool　and　that　means　he's　going　to　go　to　school；　then　high　school　…'
'Are　you　saying　you　took　a　lover　because　you　felt　old？'　He　was　looking　at　her；　surprised；　and　she　loved　him　for　that；　because　she　supposed　that　was　a　part　of　it；　Steve　Kemp　had　found　her　attractive　and　of　course　that　was　flattering；　that　was　what　had　made　the　flirtation　fun　in　the　first　place。　But　it　was　in　no　way　the　greatest　part　of　it。
She　took　his　hands　and　spoke　earnestly　into　his　face；　thinking　…　knowing　…　that　she　might　never　speak　so　earnestly　（or　honestly）　to　any　man　again。　'It's　more。　It's　knowing　you　can't　wait　any　longer　to　be　a　grownup；　or　wait　any　longer　to　make　your　peace　with　what　you　have。　It's　knowing　that　your　choices　are　being　narrowed　almost　daily。　For　a　woman　…　no；　for　me　…　that's　a　brutal　thing　to　have　to　face。　Wife；　that's　fine。　But　you're　gone　at　work；　even　when　you're　home　you're　gone　at　work　so　much。　Mother；　that's　fine；　too。　But　there's　a　little　less　of　it　every　year；　because　every　year　the　world　gets　another　little　slice　of　him。
'Men。　。　。　they　know　what　they　are。　They　have　an　image　of　what　they　are。　They　never　five　up　to　the　ideal；　and　it　breaks　them；　and　maybe　that's　why　so　many　men　die　unhappy　and　before　their　time；　but　they　know　what　being　a　grownup　is　supposed　to　mean。　They　have　some　kind　of　handle　on　thirty；　forty；　fifty。　They　don't　hear　that　wind；　or　if　they　do；　they　find　a　lance　and　tilt　at　it；　thinking　it　must　be　a　windmill　or　some　fucking　thing　that　needs　knocking　down。
'What　a　woman　does　…　what　I　did　…　was　to　run　from　being。　I　got　scared　of　the　way　the　house　sounded　when　Tad　was　gone。　Once；　do　you　know　…　this　is　crazy　…　I　was　in　his　room；　changing　the　sheets；　and　I　got　thinking　about　these　girlfriends　I　had　in　high　school。　Wondering　what　happened　to　them；　where　they　went。　I　was　almost　in　a　daze。　And　Tad's　closet　door　swung　open　and　。。。　I　screamed　and　ran　out　of　the　room。　I　don't　know　why　。。。　except　I　guess　I　do。　I　thought　for　just　a　second　there　that　Joan　Brady　would　e　out　of　Tad's　closet；　and　her　head　would　be　gone　and　there　would　be　blood　all　over　her　clothes　and　she　would　say；　〃I　died　in　a　car　crash　when　I　was　nineteen　ing　back　from　Sammy's　Pizza　and　I　don't　give　a　damn。〃'
'Christ；　Donna；'　Vic　said。
'I　got　scared；　that's　all。　I　got　scared　when　I'd　start　looking　at　knickknacks　or　thinking　about　taking　a　pottery　course　or　yoga　or　something　like　that。　And　the　only　place　to　run　from　the　future　is　into　the　past。　So。　。。。　so　I　started　flirting　with　him。'
She　looked　down　and　then　suddenly　buried　her　face　in　her　hands。　Her　words　were　muffled　but　still　understandable。
'It　was　fun。　It　was　like　being　in　college　again。　It　was　like　a　dream。　A　stupid　dream。　It　was　like　he　was　white　noise。　He　blotted　out　that　wind　sound。　The　flirting　part　was　fun。　The　sex　。。。　it　was　no　good。　I　had　orgasms；　but　it　was　no　good。　I　can't　explain　why　not；　except　that　I　still　loved　you　through　all　of　it；　and　understood　that　I　was　running　away。　。　。　。'　She　looked　up　at　him　again；　crying　now。　'He's　running　too。　He's　made　a　career　of　it。　He's　a　poet　。。。　at　least　that's　what　he　calls　himself。　I　couldn't　make　head　or　tail　of　the　things　he　showed　me。　He's　a　roadrunner；　dreaming　he's　still　in　college　and　protesting　the　war　in　Vietnam。　That's　why　it　was　him；　I　guess。　And　now　I　think　you　know　everything　I　can　tell　you。　An　ugly　little　tale；　but　mine　own。'
'I'd　like　to　beat　him　up；'　Vic　said。　'If　I　could　make　his　nose　bleed；　I　guess　that　would　make　me　feel　better。'
She　smiled　wanly。　'He's　gone。　Tad　and　I　went　for　a　Dairy　Queen　after　we　finished　supper　and　you　still　weren't　home。　There's　a　FOR　RENT　sign　in　the　window　of　his　shop。　I　told　you　he　was　a　roadrunner。'
'There　was　no　poetry　in　that　note；'　Vic　said。　He　looked　at　her　briefly；　then　down　again。　She　touched　his　face　and　he　winced　back　a　little。　That　hurt　more　than　anything　else；　hurt　more　than　she　would　have　believed。　The　guilt　and　fear　came　again；　in　a　glassy；　crushing　wave。　But　she　wasn't　crying　any　more。　She　thought　there　would　be　no　more　tears　for　a　very　long　time。　The　wound　and　the　attendant　shock　trauma　were　too　great。
'Vic；'　she　said。　'I'm　sorry。　You're　hurt　and　I'm　sorry。'
'When　did　you　break　it　off？'
She　told　him　about　the　day　she　had　e　back　and　found　him　there；　omitting　the　fear　she'd　had　that　Steve　might　actually　rape　her。
'Then　the　note　was　his　way　of　getting　back　at　you。'
She　brushed　hair　away　from　her　forehead　and　nodded。　Her　face　was　pale　and　wan。　There　were　purplish　patches　of　skin　under　her　eyes。　'I　guess　so。'
'Let's　go　upstairs；　he　said。　'It's　late。　We're　both　tired。'
'Will　you　make　love　to　me？'
He　shook　his　head　slowly。　'Not　tonight。'
'All　right。'
They　went　to　the　stairs　together。　At　the　foot　of　them；　Donna　asked；　'So　what　es　next；　Vic？'
He　shook　his　head。　'I　just　don't　know。'
'Do　I　write　〃I　promise　never　to　do　it　again〃　five　hundred　times　on　the　blackboard　and　miss　recess？　Do　we　get　a　divorce？　Do　we　never　mention　it　again？　What？'　She　didn't　feel　hysterical；　only　tired；　but　her　voice　was　rising　in　a　way　she　didn't　like　and　hadn't　intended。　The　shame　was　the　worst；　the　shame　of　being　found　out　and　seeing　how　it　had　punched　his　face　in。　And　she　hated　him　as　well　as　herself　for　making　her　feel　so　badly　ashamed；　because　she　didn't　believe　she　was　responsible　for　the　factors　leading　up　to　the　final　decision　…　if　there　really　had　been　a　decision。
'We　ought　to　be　able　to　get　it　together；'　he　said；　but　she　did　not　mistake　him；　he　wasn't　talking　to　her。　'This　thing　？　He　looked　at　her　pleadingly。　'He　was　the　only　one；　wasn't　he？'
It　was　the　one　unforgivable　question；　the　one　he　had　no　right　to　ask。　She　left　him；　almost　ran　up　the　stair