sk.cujo-第58章

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　at　night　when　she　was　little　and　it　had　seemed　to　her　that　there　were　spiders　everywhere。　She　couldn't　go　now；　she　assured　herself。　It　was　unthinkable。　She　was　totally　done　up。　Her　nerves　were　shot。　Better　to　wait；　wait　for　a　better　chance。。。。
But　she　didn't　dare　let　that　idee　bee　fixe。
There　wasn't　going　to　be　abetter　chance　than　this　one。　Tad　was　out　of　it；　and　the　dog　was　out　of　it　too。　It　had　to　be　true；　A　logic　declared　it　to　be　true。　That　first　loud　clunk；　then　another　one　when　she　pulled　the　door　to；　and　the　slam　of　the　door　actually　shutting　again。　It　would　have　brought　him　on　the　run　if　he　had　been　in　front　of　the　car。　He　might　be　in　the　barn；　but　she　believed　he　would　have　heard　the　noise　in　there；　as　well。
He　had　almost　surely　gone　wandering　off　somewhere。　There　was　never　going　to　be　a　better　chance　than　right　now；　and　if　she　was　too　scared　to　do　it　for　herself；　she　musn't　be　too　scared　to　do　it　for　Tad。
All　suitably　noble。　But　what　finally　persuaded　her　was　a　vision　of　letting　herself　into　the　Cambers'　darkened　house；　the　reassuring　feel　of　the　telephone　in　her　hand。　She　could　hear　herself　talking　to　one　of　Sheriff　Bannerman's　deputies；　quite　calmly　and　rationally；　and　then　putting　the　phone　down。　Then　going　into　the　kitchen　for　a　cold　glass　of　water。　
She　opened　the　door　again；　prepared　for　the　clunking　sound　this　time　but　still　wincing　when　it　came。　She　cursed　the　dog　in　her　heart；　hoping　it　was　already　lying　someplace　dead　of　a　convulsion；　and　fly…blown。
She　swung　her　legs　out；　wincing　at　the　stiffness　and　the　pain。　She　put　her　tennis　shoes　on　the　gravel。　And　little　by　little　she　stood　up　under　the　darkling　sky。
The　bird　sang　somewhere　nearby：　it　sang　three　notes　and　was　still。
Cujo　heard　the　door　open　again；　as　instinct　had　told　him　it　would。　The　first：　time　it　opened　he　had　almost　e　around　from　the　front　of　the　car　where　he　had　been　lying　in　a　semi…stupor。　He　had　almost　e　around　to　get　THE　WOMAN　who　had　caused　this　dreadful　pain　in　his　head　and　in　his　body。　He　had　almost　e　around；　but　that　instinct　had　manded　him　to　lie　still　instead。　THE　WOMAN　was　only　trying　to　draw　him　out；　the　instinct　counseled；　and　this　had　proved　to　be　true。
As　the　sickness　had　tightened　down　on　him；　sinking　into　his　nervous　system　like　a　ravenous　grassfire；　all　dove…gray　smoke　and　low　rose…colored　flame；　as　it　continued　to　go　about　its　work　of　destroying　his　established　patterns　of　thought　and　behaviour；　it　had　somehow　deepened　his　cunning。　He　was　sure　to　get　THE　WOMAN　and　THE　Boy。　They　had　caused　his　pain　…both　the　agony　in　his　body　and　the　terrible　hurt　in　his　head　which　had　e　from　leaping　against　the　car　again　and　again。
Twice　today　he　had　forgotten　about　THE　WOMAN　and　THE　BOY；　leaving　the　barn　by　the　dog　bolthole　that　Joe　Camber　had　cut　in　the　door　of　the　back　room　where　he　kept　his　accounts。　He　had　gone　down　to　the　marsh　at　the　back　of　the　Camber　property；　both　times　passing　quite　close　to　the　overgrown　entrance　to　the　limestone　cave　where　the　bats　roosted。　There　was　water　in　the　marsh　and　he　was　horribly　thirsty；　but　the　actual　sight　of　the　water　had　driven　him　into　a　frenzy　both　times。　He　wanted　to　drink　the　water；　kill　the　water；　bathe　in　the　water；　piss　and　shit　in　the　water；　cover　it　over　with　dirt；　savage　it；　make　it　bleed。　Both　times　this　terrible　confusion　of　feelings　had　driven　him　away；　whining　and　trembling。　THE　WOMAN　and　THE　Boy　had　made　all　this　happen。　And　he　would　leave　them　no　more。　No　human　who　had　ever　lived　would　have　found　a　dog　more　faithful　or　more　set　in　his　purpose。　He　would　wait　until　he　could　get　at　them。　If　necessary　he　would　wait　until　the　world　ended。　He　would　wait。　He　would　stand　a　watch。
It　was　THE　WOMAN　most　of　all。　The　way　she　looked　at　him；　as　if　to　say；　Yes；　yes；　I　did　it；　I　made　you　sick；　I　made　you　hurt；　I　devised　this　agony　just　for　you　and　it　will　be　with　you　always　now。
Oh　kill　her；　kill　her！
A　sound　came。　It　was　a　soft　sound；　but　it　did　not　escape　Cujo；　his　ears　were　preternaturally　attuned　to　all　sounds　now。　The　entire　spectrum　of　the　aural　world　was　his。　He　beard　the　chimes　of　heaven　and　the　hoarse　screams　which　uprose　from　hell。　In　his　madness　he　heard　the　real　and　the　unreal。
It　was　the　soft　sound　of　small　stones　slipping　and　grinding　against　each　other。
Cujo　screwed　his　hindquarters　down　against　the　ground　and　waited　for　her。　Urine；　warm　and　painful；　ran　out　of　him　unheeded。　He　waited　for　THE　WOMAN　to　show　herself。　When　she　did；　he　would　kill　her。
In　the　downstairs　wreckage　of　the　Trenton　house；　the　telephone　began　to　ring。
It　burred　six　times；　eight　times；　ten。　Then　it　was　silent。　Shortly　after；　the　Trentons'　copy　of　the　Castle　Rock　Call　thumped　against　the　front　door　and　Billy　Freeman　pedaled　on　up　the　street　on　his　Raleigh　with　his　canvas　sack　over　his　shoulder；　whistling。
In　Tad's　room；　the　closet　door　stood　open；　and　an　unspeakable　dry　smell；　lionlike　and　savage；　hung　in　the　air。
In　Boston；　an　operator　asked　Vic　Trenton　if　he　would　like　her　to　keep　trying。　'No；　that's　okay；　operator；'　he　said；　and　hung　up。
Roger　had　found　the　Red　Sox　playing　Kansas　City　on　Channel　38　and　was　sitting　on　the　sofa　in　his　skivvies　with　a　room…service　sandwich　and　a　glass　of　milk；　watching　the　warmups。
'Of　all　your　habits；'　Vic　said；　'most　of　which　range　from　the　actively　offensive　to　the　mildly　disgusting；　I　think　that　eating　in　your　underpants　is　probably　the　worst。'
'Listen　to　this　guy；'　Roger　said　mildly　to　the　empty　room　at　large。　'He's　thirty…two　years　old　and　he　still　calls　underwear　shorts　underpants。'
'What's　wrong　with　that？'
'Nothing　。。。　if　you're　still　one　of　the　Owl　Tent　at　summer　camp。'
'I'm　going　to　cut　your　throat　tonight；　Rog；'　Vic　said；　smiling　happily。　'You'll　wake　up　strangling　in　your　own　blood。　You'll　be　sorry；　but　it　will　be　。。。　too　late！'　He　picked　up　half　of　Roger's　hot　pastrami　sandwich　and　wounded　it　grieviously。
'That's　pretty　fucking　unsanitary；'　Roger　said；　brushing　crumbs　from　his　bare；　hairy　chest。　'Donna　wasn't　home；　huh？'
'Uh…uh。　She　and　Tad　probably　went　down　to　the　Tastee　Freeze　to　catch　a　couple　of　burgers　or　something。　I　wish　to　God　I　was　there　instead　of　Boston。'
'Oh；　just　think；'　Roger　said；　grinning　maliciously；　'we'll　be　in　the　Apple　tomorrow　night。　Having　cocktails　under　the　clock　at　the　Biltmore　。　。　。‘
'Fuck　the　Biltmore　and　fuck　the　clock；'　Vic　said。　'Anyone　who　spends　a　week　away　from　Maine　on　business　in　Boston　and　New　York　…　and　during　the　summertime　…　has　got　to　he　crazy。'
'Yeah；　I'll　buy　that；'　Roger　said。　On　the　TV　screen；　Bob　Stanley　popped　a　good　curve　over　the　outside　er　to　start　the　game。　'It　is　rawtha　shitteh。'
'That's　a　pretty　good　sandwich；　Roger；'　Vic　said；　smiling　winningly　at　his　partner。
Roger　grabbed　up　the　plate　and　held　it　to　his　chest。　'Call　down　for　your　own；　you　damn　mooch。'
'What's　the　number？'
'Six…eight…one；　I　think。　It's　on　the　dial　there。'
'Don't　you　want　some　beer　with　that？'　Vic　asked；　going　to　the　phone　again。
Roger　shook　his　head。　'I　had　too　much　at　lunch。　My　head's　bad；　my　stomach's　bad；　and　by　tomorrow　morning　I'll　probably　have　the　Hershey…squirts。　I'm　rapidly　discovering　the　truth；　goodbuddy。　I'm　no　kid　any　more。'
Vic　called　down　for　a　hot　pastrami　on　rye　and　two　bottles　of　Tuborg。　When　he　hung　up　and　looked　back　at　Roger；　Roger　was　sitting　with　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　TV。　His　sandwich　plate　was　balanced　on　his　considerable　belly　and　he　was　crying。　At　first　Vic　thought　he　hadn't　seen　right；　it　was　some　sort　of　optical　illusion。　But　no；　those　were　tears。　The　color　TV　reflected　off　them　in　prisms　of　light。
For　a　moment　Vic　stood　there；　unable　to　decide　if　he　should　go　over　to　Roger　or　go　over　the　other　side　of　the　room　and　pick　up　the　newspaper；　pretending　he　hadn't　seen。　Then　Roger　looked　over　at　him；　his　face　working　and　utterly　naked；　as　defenseless　and　as　vulnerable　as　Tad's　face　when　he　fell　off　the　swing　and　scraped　his　knees　or　took　a　tumble　on　the　sidewalk。
'What　am　I　going　to　do；　Vic？'　he　asked　hoarsely。
'Rog；　what　are　you　talk　…
'You　know　what　I'm　talking　about；'　he　said。　The　crowd　at
Fenway　cheered　as　Boston　turned　a　double　play　to　end　the　top　of　the　first。
'Take　it　easy；　Roger。　You
'This　is　going　to　fall　through　and　we　both　know　it；'　Roger　said。　'It　smells　as　bad　as　a　carton　of