'Nah；' Jonesy said； 'you go on and eat that。 You're the one who just came in out of the snow。'
'You sure？'
'I am。 I'll just scramble myself some eggs。 Rick can catch you up on his story。' Maybe it'll make more sense to you than it does to me； he thought。
'Okay。' Beaver took off his Jacket （red） and his vest （orange； of course）。 He started to toss them on the woodpile； then thought better of it。 'Wait； wait； got something you might want。' He stuck his hand deep into one of the pockets of his down jacket； rummaged； and came out with a paperback book； considerably bent but seemingly none the worse for wear otherwise。 Little devils with pitchforks danced across the cover … Small Vices； by Robert Parker。 It was the book Jonesy had been reading in the stand。
The Beav held it out to him； smiling。 'I left your sleeping…bag； but I figured you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight unless you knew who the fuck done it。'
'You shouldn't have gone up there；' Jonesy said； but he was touched in a way only Beaver could touch him。 The Beav had e back through the blowing snow and hadn't been able to make out if Jonesy was up in the tree…stand or not； not for sure。 He could have called； but for the Beav； calling wasn't enough； only seeing was believing。
'Not a problem； Beaver said； and sat down next to McCarthy； who was looking at him as a person might look at a new and rather exotic kind of small animal。
'Well； thanks；' Jonesy said。 'You get around that sandwich。 I'm going to do eggs。' He started away； then stopped。 'What about Pete and Henry？ You think they'll make it back okay？'
he Beav opened his mouth； but before he could answer the wind gasped around the cabin again； making the walls creak and rising to a grim whistle in the eaves。
'Aw； this is just a cap of snow；' Beaver said when the gust died away。
'They'll make it back。 Getting out again if there es a real norther； that might be a different story。' He began to gobble the grilled cheese sandwich。 Jonesy went over to the kitchen to scramble some eggs and heat up another can of soup。 He felt better about McCarthy now that Beaver was here。 The truth was he always felt better when the Beav was around。 Crazy but true。
4
By the time he got the eggs scrambled and the soup hot； McCarthy was chatting away to Beaver as if the two of them had been friends for the last ten years。 If McCarthy was offended by the Beav's litany of mostly ic profanity； that was outweighed by Beav's considerable charm。 'There's no explaining it；' Henry had once told Jonesy。 'He's a tribble； that's all … you can't help liking him。 It's why his bed is never empty … it sure isn't his looks women respond to。'
Jonesy brought his eggs and soup into the living area； working not to limp … it was amazing how much more his his hip hurt in bad weather； he had always thought that was an old wives' tale but apparently it was not … and sat in one of the chairs at the end of the couch。 McCarthy had been doing more talking than eating； it seemed。 He'd barely touched his soup； and had eaten only half of his grilled cheese。
'How you boys doin？' Jonesy asked。 He shook pepper onto his eggs and fell to with a will … his appetite had made a plete eback； it seemed。
'We're two happy whoremasters；' Beaver said； but although he sounded as chipper as ever； Jonesy thought he looked worried； perhaps even alarmed。 'Rick's been telling me about his adventures。 It's as good as a story in one of those men's magazines they had in the barber shop when I was a kid。' He turned back to McCarthy； still smiling … that was the Beav； always smiling … and flicked a hand through the heavy fall of his black hair。 'Old Man Castonguay was the barber on our side of Derry when I was a kid； and he scared me so fuckin bad with those clippers of his that I been stayin away from em ever since。'
McCarthy gave a weak little smile but made no reply。 He picked up the other half of his cheese sandwich； looked at it； then put it back down again。 The red mark on his cheek glowed like a brand。 Beaver； meanwhile； rushed on； as if he was afraid of what McCarthy might say if given half a chance。 Outside it was snowing harder than ever； blowing； too； and Jonesy thought of Henry and Pete out there； probably on the Deep Cut Road by now； in Henry's old Scout。
'Not only did Rick here just about get eaten up by something in the middle of the night … a bear； he thinks it was … he lost his rifle； too。 A brand new Remington 。30…。30； fuckin A； you won't never see that again； not a chance in a hundred thousand。'
'I know；' McCarthy said。 The color was fading out of his cheeks again； that leaden look ing back in。 'I don't even remember when I put it down； or…'
There was a sudden low rasping noise； like a locust。 Jonesy felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen； thinking it was something caught in the fireplace chimney。 Then he realized it was McCarthy。 Jonesy had heard some loud farts in his time； some long ones； too； but nothing like this。 It seemed to go on forever； although it couldn't have been more than a few seconds。 Then the smell hit。
McCarthy had picked up his spoon； now he dropped it back into his barely touched soup and raised his right hand to his blemished cheek in an almost girlish gesture of embarrassment。 'Oh gosh； I'm sorry；' he said。
'Not a bit； more room out than there is in；' Beaver said； but that was just instinct running his mouth； instinct and the habits of a lifetime … Jonesy could see he was as shocked by that smell as Jonesy was himself It wasn't the sulfurous rotten…egg odor that made you laugh and roll your eyes and wave your hand in front of your face； yelling Ah； Jesus； who cut the cheese？ Nor one of those methane swamp…gas farts； either。 It was the smell Jonesy had detected on McCarthy's breath； only stronger … a mixture of ether and overripe bananas； like the starter…fluid you shot into your carburetor on a subzero morning。
'Oh dear； that's awful；' McCarthy said。 'I am so darned sorry。'
'It's all right； really' Jonesy said； but his stomach had curled up into a ball； like something protecting itself from assault。 He wouldn't be finishing his own early lunch； no way in hell could he finish it。 He wasn't prissy about farts as a rule； but this one really reeked。
The Beav got up from the couch and opened a window； letting in a swirl of snow and a draft of blessedly fresh air。 'Don't you worry about it； partner 。 。 。 but that is pretty ripe。 What the hell you been eatin？ Woodchuck turds？'
'Bushes and moss and other stuff； I don't know just what；' McCarthy said。 'I was just so hungry； you know； I had to eat something； but I don't know much about that sort of thing； never read any of those books by Euell Gibbons 。 。 。 and of course it was dark。' He said this last almost as if struck by an inspiration； and Jonesy looked up at Beaver； catching his eye to see if the Beav knew what Jonesy did … McCarthy was lying。 McCarthy didn't know what he'd eaten in the Woods； or if he had eaten anything at all。 He just wanted to explain that ghastly unexpected frog's croak。 And the stench which had followed it。
The wind gusted again； a big； gaspy whoop that sent a fresh skein of snow in through the open window； but at least it was turning the air over； and thank God for that。
McCarthy leaned forward so suddenly he might have been propelled by a spring； and when he hung his head forward between his knees； Jonesy had a good idea of what was ing next； so long Navajo rug； it's been good to know ya。 The Beav clearly thought the same； he pulled back his legs； which had been splayed out before him； to keep them from being splattered。
But instead of vomit； what came out of McCarthy was a long； low buzz … the sound of a factory machine which has been put under severe strain。 McCarthy's eyes bulged from his face like glass marbles； and his cheeks were so taut that little crescents of shadow appeared under the ers of his eyes。 It went on and on； a rumbling； rasping noise； and when it finally ceased； the genny out back seemed far too loud。
'I've heard some rm'ghty belches； but that's the all…time blue ribbon winner；' Beav said。 He spoke with quiet and sincere respect。
McCarthy leaned back against the couch； eyes closing； mouth downturned in what Jonesy took for embarrassment； pain； or both。 And once again he could smell that aroma of bananas and ether； a fermenting active smell； like something which has just started to go over。
'Oh God； I am so sorry；' McCarthy said without opening his eyes。 'I've been doing that all day； ever since light。 And my stomach hurts again。'
Jonesy and the Beav shared a silent； concerned look。
'You know what I think？' Beaver asked。 'I think you need to lie down and take you a little sleep。 You were probably awake all night； listening to that pesky bear and God knows what else。 You're tired out and stressed out and fuck…a…duck knows what else out。 You just need some shuteye； a few hours and you'll be right as the goddam rain。'
McCarthy looked at Beaver with such wretched gratitude that Jonesy felt a little ashamed to be seeing it。 Although McCarthy's plexion was still leaden； he had begun to break a sweat … great big