sk.dreamcatcher- 第97部分

　　　　On　the　far　side　of　the　restaurant　was　an　arch　with　a　sign　reading　TRUCKERS'　LOUNGE　&　SHOWERS　above　it。　In　the　short　hallway　beyond；　there　was　a　bank　of　pay　telephones。　Several　drivers　stood　there；　no　doubt　explaining　to　spouses　and　bosses　that　they　wouldn't　be　back　on　time；　they'd　been　shut　down　by　a　surprise　storm　in　Maine；　they　were　at　Dysart's　Truck　Stop　（known　to　the　cognoscenti　as　Dry　Farts；　Jonesy　thought）　south　of　Derry　and　here　they　would　likely　remain　until　at　least　noon　tomorrow。
　　　　Jonesy　turned　from　the　office　window　with　its　view　of　the　truck　stop　and　looked　at　his　desk；　now　covered　with　all　his　old　and　forting　clutter。　There　was　his　phone；　the　blue　Trimline。　Would　it　be　possible　to　call　Henry　on　it？　Was　Henry　even　still　alive？　Jonesy　thought　he　was。　He　thought　that　if　Henry　were　dead；　he　would　have　felt　the　moment　of　his　passing　…　more　shadows　in　the　room；　perhaps。　Elvis　has　left　the　building；　Beaver　had　often　said　when　he　spotted　a　name　he　knew　in　the　obits。　What　a　fuckitt　pisser。　Jonesy　didn't　think　Henry　had　left　the　building　just　yet。　It　was　even　possible　that　Henry　had　an　encore　in　mind。


8

Mr　Gray　didn't　choke　on　his　second　order　of　bacon；　but　when　his　lower　belly　suddenly　cramped　up；　he　let　out　a　dismayed　roar。　You　poisoned　me！
　　　　Relax；　Jonesy　said。　You　just　need　to　make　a　little　room；　my　friend。
　　　　Room？　What　do　you…
　　　　He　broke　off　as　another　cramp　gripped　his　gut。
　　　　I　mean　that　we　had　better　hurry　along　to　the　little　boys'　room；　Jonesy　said。　Good　God；　didn't　all　those　abductions　you　guys　did　in　the　sixties　teach　you　anything　about　the　human　anatomy？
　　　　Darlene　had　left　the　check；　and　Mr　Gray　picked　it　up。
　　　　Leave　her　fifteen　per　cent　on　the　table；　Jonesy　said。　It's　a　tip。
　　　　How　much　is　fifteen　per　cent？
　　　　Jonesy　sighed。　These　were　the　masters　of　the　universe　that　the　movies　had　taught　us　to　fear？　Merciless；　star…faring　conquerors　who　didn't　know　how　to　take　a　shit　or　figure　a　tip？
　　　　Another　cramp；　plus　a　fairly　silent　fart。　It　smelled；　but　not　of　ether。　Thank　God　for　small　favors；　Jonesy　thought。　Then；　to　Mr　Gray：　Show　me　the　check。
　　　　Jonesy　looked　at　the　green　slip　of　paper　through　his　office　window。
　　　　Leave　her　a　buck　and　a　half　And　when　Mr　Gray　seemed　dubious：　This　is　good　advice　I'm　giving　you；　my　friend。　More　and　she　remembers　you　as　the　night's　big　tipper。　Less；　and　she　remembers　you　as　a　chintz。
　　　　He　sensed　Mr　Gray　checking　for　the　meaning　of　chintz　in　Jonesy's　files。　Then；　without　further　argument；　he　left　a　dollar　and　two　quarters　on　the　table。　With　that　taken　care　of；　he　headed　for　the　cash　register；　which　was　on　the　way　to　the　men's　room。
　　　　The　cop　was　working　his　pie　…　with　slightly　suspicious　slowness；　Jonesy　thought　…　and　as　they　passed　him；　Jonesy　felt　Mr　Gray　as　an　entity　（an　ever　more　human　entity）　dissolve；　going　out　to　peek　inside　the　cop's　head。　Nothing　out　there　now　but　the　redblack　cloud；　running　Jonesy's　various　maintenance　systems。
　　　　Quick　as　a　flash；　Jonesy　grabbed　the　phone　on　his　desk。　For　a　moment　he　hesitated；　unsure。
　　　　just　dial　1…800…HENRY；　Jonesy　thought。
　　　　For　a　moment　there　was　nothing　。　。　。　and　then；　in　some　other　somewhere；　a　phone　began　to　ring。


9

'Pete's　idea；'　Henry　muttered。
　　　　Owen；　at　the　wheel　of　the　Humvee　（it　was　huge　and　it　was　loud；　but　it　was　equipped　with　oversized　snow　tires　and　rode　the　storm　like　the　QE2）；　looked　over。　Henry　was　asleep。　His　glasses　had　slid　down　to　the　end　of　his　nose。　His　eyelids；　now　delicately　fuzzed　with　byrus；　rippled　as　the　eyeballs　beneath　them　moved。　Henry　was　dreaming。　About　what？　Owen　wondered。　He　supposed　he　could　dip　into　his　new　partner's　head　and　have　a　look；　but　that　seemed　perverse。
　　　　'Pete's　idea；'　Henry　repeated。　'Pete　saw　her　first。'　And　he　sighed；　a　sound　so　tired　that　Owen　felt　bad　for　him。　No；　he　decided；　he　didn't　want　any　part　of　what　was　going　on　in　Henry's　head。　Another　hour　to　Derry；　more　if　the　wind　stayed　high。　Better　to　just　let　him　sleep。


10

Behind　Derry　High　School　is　the　football　field　where　Richie　Grenadeau　once　strutted　his　stuff；　but　Richie　is　five　years　in　his　teenage　hero's　grave；　just　another　small…town　car…crash　James　Dean。　Other　heroes　have　risen；　thrown　their　passes；　and　moved　on。　It's　not　football　season　now；　anyway。　It's　spring；　and　on　the　field　there　is　a　gathering　of　what　look　like　birds　…　huge　red　ones　with　black　heads。　These　mutant　crows　are　laughing　and　talking　as　they　sit　in　their　folding　chairs；　but　Mr　Trask；　the　principal；　has　no　problem　being　heard；　he's　at　the　podium　on　the　makeshift　stage；　and　he's　got　the　mike。
　　　　'One　last　thing　before　I　dismiss　you！'　he　booms。　'I　won't　tell　you　not　to　throw　your　mortarboards　at　the　end　of　the　ceremony；　I　know　from　years　of　experience　I　might　as　well　be　talking　to　myself　on　that　score…'
　　　　Laughter；　cheers；　applause。
　　　　'…but　I'm　telling　you　to　PICK　THEM　UP　AND　TURN　THEM　IN　OR　YOU　WILL　BE　CHARGED　FOR　THEM！'
　　　　There　are　a　few　boos　and　some　raspberries；　Beaver　Clarendon's　the　loudest。
　　　　Mr　Trask　gives　them　a　final　surveying　look。　'Young　men　and　women；　members　of　the　Class　of　'82；　1　think　I　speak　for　the　entire　faculty　when　I　say　I'm　proud　of　you。　This　concludes　rehearsal；　so　。　。　。'
　　　　The　rest　is　lost；　amplification　or　no　amplification；　the　red　crows　rise　in　a　gusty　flap　of　nylon；　and　they　fly。　Tomorrow　at　noon　they　will　fly　for　good；　although　the　three　crows　laughing　and　grabassing　their　way　toward　the　parking　lot　where　Henry's　car　is　parked　do　not　realize　it；　the　childhood　phase　of　their　friendship　is　now　only　hours　from　the　end。　They　don't　realize　it；　and　that　is　probably　just　as　well。
　　　　Jonesy　snatches　Henry's　mortarboard；　slaps　it　on　top　of　his　own；　and　books　for　the　parking　lot。
　　　　'Hey；　asshole；　give　that　back！'　Henry　yells；　and　then　he　snatches　Beaver's。　Beav　squawks　like　a　chicken　and　runs　after　Henry；　laughing。　So　the　three　of　them　swoop　across　the　grass　and　behind　the　bleachers；　graduation　robes　billowing　around　their　jeans。　Jonesy　has　two　hats　on　his　head；　the　tassels　swinging　in　opposite　directions；　Henry　has　one　（far　too　big；　it's　sitting　on　his　ears）；　and　Beaver　runs　bareheaded；　his　long　black　hair　flowing　out　behind　him　and　a　toothpick　jutting　from　his　mouth。
　　　　Jonesy　is　looking　back　as　he　runs；　taunting　Henry　（'e　on；　Mr　Basketball；　ya　run　like　a　girl'）；　and　almost　piles　into　Pete；　who　is　looking　at　DERRY　DOIN'S；　the　glassed…in　notice…board　by　the　north　entrance　to　the　parking　lot。　Pete；　who　is　graduating　from　nothing　but　the　Junior　class　this　year；　grabs　Jonesy；　bends　him　backward　like　a　guy　doing　a　tango　with　some　beautiful　chick；　and　kisses　him　square　on　the　mouth。　Both　mortarboards　tumble　off　Jonesy's　head；　and　he　screams　in　surprise。
　　　　'Queerboy！'　Jonesy　yells；　rubbing　frantically　at　his　mouth　。　。　。　but　he's　starting　to　laugh；　too。　Pete's　an　oddity　…　he'll　go　along　quietly　for　weeks　at　a　time；　Norman　Normal；　and　then　he'll　break　out　and　do　something　nutso。　Usually　the　nutso　es　out　after　a　couple　of　beers；　but　not　this　afternoon。
　　　　'I've　always　wanted　to　do　that；　Gariella；'　Pete　says　sentimentally。　'Now　you　know　how　I　really　feel。'
　　　　'Fuckin　queerboy；　if　you　gave　me　the　syph；　I'll　kill　you！'　Henry　arrives；　snatches　his　mortarboard　off　the　grass；　and　swats　Jonesy　with　it。　'There's　grass…stains　on　this；'　Henry　says。　'If　I　have　to　pay　for　it；　I'll　do　a　lot　more　than　just　kiss　you；　Gariella。'
　　　　'Don't　make　promises　you　can't　keep；　fuckwad；'　Jonesy　says。
　　　　'Beautiful　Gariella；'　Henry　says　solemnly。
　　　　The　Beav　es　steaming　up；　puffing　around　his　toothpick。　He　takes　Jonesy's　mortarboard；　peers　into　it；　and　says；　'There's　a　e…stain　in　this　one。　Ain't　I　seen　enough　on　my　own　sheets　to　know？'　He　draws　in　a　deep　breath　and　bugles　to　the　departing　seniors　in　their　Derry…red　graduation　gowns：　'Gary　Jones　beats　off　in　his　graduation　hat！　Hey；　everybody；　listen　up；　Gary　Jones　beats　off…'
　　　　Jonesy　grabs　him；　pulls　him　to　the　ground；　and　the　two　of　them　roll　over　and　over　in　billows　of　red　nylon。　Both　mortarboards　are　cast　off　to　one　side　and　Henry　grabs　them　to　keep　them　from　getting　crushed。
　　　　'Get　off　me！'　Beaver　cries。　'You're　crushin　me！　Jesus…Christ…bananas！　For　God's　sake…'
　　　　'Duddits　knew　her；'　Pete　says。　He　has　lost　interest　in　their　foolery；　doesn't　feel　much　of　their　high　spirits　anyway　（Pete　is　perhaps　the　only　one　of　them　who　senses　the　big　changes　that　are　ing）。　He's　looking　at　the　notice…board　again。　'We　knew　her；　too。　She　was　the　one　who　always　stood　outside　The　Petard　Academy。　〃Hi；　Duddie；〃　she'd　go。'　When　he　says　Hi；　Duddie；　Pete's　voice　goes　up　high；　bees　momentarily　girlish　in　a　way　that　is　sweet　rather　than　mocking。　And　although　Pete　isn't　a　particularly　good　mimic；　Henry　knows　that　voice　at　once。　He　remembers　the　girl；　who　had　fluffy　blonde　hair　and　great　brown　eyes　and　scabbed　knees　and　a　white　plastic　purse　which　contained　her　lunch　and　her　BarbieKen。　That's　what　she　always　called　them；　BarbieKen；　as　if　they　were　a　single　entity。　　　　
　　　　Jonesy　and　Beav　also　know　who　Pete's　imitating；　and　Henry　knows；　too。　There　is　that　bond　among　them；　it's　been　among　them　for　years　now。　Them　and　Duddits。　Jonesy　and　the　Beav　can't　remember　the　little　blonde　girl's　name　any　more　than　Henry　can　only　that　her　last　one　was　so