sk.cujo-第20章

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'Not　like　before；'　Donna　said。　A　bitter；　almost　secret　smile　touched　her　lips　and　was　gone。　She　beat　the　waffle　mixture　with　a　wire　whisk　and　then　poured　a　ladleful　into　the　waffle　iron　and　dropped　its　heavy　lid。　Sssss。　She　poured　boding　water　over　a　couple　of　Red　Rose　bags　and　took　the　cups　…　one　said　VIC；　the　other　DONNA　…　over　to　the　table。　'Eat　your　waffle。　There's　strawberry　preserves；　if　you　want　them。'
He　got　the　preserves　and　sat　down。　He　spread　some　oleo　across　the　top　of　the　waffle　and　watched　it　melt　into　the　little　squares；　just　as　he　had　when　he　was　a　child。　The　preserves　were　smucker's。　He　liked　Smucker's　preserves。　He　spread　the　waffle　liberally　with　them。　It　looked　great。　But　he　wasn't　hungry。
'Will　you　get　laid　in　Boston　or　New　York？'　she　asked；　turning　her　back　on　him。　'Even　it　out）　Tit　for　tat）
He　jumped　a　little　…perhaps　even　flushed。　He　was　glad　her　back　was　turned　because　he　felt　that　at　that　precise　moment　there　was　more　of　him　on　his　face　than　he　wanted　her　to　see。　Not　that　he　was　angry；　the　thought　of　giving　the　bellman　a　ten　instead　of　the　usual　buck　and　then　asking　the　fellow　a　few　questions　had　certainly　crossed　his　mind。　He　knew　that　Roger　had　done　it　on　occasion。
'I'm　going　to　be　too　busy　for　anything　like　that。'
'What　does　the　ad　say？　There's　Always　Room　for　Jell…O。'
'Are　you　trying　to　make　me　mad；　Donna？　Or　what？'
'No。　Go　on　and　eat。　You　got　to　feed　the　machine。'
She　sat　down　with　a　waffle　of　her　own。　No　oleo　for　her。　A　dash　of　Vermont　Maid　Syrup；　that　was　all。　How　well　we　know　each　other；　he　thought。
'What　time　are　you　picking　Roger　up）'　she　asked　him。
'After　some　hot　negotiations；　we've　settled　on　six。'
She　smiled　again；　but　this　time　the　smile　was　warm　and　fond。　'He　really　took　that　early…bird　business　to　heart　at　some　point；　didn't　he？'
'Yeah。　I'm　surprised　he　hasn't　called　yet　to　make　sure　I'm　up。'
The　phone　rang。
They　looked　at　each　other　across　the　table；　and　after　a　silent　considering　pause　they　both　burst　out　laughing。　It　was　a　rare　moment；　certainly　more　rare　than　the　careful　lovemaking　in　the　dark　the　night　before。　He　saw　how　fine　her　eyes　were；　how　lucent。　They　were　as　gray　as　the　morning　mist　outside。
'Get　it　quick　before　it　wakes　the　Tadder　up；'　she　said。
He　did。　It　was　Roger。　He　assured　Roger　that　he　was　up；　dressed；　and　in　a　fighting　frame　of　mind。　He　would　pick　Roger　up　on　the　dot　of　six。　He　hung　up　wondering　if　he　would　end　up　telling　Roger　about　Donna　and　Steve　Kemp。　Probably　not。　Not　because　Roger's　advice　would　be　bad；　it　wouldn't　be。　But；　even　though　Roger　would　promise　not　to　tell　Althea；　he　most　certainly　would。　And　he　had　a　suspicion　that　Althea　would　find　it　difficult　to　resist　sharing　out　such　a　juicy　bit　of　bridge…table　gossip。　Such　careful　consideration　of　the　question　made　him　feel　depressed　all　over　again。　It　was　as　if；　by　trying　to　work　out　the　problem　between　them；　he　and　Donna　were　burying　their　own　body　by　moonlight。
'Good　old　Roger；'　he　said；　sitting　down　again。　He　tried　on　a　smile　but　it　felt　wrong。　The　moment　of　spontaneity　was　gone。
'Will　you　be　able　to　get　all　of　your　stuff　and　all　of　Roger's　into　the　jag？'
'Sure；'　he　said。　'We'll　have　to。　Althea　needs　their　car；　and　you've　got　…　oh；　shit；　I　pletely　forgot　to　call　Joe　Camber　about　your　Pinto。'
'You　had　a　few　other　things　on　your　mind；'　she　said。　'Mere　was　faint　irony　in　her　voice。　'That's　all　right。　I'm　not　going　to　send　Tad　to　the　playground　today。　He　has　the　sniffles。　I　may　keep　him　home　the　rest　of　the　summer；　if　that　suits　you。　I　get　into　trouble　when　he's　gone。'
There　were　tears　choking　her　voice；　squeezing　it　and　blurring　it；　and　he　didn't　know　what　to　say　or　how　to　respond。　He　watched　helplessly　as　she　found　a　Kleenex；　blew　her　nose；　wiped　her　eyes。
'Whatever；'　he　said；　shaken。　'Whatever　seems　best。'　He　rushed　on：　'Just　give　Camber　a　call。　He's　always　there；　and　I　don't　think　it　would　take　him　twenty　minutes　to　fix　it。　Even　if　he　has　to　put　in　another　carb　…'
'Will　you　think　about　it　while　you're　gone？'　she　asked。
'About　what　we're　going　to　do？　The　two　of　us？'
'Yes；'　he　said。
'Good。　I　will　too。　Another　waffle？'
'No；　thanks。'　The　whole　conversation　was　turning　surreal。　Suddenly　he　wanted　to　be　out　and　gone。　Suddenly　the　trip　felt　very　necessary　and　very　attractive。　The　idea　of　getting　away　from　the　whole　mess。　Putting　miles　between　him　and　it。　He　felt　a　sudden　jab　of　anticipation。　In　his　mind　he　could　see　the　Delta　jet　cutting　through　the　unraveling　fog　and　into　the　blue。
'Can　I　have　a　waffle？'
They　both　looked　around；　startled。　It　was　Tad；　standing　in　the　hallway　in　his　yellow　footy　pajamas；　his　stuffed　coyote　grasped　by　one　ear；　his　red　blanket　wrapped　around　his　shoulders。　He　looked　like　a　small；　sleepy　Indian。
'I　guess　I　could　rustle　one　up；'　Donna　said；　surprised。　Tad　was　not　a　notably　early　riser。
'Was　it　the　phone；　Tad？'　Vic　asked。
Tad　shook　his　head。　'I　made　myself　wake　up　early　so　I　could　say　good…bye　to　you；　Daddy。　Do　you　really　have　to　go？'
'It's　just　for　a　while。'
'It's　too　long；'　Tad　said　blackly。　'I　put　a　circle　around　the　day　you're　ing　home　on　my　calendar。　Mom　showed　me　which　one。　I'm　going　to　mark　off　every　day；　and　she　said　she'd　tell　me　the　Monster　Words　every　night。'
'Well；　that's　okay；　isn't　it？'
'Will　you　can？'
'Every　other　night；'　Vic　said。
'Every　night；'　Tad　insisted。　He　crawled　up　into　Vic's　lap　and　set　his　coyote　next　to　Vic's　plate。　Tad　began　to　crunch　up　a　piece　of　toast。　'Every　night；　Daddy。'
'I　can't　every　night；'　Vic　said；　thinking　of　the　backbreaking　schedule　Roger　had　laid　out　on　Friday；　before　the　letter　had　e。
'Why　not？'
'Because　…'
'Because　your　Uncle　Roger　is　a　hard　taskmaster；'　Donna　said；　Puffing　Tad's　waffle　On　the　table。　'e　on　over　here　and　eat。　Bring　your　coyote。　Daddy　will　call　us　tomorrow　night　from　Boston　and　tell　us　everything　that　happened　to　him。'
Tad　took　his　place　at　the　end　of　the　table。　He　had　a　large　plastic　placemat　that　said　TAD。　'Will　you　bring　me　a　toy？'
'Maybe。　If　you're　good。　And　maybe　I'll　call　tonight　so　you'll　know　I　got　to　Boston　in　one　piece。'
'Good　deal。'　Vic　watched；　fascinated；　as　Tad　poured　a　small　ocean　of　syrup　over　his　waffle。　'What　kind　of　toy？'
'We'll　see；'　Vic　said。　He　watched　Tad　eat　his　waffle。　It　suddenly　occurred　to　him　that　Tad　liked　eggs。　Scrambled；　friend；　poached；　or　hard…boiled；　Tad　gobbled　them　up。　'Tad？'
'What；　Daddy？'
'If　you　wanted　people　to　buy　eggs；　what　would　you　tell　them？'
Tad　considered。　'I'd　tell　em　eggs　taste　good；'　he　said。
Vic　met　his　wife's　eyes　again；　and　they　had　a　second　moment　like　the　one　that　had　occurred　when　the　phone　rang。　This　time　they　laughed　telepathically。
Their　good…byes　were　light。　Only　Tad；　with　his　imperfect　grasp　of　how　short　the　future　really　was；　cried。
'You'll　think　about　it？'　Donna　asked　him　again　as　he　climbed　into　the　jag。
'Yes。'
But　driving　into　Bridgton　to　get　Roger；　what　he　thought　about　were　those　two　moments　of　near…perfect　munication。　Two　in　one　morning；　not　bad。　All　it　took　was　eight　or　nine　years　together；　roughly　a　quarter　of　all　the　years　so　far　spent　on　the　face　of　the　earth。　He　got　thinking　about　how　ridiculous　the　whole　concept　of　human　munication　was　…　what　monstrous；　absurd　overkill　was　necessary　to　achieve　even　a　little。　When　you'd　invested　the　time　and　made　it　good；　you　had　to　he　careful。　Yes；　he'd　think　about　it。　It　had　been　good　between　them；　and　although　some　of　the　channels　were　now　closed；　filled　with　God　knew　how　much　muck　（and　some　of　that　muck　might　still　be　squirming）；　plenty　of　the　others　seemed　open　and　in　reasonably　good　working　order。
There　had　to　be　some　careful　thought　…　but　perhaps　not　too　much　at　once。　Things　had　a　way　of　magnifying　themselves。
He　turned　the　radio　up　and　began　to　think　about　the　poor　old　Sharp　Cereal　Professor。
Joe　Camber　pulled　up　in　front　of　the　Greyhound　terminal　in　Portland　at　ten　minutes　to　eight。　The　fog　had　burned　off　and　the　digital　clock　atop　the　Casco　Bank　and　Trust　read　73　degrees　already。
He　drove　with　his　hat　planted　squarely　on　his　head；　ready　to　be　angry　at　anyone　who　pulled　out　or　cut　in　front　of　him。　He　hated　to　drive　in　the　city。　When　he　and　Gary　got　to　Boston　he　intended　to　park　the　car　and　leave　it　until　they　were　ready　to　e　home。　They　could　take　the　subways　if　they　could　puzzle　them　out；　walk　if　they　couldn't。
Charity　was　dressed　in　her　best　pants　suit　…　it　was　a　quiet　green　…　and　a　white　cotton　blouse　with　a　ruffle　at　the　neck。　She　was　wearing　earrings；　and　this　had　filled　Brett　with　a　mild　sense　of　amazement。　He　couldn't　remember　his　mother　wearing　earrings　at　all；　except　to　church。
Brett　had　caught　her　alone　when　she　went　upstairs　to　dress　after　getting　Dad　his　breakfast　oatmeal。　Joe　had　been　mostly　silent；　grunting　answers　to　questions　in　monosyllables；　then　shutting　off　conversation　entirely　by　tuning　the　radio　to　WCSH　for　the　ball　scores。　They　were　both　afraid　that　the　silence　might　presage　a　ruinous　outburst　and　a　sudden　change　of　mind　on　their　trip。
Charity　had　the　slacks　of　her　pants　suit　on　and　was　slipping　into　her　blouse。　Brett　noted　she　was　wearing　a　peach…colored　bra；　and　that　had　also　amazed　him。　He　hadn't　known　his　mother　had　underclothes　in　any　color　other　than　white。
'Ma；'　he　said　urgently。
She　turned　to　him　…　it　seemed　almost　that　she　was　turning　on　him。　'Did　he　say　something　to　you？'
'No　。。。　no。　It's　Cujo。'
'Cujo？　What　about　Cujo？；
'He's　sick。'
'What　do　you　mean；　sick？'
Brett　told　her　about　having　his　second　bowl　of　Cocoa　Bears　out　on　the　back　steps；　about　walking　into　the　fog；　and　how　Cujo　had　suddenly　appeared；　his　eyes　red　and　wild；　his　muzzle　dripping　foam。
'And　he　wasn't　walking　right；'　Brett　finished。　'He　was　kind　of；　you　know；　staggering。　I　think　I　better　tell　Daddy。　'
'No；'　his　mother　said　fiercely；　and　grasped　him　by　the　shoulders　hard　enough　to　hurt。　'You　do　no　such　a　thing！'
He　looked　at　her；　surprised　and　frightened。　She　relaxed　her　grip　a　little　and　spoke　more　quietly。
'He　just　scared　you；　ing　out　of　the　fog　like　that。　There's　probably　nothing　wrong　with　him　at　all。　Right？'
Brett　groped　for　the　right　words　to　make　her　understand　how　terrible　Cujo　had　looked；　and　how　for　a　moment　he　had　thought　the　dog　was　going　to　turn　on　him。　He　couldn't　find　the　words。　Maybe　he　didn't　want　to　find　them。
'If　there　is　something　wrong；'　Charity　continued；　'it's　probably　just　some　little　thing。　He　might　have　gotten　a　dose　of　skunk　…'
'I　didn't　smell　any　sk…'
'or　he　might　have　been　running　a　woodchuck　or　a　rabbit。　Might　even　have　jumped　a　moose　down　there　in　that　bog。　Or　he　might　have　eaten　some　nettles。'
'I　guess　he　could　have；'　Brett　said　doubtfully。
'Your　father　would　just　jump　on　something　like　that；'　she　said。　'I　can　hear　him　now。　〃Sick　'　'　is　be？　Well；　he's　your　dog；　Brett。　You　see　to　him。　I　got　too　much　work　to　do　to　be　messing　around　with　your　mutt。〃'
Brett　nodded　unhappily。　It　was　his　own　thought　exactly；　magnified　by　the　brooding　way　his　father　had　been　eating　breakfast　while　the　sports　blared　around　the　kitchen。
'If　you　just　leave　him；　he'll　e　mooching　around　your　dad；　and　your　dad　will　take　care　of　him；'　Charity　said。　'He　loves　Cujo　almost　as　much　as　you　do；　although　he'd　never　say　it。　If　he　sees　something's　wrong；　he'll　fetch　him　over　to　the　vet's　in　South　Paris。'
'Yeah；　I　guess　he　would。'　His　mother's　words　rang　true　to　hi