sk.cujo-第43章

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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　eggs　that's　been　sitting　all　week　in　the　sun。　This　is　some　nice　little　game　we're　playing。　We've　got　Rob　Martin　on　our　side。　We've　got　that　refugee　from　the　Home　for　Old　Actors　on　our　side。　Undoubtedly　we'll　have　Summers　Marketing　&　Research　on　our　side；　since　they　bill　us。　How　wonderful。　We've　got　everybody　on　our　side　but　the　people　who　matter。'
'Nothing's　decided；　Rog。　Not　yet。'
'Althea　doesn't　really　understand　how　much　is　at　stake；'　Roger　said。　'My　fault；　okay；　so　I'm　a　chicken；　duck…duck。　But　she　loves　it　in　Bridgton；　Vic。　She　loves　it　there。　And　the　girls；　they've　got　their　school　friends　。。。　and　the　lake　in　the　summer　。。。　they　don't　know　what　the　fuck's　ing　down　at　all。'
'Yeah；　it's　scary。　I'm　not　trying　to　talk　you　out　of　that；　Rog。'
'Does　Donna　know　how　bad　it　is？'
'I　think　she　just　thought　it　was　an　awfully　good　joke　on　us　at　first　But　she's　getting　the　drift　of　it　now。'
'But　she　never　took　to　Maine　the　way　the　rest　of　us　did。'
'Not　at　first；　maybe。　I　think　she'd　raise　her　hands　in　horror　at　the　idea　of　taking　Tad　back　to　New　York　now。'
'What　am　I　going　to　do？'　Roger　asked　again。　'I'm　no　kid　any　more。　You're　thirty…two；　but　Vic；　I'm　going　to　be　forty…one　next　month。　What　am　I　supposed　to　do？　Start　Liking　my　resume　around？　Is　J。　Walter　Thompson　going　to　wele　me　in　with　open　arms？　〃Hi；　Rog…baby；　I've　been　holding　your　old　spot　for　you。　You　start　at　thirty…five…five。〃　Is　that　what　he's　going　to　say？'
Vic　only　shook　his　head；　but　a　part　of　him　was　a　little　irritated　with　Roger。
'I　used　to　be　just　mad。　Well；　I'm　still　mad；　but　now　I'm　more　scared　than　anything　else。　I　lie　in　bed　at　night　and　try　to　imagine　how　it's　going　to　be　…　after。　What　it's　going　to　be。　I　can't　imagine　it。　You　look　at　me　and　you　say　to　yourself；　〃Roger's　dramatizing。〃　You　…'
'I　never　thought　any　such　thing；'　Vic　said；　hoping　he　didn't　sound　guilty。
'I　won't　say　you're　lying；'　Roger　said；　'but　I've　been　working　with　you　long　enough　to　have　a　pretty　good　idea　of　how　you　think。　Better　than　you　might　know。　Anyway　I　wouldn't　blame　you　for　the　thought　…but　there's　a　big　difference　between　thirty…two　and　forty…one；　Vic。　They　kick　a　lot　of　the　guts　out　of　you　in　between　thirty…two　and　forty…one。'
'Look；　I　still　think　we've　got　a　fighting　chance　with　this　proposal　…'
'What　I'd　Iike　to　do　is　bring　about　two　dozen　boxes　of　Red　Razberry　Zingers　along　with　us　to　Cleveland；'　Roger　said；　'and　then　get　them　to　bend　over　after　they　tie　the　can　to　our　tails。　I'd　have　a　place　for　all　that　cereal；　you　know　it？'
Vic　clapped　Roger　on　the　shoulder。　'Yeah；　I　get　you。'
'What　are　you　going　to　do　if　they　pull　the　account？'　Roger　asked。
Vic　had　thought　about　that。　He　had　been　around　it　from　every　possible　angle。　It　would　have　been　fair　to　say　that　he　had　gotten　to　the　problem　quite　a　while　before　Roger　had　been　able　to　make　himself　approach　it。
'If　they　pull　out；　I'm　going　to　work　harder　than　I　ever　have　in　my　life；'　Vic　said。　'Thirty　hours　a　day；　if　I　have　to。　If　I　have　to　rope　in　sixty　small　New　England　accounts　to　make　up　for　what　Sharp　billed；　then　I'll　do　it。'
'We'll　kill　ourselves　for　nothing。'
'Maybe；'　Vic　said。　'But　we'll　go　down　with　all　guns　firing。　Right？'
'I　figure；'　Roger　said　unsteadily；　'that　if　Althea　goes　to　work；　we　can　hold　on　to　the　house　for　about　a　year。　That　ought　to　be　just　about　enough　time　to　sell　it；　the　way　interest　rates　are。'
Suddenly　Vic　felt　it　trembling　right　behind　his　lips：　the　whole　shitty　black　mess　that　Donna　had　managed　to　get　herself　into　because　of　her　need　to　keep　pretending　that　she
believed　it　…　how　still　the　night　must　be！　How　calm！
She　felt　very　alive。
Her　heart　was　a　small；　powerful　machine　flexing　in　her　chest。　Her　blood　was　up。　Her　eyes　seemed　to　move　effortlessly　and　perfectly　in　their　bed　of　moisture。　Her　kidneys　were　heavy　but　not　unpleasantly　so。　This　was　it；　this　was　for　keeps。　The　thought　that　it　was　her　life　she　was　putting　on　the　line；　her　very　own　real　life；　had　a　heavy；　silent　fascination；　like　a　great　weight　which　has　reached　the　outermost　degree　of　its　angle　of　repose。　She　swung　the　car　door　shut　…　clunk。
She　waited；　scenting　the　air　like　an　animal。　There　was　nothing。　The　maw　of　Joe　Camber's　barn…garage　was　dark　and　silent。　The　chrome　of　the　Pinto's　front　bumper　twinkled　dimly。　Faintly；　the　Dixieland　music　played　on；　fast　and　brassy　and　cheerful。　She　bent　down；　expecting　her　knees　to　pop；　but　they　didn't。　She　picked　up　a　handful　of　the　loose　gravel。　One　by　one　she　began　to　toss　the　stones　over　the　Pinto's　hood　at　the　place　she　couldn't　see。
The　first　small　stone　landed　in　front　of　Cujo's　nose；　clicked　off　more　stones；　and　then　lay　still。　Cujo　twitched　a　little。　His　tongue　hung　out。　He　seemed　to　be　grinning。　The　second　stone　struck　beyond　him。　The　third　struck　his　shoulder。　He　didn't　move。　THE　WOMAN　was　still　trying　to　draw　him　out。
Donna　stood　by　the　car；　frowning。　She　had　heard　the　first　stone　click　off　the　gravel；　also　the　second。　But　the　third　。。。　it　was　as　if　it　had　never　e　down。　There　had　been　no　minor　click。　What　did　that　mean？
Suddenly　she　didn't　want　to　run　for　the　porch　door　until　she　could　see　that　there　was　nothing　lurking　in　front　of　the　car。　Then；　yes。　Okay。　But　。。。　just　to　make　sure。
She　took　one　step。　Two。　Three。
Cujo　got　ready。　His　eyes　glowed　in　the　darkness。
Four　steps　from　the　door　of　the　car。　Her　heart　was　a　drum　in　her　chest。
Now　Cujo　could　see　THE　WOMAN's　hip　and　thigh。　In　a　moment　she　would　see　him。　Good。　He　wanted　her　to　see　him。
Five　steps　from　the　door。
Donna　turned　her　head。　Her　neck　creaked　like　the　spring　on　an　old　screen　door。　She　felt　a　premonition；　a　sense　of　low　sureness。　She　turned　her　head；　looking　for　Cujo。　Cujo　was　there。　He　had　been　there　all　the　time；　crouched　low；　hiding　from　her；　waiting　for　her；　laying　back　in　the　tall　bushes。
Their　eyes　locked　for　a　moment　…　Donna's　wide　blue　ones；　Cujo's　muddy　red　ones。　For　a　moment　she　was　looking　out　of　his　eyes；　seeing　herself；　seeing　THE　WOMAN　…　was　he　seeing　himself　through　hers？
Then　he　sprang　at　her。
There　was　no　paralysis　this　time。　She　threw　herself　backward；　fumbling　behind　her　for　the　doorhandle。　He　was　snarling　and　grinning；　and　the　drool　ran　out　between　his　teeth　in　thick　strings。　He　landed　where　she　had　been　and　skidded　stiff…legged　in　the　gravel；　giving　her　a　precious　extra　second。
Her　thumb　found　the　door　button　below　the　handle　and　depressed　it。　She　pulled。　The　door　was　stuck。　The　door　wouldn't　open。　Cujo　leaped　at　her。
It　was　as　if　someone　had　slung　a　medicine　ball　right　into　the　soft；　vulnerable　flesh　of　her　breasts。　She　could　feel　them　push　out　toward　her　ribs　…　it　hurt　…　and　then　she　had　the　dog　by　the　throat；　her　fingers　sinking　into　its　heavy；　rough　fur；　trying　to　hold　it　away　from　her。　She　could　hear　the　quickening　sob　of　her　respiration。　Starlight　ran　across　Cujo's　mad　eyes　in　dull　semicircles。　His　teeth　were　snapping　only　inches　from　her　face　and　she　could　smell　a　dead　world　on　his　breath；　terminal　sickness；　senseless　murder。　She　thought　crazily　of　the　drain　backing　up　just　before　her　mother's　party；　spurting　green　goo　all　over　the　ceiling。
Somehow；　using　all　her　strength；　she　was　able　to　fling　him　away　when　his　back　feet　left　the　ground　in　another　lunge　at　her　throat。　She　beat　helplessly　behind　her　for　the　door　button。　She　found　it；　but　before　she　could　even　push　it　in。　Cujo　came　again。　She　kicked　out　at　him；　and　the　sole　of　her　sandal　struck　his　muzzle；　already　badly　lacerated　in　his　earlier　kamikaze　charges　at　the　door。　The　dog　sprawled　back　on　his　haunches；　howling　out　his　pain　and　his　fury。
She　found　the　button　set　in　the　doorhandle　again；　knowing　perfectly　well　that　it　was　her　last　chance；　Tad's　last　chance。　She　pushed　it　in　and　pulled　with　all　her　might　as　the　dog　came　again；　some　creature　from　hell　that　would　e　and　e　and　e　until　she　was　dead　or　it　was。　It　was　the　wrong　angle　for　her　arm；　her　muscles　were　working　at　cross…purposes；　and　she　felt　an　agonizing　flare　of　pain　in　her　back　above　her　right　shoulderblade　as　something　sprained。　But　the　door　opened。　She　had　just　time　to　fall　back　into　the　bucket　seat；　and　then　the　dog　was　on　her　again。
Tad　woke　up。　He　saw　his　mother　being　driven　back　toward　the　Pinto's　center　console；　there　was　something　in　his　mother's　lap；　some　terrible；　hairy　thing　with　red　eyes　and　he　knew　what　it　was；　oh　yes；　it　was　the　thing　from　his　closet；　the　thing　that　had　promised　to　e　a　little　closer　and　a　little　closer　until　it　finally　arrived　right　by　your　bed；　Tad；　and　yes；　here　it　was；　all　right；　here　it　was。　The　Monster　Words　had　failed；　the　monster　was　here；　now；　and　it　was　murdering　his　mommy。　He　began　to　scream；　his　hands　clapped　over　his　eyes。
Its　snapping　jaws　were　inches　from　the　bare　flesh　of　her　midriff。　She　held　it　off　as　best　she　could；　only　faintly　aware　of　her　son's　screams　behind　her。　Cujo's　eyes　were　locked　on　her。　Incredibly；　his　tail　was　wagging。　His　back　legs　worked　at　the　gravel；　trying　to　get　a　footing　solid　enough　to　allow　him　to　jump　right　in；　but　the　gravel　kept　splurting　out　from　under　his　driving　rear　paws。
He　lunged　forward；　her　hands　slipped；　and　suddenly　he　was　biting　her；　biting　her　bare　stomach　just　below　the　white　cotton　cups