sk.misery-第18部分

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　He　closed　his　eyes　and　saw　Annie　removing　the　jack　and　squeezing　Elmer's　Glue　into　the　hole　in　the　module。　Saw　her　replacing　the　jack　in　the　dead…white　glue；　where　it　would　harden　and　freeze　forever。　The　phone　pany　would　have　no　idea　that　anything　was　wrong　unless　someone　attempted　to　call　her　and　reported　the　line　out　of　service；　but　no　one　called　Annie；　did　they？　She　would　receive　regular　monthly　bills　on　her　dead　line　and　she　would　pay　them　promptly；　but　the　phone　was　only　stage　dressing；　part　of　her　never…ending　battle　to　keep　up　appearances；　like　the　neat　barn　with　its　fresh　red　paint　and　cream　trim　and　heat…tapes　to　melt　the　winter　ice。　Had　she　castrated　the　phone　in　case　of　just　such　an　expedition　as　this？　Had　she　foreseen　the　possibility　that　he　might　get　out　of　the　room？　He　doubted　it。　The　phone　…　the　working　phone　…　would　have　gotten　on　her　nerves　long　before　he　came。　She　would　have　lain　awake　at　night；　looking　up　at　the　ceiling　of　her　bedroom；　listening　to　the　high…country　whine　of　the　wind；　imagining　the　people　who　must　be　thinking　of　her　with　either　dislike　or　outright　malevolence　…　all　the　world's　Roydmans　…　people　who　might；　any　of　them；　at　any　time；　take　a　notion　to　call　her　on　the　telephone　and　scream：　You　did　it；　Annie！　They　took　you　all　the　way　to　Denver；　and　we　know　you　did　it！　They　don't　take　you　all　the　way　to　Denver　if　you're　innocent！　She　would　have　asked　for　and　gotten　an　unlisted　number；　of　course　…　anyone　tried　for　and　acquitted　of　some　major　crime　（and　if　it　had　been　Denver；　it　had　been　major）　would　have　done　that　…　but　even　an　unlisted　number　would　not　fort　a　deep　neurotic　like　Annie　Wilkes　for　long。　They　were　all　in　league　against　her；　they　could　get　the　number　if　they　wanted；　probably　the　lawyers　who　had　been　against　her　would　be　glad　to　pass　it　out　to　anyone　who　asked　for　it；　and　people　would　ask；　oh　yes　…　for　she　would　see　the　world　as　a　dark　place　full　of　moving　human　masses　like　seas；　a　malevolent　universe　surrounding　a　single　small　stage　upon　which　a　single　savagely　bright　pinspot　illuminated　。　。　。　only　her。　So　best　to　eradicate　the　phone；　silence　it；　as　she　would　silence　him　if　she　knew　he　had　gotten　even　this　far。
　Panic　burst　shrilly　up　in　his　mind；　telling　him　that　he　had　to　get　out　of　here　and　back　into　his　room；　hide　the　pills　somewhere；　return　to　his　place　by　the　window　so　that　when　she　returned　she　would　see　no　difference；　no　difference　at　all；　and　this　time　he　agreed　with　the　voice。　He　agreed　wholeheartedly。　He　backed　carefully　away　from　the　phone；　and　when　he　gained　the　room's　one　reasonably　clear　area；　he　began　the　laborious　job　of　turning　the　wheelchair　around；　careful　not　to　bump　the　occasional　table　as　he　did　so。
　He　had　nearly　finished　the　turn　when　he　heard　an　approaching　car　and　knew；　simply　knew　it　was　her；　returning　from　town。
　
　
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　He　nearly　fainted；　in　the　grip　of　the　greatest　terror　he　had　ever　known；　a　terror　that　was　filled　with　deep　and　unmanning　guilt。　He　suddenly　remembered　the　only　incident　in　his　life　that　came　remotely　close　to　this　one　in　its　desperate　emotional　quality。　He　had　been　twelve。　It　was　summer　vacation；　his　father　working；　his　mother　gone　to　spend　the　day　in　Boston　with　Mrs　Kaspbrak　from　across　the　street。　He　had　seen　a　pack　of　her　cigarettes　and　had　lit　one　of　them。　He　smoked　it　enthusiastically；　feeling　both　sick　and　fine；　feeling　the　way　he　imagined　robbers　must　feel　when　they　stick　up　banks。　Halfway　through　the　cigarette；　the　room　filled　with　smoke；　he　had　heard　her　opening　the　front　door。　〃Paulie？　It's　me　I've　forgotten　my　purse！〃　He　had　begun　to　wave　madly　at　the　smoke；　knowing　it　would　do　no　good；　knowing　he　was　caught；　knowing　he　would　be　spanked。
　It　would　be　more　than　a　spanking　this　time。
　He　remembered　the　dream　he'd　had　during　one　of　his　gray…outs：　Annie　cocking　the　shotgun's　twin　triggers　and　saying　If　you　want　your　freedom　so　badly；　Paul；　I'll　be　happy　to　grant　it　to　you。
　The　sound　of　the　engine　began　to　drop　as　the　approaching　car　slowed　down。　It　was　her。
　Paul　settled　hands　he　could　barely　feel　on　the　wheels　and　rolled　the　chair　toward　the　hallway；　sparing　one　glance　at　the　ceramic　penguin　on　its　block　of　ice。　Was　it　in　the　same　place　it　had　been？　He　couldn't　tell。　He　would　have　to　hope。
　He　rolled　down　the　hall　toward　the　bedroom　door；　gaining　speed。　He　hoped　to　shoot　right　through；　but　his　aim　was　a　little　off。　Only　a　little　。　。　。　but　the　fit　was　so　tight　that　a　little　was　enough。　The　wheelchair　thumped　against　the　right　side　of　the　doorway　and　bounced　back　a　little。
　Did　you　chip　the　paint？　his　mind　screamed　at　him。　Oh　Jesus　Christ；　did　you　chip　the　paint；　did　you　leave　a　track？
　No　chip。　There　was　a　small　dent　but　no　chip。　Thank　God。　He　backed　and　filled　frantically；　trying　to　navigate　the　fineness　of　the　doorway's　tight　fit。
　The　car　motor　swelled；　nearing；　still　slowing。　Now　he　could　hear　the　crunch　of　its　snow　tires。
　Easy　。　。　。　easy　does　it　。　。　。
　He　rolled　forward　and　then　the　hubs　of　the　wheels　stuck　solid　against　the　sides　of　the　bedroom　door。　He　pushed　harder；　knowing　it　wasn't　going　to　do　any　good；　he　was　stuck　in　the　doorway　like　a　cork　in　a　wine…bottle；　unable　to　go　either　way　…　He　gave　one　final　heave；　the　muscles　in　his　arms　quivering　like　overtuned　violin　strings；　and　the　wheelchair　passed　through　with　that　same　low　squealing　noise。
　The　Cherokee　turned　into　the　driveway。
　She'll　have　packages；　his　mind　gibbered；　the　typewriter　paper；　maybe　a　few　other　things　as　well；　and　she'll　be　careful　ing　up　the　walk　because　of　the　ice；　you're　in　here　now；　the　worst　is　over；　there's　time；　still　time　。　。　。
　He　rolled　farther　into　the　room；　then　turned　in　a　clumsy　semicircle。　As　he　rolled　the　wheelchair　parallel　to　the　open　bedroom　door；　he　heard　the　Cherokee's　engine　shut　off。
　He　leaned　over；　grasped　the　doorknob；　and　tried　to　pull　the　door　shut。　The　tongue　of　the　lock；　still　stuck　out　like　a　stiff　steel　finger；　bumped　the　jamb。　He　pushed　it　with　the　ball　of　his　thumb。　It　began　to　move　。　。　。　then　stopped。　Stopped　dead；　refusing　to　let　the　door　close。
　He　stared　at　it　stupidly　for　a　moment；　thinking　of　that　old　Navy　maxim：　Whatever　CAN　go　wrong　WILL　go　wrong。
　Please　God；　no　more；　wasn't　it　enough　she　killed　the　phone？
　He　let　go　of　the　tongue。　It　sprang　all　the　way　out　again。　He　pushed　it　in　again　and　encountered　the　same　obstruction。　Inside　the　guts　of　the　lock　he　heard　an　odd　rattling　and　understood。　It　was　the　part　of　the　bobby…pin　which　had　broken　off。　It　had　fallen　in　some　way　that　was　keeping　the　lock's　tongue　from　retracting　pletely。
　He　heard　the　Cherokee's　door　open。　He　even　heard　her　grunt　as　she　got　out。　He　heard　the　rattle　of　paper　bags　as　she　gathered　up　her　parcels。
　〃e　on；〃　he　whispered；　and　began　to　chivvy　the　tongue　gently　back　and　forth。　It　went　in　perhaps　a　sixteenth　of　an　inch　each　time　and　then　stopped。　He　could　hear　the　goddam　bobby…pin　rattling　inside　there。　〃e　on　。　。　。　e　on　。　。　。　e　on　。　。　。　〃　He　was　crying　again　and　unaware　of　it；　sweat　and　tears　mingling　freely　on　his　cheeks；　he　was　vaguely　aware　that　he　was　still　in　great　pain　despite　all　the　dope　he　had　swallowed；　that　he　was　going　to　pay　a　high　price　for　this　little　piece　of　work。
　Not　so　high　as　the　one　she'll　make　you　pay　if　you　can't　get　this　goddam　door　closed　again；　Paulie。
　He　heard　her　crunching；　cautious　footsteps　as　she　made　her　way　up　the　path。　The　rattle　of　bags　。　。　。　and　now　the　rattle　of　her　housekeys　as　she　took　them　from　her　purse。
　〃e　on　。　。　。　e　on　。　。　。　e　on　。　。　。　〃　This　time　when　he　pushed　the　tongue　there　was　a　flat　click　from　inside　the　lock　and　the　jut　of　metal　slid　a　quarter　of　an　inch　into　the　door。　Not　enough　to　clear　the　jamb　。　。　。　but　almost。
　〃Please　。　。　。　e　on　。　。　。　〃　He　began　to　chivvy　the　tongue　faster；　diddling　it；　listening　as　she　opened　the　kitchen　door。　Then；　like　a　hideous　flashback　to　that　day　when　his　mother　had　caught　him　smoking；　Annie　called　cheerily：　〃Paul？　It's　me！　I've　got　your　paper！〃　Caught！　I'm　caught！　Please　God；　no　God；　don't　let　her　hurt　me　God　…　His　thumb　pressed　convulsively　tight　against　the　tongue　of　the　lock；　and　there　was　a　muffled　snap　as　the　bobby…pin　broke。　The　tongue　slid　all　the　way　into　the　door。　In　the　kitchen　he　heard　a　zipper…rasp　as　she　opened　her　parka。
　He　closed　the　bedroom　door。　The　click　of　the　latch　（did　she　hear　that？　must　have　must　have　heard　that！）　sounded　as　loud　as　a　track…starter's　gun。
　He　backed　the　wheelchair　up　toward　the　window。　He　was　still　backing　and　filling　as　her　footsteps　began　to　e　down　the　hallway。
　〃I've　got　your　paper；　Paul！　Are　you　awake？〃　Never　。　。　。　never　in　time　。　。　。　She'll　hear　。　。　。
　He　gave　the　guide…lever　a　final　wrench　and　rolled　the　wheelchair　into　place　beside　the　window　just　as　her　key　rattled　in　the　lock。
　It　won't　work　。　。　。　the　bobby…pin　。　。　。　and　she'll　be　suspicious　。　。　。
　But　the　piece　of　alien　metal　must　have　fallen　all　the　way　to　the　bottom　of　the　lock；　because　her　key　worked　perfectly。　He　sat　in　his　chair；　eyes　half…closed；　hoping　madly　that　he　had　gotten　the　chair　back　where　it　had　been　（or　at　least　close　enough　to　it　so　she　wouldn't　notice）；　hoping　that　she　would　take　his　sweat…drenched　face　and　quivering　body　simply　as　reactions　to　missing　his　medication；　hoping　most　of　all　that　he　hadn't　left　a　track　…　It　was　as　the　door　swung　open　that　he　looked；　down　and　saw　that　by　looking　for　individual　tracks　with　such　agonized　concentration；　he　had　ignored　a　whole　buffalo　run：　the　boxes　of　Novril　were　still　in　his　lap。
　
　
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　She　had　two　packages　of　paper；　and　she　held　one　up　in　each　hand；　smiling。　〃Just　what　you　asked　for；　isn't　it？　Triad　Modem。　Two　reams　here；　and　I　have　two　more　in　the　kitchen；　just　in　case。　So　you　see　…　〃　She　broke　off；　frowning；　looking　at　him。
　〃You're　dripping　with　sweat　。　。　。　and　your　color　is　very　hectic。〃　She　paused。　〃What　have　you　been　doing？〃　And　although　that　set　the　panicky　little　voice　of　his　lesser　self　to　squealing　again　that　he　was　caught　and　might　as　well　give　it　up；　might　as　well　confess　and　hope　for　her　mercy；　he　managed　to　meet　her　suspicious　gaze　with　an　ironic　weariness。
　〃I　think　you　know　what　I've　been　doing；〃　he　said。　〃I've　been　suffering。〃　From　the　pocket　of　her　skirt　she　took　a　Kleenex　and　wiped　his　brow。　The　Kleenex　ca