Chapter 18 Chapter Ten Reunion 1

1 The phone ringing woke him up from his sleep.Drowsily he reached for the phone, with a premonition that it was Mike Hanlon calling from Derry, and that he had to come back, had to remember that he had sworn.stanley.Ulis smashed a Coke bottle, cut their palms with glass, and they all swore—he was only here yesterday afternoon—before six, to be exact.He figured if he was the last one to get Mike's call, then they'd all come here one after the other.He hasn't met any of them yet, and doesn't want to.After registration, I went directly to the room and ordered a dinner, but I couldn't eat a bite, so I fell on the bed and slept until now.

Bill opened one eye and reached for the receiver of the phone, but the receiver fell off the table. He opened the other eye and groped on the ground for a long time before picking up the phone.His mind went blank. "Hey?" "Bill?" It was Mike Hanlon's voice.He hadn't been able to recall the voice at all the previous week, and now he knew it was Mike whenever the other person spoke.It's unbelievable...it seems very unlucky. "It's me, Mike." "Woke you up, huh?" "Oh, yes. It's okay." A mysterious oil painting hung on the wall above the TV.On the screen, a group of lobster fishermen are pulling in their nets.Looking at the painting, Bill remembered where he was: the Derry Hotel on North Main Street.A further half mile down the street is Bass Park...the Happy Bridge...the canal. "What time is it, Mike?"

"A quarter past ten." "What's the number?" "Number 30." Mike was amused. "Oh, all right." "I arranged a small party." Mike spoke in a strange tone. "Really?" Bill lifted his legs and got off the bed. "Are they all here?" "Except for Stanley," Mike said.Bill didn't seem to understand what he was saying. "Beverly was the last. She arrived at midnight last night." "Why the last one, Mike? Stanley might be here today." "Bill, Stanley is dead." "What? How? His plane—"

"No." Mike said. "Oh, if this is not very important to you, I think it's best to wait until everyone is together, and I will tell you together." "Is it related to this matter?" "Yes, I think so." Mike paused. "It must be." Bill felt that déjà vu dread again—is this the kind of thing you get used to quickly?Or just like the inescapable fact that one day you will die, it is always by your side, but you don't feel it or think about it. "Didn't they meet yesterday?" "No—I don't believe they have." "You didn't see any of them?"

"No—only on the phone with them." "Oh," he said, "where is the party?" "Do you remember where the ironworks factory used to be?" "Of course, Pascher Road." "You're out of date, old friend. It's the high street now. It's the third largest pedestrian mall in Maine. Forty-eight stores under one roof for your shopping convenience." "It sounds so beautiful, beautiful, American." "Bill?" "What's the matter?" "Are you OK?" "It's okay." But his heartbeat was too violent, and the cigarette in his hand trembled a little, so he couldn't speak.Mike heard it.

After a while of silence, Mike said: "There is a restaurant called 'Pearl of the Orient' just outside the commercial street. There are private rooms available for gatherings, and I have already reserved a seat yesterday. We can use it for an afternoon, if necessary." "Do you think it will take that long to eat?" "I do not know either." "Can a taxi go there?" "certainly." "Okay then," Bill said, writing the restaurant's name on a note next to the phone. "Where?" "Because it's a new restaurant," Mike said calmly, "it's like... I don't know..."

"Is the meal delicious?" "I don't know," Mike replied, "How's your appetite?" Bill exhaled smoke.Laughing and coughing. "Not very well, old friend." "Yes," Mike said, "I hear it." "noon?" "About one. We've got to put Beverly to sleep." Bill took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Is she married?" Mike hesitated and said, "We'll know when the time comes." "Like going back to a middle school reunion in 10 years, huh?" Bill said. "You will know who has gained weight, who has good hair, and who has children."

"I hope so," Mike said. "Yes, me too, Mike. I hope so too." He hung up the phone, took a good shower, ordered a breakfast, and ate a few casual bites. No, he has no appetite at all. Bill called a taxi and it came to pick him up at a quarter past one.He thought fifteen minutes to Pascher Road would be enough, but he didn't expect the traffic to be so heavy at lunchtime... Didn't expect Derry to change so much. In 1958, it was just a big town, with about 30,000 residents in the urban area and 7,000 people living in the surrounding villages.Now, it's grown into a city—small compared to London or New York, of course, but Portland, Maine's largest city, has a population of just 300,000.By Maine standards, it's a pretty big place.

The taxi drove slowly up Main Street (we're driving on the canal, Bill thought; we couldn't see it, but it was just below us, flowing quietly in the dark) and turned onto Center Street.What a difference here.In amazement, Bill felt a sudden depression.He remembered his horrific childhood here...not only because of the horrors of death the seven of them had faced together in the summer of 1958, but because of George's death.After his death, his parents seemed to be asleep in a dream and often scolded him for his stuttering.Bowles, Hudgens, Chriss (Bowles, Hudgens, Chriss, oh my god! Bowles, Hudgens, Kh Reese, oh my gosh).He felt that Derry was a ruthless place that never gave the people who lived there a little joy.Even if they beat the clown Paniwawen, there will be absolutely nothing in return for them.The people of Derry have lived with that clown in various guises for far too long...maybe even growing to know it, to like it, to need it.love it?Maybe.Yes, maybe still love it.

So why is it so frustrating? Maybe it's because of these annoying changes.Or, perhaps, because in his eyes the old Derry no longer exists. The Jewel Cinema has been torn down and replaced by a parking lot.The small restaurant next to it has also been replaced by a branch of the Northern State Bank.The pharmacy where Eddie had bought his asthma spray was also gone.The street has been converted into a small commercial street.Clearance sales are posted outside video stores, grocery stores, and toy stores. The car stopped suddenly. "It's going to be a while," said the driver angrily. "I wish the damned banks were late for lunch. Excuse me for the swearing."

"It's okay," Bill said.There was music playing on the car radio.Bill asked, "When was it built?" "What? Those banks?" "Aha." "Oh, the late 1960s, early 1970s." The taxi driver started the chatterbox. "They got a municipal renovation fund. So they knocked everything down and put up these banks. They revitalized the commercial district in the city. Now it's good, most of the old stores are demolished Yeah, all the banks, parking lots. And you still can't find a goddamn parking space. Those goddamn city officials deserve a thousand knives. Sorry, I'm swearing again." "Have you lived here a long time?" Bill asked. "Lived all my life. Born in Derry Family Hospital, and they will bury this bone in Mount Hope Cemetery when they die." "That's not bad," Bill said, "it hasn't all changed here." Through Bumby's bank, the parking lot, and onto Center Avenue. "Is the Aladdin Theater still there?" "Yes." The taxi driver agreed. "But it was almost demolished by those crooks." "Build another bank?" Bill asked, laughing at how shocked he was at the idea. No one in their right mind would tear down this stately and elegant theater.How could they have figured out to tear down Aladdin to build a bank? "Ah, yes, a bank," said the driver. "Those people took a fancy to Aladdin and wanted to tear it down and build a financial street. They even got the consent of the city council. So some citizens - those who have lived here for a long time - set up a committee. They petitioned, they marched, they shouted slogans, and finally the city council held a public meeting to discuss it, and Hanlon gave those guys a hard time." The driver seemed very happy. "Hanlon?" Bishui asked in surprise, "Mike Hanlon?" "That's him." The driver turned to look at Bill. "The librarian, a black man. You know him? " "Yes." Bill said.He remembered how he met Mike in July 1958.Of course it's Bowles, Hudgens and Chriss again... Bowles every time.Hudgens and Chris (oh God) unwittingly worked, bringing the seven of them together -- tight, tighter and tighter until inseparable. The driver drove in silence for a while, then said: "Derry has changed a lot, but there are still many traces of the past. The city hall, the water tower in Memorial Park. Do you remember that place, sir? When we were young, we all I thought there was a ghost there." "I remember," Bill said. "Here, that's the hospital. Do you recognize it?" They were passing the Derry Family Hospital.Behind the hospital the Penobsco River flows slowly into the Kentucky River.Bill still remembered the small three-story building—it seemed so small in the midst of tall buildings. A strange feeling rose in Bill.Two different impressions overlap together.New Delhi, yes.But the old Derry is still there, buried under those shiny new buildings...but your eyes still search helplessly...for the old Derry. "That freight yard is probably taken down too, isn't it?" Bill asked. The taxi driver smiled happily. "You have a good memory, sir. The freight yard is still there, but it's just a pile of ruins and rusty railroad tracks. Someone wants to buy the land and build various entertainment facilities, but they can't figure out where the land is. The property rights of the land are still waiting for the court's decision." "And the canal," Bill whispered.By this time the car had turned onto Pascher Road—now the High Street. "The canal is still here." "Yes," the taxi driver took him, "I think it will always be there." On the left is the commercial street.As the car was driving, Bill suddenly felt those strange scenes overlapping.When I was young, this strip of land just off the northeast corner of Banron was overgrown with weeds and giant sunflowers.Heading back and west is a low-income housing development in the old Cape. After the ironworks factory exploded in 1906, they searched there like archaeologists digging up an Egyptian tomb.There were also terrible things that had happened in the nearby gravel pit not far from the dump, but he couldn't recall them for a moment.He only remembered one named Patrick.Humbert's people seem to be related to the refrigerator.There is also a big bird that is chasing Mike.and also…… He shook his head.Just fragments of memories, little things, nothing more. Bill shook his head, as if the commercial street with all kinds of signs in front of him was his hallucination.The high street didn't disappear because it wasn't a mirage.The ironworks factory was gone, and so was the vacant lot around it.The commercial street in front of me is a reality, not a memory. But he still couldn't believe it. "Here we are, sir." The driver roused him from his memory.The car was parked in a parking lot in front of a building that looked like a pagoda. "A bit late, but better than never, isn't it?" Bill stood for a while in the light rain, watching the taxi drive away.Then he remembered that he wanted to ask the driver one more question, but forgot—maybe on purpose. He would have asked the driver if he liked living in Derry. Bill turned around abruptly and walked into the "Pearl of the Orient".Mike Hanlon was sitting in the hall waiting for him.The moment he stood up, a dreamy feeling took over Bill's mind.Various impressions from the past resurfaced in his mind, this time more violently. He remembers being a neat, bright little boy who was 4 feet 3 inches tall.The man in front of me is 5 feet 7 inches tall.The wrinkles on his face made him look like a man in his forties rather than thirty-eight. There must have been a look of amazement on Bill's face.So Mike said calmly: "I know I'm old." Bill blushed. "Not too old, Mike, but I only remember you as a child." "yes?" "You look tired." "I'm a bit tired," Mike said, "but I'm going to make it." He smiled, and that smile brightened his spirits. Bill saw the kid he knew 27 years ago again. Although he His face was lined and gray, but he was the same kid Bill had known. Mike held out his hand. "Welcome back to Derry, Bill." Bill goes around the hand and hugs Mike.Mike hugged him hard too. "Whatever happens, Mike, we'll take care of it." Bill swallowed his tears. "We beat it once, and we're going to beat it and beat it again." Mike raised his head and looked at Bill with a smile, with crystal tears in his eyes. "Surely, Bill. Certainly." He led Bill down a dimly lit hallway, across the lobby, and to a door with a beaded curtain. Bill hesitated outside the door, feeling suddenly terrified.It wasn't the mysterious, unknown monster that rattled him, but the simple fact that he was now another 15 inches taller and nearly bald.The thought of seeing all his old friends, without the innocence of youth on their faces, made him uneasy--almost frightening. We've grown up, he thought.At that time we did not think that we would grow up.But we're all grown up anyway.If I walk through this door, it all becomes a reality: We are all middle-aged now. He looked at Mike with bewilderment and timidity. "Have they all changed?" He heard his voice tremble. "Mike... have they all changed?" "You'll know when you come in." Mike said, leading Bill into the small private room. 2 Maybe it was just an illusion created by the dim light in the room, but then Bill wondered if that was the message the gods were sending him: that fate, too, could be kind. For a brief moment, it seemed to him that he must not have grown up at all, that his friends were still children. Richie Dorje raised his chair and leaned against the wall, chatting with Beverly vigorously.Beverly covered her mouth with her hand and smiled happily.Richie still had the familiar inscrutable smile on his face.Eddie was sitting to Beverly's left with his asthma spray.Ben sat at the end of the table watching the three of them, eager and happy, and somewhat attentive. At that moment Bill almost reached out to touch the top of his head to see if his fiery red hair had magically grown back. This burst the soap bubble of fantasy.He saw that Richie was without glasses; the T-shirt and corduroy pants had been replaced by expensive suits.Beverly, too, was a handsome beauty, no longer in a ponytail; her hair cascaded down her shoulders.Under the dim light, it looks like a wave that has been settled for a long time, with a bright luster.Bill imagined what it would be like to run his hands through that lock of hair.It's all old things, he smiled wryly. I love my wife, but... Wrinkles crept up Eddie's face prematurely (although he seemed younger than Ricky and Ben in his demeanor), and his rimless glasses made him look older.He still wears short hair that was outdated in the 1960s and 1970s.He was wearing a baggy plaid sweatshirt that looked like he'd snatched it off the specials section of some men's clothing store that was closing...but he was wearing a very expensive watch, and on the pinky finger of his right hand Wearing a jeweled ring.That gem was so tacky, so ostentatious, it seemed fake. Bane has changed the most.Still the same face, still the same distinctive hairstyle.But Ben lost weight.He sat there in a plain waistcoat over a blue striped shirt.Her legs were wrapped straight in jeans, and the wide belts were trimmed with silver foil.These clothes are only suitable for those who have narrow hips and thin body.He's lost weight, Bill thought.A shadow of him from before... Ben lost weight.There are always miracles in this world. A silence passed among the six of them.It was part of a series of strange, strange moments in Bill's life.Stanley wasn't there, but the seventh came anyway.Its existence is so real that it is almost anthropomorphized—but not an old man in a white coat with a scythe on his shoulder, but a white dot on the coordinates between 1958 and 1985, a place that explorers called Do is the realm of the mystical zone.Bill didn't know what it was either.Is this the seventh black man in front of him who doesn't hear anything outside the window and only reads sage books?Is he the seventh? None of this mattered anymore.The seventh stood there, and at that moment the presence of the seventh was felt by all . . . well aware of the terrible force that had called them all back to Derry.it lives.Bill felt cold all over when he thought about it.The eyes of the salamander.Dragon's Tail, Hand of Death... whatever it is, it's here again, in Derry.it. It suddenly seemed to Bill that it was the seventh; that it could be interchanged with time, and take their likeness, and the likenesses of the many, many people it had frightened to death... the thought that it might be themselves was the scariest thing.How many of us are left here?How many of us haven't left the sewers, the gutters, where it inhabits... the life-eating sewers?Is that why we forget the past?Because there is a part of each of us that will never have a future, never grow up, never leave Derry?Is that right? He couldn't get an answer from anyone's face...the questions were slammed at himself again, and all these thoughts flashed through Bill's mind for a few brief seconds. Rich Dorje, leaning back against the wall, broke the silence with a smile. "Oh, my God, look at that—the shiny top of Bill Dunbar's head. How long have you been waxing your hair, boss?" Bill, completely unaware of what he was doing, blurted out, "Fuck you, stinky mouth." After a moment of silence, the whole room roared with laughter.Bill went over and shook everyone's hands.Although his heart is heavy at this moment, he still feels great comfort: he is home.Never go again. 3 Mike ordered drinks for everyone.As if to make up for the previous silence, everyone started talking incessantly for a while.Beverly told everyone that she was married to a very good Chicagoan.The man changed her life, turning her who knew nothing about tailoring into a successful fashion designer.Eddie owns a limousine rental company in New York.They both knew what Bill and Ben were up to, but that was also until recently what linked Ben, the architect, and Bill, the writer, to their childhood buddies.Richie works as a radio disc jockey in California.According to him, people called him "the man of a thousand voices".Bill sarcastically said, "My God, Richie, your voices are so ugly." "Flatiness doesn't do a man any good, sir," Richie replied haughtily. "Is the library still the same?" Ben asked Mike. Mike pulls out an aerial photo of the library.He was as proud as a father showing pictures of his children to others.Everyone circulated that photo.Mike said: "I've been trying to convince the city officials or someone rich enough to donate enough money to expand the children's library, but nothing has worked out so far. It's still a good photo, huh?" Everyone agrees.Ben stared at the photo for a long time, so intently.Finally pointing to the glass corridor, he asked, "Have you seen this elsewhere, Mike?" Mike laughed. "That broadcast center you designed," he said.Everyone laughed. The wine arrived.They all sit down. Everyone looked at each other speechlessly, and there was another silence—suddenly awkward and bewildering. "Okay." Beverly's voice was so sweet and slightly hoarse. "Why are we toasting?" "For all of us." Richie's words came so suddenly.He looked gravely at Bill.Bill thought of himself and Ricky sitting in the middle of Nabert Avenue, hugging and crying, after the clown or the ruthless thing disappeared.He picked up the glass, his hands trembling. Richie stood up slowly, and the others followed suit one by one. "For all of us," Rich said, his voice trembling, "to the 1958 Losers' Club." "Cheers to the losers," Beverly said happily. "Cheers to the losers," Eddie said.The face behind the rimless glasses looked pale and old. "Cheers to the losers." Ben had a bitter smile on his lips. "Cheers to the losers," Mike said softly. "Cheers to the losers," Bill was the last to speak. They toasted and drank. There was another silence.This time Rich didn't even want to speak to break the silence, as if this silence was exactly what everyone needed. After sitting down, Bill spoke first: "Say it, Mike. Tell us what happened here and what we can do." "Eat first." Mike didn't answer his question. "And then." So they ate...for a long time.Bill thought they were like those dying people in old jokes, eating like hell.But in all these years... for the first time since he was a child, he had such a good appetite. The last dessert was also swept away.Bill leaned back in the chair, his stomach pulling the waist of his trousers tight.He looked up and saw the glass on the table, as if there were thousands of glasses shaking in front of his eyes.He smiled, remembering that he drank two big martinis before the meal, and he didn't know how much beer he drank during the meal.Others are similar to him.Now even if you serve them a plate of fried pins, they also think it is a delicacy.But he still didn't think he was drunk. "I haven't eaten so much since I was a little kid," Ben said.Everyone looked at him, and his cheeks were a little red. "I'm telling the truth. It's the most filling meal I've eaten since my second year of middle school." "Are you on a diet?" Eddie asked him. "Yes," replied Benth, "I'm on a diet." "What's going on?" Ricky asked. "You don't want to hear those corny stories..." Ben moved away uncomfortably. "I don't know what happened next," Bill said. "Come on, Ben. Come on. What turned 'Haystack' into a magazine model before us?" Richie muttered quietly. "By the way, 'Haystack.' I forgot." "Not a thrilling story," Ben said, "not really a story at all. After that summer—after 1958—we lived in Derry for two more years. Then my mother lost her job and we had to Moved to live with my aunt in Nebraska. My aunt was a mean old woman. She kept telling you to remember who you are and how lucky we were to have her take me in instead of living on the dole. Always tell me I should lose weight. I should be ashamed of myself when there are so many children in the world who don't have enough to eat." He paused, taking a sip of water. Rich listened, nodding and laughing. "Fortunately, the country is finally getting through that crisis. My mother found a stable job again. By the time we moved out of my aunt's house, I had put on 90 pounds more than before. I put on weight just to be angry My aunt." Eddie was out of breath again. "Then you probably have—" "210 pounds," said Ben, dead serious. "And then I went to middle school in Omaha. Gym class... oh, so good. They called me 'Meatball'. You can imagine that. That's it. 7 months passed. One day after gym class we all changed in the locker room and some guys patted my stomach. After a while all the guys came and chased me in the locker room and slapped my stomach and butt , back, thighs. I screamed. They laughed like crazy." "You know." He lowered his head and carefully rearranged the dishes. "That was the last time I thought about Henry Powers until Mike called me. The guy who started it was a country kid with big rough hands. When they were chasing me, I thought it was Henry. Here it comes. I feel—no, I know, I think of Henry Powers only when I'm afraid." "They were chasing me down the hall, through a row of lockers. I was naked, I had no dignity... or I had no self, where was my hiding place? I was yelling for help. They were chasing me, yelling Crying 'Shoot the fat! Slap the fat! Slap the fat'! There's a bench—" "Ben, you don't have to think about those sad things in the past." Beverly interrupted him.Her face was ashen, and she kept playing with the glass in her hand, almost spilling the wine. "Let him finish," Bill said. Ben looked at him and nodded. "There was a bench at the end of the corridor. I tripped over it and kowtowed. They all surrounded me. Suddenly I heard the coach say: "Okay.Enough is enough.All go to change clothes. "It turned out that he had been standing there. Those people looked at him and left. I cried a lot. "The coach just stood there, looking at me. Watching this naked fat kid covered in red and crying. Then he said: 'Ben, you can't fucking shut up?' I looked at him in surprise. He came over and sat on the stool. 'Do you think I'm going to comfort you?' he said. 'No. You make me sick. You buried a good body that God gave you fat, that's stupid self-indulgence, it makes me sick. Listen, you're the fattest here." He pointed his finger at my forehead. "If you can put less stuff in your mouth, you'll Can lose weight. But people like you never do.'" "Bastard!" Beverly said angrily. "That's right," Ben said with a smile. "But he was so stupid he didn't even know he was a brute. He helped me, though. Because that's when I remembered something. I remembered him frowning and looking away." I tell you kids While chasing me, I thought of Henry Powers.But when the coach stood up and walked out, I remembered our time together in the summer of 1958.I remembered-" He hesitated, looked at each of them as if searching his memory for their faces, and then said very cautiously: "I remembered how good we were together. I remembered how we accomplished that side by side. It occurred to me that what if That coach would probably be scared to death if he faced something like that. So what happened after that was simply—” "You're crazy," Bill said. Ben smiled, "Yeah, exactly." I stopped him, "Listen, you stupid bastard." 3 "What do you think I'm coming back to play on your track team next month? I'm going to beat the guys you train, beat your best player. And then you're gonna fucking apologize to me." And the coach said, If I can outrun his best athlete, he will resign." "Have you lost weight?" "Oh, lost weight. I started running long distances. After my first half mile, I threw up and passed out. After a while, it was just throwing up. After a while, I was running with my pants on. Meanwhile I'm on a diet again." "What happened to that coach?" Eddie asked. "Have you gone to compete with them?" "Oh, of course I did. I beat everyone and the coach was mad. I went up to him and said, 'Looks like you're going to retire. When are you going?' He couldn't speak — knocked me to the ground with a punch. He threatened to beat me to death if I didn't get off the field." Ben smiled...but there was none of the joy of reminiscing about the past in that smile . "Everyone was looking at us, bewildered. So I said, 'Tell you, coach. You're a loser and too old to learn. I'm going to get you out of this job. I didn't Certainly it can be done, but I will definitely try to do it. 'I lost weight so I can have a bit of dignity and peace. It's worth fighting for." Bill said, "That sounds wonderful, Ben...but I, as a writer, doubt that a kid would actually say those words." Ben nodded, that weird smile still on his face. "I doubt kids who haven't been through what we've been through can't say that," he said, "but I said it ... and I did it." Bill weighed his words and nodded. "I believe." "You beat him!" Richie shouted excitedly, shaking his fist. "Well done, Ben!" Ben shrugged. "I guess I just beat myself. The coach made me determined...but thinking about you guys made me really believe I could do it. And I did." Ben shrugged smartly, but Bill could see that he was breaking out in a fine sweat. "That's the end of the true confession, I think I can have another beer. Talking is really drying up." Mike waved for the waiter. The 6 people ordered wine again, and chatted about some light topics.Bill watched the beer in the glass, and watched the foam gather on the side of the glass, amused.At the same time he was surprised to find himself yearning for someone else to tell the story of the years apart—Beverly would praise her wonderful husband; Something about his company...then people will understand why Ben has lost so much weight and he can't live without his asthma spray. The truth is, Bill thought, Mike could talk at any moment, and I didn't want to hear everything he had to say.The truth is, my heart is racing and my hands are cold.The truth is, I'm 25 years older than I am to be this scared.We all do.So, whoever it is, just say something.Talk about your career, love, how you feel when you reunite with your childhood friends, and lament that you are old.Anything goes, just don't talk about what we came here to talk about.Whoever it is, say anything. Someone spoke, and it was Eddie.But he wasn't talking about his business, or why he couldn't do without asthma sprays to this day.He asked Mike when Stanley died. "The night before yesterday, when I called." "Is it related to... the purpose of our coming here?" "He didn't leave any last words, so no one can be sure," Mack replied, "but it happened after I called, so that kind of speculation makes sense." "He killed himself, didn't he?" Beverly said listlessly. "Oh, God—poor Stanley." Mike drank the wine in his glass and said, "Yes, he committed suicide. Soaked in the bathtub and cut his own wrist." Bill looked down at the table, which suddenly seemed to be covered with horrible, pale faces—no bodies, just faces, like white circles.Like a white balloon, like a moon, tied together by an ancient oath. "How do you know?" Ricky asked. "Is it in the newspaper?" "No. For some time I've been contributing to the paper in the town closest to you. I've been keeping a close eye on you all these years." "I'm being watched." Richie showed displeasure. "Thanks, Mike." "That's my job." Mike said flatly. "Poor Stanley." Beverly still couldn't accept the shocking news. "How brave he was then. How... resolute." "People change," Eddie said. "Really?" Bill asked. "Stanley—" He ran his hands across the tablecloth, trying to find the right words. "He was a well-organized man. I remember him saying once - I can't remember where we were or what we were doing, but I think it was towards the end of it all. He said he wasn't afraid of scares, but he hated dirty ...I think that's just Stanley's personality. Maybe when Mike called, things had gotten to the point where he couldn't take it. He saw himself with only two options: live dirty, or die clean. Maybe people aren't like us Imagine changing so much. Maybe they're just... maybe they're stronger." Everyone was silent.Richie said, "Okay, Mike. What happened to Derry? Tell us." “我可以告诉你们一些，”麦克说，“比如，我可以告诉现在发生的一切——讲一些关于你们自己的事情。但是我不能告诉你们1958年夏天发生的一切。我想我永远也不必说。总有一天你们会自己想起来的。而且我认为如果在你们准备回忆起过去的一切之前，告诉你们太多的事情，发生在斯坦利身上的——” “也可能发生在我们身上？”班恩平静地问。 麦克点点头。“是的。那正是我所担心的。” 比尔说：“那么告诉我们你可以讲的事情，麦克。” “好吧，”他说，“我会的。” 4 “杀戮又重新开始了。”麦克直截了当地说。 他看看在座的各位，目光落在比尔身上。 “这新的一轮杀戮是从梅恩大街桥开始的。死者是一个同性恋者，名叫安德兰·曼伦。他患有严重的哮喘病。” 艾迪不知不觉地伸手去拿他的哮喘喷雾剂。 “事情发生在去年夏天7月月号，运河节的最后一天。那是一种庆祝……” “德里例行的仪式。”比尔低声说。他轻轻地揉着太阳穴，不难看出他想起了他的弟弟乔治。他的死拉开上一轮杀戮的序幕。 “例行仪式，”麦克平静地说，“对。” 他给大家讲了安德兰被害的经过，不动声色地看着在场的每一个人，他们听得目瞪口呆。他告诉他们《德里新闻》上对此事的报道。 但是报纸上没有报道唐。哈格提和克里斯多夭。厄温的供词中提到桥下有一个小丑，看上去像古代神话中的巨人。 “是它，”班恩的声音有些沙哑，“是那个该死的潘尼瓦艾。” “还有一件事情，”麦克看着比尔。“一个调查这起凶杀案件的官员——实际上是他把安德兰慢伦从运河里打捞起来——是镇上的警察，叫哈罗德。加德纳。” “哦，上帝。”比尔的声音微弱，几乎带着哭腔。 “那时哈罗德大概只有5岁。”比尔惊恐地看着麦克，等待证实。 "yes." “那又怎样？”理奇问。 “哈、哈、哈罗德是大卫伽德纳的儿、儿子，”比尔说，“乔治死的时候，大卫就住在我家后面的那条街。是他第一个发现了乔、乔……我弟弟，用一条被、被子裹着他把他抱回家。” 他们静静地坐在那里，一言不发。 “一切都很凑巧，是吗？”最后麦克说。 “是的，”比尔的声音很低，“非常凑巧。” “我说过这些年来我一直密切注意着你们6个，”麦克接着说，“但是直到那时我才明白我为什么会那么做。我有一个真实明确的目的。但是我还是没有采取任何行动，继续观察事态的发展。你们知道，我必须有十足的把握才……才能打搅你们的生活。不是百分之九十，甚至百分之九十五的把握。必须有百分之百的把握。 “去年12月，在纪念公园发现了一个叫史蒂文。约翰逊的8岁男孩的尸体。和安德兰·曼伦的情况一样，尸体残缺不全，但是看上去好像是被吓死的。” “总共有多少？”艾迪问，那口气好像并不是真想知道具体情况。 “很糟糕。”麦克说。 “有多少？”比尔又问。 “到现在有9个。” “不可能！”贝弗莉大声说，“我应该在报纸上读到……在新闻里看到！” “没错，”麦克说，“我也想过很久。贝弗莉说得对：那的确是震惊全国的新闻。9个孩子被害……应该惊动整个媒体。但是只有两家报纸轻描淡写地提到一点。今年2月波士顿的一家电视台做了一档各种疑案的节目。一个专家提到了德里谋杀案，但是也是一语带过…… 他根本就不知道1957到1958年发生的一连串的案件跟1929到1930年的情况有多么相似。 “当然这里有一些非常明显的原因。亚特兰大、纽约、芝加哥、底特律……都是媒体众多的大城市。在那些地方一旦有什么事情发生，马上就会弄得尽人皆知。而德里没有一家电视台或电台。” “除了《德里新闻》。”艾迪说，把大家都逗笑了。 “但是大家都知道这根本有背于当今世界的潮流。那么多的通讯网，总会在某个时候全国都会知道这件事的。但是事实并非如此。所以我觉得推一的原因就是：它不想让世人知道此事。” “它。”比尔陷入沉思，几乎是自言自语。 “它。”麦克肯定地说。“如果我们要给它取个名字的话，我们不妨还像过去那样称之为它。我开始觉得它已经在这里很久了……不管它到底是什么……它就像水塔、运河、巴斯公园或者图书馆～样，已经成为德里的一部分。只是那些存在于地面之上有形的东西。也许以前是，但是现在它藏在德里的深处。这是对发生在这里的一系列可怕的事件——表面上可以解释的和那些根本无法解释的事件所能做出的推一解释。1930年一个黑人夜总会失火，在那之前的一年，一伙大萧条时期逃出的歹徒光天化日之下在运河街上被开枪射死。 “1906年在寻找复活节彩蛋的过程中，凯辰特纳铁制品厂发生大爆炸。同年又发生一系列的动物尸体毁尸案。” 麦克·汉伦认贴身的口袋里掏出一个小记事本，一页一页地翻着，头也没抬，继续讲着那些血腥的故事。“1877年城区里发生过4起私刑杀人案。其中被处以绞刑的一个是浸礼教会未受神职的传道士。他把自己的4个孩子都溺死在浴缸里，又开枪打死自己的妻子，然后把枪放在妻子的手中制造自杀现场。在那之前一年，住在肯塔斯基河下游的一所小木屋里的4个伐木工人遇害身亡，尸体被毁得面目全非。过去的日记片断记录了许多儿童失踪、全家失踪的事件……但是公开的文献中并未有任何记录。还有很多很多，但是你们可能已经明白了其中的玄机。” “我明白了，”班恩说，“这里发生了一些怪事，但是很隐蔽。” 麦克合上他的记事本，放进贴身的口袋里，严肃地看着大家。 “如果我不是图书管理员而是一个保险员的话，我或许能给你们画张图表，你们就能看出这里发生的各种凶案的比率如此之高。在平常年份德里就是一个充满暴力的地方。但是每隔对年——虽然这个周期并不十分确定——暴力事件的发生率就达到顶点……然而却从未成为轰动全国的新闻。” “你是说这里流行着一种痼疾？”贝弗莉问。 “不是。无药可救的顽疾一定会致人于死地。而德里没有死；相反却繁荣起来。德里只是一个人口相对稀少的州里的一个小城市，那里暴力事件时有发生……大约每隔25年就发生一次骇人听闻的灾难。” “这个规律一直没变？”班恩问。 麦克点点头。“一直没变。1715到1716年，1740到大约1743年——那是情况最糟的一次——1769到1770年，一直到现在。从中我感觉到情况一次比一次更加严重。那也许是到每个周期的末尾德里的人口越来越多的缘故。1958年，周期似乎提早结束了。那是我们的功劳。” 比尔探过身，眼里闪着异样的光芒。“你能肯定吗？” “没错肯定，”麦克说，“其他所有的周期大概都在9月达到顶峰，最后有不计其数的人丧生。到圣诞节……最迟到复活节生活才能走上正轨。也就是说，每隔27年就有一个持续14个月到20个月的大灾之年。但是1957年10月从你弟弟被杀开始的那个大灾之年到1958年8月就突然结束了。” “为什么？”艾迪急切地问。他呼吸困难，吸气的时候发出沉重的喘息声。“我们做了些什么？” 问题是在那里。麦克好像在考虑这个问题……最后他还是摇摇头。“你们会想起来的。你们迟早会想起来的。” “如果我们想不起来怎么办？” “上帝会助我们一臂之力的。” “一年里死了9个孩子。”理奇感到万分震惊。“上帝！” “1984年底有两个孩子被害，”麦克说，“2月，一个中学生失踪了。3月中旬才在班伦找到他的尸体，残缺不全。这是在附近发现的。” 他从装记事本的那个口袋里掏出一张照片，大家传阅着。贝弗莉和艾迪看不懂其中的奥妙。但是理奇反应强烈，好像被烫了一下，把照片掉在桌上。“上帝！上帝，麦克！”他抬起头，眼睛里充满了恐惧。 比尔看了一眼照片，顿时觉得周围的世界一片灰暗。一时间他感觉自己就要晕过去了，不禁发出一声呻吟，把照片掉在桌上。 “怎么了？”他听见贝弗莉的声音。“这照片代表着什么，比尔？” “是我弟弟在学校拍的照片，”比尔终于开口了，“是乔、乔治。这张照片本来在他的相册里。会动，会眨眼睛。” 大家又看了一遍照片，这时比尔像块石头一样，呆呆地坐在那里。那张照片拍的是一张老照片，一张破烂的照片映着白色的背景——微笑着露出两颗豁牙。乔治的照片下面的白边上写着：“学友1957——1958”。 “今年才发现？”贝弗莉又问道，麦克点点头。她转向比尔：“你最后一次看到这张照片是什么时候，比尔？” 他舔舔嘴唇，想要说话，却什么也说不出来。那些话都在脑子里回响。比尔意识到他的口吃病又犯了，在同恐惧斗争。 “从1958年我就再也没见过那张照片。乔治死后第二年春天，我想给理奇看这张照片的时候，就已经没、没了。” 麦克打破沉默。 “史蒂夫·约翰逊的尸体被发现之后，我就下定决心如果再有什么事情发生——再有一个确凿的案子——我就给你们打电话。乔治的照片是在离一个叫特里奥的男童尸体不到10英尺远的一根原木边发现的，没有藏起来。相反，凶手似乎想让人发现这张照片。我敢肯定凶手有这个意图。” “你怎么从警方弄到这些照片的？”班恩问他。“那是警方拍摄的照片，对吧？” “是的，是警方拍的照片。警局里有一个想挣点外快的家伙，我每月付给他20美元——我就能付起这么多。他提供了这些资料。 “4天后又发现了道恩。罗伊的尸体。在麦卡森公园，被割掉了脑袋。 “今年4月23号。一个叫亚当的历岁男孩失踪。第二天在西百老汇后面的绿化带里找到了他的尸体，也被割掉了脑袋。 “5月6号。一个两岁半的孩子被溺死在楼上的卫生间里。” “哦，麦克！”贝弗莉几乎哭着乞求他。 “对，很可怕，”他气愤地说，“难道我不知道吗？” 麦克喝了一口水，又给大家拿出一张照片。这一张不是警方柏的，而是一张在学校拍的照片。一个13岁的男孩开心地笑着，拍照的时候他穿上自己最好的衣服。一双干净的小手规规矩矩地搁在腿上……但是那孩子眼中有股邪气。是个黑人孩子。 “杰弗里·霍利，”麦克又开始解说，“5月13号。身体被撕开，尸体在运河边上的巴斯公园被发现。 “事隔9天，5月22号，一个五年级的孩子被发现死在内伯特大街上。” 艾迪发出一声颤抖、刺耳的尖叫。伸手去摸他的哮喘喷雾剂，却把那东西碰到地上。那个哮喘喷雾剂滚到比尔脚下。他拣起那东西，看到艾迪脸色蜡黄，呼吸困难。 “给他弄点儿喝的！”班恩急得大叫起来。“来人给他……” 但是艾迪摇摇头。他对着喉咙喷了一下，吸了一大口气，胸口起伏不平。他又喷了一下，靠在椅子上，半闭着眼睛，喘着粗气。 “我没事，”他艰难地说，“一会儿就好了。” “艾迪，你真的没事？”贝弗莉问。“或许你应该躺下——” “我没事，”他有点恼火，“只是……吓得。你明白嘛。吓得。我已经把内伯特大街忘得一干二净了。” 众人无语，似乎也不需要任何语言。比尔想到：你刚刚觉得自己有了足够的承受力，麦克就又说出一个新名字，又敲在你的痛处。 他们实在无法一下子面对过去的一切。这一连串无法解释的杀戮直接指向他们6个人——乔治的照片好像这样暗示他。 “那孩子的两条腿都没了，”麦克接着说，“但是法医说他的腿是在死后被切掉的。好像是被吓死的。一个邮递员看见门廊下伸出一只手才发现了他。” “29号，对吗？”理奇说。比尔看了他一眼。理奇看着他，轻轻地点点头，又看着麦克。“内伯特大街29号。” “是的。”麦克的声音依然那么平静。“是29号。”他又喝了口水。 “你真的没事吗，艾迪？” 艾迪点点头，他的呼吸已经顺畅了。 “那个孩子的尸体被发现的第二天警长就逮捕了一个嫌疑犯。”麦克说。“懊，那天的报纸头版头条发表了一篇社论，要求警长辞职。” “8起谋杀案之后？”班恩感到很愤怒。“他们可真够激进的了，你们说是吗？” 麦克不说话了，低着头。过了一会儿，他又接着说，声音有些嘶哑。“我一拖再拖。但是当我看到最后遇害的这个孩子的时候，我就给你们打了电话。我真希望我早点联络你们就好了。” “让我看看。”班恩突然说。 “受害者又是一个五年级的孩子，”麦克说，“他的尸体在离堪萨斯大街不远的地方被发现。也就是以前我们到班伦去玩的时候，比尔藏自行车的那个地方。尸体被撕得四分五裂。在堪萨斯大街一侧的水泥护墙根人们发现了他留下的……这是在他的尸体被运走不到半个小时之后，警方在那段护墙边拍下的照片。这里。” 他把照片递给理奇。理奇看了一眼便传给了贝弗莉。她只看了一眼，就吓得闭上眼睛，把照片递给艾迪。艾迪仔细地看了好一阵才递给班因。班恩看也没看就递给了比尔。 那道水泥护墙上歪歪扭扭地写了一行字：回家回家回家比尔恐惧地看着麦克。刚才他只感到迷惑、害怕；现在他感到心中升起一股怒火。He is very happy.虽然愤怒并不是一种美好的感觉，但是比震惊好得多，比那种令人痛苦的恐惧好得多。 “我没有看花眼吧？” “没有，”麦克说，“是那个孩子的血。”