JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 159 из 425She lit up, and in the momentary flare of the match, her face was waypast pretty. What had the old man made of her? I wondered. “He met his granddaughter for the first time beside a hearse,” Mattie said. “We were at Dakin’s Funeral Home in Motton. It was the ’viewing.” Do you know about that?”
“Oh yes,” I said, thinking of Jo.
“The casket was closed but they still call it a viewing. Weird. I came out to have a cigarette. I told Ki to sit on the funeral parlor steps so she wouldn’t get the smoke, and I went a little way down the walk. This big gray limo pulled up. I’d never seen anything like it before, except on TV. I knew who it was right away. I put my cigarettes back in my purse and told Ki to come. She toddled down the walk and took hold of my hand. The limo door opened, and Rogette Whitmore got out. She had an oxygen mask in one hand, but he didn’t need it, at least not then. He got out after her. A tall man—not as tall as you, Mike, but tall—wearing a gray suit and black shoes as shiny as mirrors.” She paused, thinking. Her cigarette rose briefly to her mouth, then went back down to the arm of her chair, a red firefly in the weak moonlight.
“At first he didn’t say anything. The woman tried to take his arm and help him climb the three or four steps from the road to the walk, but he shook her off. He got to where we were standing under his own power, although I could hear him wheezing way down deep in his chest. It was the sound a machine makes when it needs oil. I don’t know how much he can walk now, but it’s probably not much. Those few steps pretty well did him in, and that was almost a year ago. He looked at me for a second or two, then bent forward with his big, bony old hands on his knees. He looked at Kyra and she looked up at him.” Yes. I could see it… except not in color, not in an image like a photograph. I saw it as a woodcut, just one more harsh illustration from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The little girl looks up wide-eyed at the rich old man—once a boy who went triumphantly sliding on a stolen sled, now at the other end of his life and just one more bag of bones. “In my imagining, Ki was wearing a hooded jacket and Devore’s grandpa mask was slightly askew, allowing me to see the tufted wolf-pelt beneath. What big eyes you have, Grandpa, what a big nose you have, Grandpa, what big teeth you have, too. “He picked her up. I don’t know how much effort it cost him, but he did.
And—the oddest thing—Ki let herself be picked up. He was a complete stranger to her, and old people always seem to scare little children, but she let him pick her up. “Do you know who I am?’ he asked her.
“Oh yes,” I said, thinking of Jo.
“The casket was closed but they still call it a viewing. Weird. I came out to have a cigarette. I told Ki to sit on the funeral parlor steps so she wouldn’t get the smoke, and I went a little way down the walk. This big gray limo pulled up. I’d never seen anything like it before, except on TV. I knew who it was right away. I put my cigarettes back in my purse and told Ki to come. She toddled down the walk and took hold of my hand. The limo door opened, and Rogette Whitmore got out. She had an oxygen mask in one hand, but he didn’t need it, at least not then. He got out after her. A tall man—not as tall as you, Mike, but tall—wearing a gray suit and black shoes as shiny as mirrors.” She paused, thinking. Her cigarette rose briefly to her mouth, then went back down to the arm of her chair, a red firefly in the weak moonlight.
“At first he didn’t say anything. The woman tried to take his arm and help him climb the three or four steps from the road to the walk, but he shook her off. He got to where we were standing under his own power, although I could hear him wheezing way down deep in his chest. It was the sound a machine makes when it needs oil. I don’t know how much he can walk now, but it’s probably not much. Those few steps pretty well did him in, and that was almost a year ago. He looked at me for a second or two, then bent forward with his big, bony old hands on his knees. He looked at Kyra and she looked up at him.” Yes. I could see it… except not in color, not in an image like a photograph. I saw it as a woodcut, just one more harsh illustration from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The little girl looks up wide-eyed at the rich old man—once a boy who went triumphantly sliding on a stolen sled, now at the other end of his life and just one more bag of bones. “In my imagining, Ki was wearing a hooded jacket and Devore’s grandpa mask was slightly askew, allowing me to see the tufted wolf-pelt beneath. What big eyes you have, Grandpa, what a big nose you have, Grandpa, what big teeth you have, too. “He picked her up. I don’t know how much effort it cost him, but he did.
And—the oddest thing—Ki let herself be picked up. He was a complete stranger to her, and old people always seem to scare little children, but she let him pick her up. “Do you know who I am?’ he asked her.