JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 412 из 425“What did Mattie tell you, hon?’ I asked as we walked north alongThe Street. Ki would let me put her down so we could crawl under the downed trees we came to, but raised her arms to be picked up again on the far side of each. “To be a good girl and not be sad. But I am sad. I’m very sad.” She began to cry, and I stroked her wet hair. By the time we got to the railroad-tie steps she had cried herself out… and over the mountains in the west, I could see one small but very brilliant wedge of blue. ’gxll the woods fell down,” Ki said, looking around. Her eyes were very wide. “Well… not all, but a lot of them, I guess.” Halfway up the steps I paused, puffing and seriously winded. I didn’t ask Ki if I could put her down, though. I didn’t want to put her down. I just wanted to catch my breath. “Mike?”
“What, doll?”
“Mattie told me something else.”
“What?”
“Can I whisper?”
“If you want to, sure.” Ki leaned close, put her lips to my ear, and whispered. I listened. When she was done I nodded, kissed her cheek, shifted her to the other hip, and carried her the rest of the way up to the house.
“T’wasn’t the stawm of the century, chummy, and don’t you go thinkin that it was. Nossir. So said the old-timers who sat in front of the big Army medics’ tent that served as the Lakeview General that late summer and fall. A huge elm had toppled across Route 68 and bashed the store in like a Saltines box. Adding injury to insult, the elm had carried a bunch of spitting live lines with it. They ignited propane from a ruptured tank, and the whole thing went kaboom. The tent was a pretty good warm-weather substitute, though, and folks on the TR took to saying they was going down to the MAS4 for bread and beer—this because you could still see a faded red cross on both sides of the tent’s roof. The old-timers sat along one canvas wall in folding chairs, waving to other old-timers when they went pooting by in their rusty old-timer cars (all certified old-timers own either Fords or Chevys, so I’m well on my way in that regard), swapping their undershirts for flannels as the days began to cool toward cider season and spud-digging, watching the township start to rebuild itself around them. And as they watched they talked about the ice storm of the past winter, the one that knocked out lights and splintered a million trees between Kittery and Fort Kent; they talked about the cyclones that touched down in August of 1985; they talked about the sleet hurricane of 1927. Now them was some stawms, they said. There was some stawms, by Gorry.
“What, doll?”
“Mattie told me something else.”
“What?”
“Can I whisper?”
“If you want to, sure.” Ki leaned close, put her lips to my ear, and whispered. I listened. When she was done I nodded, kissed her cheek, shifted her to the other hip, and carried her the rest of the way up to the house.
“T’wasn’t the stawm of the century, chummy, and don’t you go thinkin that it was. Nossir. So said the old-timers who sat in front of the big Army medics’ tent that served as the Lakeview General that late summer and fall. A huge elm had toppled across Route 68 and bashed the store in like a Saltines box. Adding injury to insult, the elm had carried a bunch of spitting live lines with it. They ignited propane from a ruptured tank, and the whole thing went kaboom. The tent was a pretty good warm-weather substitute, though, and folks on the TR took to saying they was going down to the MAS4 for bread and beer—this because you could still see a faded red cross on both sides of the tent’s roof. The old-timers sat along one canvas wall in folding chairs, waving to other old-timers when they went pooting by in their rusty old-timer cars (all certified old-timers own either Fords or Chevys, so I’m well on my way in that regard), swapping their undershirts for flannels as the days began to cool toward cider season and spud-digging, watching the township start to rebuild itself around them. And as they watched they talked about the ice storm of the past winter, the one that knocked out lights and splintered a million trees between Kittery and Fort Kent; they talked about the cyclones that touched down in August of 1985; they talked about the sleet hurricane of 1927. Now them was some stawms, they said. There was some stawms, by Gorry.