JК
Danse Macabre :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 78 из 359This is not a bad way of initiating children into the more exotic realms of human behavior and human belief, by the way; the quiet child (and I was one) is often given walking tours through some extremely bizarre tracts of mental countryside. I did not believe it possible to dowse water with an applewood stick, but I was quite interested in seeing how the trick would be performed.
We walked around onto the front lawn, and the stick began to tremble again. Uncle Clayt brightened. "We got the real thing here," he said. "Look at this, Stevie! She's gonna dive, be damned if she ain't!” Three steps further along, the applewood rod dove-it simply revolved in Uncle Clayt's hands and pointed straight down. It was a good trick, all right; I could actually hear the tendons in his wrists creak, and there was some strain on his face as he forced the straight part of the wishbone-shaped stick skyward again. As soon as he released the pressure, the stick whipped down at the ground again.
"Got plenty of water here," he said. "You could drink it until judgment Day and it'd still run.
It's close, too.” "Let me try it," I said.
"Well, you got to back off a little first," he said, and we did. We went back to the edge of the driveway.
He gave me the stick, showed me how to hold it with my thumbs cocked just so (wrists outward, thumbs pointing down-"Otherwise, that son of a whore is gonna break your wrists tryin to point when you get over that water," Clayt said), and then he gave me a little push on the ass.
"It don't feel like nothin' but a piece of wood right now, does it?" he asked.
I agreed that this was so.
"But when you start gettin' close to that water, you're gonna feel her come alive," he said. "I mean really alive , like it was still on the tree. Oh, applewood's good for dousing. Nothing beats applewood when you're huntin' wellwater.” So some of what happened could well have been suggestion, and I'm not trying to convince you otherwise, although I've read enough since then to believe that dowsing really does work, at least at some times and for some people and for some crazy reason of its own. * I will say that Uncle Clayt had lulled me into that same state that I have tried again and again to lull the readers of my stories into-that state of believability where the ossified shield of "rationality" has been temporarily laid aside, the suspension of disbelief is at hand, and the sense of wonder is again within reach. And if that's the power of suggestion, it seems okay to me; better than cocaine for the brain.
We walked around onto the front lawn, and the stick began to tremble again. Uncle Clayt brightened. "We got the real thing here," he said. "Look at this, Stevie! She's gonna dive, be damned if she ain't!” Three steps further along, the applewood rod dove-it simply revolved in Uncle Clayt's hands and pointed straight down. It was a good trick, all right; I could actually hear the tendons in his wrists creak, and there was some strain on his face as he forced the straight part of the wishbone-shaped stick skyward again. As soon as he released the pressure, the stick whipped down at the ground again.
"Got plenty of water here," he said. "You could drink it until judgment Day and it'd still run.
It's close, too.” "Let me try it," I said.
"Well, you got to back off a little first," he said, and we did. We went back to the edge of the driveway.
He gave me the stick, showed me how to hold it with my thumbs cocked just so (wrists outward, thumbs pointing down-"Otherwise, that son of a whore is gonna break your wrists tryin to point when you get over that water," Clayt said), and then he gave me a little push on the ass.
"It don't feel like nothin' but a piece of wood right now, does it?" he asked.
I agreed that this was so.
"But when you start gettin' close to that water, you're gonna feel her come alive," he said. "I mean really alive , like it was still on the tree. Oh, applewood's good for dousing. Nothing beats applewood when you're huntin' wellwater.” So some of what happened could well have been suggestion, and I'm not trying to convince you otherwise, although I've read enough since then to believe that dowsing really does work, at least at some times and for some people and for some crazy reason of its own. * I will say that Uncle Clayt had lulled me into that same state that I have tried again and again to lull the readers of my stories into-that state of believability where the ossified shield of "rationality" has been temporarily laid aside, the suspension of disbelief is at hand, and the sense of wonder is again within reach. And if that's the power of suggestion, it seems okay to me; better than cocaine for the brain.