فصل سی و هفتم

CHAPTER 37

The thump of weights on the attic floor carried through the old house.

Dolarhyde was lifting, straining, pumping more weight than he had ever lifted. His costume was different; sweatpants covered his tattoo. The sweatshirt hung over The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. The kimono hung on the wall like the shed skin of a tree snake. It covered the mirror.

Dolarhyde wore no mask,

Up. Two hundred and eighty pounds from the floor to his chest in one heave. Now over his head.

“WHOM ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?”

Startled by the voice, he nearly dropped the weight, swayed beneath it. Down. The plates thudded and clanked on the floor.

He turned, his great arms hanging, and stared in the direction of the voice.

“WHOM ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?”

It seemed to come from behind the sweatshirt, but its rasp and volume hurt his throat.

“WHOM ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?”

He knew who spoke and he was frightened. From the beginning, he and the Dragon had been one. He was Becoming and the Dragon was his higher self. Their bodies, voices, wills were one, Not now. Not since Reba. Don’t think Reba.

“WHO IS ACCEPTABLE?” the Dragon asked.

“Mrs . . . erhman - Sherman.” It was hard for Dolarhyde to say.

“SPEAK UP. I CAN’T UNDERSTAND YOU. WHOM ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?”

Dolarhyde, his face set, turned to the barbell. Up. Over his head. Much harder this time.

“Mrs. . . . erhman wet in the water.”

“YOU THINK ABOUT YOUR LITTLE BUDDY, DON’T YOU? YOU WANT HER TO BE YOUR LITTLE BUDDY, DON’T YOU?” The weight came down with a thud.

“I on’t have a li’l . . . buddy.” With the fear his speech was failing. He had to occlude his nostrils with his upper lip.

“A STUPID LIE.” The Dragon’s voice was strong and clear. He said the /s/ without effort. “YOU FORGET THE BECOMING. PREPARE FOR THE SHERMANS. LIFT THE WEIGHT.” Dolarhyde seized the barbell and strained. His mind strained with his body. Desperately he tried to think of the Shermans. He forced himself to think of the weight of Mrs. Sherman in his arms. Mrs. Sherman was next. It was Mrs. Sherman. He was fighting Mr. Sherman in the dark. Holding him down until loss of blood made Sherman’s heart quiver like a bird. It was the only heart he heard. He didn’t hear Reba’s heart. He didn’t.

Fear leeched his strength. He got the weight up to his thighs, could not make the turn up to his chest. He thought of the Shermans ranged around him, eyes wide, as he took the Dragon’s due. It was no good. It was hollow, empty. The weight thudded down.

“NOT ACCEPTABLE.”

“Mrs . . .”

“YOU CAN’T EVEN SAY ‘MRS. SHERMAN.’ YOU NEVER INTEND TO TAKE THE SHERMANS. YOU WANT REBA MCCLANE. YOU WANT HER TO BE YOUR LITTLE BUDDY, DON’T YOU? YOU WANT TO BE ‘FRIENDS’.” “No.”

“LIE!”

“Nyus mhor a niddow wyow.”

“JUST FOR A LITTLE WHILE? YOU SNIVELING HARELIP, WHO WOULD BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? COME HERE. I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT YOU ARE.” Dolarhyde did not move.

“I’VE NEVER SEEN A CHILD AS DISGUSTING AND DIRTY AS YOU. COME HERE.” He went.

“TAKE DOWN THE SWEATSHIRT.”

He took it down.

“LOOK AT ME.”

The Dragon glowed from the wall.

“TAKE DOWN THE KIMONO. LOOK IN THE MIRROR.”

He looked. He could not help himself or turn his face from the scalding light. He saw himself drool.

“LOOK AT YOURSELF. I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU A SURPRISE FOR YOUR LITTLE BUDDY. TAKE OFF THAT RAG.” Dolarhyde’s hands fought each other at the waistband of the sweatpants. The sweatpants tore. He stripped them away from him with his right hand, held the rags to him with his left.

His right hand snatched the rags away from his trembling, failing left. He threw them into the corner and fell back on the mat, curling on himself like a lobster split live. He hugged himself and groaned, breathing hard, his tattoo brilliant in the harsh gym lights.

“I’VE NEVER SEEN A CHILD AS DISGUSTING AND DIRTY AS YOU. GO GET THEM.” “aaaymah.”

“GET THEM.”

He padded from the room and returned with the Dragon’s teeth.

“PUT THEM IN YOUR PALMS. LOCK YOUR FINGERS AND SQUEEZE MY TEETH TOGETHER.” Dolarhyde’s pectoral muscles bunched.

“YOU KNOW HOW THEY CAN SNAP. NOW HOLD THEM UNDER YOUR BELLY. HOLD YOURSELF BETWEEN THE TEETH.” “no.”

“DO IT. . . NOW LOOK.”

The teeth were beginning to hurt him. Spit and tears fell on his chest.

“mleadse.”

“YOU ARE OFFAL LEFT BEHIND IN THE BECOMING. YOU ARE OFFAL AND I WILL NAME YOU. YOU ARE CUNT FACE. SAY IT.” “i am cunt face.” He occluded his nostrils with his lip to say the words.

“SOON I WILL BE CLEANSED OF YOU,” the Dragon said effortlessly. “WILL THAT BE GOOD?” “good.”

“WHO WILL BE NEXT WHEN IT IS TIME?”

“mrs. . . . ehrman . . .”

Sharp pain shot through Dolarhyde, pain and terrible fear.

“I’LL TEAR IT OFF.”

“reba. reba. i’ll give you reba.” Already his speech was improving.

“YOU’LL GIVE ME NOTHING. SHE IS MINE. THEY ARE ALL MINE. REBA MCCLANE AND THEN THE SHERMANS.” “reba and then the shermans. the law will know.”

“I HAVE PROVIDED FOR THAT DAY. DO YOU DOUBT IT?”

“no.”

“WHO ARE YOU?”

“cunt face.”

“YOU MAY PUT AWAY MY TEETH. YOU PITIFUL WEAK HARELIP, YOU’D KEEP YOUR LITTLE BUDDY FROM ME, WOULD YOU? I’LL TEAR HER APART AND RUB THE PIECES IN YOUR UGLY FACE. I’LL HANG YOU WITH HER LARGE INTESTINE IF YOU OPPOSE ME. YOU KNOW I CAN. PUT THREE HUNDRED POUNDS ON THE BAR.” Dolarhyde added the plates to the bar. He had never lifted as much as 280 until today.

“LIFT IT.”

If he were not as strong as the Dragon, Reba would die. He knew it. He strained until the room turned red before his bulging eyes.

“i can’t.”

“NO YOU CAN’T. BUT I CAN.”

Dolarhyde gripped the bar. It bowed as the weight rose to his shoulders. UP. Above his head easily. “GOODBYE, CUNT FACE,” he said, proud Dragon, quivering in the light.