Pet Sematary - Stephen King [70]
Louis thought of Church jumping awkwardly off the toilet seat, his haunches thudding against the side of the tub; he thought of those muddy eyes that were almost but not quite stupid staring into his own.
At last he nodded.
When I got downstairs, my mother was backed into a corner in the pantry between our icebox and one of the counters. There was a bunch of white stuff on the floor-curtains shed been meaning to hang. Standing in the doorway of the pantry was Spot, my dog. There was dirt all over him and mud splashed clear up his legs. The fur on his belly was filthy, all knotted and snarled. He was just standing there-not growling or nothing- just standing there, but it was pretty clear that he had backed her into a corner, whether he meant to or not. She was in terror,
Louis. I dont know how you felt about your parents, but I know how I felt about mine-I loved them both dearly. Knowing Id done something to put my own mother in terror took away any joy I might have felt when I saw Spot standing there. I didnt even seem to feel surprised that he was there.
I know the feeling, Louis said. When I saw Church this morning, I just it seemed like something that was- He paused a moment. Perfectly natural? Those were the words that came immediately to mind, but they were not the right words. Like something that was meant.
Yes, Jud said. He lit a fresh cigarette. His hands were shaking the smallest bit. And my mother seen me there, still in my underwear, and she screamed at me, Feed your dog, Jud! Your dog needs to be fed, get him out of here before he messes the curtains!
So I found him some scraps and called him, and at first he didnt come, at first it was like he didnt know his own name, and I almost thought, well, this aint Spot at all, its some stray that looks like Spot, thats all-
Yes! Louis exclaimed.
Jud nodded. But the second or third time I called him, he came. He sort of jerked toward me, and when I led him out onto the porch, damned if he didnt run right into the side of the door and just about fall over. He ate the scraps though, just wolfed them down. By then I was over my first fright and was starting to get an idea of what had happened. I got on my knees and hugged him, I was so glad to see him. Then he licked my face, and
Jud shuddered and finished his beer.
Louis, his tongue was cold. Being licked by Spot was like getting rubbed up the side of your face with a dead carp.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Louis said, Go on.
He ate, and when he was done, I got an old tub we kept for him out from under the back porch, and I gave him a bath. Spot always hated to have a bath; usually it took both me and my dad to do it, and wed end up with our shirts off and our pants soaked, my dad cussing and Spot looking sort of ashamed-the way dogs do. And more likely than not hed roll around in the dirt right after and then go over by my mothers clothesline to shake off and put dirt all over the sheets she had hung and shed scream at
both of us that she was going to shoot that dog for a stranger before she got much older.
But that day Spot just sat in the tub and let me wash him. He never moved at all. I didnt like it. It was like like washing meat. I got an old piece of towel after I gave him his bath and dried him all off. I could see the places where the barbed wire had hooked him-there was no fur in any of those places, and the flesh looked dimpled in. It is the way an old wound looks after its been healed five years and more.
Louis nodded. In his line of work, he had seen such things from time to time. The wound never seemed to fill in completely, and that made him think of graves and his days as an undertaker's apprentice, and how there was never enough dirt to fill them in again.
Then I saw his head. There was another of those dimples there, but the fur had grown back white in a little circle. It was near his ear.
Where your father shot him,