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- Стр. 396/409
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He
pushed
the
door
open
and
saw
Jud
's
splayed
feet
,
his
old
green
workpants
,
his
checked
flannel
shirt
.
The
old
man
was
lying
sprawled
in
a
wide
pool
of
drying
blood
.
Louis
glanced
his
hands
to
his
face
,
as
if
to
blight
his
own
vision
.
But
there
was
no
way
to
do
that
;
he
saw
eyes
,
Jud
's
eyes
,
open
,
accusing
him
,
perhaps
even
accusing
himself
for
setting
this
in
motion
.
But
did
he
?
Louis
wondered
.
Did
he
really
do
that
?
Jud
had
been
told
by
Stanny
B.
,
and
Stanny
B.
had
been
told
by
his
father
,
and
Stanny
B.
's
father
had
been
told
by
his
father
,
the
last
trader
to
the
Indians
,
a
Frenchman
from
the
north
country
in
the
days
when
Franklin
Pierce
had
been
a
living
President
.
"
Oh
Jud
,
I
'm
so
sorry
,
"
he
whispered
.
Jud
's
blank
eyes
stared
at
him
.
"
So
sorry
,
"
Louis
repeated
.
His
feet
seemed
to
move
by
themselves
,
and
he
was
suddenly
back
to
last
Thanksgiving
in
his
mind
,
not
to
that
night
when
he
and
Jud
had
taken
the
cat
up
to
the
Pet
Sematary
and
beyond
,
but
to
the
turkey
dinner
Norma
had
put
on
the
table
,
all
of
them
laughing
and
talking
,
the
two
men
drinking
beer
and
Norma
with
a
glass
of
white
wine
,
and
she
had
taken
the
white
lawn
tablecloth
from
the
lower
drawer
as
he
was
taking
it
now
,
but
she
had
put
it
on
the
table
and
then
anchored
it
with
lovely
pewter
candlestick
holders
,
while
he
--
Louis
watched
it
billow
down
over
Jud
's
body
like
a
collapsing
parachute
,
mercifully
covering
that
dead
face
.
Almost
immediately
,
tiny
rosepetals
of
deepest
,
darkest
scarlet
began
to
stain
the
white
lawn
.
"
I
'm
sorry
,
"
he
said
for
a
third
time
.
"
So
sor
--
"
