Stephen King - Dolores Claiborne

In the northwestern part of Mainein the area known as the Lakes Districtthe small town of Sharbot curves like a crescent around a beautiful body of water called Dark Score Lake. Dark Score is one of the deepest lakes in New Englandbetter than three hundred feet in some places. Some of the locals have been known to claim it is bottomless but usually only after a few beers (in Sharbot, half a dozen is considered a few).

If one were to draw a straight line across a map of the state from northwest to southeast, beginning at the tiny cartographic point which represents Sharbot and continuing through the larger dot that marks the city of Bangor, one would eventually come to the smallest dot of alla tiny green grain standing off in the Atlantic about sixteen miles from Bar Harbor. This small green grain is Little Tall Island, population 204 in the 1990 census, down from an all-time high of 527 in the census of 1960.

These two tiny communities, exactly one hundred and forty miles apart as the crow flies, bracket the island and coastal aspects of New Englands largest state like a pair of nondescript book-ends. They have nothing whatever in common; one would be hard put, in fact, to find a citizen in either who had any knowledge of the other.

Yet in the summer of 1963, the last summer before Americaand the whole worldwould be changed forever by an assassins bullet, Sharbot and Little Tall were linked by a remarkable celestial phenomenon: the last total eclipse visible in northern New England until the year 2016.

Both Sharbot, in far western Maine, and Little Tall Island, the states easternmost spot, lay in the path of totality. And although over half the towns along the path of the eclipse were denied a view of the phenomenon by low-hanging clouds on that still, humid day, both Sharbot and Little Tall enjoyed perfect viewing conditions. For residents of Sharbot, the eclipse began at 4:29 P.M., EDT; for residents of Little Tall, it began at 4:34. The period of totality which raced across the state lasted almost exactly three minutes. In Sharbot, total darkness lasted from 5:39 until 5:41; on Little Tall, darkness was total from 5:42 until almost 5:43, a period of fifty-nine seconds, in fact.

As this strange darkness rolled its wave across the state, stars came out and filled the daytime sky; birds went to roost; bats circled aimlessly above chimneys; cows lay down in the fields where they had been cropping and went to sleep. The sun became a blazing fairy-ring in the sky, and as the world within that swatch of unnatural blackness lay suspended and hushed and the crickets began to sing, two people who would never meet sensed each other, turned toward each other as flowers turn to follow the heat of the sun.

One was a girl named Jessie Mahoutshe was in Sharbot, at the western end of the state. The other was a mother of three named Dolores St. Georgeshe was on Little Tall Island, at the eastern end of the state.

Both heard owls hoot in the daytime. Both lay in deep valleys of terror, nightmare geographies of which both believed they would never speak. Both felt the darkness was entirely fitting, and thanked God for it.

Jessie Mahout would marry a man named Gerald Burlingame, and her story is told in Geralds Game. Dolores St. George would take back her birth name, Dolores Claiborne, and she tells her story in the pages that follow. Both are tales of women in the path of the eclipse, and of how they emerge from the darkness.

What did you ask, Andy Bissette? Do I understand these rights as youve explained em to me?

Gorry! What makes some men so numb?

No, you never mindstill your jawin and listen to me for awhile. I got an idear youre gonna be listenin to me most of the night, so you might as well get used to it. Coss I understand what you read to me! Do I look like I lost all mbrains since I seen you down to the market? That was just Monday afternoon, in case you lost track. I told you your wife would give you merry hell about buying that day-old breadpenny wise and pound foolish, the old saying isand I bet I was right, wasnt I?

I understand my rights just fine, Andy; my mother never raised no fools. I understand my responsibilities too, God help me.

Anything I say might be used against me in a court of law, you say? Well will wonders never cease! And you can just get that smirk off your face, Frank Proulx. You may be a hot-shot town cop these days, but it hasnt been too long since I seen you runnin around in a saggy diaper with that same foolish grin on your face. Ill give you a little piece of advicewhen you get around an old biddy like me, you just want to save that grin. I cn read you easiern an underwear ad in the Sears catalogue.

All right, weve had our fun; might as well get down to it. Im gonna tell you three a hell of a lot startin right about now, and a hell of a lot of it probly could be used against me in a court of law, if anyone wanted to at this late date. The joke of it is, folks on the island know most of it already, and Im just about half-past give-a-shit, as old Neely Robichaud used to say when he was in his cups. Which was most of the time, as anyone who knew him will tell you.

I do give a shit about one thing, though, and thats why I come down here on my own hook. I didnt kill that bitch Vera Donovan, and no matter what you think now, I intend to make you believe that. I didnt push her down that frigging staircase. Its fine if you want to lock me up for the other, but I dont have none of that bitchs blood on my hands. And I think you will believe that by the time Im finished, Andy. You was always a good enough boy, as boys gofair-minded, is what I meanand youve turned into a decent man. Dont let it go to your head, though; you grew up same as any other man, with some woman to warsh your clothes and wipe your nose and turn you around when you got yself pointed in the wrong direction.

One other thing before we get startedI know you, Andy, and Frank, accourse, but whos this woman with the tape-recorder?

Oh Christ, Andy, I know shes a stenographer! Didnt I just tell you my Mamma didnt raise any fools? I may be sixty-six come this November, but I still got all my marbles. I know a woman with a tape-recorder and a shorthand pads a stenographer. I watch all those courtroom shows, even that L. A. Law where nobody can seem to keep their clothes on for fifteen minutes at a time.

Whats your name, honey?

Uh-huh and whereabouts do you hail from?

Oh, quit it, Andy! What else you got to do tonight? Was you plannin to go over to the shingle and see if you could catch a few fellas diggin quahogs without a licence? Thatd probly be more excitement than your heart could take, wouldnt it? Ha!

There. Thats better. Youre Nancy Bannister from Kennebunk, and Im Dolores Claiborne from right here on Little Tall Island. Now I already said Im going to do a country-fair job of talking before were done in here, and youre going to find I wasnt lyin a bit. So if you need me to speak up or to slow down, just say so. You neednt be shy with me. I want you to get every goddam word, startin with this: twenty-nine years ago, when Police Chief Bissette here was in the first grade and still eatin the paste off the back of his pitchers, I killed my husband, Joe St. George.