Stephen King - It

how to do it. It’s my fault.”

Mr Nell simply stood there looking at him, lips pressed together, hands on his creaking black leather belt. He looked from Ben to the spreading pool behind the dam and then back to Ben again, his face that of a man who can’t believe what he is seeing. He was a burly Irishman, his hair a premature white, combed back in neat waves beneath his peaked blue cap. His eyes were bright blue, his nose bright red. There were small nests of burst capillaries in his cheeks. He was a man of no more than medium height, but to the five boys arrayed before him he looked at least eight feet tall.

Mr Nell opened his mouth to speak, but before he could. Bill Denbrough had stepped up beside Ben.

“Ih-Ih-Ih-It w-wuh-wuh-was m-my i-i-i-i-idea,” he finally managed to say. He heaved in a gigantic, gulping breath and as Mr Nell stood there regarding him impassively, the sun tossing back imperial flashes from his badge, Bill managed to stutter out the rest of what he needed to say: it wasn’t Ben’s fault; Ben just happened to come along and show them how to do better what they were already doing badly.

“Me too,” Eddie said abruptly, and stepped up on Ben’s other side.

“What’s this “me too"?” Mr Nell asked. “Is that yer name or yer address, buckaroo?”

Eddie flushed brightly-the color went all the way up to the roots of bis hair. “I was with Bill before Ben even came,” he said. “That was all I meant.”

Richie stepped up next to Eddie. The idea that a Voice or two might cheer Mr Nell up a little, get him thinking jolly thoughts, popped into his head. On second thought (and second thoughts were, for Richie, extremely rare and wonderful things), maybe a Voice or two might only make things worse. Mr Nell didn’t look like he was in what Richie sometimes thought of as a chuckalicious mood. In fact, Mr Nell looked like maybe chucks were the last thing on his mind. So he just said, “I was in on it too,” in a low voice, and then made his mouth shut up.

“And me,” Stan said, stepping next to Bill.

Now the five of them were standing before Mr Nell in a line. Ben looked from one side to the other, more than dazed-he was almost stupefied by their support. For a moment Richie thought ole Haystack was going to burst into tears of gratitude.

“Jaysus,” Mr Nell said again, and although he sounded deeply disgusted, his face suddenly looked as if it might like to laugh. “A sorrier bunch of boyos I ain’t nivver seen. If yer folks knew where you were, I guess there’d be some hot bottoms tonight. I ain’t sure there won’t be anyway.”

Richie could hold back no longer; his mouth simply fell open and then ran away like the gingerbread man, as it so often did.

“How’s things back in the auid country, Mr Nell?” it bugled. “Ah, yer a sight for sore eyes, sure an begorrah, yer a lovely man, a credit to the auld sod-”

“I’ll be a credit to the seat of yer pants in about three seconds, my dear little friend,” Mr Nell said dryly.

Bill turned on him, snarled: “For G-G-God’s s-sake R-R-Richie shuh-shuh-hut UP!”

“Good advice, Master William Denbrough,” Mr Nell said. “I’ll bet Zack doesn’t know you’re down here in the Bar’ns playing amongst the floating turdies, does he?”

Bill dropped his eyes, shook his head. Wild roses burned in his cheeks.

Mr Nell looked at Ben. “I don’t recall your name, son.”

“Ben Hanscom, sir,” Ben whispered.

Mr Nell nodded and looked back at the dam again. “This was your idea?”

“How to build it, yeah.” Ben’s whisper was now nearly inaudible.

“Well, yer a hell of an engineer, big boy, but you don’t know Jack Shit about these here Bar’ns or the Derry drainage system, do you?”

Ben shook his head.

Not unkindly, Mr Nell told him, “There’s two parts to the system. One part carries solid human waste-shit, if I’d not be offendin yer tender ears. The other part carries gray water-water flushed from toilets or run down the drains from sinks and washin-machines and showers; it’s also the water that runs down the gutters into the city drains.

“Well, ye’ve caused no problems with the solid-waste removal, thank God-all of that gets pumped into the Kenduskeag a bit farther down. There’s probably some almighty big patties down that way half a mile dryin in the sun thanks to what you done, but you can be pretty sure that there ain’t shit stickin to anyone’s ceiling because of it.

“But as for the gray water… well, there’s no pumps for gray water. That all runs downhill in what the engineer boyos call gravity drains. And I’ll bet you know where all them gravity drains end up, don’t you, big boy?”

“Up there,” Ben said. He pointed to the area behind the dam, the area they had in large part submerged. He did this without looking up. Big tears were beginning to course slowly down his cheeks. Mr Nell pretended not to notice.

“That’s right, my large young friend. All them gravity drains feed into streams that feed into the upper Barrens. In fact, a good many of them little streams that come tricklin down are gray water and gray water only, comin out of drams you can’t even see, they’re so deep-buried in the underbrush. The shit goes one way and everythin else goes the other, God praise the clever mind o man, and did it ever cross yer minds that you’d spent the whole live-long day paddlin around in Derry’s pee an old wash-water?”

Eddie suddenly began to gasp and had to use his aspirator.

“What you did was back water up into about six o the eight central Catch-basins that serve Witcham and Jackson and Kansas and four or five little streets that run between em.” Mr Nell fixed Bill Denbrough with a dry glance. “One of em serves yer own hearth an home, young Master Denbrough. So there we are, with sinks that won’t drain, washin-machines that won’t drain, outflow pipes pourin merrily into cellars-”

Ben let out a dry barking sob. The others turned toward him and then looked away. Mr Nell put a large hand on the boy’s shoulder. It was callused and hard, but at the moment it was also gentle.

“Now, now. No need to take on, big boy. Maybe it ain’t that bad, at least not yet; could be I exaggerated just a mite to make sure you took my point. They sent me down to see if a tree blew down across the stream. That happens from time to time. There’s no need for anyone but me and you five to know it wasn’t just that. We’ve got more important things to worry about in town these days than a little backed-up water. I’ll say on my report that I located the blowdown and some boys came along and helped me shift it out o the way o the water. Not that I’ll mention ye by name. Ye’Il not be gettin any citations for dam-building in the Bar’ns.”

He surveyed the five of them. Ben was furiously wiping his eyes with his handkerchief; Bill was looking thoughtfully at the dam; Eddie was holding his aspirator in one hand; Stan stood close by Richie with one hand on Richie’s arm, ready to squeeze-hard-if Richie should show the slightest sign of having anything to say other than thank you very much.

“You boys got no business at all in a dirty place like this,” Mr Nell went on. “There’s probably sixty different kinds o disease breeding down here.” Breeding came out braidin, as in what a girl may do with her hair in the morning. “dump down one way, streams full of piss an gray water, muck an slop, bugs an brambles, quick-mud… you got no business at all in a dirty place like this. Four clean city parks for you boyos to be playin ball in all the day long and I catch you down here. Jaysus Christ!”

“Wuh-Wuh-We l-l-l-like it d-d-down h-here,” Bill said suddenly and defiantly. “Wh-When w-w-we cuh-hum down h-here, nuh-ho-hobody gives us a-a-any stuh-stuh-hatic.”