cb.imajica1-第21节

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fers　and　snot　rollers　to　a　man。　Not　one　of　them　would　be　capable　of　surviving　an　hour　in　the　alleyways　of　East　Yzordderrex；　he　thought；　down　by　the　harbor　where　even　the　cats　had　pimps。　Now　he　saw　himself　step　into　the　picture；　and　something　he　was　doing　or　saying　made　the　men　and　women　before　him　jump　from　their　seats；　even　Lionel。
　〃What's　this？〃　Oscar　murmured。
　They　had　wild　expressions　on　their　faces；　every　one。　Were　they　laughing？　What　had　he　done？　Cracked　a　joke？　Passed　wind？　He　studied　the　prophecy　more　closely。　No；　it　wasn't　humor　on　their　faces。　It　was　horror。
　〃Sir？〃
　Dowd's　voice　from　outside　the　door　broke　his　concentration。　He　looked　away　from　the　bowl　for　a　few　seconds　to　snap；　〃Go　away。〃
　But　Dowd　had　urgent　news。　〃McGann's　on　the　telephone；〃　he　said。
　〃Tell　him　you　don't　know　where　I　am。〃　Oscar　snorted；　returning　his　gaze　to　the　bowl。　Something　terrible　had　happened　in　the　time　between　his　looking　away　and　looking　back。　The　horror　remained　on　their　faces；　but　for　some　reason　he'd　disappeared　from　the　scene。　Had　they　dispatched　him　summarily？　God；　was　he　dead　on　the　floor？　Maybe。　There　was　something　glistening　on　the　table；　like　spilled　blood。　〃Sir！〃
　〃Fuck　off；　Dowdy。〃　〃They　know　you're　here；　sir。〃
　They　knew；　they　knew。　The　house　was　being　watched；　and　they　knew。
　〃All　right；〃　he　said。　〃Tell　him　I'll　be　down　in　a　moment。〃
　〃What　did　you　say；　sir？〃
　Oscar　raised　his　voice　over　the　din　of　the　stones；　looking　away　again；　this　time　more　willingly；　〃Get　his　whereabouts。　I'll　call　him　back。〃
　Again；　he　returned　his　gaze　to　the　bowl；　but　his　concentration　had　faltered；　and　he　could　no　longer　interpret　the　images　concealed　in　the　motion　of　the　stones。　Except　for　one。　As　the　speed　of　the　display　slowed　he　seemed　to　catch…oh；　so　fleetingly…a　woman's　face　in　the　mele~e。　His　replacement　at　the　Society's　table；　perhaps；　or　his　dispatcher。
　He　needed　a　drink　before　he　spoke　to　McGann。　Dowd；　ever　the　anticipator；　had　already　mixed　him　a　whisky　and　soda；　but　he　forsook　it　for　fear　it　would　loosen　his　tongue。　Paradoxically；　what　had　been　half　revealed　by　the　Boston　Bowl　helped　him　in　his　exchange。　In　extreme　circumstances　he　responded　with　almost　pathological　detachment；　it　was　one　of　his　most　English　traits。　He　had　thus　seldom　been　cooler　or　more　controlled　than　now；　as　he　told　McGann　that　yes；　indeed；　he　had　been　traveling；　and　no；　it　was　none　of　the　Society's　business　where　or　about　what　pursuit。　He　would　of　course　be　delighted　to　attend　a　gathering　at　the　tower　the　following　day；　but　was　McGann　aware　（indeed　did　he　care？）　that　tomorrow　was　Christmas　Eve？
　〃I　never　miss　Midnight　Mass　at　St。　Martin…in…the　Fields；〃　Oscar　told　him；　〃so　I'd　appreciate　it　greatly　if　the　meeting　could　be　concluded　quickly　enough　to　allow　me　time　to　get　there　and　find　a　pew　with　a　good　view。〃
　He　delivered　all　of　this　without　a　tremor　in　the　voice。　McGann　attempted　to　press　him　as　to　his　whereabouts　in　the　last　few　days；　to　which　Oscar　asked　why　the　hell　it　mattered。
　〃I　don't　ask　about　your　private　affairs；　now；　do　I？〃　he　said；　in　a　mildly　affronted　tone。　〃Nor；　by　the　way；　do　I　spy　on　your　ings　and　goings。　Don't　splutter；　McGann。　You　don't　trust　me　and　I　don't　trust　you。　I　will　take　tomorrow's　meeting　as　a　forum　to　debate　the　privacy　of　the　Society's　members　and　a　chance　to　remind　the　gathering　that　the　name　of　Godolphin　is　one　of　the　cornerstones　of　the　Society。〃
　〃AH　the　more　reason　for　you　to　be　forthright；〃　McGann　said。
　〃I'll　be　perfectly　forthright；〃　was　Oscar's　reply。　〃You'll　have　ample　evidence　of　my　innocence。〃　Only　now；　with　the　war　of　wits　won；　did　he　accept　the　whisky　and　soda　Dowd　had　mixed　for　him。　〃Ample　and　definitive。〃　He。　silently　toasted　Dowd　as　he　talked；　knowing　as　he　sipped　it　that　there'd　be　blood　shed　before　Christmas　Day　dawned。　Grim　as　that　prospect　was；　there　was　no　avoiding　it　now。
　When　he　put　the　phone　down　he　said　to　Dowd；　〃I　think　I'll　wear　the　herringbone　suit　tomorrow。　And　a　plain　shirt。　White。　Starched　collar。〃
　〃And　the　tie？〃　Dowd　asked；　replacing　Oscar's　drained　glass　with　a　fresh　one。
　〃I'll　be　going　straight　on　to　Midnight　Mass；〃　Oscar　said。
　〃Black；　then。〃
　〃Black。〃
　
　
　10
　
　THE　AFTERNOON　OF　THE　DAY　following　the　assassin's　appearance　at　Marlin's　apartment　a　blizzard　descended　upon　New　York　with　no　little　ferocity；　conspiring　with　the　inevitable　seasonal　rush　to　make　finding　a　flight　back　to　England　difficult。　But　Jude　was　not　easily　denied　anything；　especially　when　she'd　set　her　mind　firmly　on　an　objective；　and　she　was　certain…despite　Marlin's　protestations…that　leaving　Manhattan　was　the　most　sensible　thing　to　do。
　She　had　reason　on　her　side。　The　assassin　had　made　two　attempts　upon　her　life。　He　was　still　at　large。　As　long　as　she　stayed　in　New　York　she　would　be　under　threat。　But　even　if　this　had　not　been　the　case　（and　there　was　a　part　of　her　that　still　believed　that　he'd　e　that　second　time　to　explain；　or　apologize）；　she　would　have　found　an　excuse　for　returning　to　England；　just　to　be　out　of　Marlin's　pany。　He　had　bee　too　cloying　in　his　affections；　his　talk　as　saccharine　as　the　dialogue　from　the　Christmas　classics　on　the　television；　his　every　gaze　mawkish。　He'd　had　this　sickness　all　along；　of　course；　but　he'd　worsened　since　the　assassin's　visit；　and　her　tolerance　for　its　symptoms；　braced　as　she'd　been　by　her　encounter　with　Gentle；　had　dropped　to　zero。　Once　she'd　put　the　phone　down　on　him　the　previous　night　she'd　regretted　her　skittish　way　with　him；　and　after　a　heart…to…heart　with　Marlin　in　which　she'd　told　him　she　wanted　to　go　back　to　England；　and　he'd　replied　that　it　would　all　seem　different　in　the　morning　and　why　didn't　she　just　take　a　pill　and　lie　down；　she'd　decided　to　call　him　back。　By　this　time；　Marlin　was　sound　asleep。　She'd　left　her　bed；　gone　through　to　the　living　room；　put　on　a　single　lamp；　and　made　the　call。　It　felt　covert；　which　in　a　way　it　was。　Marlin　had　not　been　pleased　to　know　that　one　of　her　ex…lovers　had　attempted　to　play　hero　in　his　own　apartment；　and　he　wouldn't　have　been　happy　to　find　her　making　contact　with　Gentle　at　two　in　the　morning。　She　still　didn't　know　what　had　happened　when　she'd　been　put　through　to　the　room。　The　receiver　had　been　picked　up　and　then　dropped；　leaving　her　to　listen　with　increasing　fury　and　frustration　to　the　sound　of　Gentle　making　love。　Instead　of　putting　the　phone　down　there　and　then　she'd　listened；　half　wishing　she　could　have　joined　the　escapade。　Eventually；　after　failing　to　distract　Gentle　from　his　labors；　she'd　hung　up　and　traipsed　back　to　her　cold　bed　in　a　foul　humor。
　He'd　called　the　next　day；　and　Marlin　had　answered。　She　let　him　tell　Gentle　that　if　he　ever　saw　hide　or　hair　of　Gentle　in　the　building　again　he'd　have　him　arrested　as　an　acplice　to　attempted　murder。
　〃What　did　he　say？〃　she'd　asked　when　the　conversation　was　done。
　〃Not　very　much。　He　sounded　drunk。〃
　She　had　not　discussed　the　matter　any　further。　Marlin　was　already　sullen　enough；　after　her　breakfast　announcement　that　she　still　intended　to　return　to　England　that　day。　He'd　asked　her　over　and　over：　why？　Was　there　something　he　could　do　to　make　her　stay　more　fortable？　Extra　locks　on　the　doors？　A　promise　that　he　wouldn't　leave　her　side？　None　of　these；　of　course；　filling　her　with　renewed　enthusiasm　for　staying。　If　she　told　him　once　she　told　him　two　dozen　times　that　he　was　quite　the　perfect　host；　and　that　he　wasn't　to　take　this　personally；　but　she　wanted　to　be　back　in　her　own　house；　her　own　city；　where　she　would　feel　most　protected　from　the　assassin。　He'd　then　offered　to　e　back　with　her；　so　she　wasn't　returning　to　an　empty　house　alone；　at　which　point…running　out　of　soothing　phrases　and　patience…she'd　told　him　that　alone　was　exactly　what　she　wanted　to　be。
　And　so　here　she　was；　one　snail　crawl　through　the　blizzard　to　Kennedy；　a　five…hour　delay；　and　a　flight　in　which　she　was　wedged　between　a　nun　who　prayed　aloud　every　time　they　hit　an　air　pocket　and　a　child　in　need　of　worming；　later。　Her　own　sole　possessor；　in　an　empty　flat　on　Christmas　Eve。
　
　The　painting　in　four　contrary　modes　was　there　to　greet　Gentle　when　he　got　back　to　the　studio。　His　return　had　been　delayed　by　the　same　blizzard　that　had　almost　prevented　Judith　from　leaving　Manhattan；　and　put　him　beyond　the　deadline　Klein　had　set。　But　his　thoughts　had　not　turned　to　his　business　dealings　with　Klein　more　than　once　during　the　journey。　They'd　revolved　almost　entirely　around　the　encounter　with　the　assassin。　Whatever　mischief　Pie　'oh'　pah　had　worked　upon　his　system　it　had　cleared　by　the　following　morning…his　eyes　were　operating　normally；　and　he　was　lucid　enough　to　deal　with　the　practicalities　of　departure…　but　the　echoes　of　what　he'd　experienced　still　reverberated。　Dozing　on　the　plane　he　felt　the　smoothness　of　the　assassin's　face　in　his　fingertips；　the　tumble　of　hair　he'd　taken　to　be　Jude's　over　the　back　of　his　hands。　He　could　still　smell　the　scent　of　wet　skin　and　feel　the　weight　of　Pie　'oh'　pah's　body　on　his　hips；　this　so　persuasive　he　had　an　erection　apparent　enough　to　draw　a　stare　from　one　of　the　flight　attendants。　He　reasoned　that　perhaps　he　would　have　to　put　fresh　sensation　between　these　echoes　and　their　origins：　fuck　them　out；　sweat　himself　clean。　The　thought　forted　him。　When　he　dozed　again；　and