cb.imajica1-第27节

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　She　went　back　inside　to　say　farewell　on　behalf　of　herself　and　Gentle。　Taylor　was　back　in　his　chair。　She　caught　sight　of　him　before　he　saw　her。　He　was　staring　into　middle　distance；　his　eyes　glazed。　It　wasn't　sorrow　she　read　in　his　expression；　but　a　fatigue　so　profound　it　had　wiped　all　feeling　from　him　except；　maybe；　regret　for　unsolved　mysteries。　She　went　to　him　and　explained　that　she'd　found　Gentle　and　that　he　was　sick　and　needed　taking…home。
　〃Isn't　he　going　to　e　and　say　goodbye？〃　Taylor　said。
　〃I　think　he's　afraid　of　throwing　up　all　over　the　carpet；　or　you；　or　both。〃
　〃Tell　him　to　call　me。　Tell　him　I　want　to　see　him　soon。〃　He　took　hold　of　Jude's　hand；　holding　it　with　surprising　strength。　〃Soon；　tell　him。〃
　〃I　will。〃
　〃I　want　to　see　that　grin　of　his　one　more　time。〃
　〃There'll　be　lots　of　times；〃　she　said。
　He　shook　his　head。　〃Once　will　have　to　do；〃　he　replied　softly。
　She　kissed　him　and　promised　she'd　call　to　say　she　got　home　safely。　On　her　way　to　the　door　she　met　Clem　and　once　again　made　her　apologies　and　farewells。
　〃Call　me　if　there's　anything　I　can　do；〃　she　offered。
　〃Thanks；　but　I　think　it's　a　waiting　game。〃
　〃Then　we　can　wait　together。〃
　〃Better　just　him　and　me；〃　Clem　said。　〃But　I　will　call。〃
　He　glanced　towards　Taylor；　who　was　once　more　staring　at　nothing。
　〃He's　determined　to　hold　on　till　spring。　One　more　spring；　he　keeps　saying。　He　never　gave　a　fuck　about　crocuses　till　now。〃　Clem　smiled。　〃You　know　what's　wonderful？〃　he　said。　〃I've　fallen　in　love　with　him　all　over　again。〃
　〃That　is　wonderful。〃
　〃And　now　I'm　going　to　lose　him；　just　when　I　realize　what　he　means　to　me。　You　won't　make　that　mistake；　will　you？〃　He　looked　at　her　hard。　〃You　know　who　I　mean。〃
　She　nodded。
　〃Good。　Then　you'd　better　take　him　home。〃
　The　roads　were　as　empty　as　he'd　predicted；　and　it　took　only　fifteen　minutes　to　get　back　to　Gentle's　studio。　He　wasn't　exactly　coherent。　On　the　way；　the　exchanges　between　them　were　full　of　gaps　and　discontinuities；　as　though　his　mind　were　running　ahead　of　his　tongue；　or　behind　it。　Drink　wasn't　the　culprit。　Jude　had　seen　Gentle　drunk　on　all　forms　of　alcohol；　it　made　him　roaring；　randy；　and　sanctimonious　by　turns。　Never　like　this；　with　his　head　back　against　the　seat；　his　eyes　closed；　talking〃　from　the　bottom　of　a　pit。　One　moment　he　was　thanking　her　for　looking　after　him；　the　next　he　was　telling　her　not　to　mistake　the　paint　on　his　hands　for　shit。　It　wasn't　shit；　he　kept　saying；　it　was　burnt　umber；　and　prussian　blue；　and　cadmium　yellow；　but　somehow　when　you　mixed　colors　together；　any　colors；　they　always　came　out　looking　like　shit　eventually。　This　monologue　dwindled　into　silence；　from　which；　a　minute　or　two　later；　a　new　subject　emerged。
　〃I　can't　look　at　him；　you　know；　the　way　he　is。　。　。〃
　〃Who？〃　Jude　said。
　〃Taylor。　I　can't　look　at　him　when　he's　so　sick。　You　know　how　much　I　hate　sickness。〃
　She'd　forgotten。　It　amounted　to　a　paranoia　with　him；　fueled　perhaps　by　the　fact　that　though　he　treated　his　body　with　scant　regard　for　its　health　he　not　only　never　sickened　but　hardly　aged。　Doubtless　the　collapse；　when　it　came；　would　be　calamitous：　excess；　frenzy；　and　the　passage　of　years　taking　their　toll　in　one　fell　swoop。　Until　that　time　he　wanted　no　reminders　of　his　physical　frailty。
　〃Taylor's　going　to　die；　isn't　he？〃　he　said。
　〃Clem　thinks　very　soon。〃
　Gentle　gave　a　heavy　sigh。　〃I　should　spend　some　time　with　him。　We　were　good　friends　once。〃
　〃There　were　rumors　about　you　two。〃
　〃He　spread　them；　not　me。〃
　〃Just　rumors；　were　they？〃
　〃What　do　you　think？〃
　〃I　think　you've　probably　tried　every　experience　that　swam　by　at　least　once。〃
　〃He's　not　my　type；〃　Gentle　said；　not　opening　his　eyes。
　〃You　should　see　him　again；〃　she　said。　〃You've　got　to　face　up　to　falling　apart　sooner　or　later。　It　happens　to　us　all。〃
　〃Not　to　me　it　won't。　When　I　start'to　decay；　I'm　going　to　kill　myself。　I　swear。〃　He　made　fists　of　his　painted　hands　and　raised　them　to　his　face；　drawing　the　knuckles　down　over　his　cheeks。　〃I　won't　let　it　happen；〃　he　said。
　〃Good　luck；〃　she　replied。
　They　drove　the　rest　of　the　way　without　any　further　exchange　between　them；　his　passive　presence　on　the　passenger　seat　beside　her　making　her　uneasy。　She　kept　thinking　of　Taylor's　story　and　expecting　him　to　start　talking；　unleashing　a　stream　of　lunacies。　It　wasn't　until　she　announced　that　they'd　arrived　at　the　studio　that　she　realized　he'd　fallen　asleep。　She　stared　at　him　awhile：　at　the　smooth　dome　of　his　forehead　and　the　delicate　configuration　of　his　lips。　It　was　still　in　her　to　dote　on　him；　no　question　of　that。　But　what　lay　that　way？　Disappointment　and　frustrated　rage。　Despite　Clem's　words　of　encouragement　she　was　almost　certain　it　was　a　lost　cause。
　She　shook　him　awake　and　asked　him　if　she　could　use　his　bathroom　before　going　on　her　way。　The　punch　was　heavy　in　her　bladder。　He　was　hesitant；　which　surprised　her。　The　suspicion　dawned　that　he'd　already　moved　a　female　panion　into　the　studio；　some　seasonal　bird　to　be　stuffed　for　Christmas　and　dumped　by　New　Year。　Curiosity　made　her　press　to　be　allowed　in。　Reluctant　as　he　was；　he　could　scarcely　say　no；　of　course；　and　she　traipsed　up　the　stairs　after　him；　wondering　as　she　went　what　the　conquest　was　going　to　look　like；　only　to　find　that　the　studio　was　empty。　His　sole　panion　was　the　painting　that　had　so　filthied　his　hands。　He　seemed　genuinely　upset　that　she'd　set　eyes　on　it　and　ushered　her　to　the　bathroom；　more　disfited　than　if　her　first　suspicions　had　been　correct　and　one　of　his　conquests　had　indeed　been　disporting　herself　on　the　thread…　bare　couch。　Poor　Gentle。　He　was　getting　stranger　by　the　day。
　She　relieved　herself　and　emerged　from　the　toilet　to　find　the　painting　covered　with　a　stained　sheet　and　him　looking　furtive　and　fidgety；　clearly　eager　to　have　her　out　of　the　place。　She　saw　no　reason　not　to　be　plain　with　him；　and　said；　〃Working　on　something　new？〃
　〃Nothing　much；〃　he　said。
　〃I'd　like　to　see。〃
　〃It's　not　finished。〃
　〃It　doesn't　matter　to　me　if　it's　a　fake；〃　she　said。　〃I　know　what　you　and　Klein　get　up　to。〃
　〃It's　not　a　fake；〃　he　said；　a　fierceness　in　his　voice　and　face　she'd　not　seen　so　far　tonight。　〃It's　mine。〃
　〃An　original　Zacharias？〃　she　remarked。　〃This　I　have　to　see。〃
　She　reached　for　the　sheet；　before　he　could　stop　her；　and　flipped　it　up　over　the　top　of　the　canvas。　She'd　only　had　a　glimpse　of　the　picture　as　she'd　entered；　and　from　some　distance。　Up　close；　it　was　clear　he'd　worked　on　the　canvas　with　no　little　ferocity。　There　were　places　where　it　had　been　punctured；　as　though　he'd　stabbed　it　with　his　palette　knife　or　brush；　other　places　where　the　paint　was　laid　on　with　glutinous　abandon；　then　thumbed　and　fingered　to　drive　it　before　his　will。　All　this　to　achieve　the　likeness　of　what？　Two　people；　it　seemed；　standing　face　to　face　against　a　brutal　sky；　their　flesh　white；　but　shot　through　with　jabs　of　livid　color。
　〃Who　are　they？〃　she　said。
　〃They？〃　he　said；　sounding　almost　surprised　that　she'd　read　the　image　thusly；　then　covering　his　response　with　a　shrug。　〃Nobody；〃　he　said；　〃just　an　experiment；〃　and　pulled　the　sheet　back　down　over　the　painting。
　〃Is　it　a　mission？〃
　〃I'd　prefer　not　to　discuss　it；〃　he　said。
　His　disfort　was　oddly　charming。　He　was　like　a　child　who'd　been　caught　about　some　secret　ritual。　〃You're　full　of　surprises；〃　she　said；　smiling。
　〃Nan；　not　me。〃
　Though　the　painting　was　out　of　sight　he　continued　to　look　ill　at　ease；　and　she　realized　there　was　going　to　be　no　further　discussion　of　the　picture　or　its　import。
　〃I'll　be　off；　then；〃　she　said。
　〃Thanks　for　the　lift；〃　he　replied；　escorting　her　to　the　door。
　〃Do　you　still　want　to　have　that　drink？〃　she　said。
　〃You're　not　going　back　to　New　York？〃
　〃Not　immediately。　I'll　call　you　in　a　couple　of　days。　Don't　forget　Taylor。〃
　〃What　are　you；　my　conscience？〃　he　said；　with　too　small　a　trace　of　humor　to　soften　the　weight　of　the　reply。　〃I　won't　forget。〃
　〃You　leave　marks　on　people；　Gentle。　That's　a　responsibility　you　can't　just　shrug　off。〃
　〃I'll　try　to　be　invisible　from　now　on；〃　he　replied。
　He　didn't　take　her　to　the　front　door　but　let　her　head　down　the　stairs　alone；　closing　the　studio　door　before　she'd　taken　more　than　half　a　dozen　steps。　As　she　went；　she　wondered　what　misbegotten　instinct　had　made　her　suggest　drinks。　Well；　it　was　easily　slipped　out　of；　even　assuming　he　remembered　the　suggestion　had　been　made；　which　she　doubted。
　Once　out　in　the　street　she　looked　up　at　the　building　to　see　if　she　could　spot　him　through　the　window。　She　had　to　cross　the　road　to　do　so；　but　from　the　opposite　pavement　she　could　see　him　standing　in　front　of　the　painting；　which　he　had　once　again　unveiled。　He　was　staring　at　it　with　his　head　slightly　cocked。　She　couldn't　be　certain；　but　it　looked　as　though　his　lips　were　moving；　as　though　he　were　talking　to　the　image　on　the　canvas。　What　was　he　saying？　she　wondered。　Was　he　coaxing　some　image　forth　from　the　chaos　of　paint？　And　if　so；　in　which　of　his　many　tongues　was　he　speaking？
　
　
　13
　
　She　had　seen　two　people　where　he'd　painted　one。　Not　a　he；　a　she；　or　an　it；　but　they。　She'd　looked　at　the　image　and　seen　past　his　conscious　intention　to　a　buried　purpose；　one　he'd　hidden　even　from　himself。　Now　he　went　back　to　the　canvas　and　looked　at　it　again；　with　borrow