cb.imajica1-第32节
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s no poet's conceit： it felt as though the pump had turned to lead and was bruising the plush meat of his innards。
As he wandered back to his car he heard the whistling again； the same tuneless sound floating on the dirty air。 He stopped walking and turned to all pass points； looking for the source； but the whistler was already out of sight； and Gentle was too weary to give chase。 Even if he had； he thought； even if he'd caught it by its lapels and threatened to break its burned bones； what purpose would that have served？ Assuming it had been moved by his threat （and pain was probably meat and drink to a creature that whistled as it burned） he'd be no more able to prehend its reply than interpret Chant's letter： and for similar reasons。 They were both escapees from the same unknown land； whose borders he'd grazed when he'd gone to New York； the same world that held the God Hapexamendios and had given birth to Pie 'oh' pah。 Sooner or later he'd find a way to gain access to that state； and when he did all the mysteries would e clear： the whistler； the letter； the lover。 He might even solve the mystery that he met most mornings in the shaving mirror： the face he thought he'd known well enough until recently； but whose code he now realized he'd forgotten and would not now remember without the help of the undiscovered God。
Back in the house in Primrose Hill； Godolphin sat up through the night and listened to the news bulletins reporting the tragedy。 The number of dead rose every hour； two more victims had already perished in the hospital。 Theories were being advanced everywhere as to the cause of the fire； pundits used the event to ment on the lax safety standards applied to sites where itinerants camped and demanded a full Parliamentary inquiry to prevent a repeat of such a conflagration。
The reports appalled him。 Though he'd given Dowd leash enough to dispatch the mystif…and who knew what hidden agenda lay there？…the creature had abused the freedom he'd been granted。 There would have to be punishment meted out for such abuse； though Godolphin was in no mood to plot that now。 He'd bide his time； choose his moment。 It would e。 Meanwhile； Dowd's violence seemed to him further evidence of a disturbing pattern。 Things he'd thought immutable were changing。 Power was slipping from the possession of those who'd traditionally held it into the hands of underlings…fixers； familiars； and functionaries…who were ill equipped to use it。 Tonight's disaster was symptomatic of that。 But the disease had barely begun to take hold。 Once it spread through the Dominions there'd be no stopping it。 There had already been uprisings in Vanaeph and L'Himby； there were mutterings of rebellion in Yzordderrex； now there was to be a purge here in the Fifth Dominion； organized by the Tabula Rasa； a perfect background to Dowd's vendetta and its bloody consequences。 Everywhere； signs of disintegration。
Paradoxically the most chilling of those signs was superficially an image of reconstruction： that of Dowd re…creating his face so that if he was seen by any member of the Society he'd not be recognized。 It was a process he'd undertaken with each generation； but this was the first time any Godolphin had witnessed said process。 Now Oscar thought back on it； he suspected Dowd had deliberately displayed his transformative powers； as further evidence of his newfound authority。 It had worked。 Seeing the face he'd grown so used to soften and shift at the will of its possessor was one of the most distressing spectacles Oscar had set eyes upon。 The face Dowd had finally fixed was sans mustache and eyebrows； the head sleeker than his other； and younger： the face that of an ideal National Socialist。 Dowd must also have caught that echo； because he later bleached his hair and bought several new suits； all apricot but of a much severer cut than those he'd worn in his earlier incarnation。 He sensed the instabilities ahead as well as Oscar； he felt the rot in the body politic and was readying himself for a New Austerity。
And what more perfect tool than fire； the book burner's joy； the soul cleanser's bliss？ Oscar shuddered to contemplate the pleasure Dowd had taken from his night's work； callously murdering innocent human families in pursuit of the mystif。 He would return to the house； no doubt； with tears on his face and say he regretted the hurt he'd done to the children。 But it would be a performance； a sham。 There was no true capacity for grief or regret in the creature； and Oscar knew it。 Dowd was deceit incarnate； and from now on Oscar knew he had to be on his guard。 The fortable years were over； Hereafter he would sleep with his bedroom door locked。
15
In her rage at his conspiracies Jude had contemplated several possible ways to revenge herself upon Estabrook； ranging from the bloodily intimate to the classically detached。 But her nature never ceased to surprise her。 All thoughts of garden shears and prosecutions dimmed in a short time； and she came to realize that the worst harm she could do him…given that the harm he'd intended to do her had been stopped in its tracks…was to ignore him。 Why give him the satisfaction of her least interest in him？ From now on he would be so far beneath her contempt as to be invisible。 Having unburdened herself of her story to Taylor and Clem； she sought no further audience。 From now on she wouldn't sully her lips with his name or let her thoughts dally with him for two consecutive seconds。 At least； that was the pact she made with herself。 It proved difficult to keep。
On Boxing Day she received the first of what were to be many calls from him； which she resolutely cut short the instant she recognized his voice。 It wasn't the authoritative Estabrook she'd been used to hearing； and it took her three exchanges before she realized who was on the other end of the line； at which point she put down the receiver and let it
lie uncradled for the rest of the day。 The following morning he called again； and this time； just in case he was in any doubt； she told him； 〃I don't ever want to hear your voice again；〃 and once more cut him off。
When she'd done so she realized he'd been sobbing as he spoke； which gave her no little satisfaction； and the hope that he wouldn't try again。 A frail hope； he called twice that evening； leaving messages on her answering machine while she was out at a party flung by Chester Klein。 There she heard news of Gentle； to whom she hadn't spoken since their odd parting at the studio。 Chester； who was much the worse for vodka； told her plainly he expected Gentle to have a full…blown nervous breakdown in a short time。 He'd spoken to the Bastard Boy twice since Christmas； and he was increasingly incoherent。
〃What is it about all you men？〃 she found herself saying。 〃You fall apart so easily。〃
〃That's because we're the more tragic of the sexes；〃 Chester returned。 〃God； woman； can't you see how we suffer？〃
〃Frankly； no。〃
〃Well； we do。 Take it from me。 We do。〃
〃Is there any particular reason； or is it just free…form suffering？〃
〃We're all sealed up；〃 Klein said。 〃Nothing can get in。〃
〃So are women。 What's the…〃
〃Women get fucked；〃 Klein interrupted； pronouncing the word with a drunken ripeness。 〃Oh； you bitch about it； but you love it。 Go on； admit it。 You love it。〃
〃So all men really want is to get fucked； is that it？〃 Jude said。 〃Or are you just talking personally？〃
This brought a ripple of laughter from those who'd given up their chitchat to watch the fireworks。
〃Not literally；〃 Klein spat back。 〃You're not listening to me。〃
〃I'm listening。 You're just not making any sense。〃
〃Take the church…〃
〃Fuck the church！〃
〃No； listen！〃 Klein said； teeth clenched。 〃I'm telling God's honest fucking truth here。 Why do you think men invented the church； huh？ Huh？〃
His bombast had infuriated Jude to the point where she refused to reply。 He went on； unperturbed； talking pedantically； as if to a slow student。
〃Men invented the church so they could bleed for Christ。 So they could be entered by the Holy Spirit。 So they could be saved from being sealed up。〃 His lesson finished； he leaned back in his chair； raising his glass。 〃In vodka veri…tas；〃 he said。
〃In vodka shit；〃 Jude replied。
〃Well； that's just typical of you； isn't it？〃 Klein's words slurred。 〃As soon as you're fucking beaten you start the insults。〃
She turned from him； shaking her head dismissively。 But he still had a barb in his armory。
〃Is that how you drive the Bastard Boy crazy？〃 he said。
She turned back on him； stung。 〃Keep him out of this；〃 she snapped。
〃You want to see sealed up？〃 Klein said。 〃There's your example。 He's out of his head； you know that？〃
〃Who cares？〃 she said。 〃If he wants to have a nervous breakdown； he can have one。〃
〃How very humanitarian of you。〃
She stood up at this juncture； knowing she was perilously close to losing her temper pletely。
〃I know the Bastard Boy's excuse；〃 Klein went on。 〃He's anemic。 He's only got enough blood for his brain or his prick。 If he gets a hard…on； he can't remember his own name。〃
〃I wouldn't know；〃 Jude said； swilling the ice around in her glass。
〃Is that your excuse too？〃 Klein went on。 〃Have you got something down the
