cb.damnationgame-第4节

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　　〃Your　coat；〃　she　said；　and　stretched　out　her　hands　to　help　him　shoulder　it　off。　Once　done；　she　stepped　out　of　his　eyeline；　and　the　object　of　his　long　search　came　into　view。
　　It　was　not　Mamoulian；　however；　that　took　his　eye　at　first。　It　was　the　carved　wooden　altar　piece　set　against　the　wall　behind　him；　a　Gothic　masterwork　which　blazed；　even　in　the　gloom；　with　gold　and　scarlet　and　blue。　Spoils　of　war；　the　thief　thought；　so　that's　what　the　bastard　does　with　his　fortune。　Now　he　looked　at　the　figure　in　front　of　the　triptych。　A　single　wick；　immersed　in　oil；　guttered　smokily　on　the　table　at　which　he　sat。　The　illumination　it　threw　up　on　to　the　card…player's　face　was　bright　but　unstable。
　　〃So；　Pilgrim；〃　the　man　said；　〃you　found　me。　Finally。〃　〃You　found　me；　surely；〃　the　thief　replied；　it　had　been　as　Vasiliev　had　predicted。
　　〃You　fancy　a　game　or　two；　I　hear。　Is　that　right？〃　〃Why　not？〃　He　tried　to　sound　as　nonchalant　as　possible；　though　his　heart　was　beating　a　double　tattoo　in　his　chest。　ing　into　the　card…player's　presence；　he　felt　pitifully　unprepared。　Sweat　glued　his　hair　to　his　forehead；　there　was　brick　dust　on　his　hands　and　muck　under　his　nails：　I　must　look；　he　squirmed；　like　the　thief　I　am。
　　By　contrast；　Mamoulian　was　a　picture　of　propriety。　There　was　nothing　in　the　sober　clothes…the　black　tie；　the　gray　suit…that　suggested　a　profiteer：　he　appeared；　this　legend；　like　a　stockbroker。　His　face；　like　his　dress；　was　unrepentantly　plain；　its　taut　and　finely　etched　skin　waxen　by　the　charmless　oil　flame。　He　looked　sixty　or　thereabouts；　cheeks　slightly　hollowed；　nose　large；　aristocratic；　brow　wide　and　high。　His　hair　had　receded　to　the　back　of　his　skull；　what　remained　was　feathery　and　white。　But　there　was　neither　frailty　nor　fatigue　in　his　posture。　He　sat　upright　in　his　chair；　and　his　agile　hands　fanned　and　gathered　a　pack　of　cards　with　loving　familiarity。　Only　his　eyes　belonged　to　the　thief's　dream　of　him。　No　stockbroker　ever　had　such　naked　eyes。　Such　glacial；　unforgiving　eyes。
　　〃I　hoped　you'd　e；　Pilgrim。　Sooner　or　later；〃　he　said。　His　English　was　without　inflection。
　　〃Am　I　late？〃　the　thief　asked；　half…joking。
　　Mamoulian　laid　the　cards　down。　He　seemed　to　take　the　inquiry　quite　seriously。　〃We'll　see。〃　He　paused　before　saying；　〃You　know；　of　course；　that　I　play　for　very　high　stakes。〃　〃I　heard。〃　〃If　you　wish　to　withdraw　now；　before　we　go　any　further；　I　would　perfectly　understand。〃　The　little　speech　was　made　without　a　trace　of　irony。
　　〃Don't　you　want　me　to　play？〃　Mamoulian　pressed　his　thin；　dry　lips　together　and　frowned。　〃On　the　contrary；〃　he　said；　〃I　very　much　want　you　to　play。〃　There　was　a　flicker…was　there　not？…of　pathos　there。　The　thief　wasn't　sure　if　it　was　a　slip　of　the　tongue；　or　the　subtlest　of　theatrics。　〃But　I　am　not　sympathetic　。　。　。〃　he　went　on；　〃to　those　who　do　not　pay　their　debts。〃　〃You　mean　the　lieutenant；〃　the　thief　chanced。
　　Mamoulian　stared　at　him。　〃I　know　no　lieutenant；〃　he　said　flatly。　〃I　know　only　gamblers；　like　myself。　A　few　are　good；　most　are　not。　They　all　e　here　to　test　their　mettle；　as　you　have。〃　He　had　picked　up　the　pack　again；　and　it　was　moving　in　his　hands　as　if　the　cards　were　alive。　Fifty…two　moths　fluttering　in　the　queasy　light；　each　one　marked　a　little　differently　from　the　last。　They　were　almost　indecently　beautiful；　their　glossy　faces　the　most　unflawed　thing　the　thief　had　set　eyes　on　in　months。
　　〃I　want　to　play；〃　he　said；　defying　the　hypnotic　passage　of　cards。
　　〃Then　sit　down；　Pilgrim；〃　Mamoulian　said；　as　though　the　question　had　never　been　at　issue。
　　Almost　soundlessly　the　woman　had　set　a　chair　behind　him。　As　he　sat　down；　the　thief　met　Mamoulian's　gaze。　Was　there　anything　in　those　joyless　eyes　that　intended　him　harm？　No；　nothing。　There　was　nothing　there　to　fear。
　　Murmuring　his　thanks　for　the　invitation；　he　unbuttoned　the　cuffs　of　his　shirt　and　folded　the　sleeves　back　in　preparation　for　play。
　　After　a　time；　the　game　began。
　　
　　
　　Part　Two　ASYLUM
　　
　　The　Devil　is　by　no　means　the　worst　that　there　is；　I　would　rather　have　dealings　with　him　than　with　many　a　human　being。　He　honours　his　agreements　much　more　promptly　than　many　a　swindler　on　Earth。　To　be　true；　when　payment　is　due　he　es　on　the　dot；　just　as　twelve　strikes；　fetches　his　soul　and　goes　off　home　to　Hell　like　a　good　Devil。　He's　just　a　businessman　as　is　right　and　proper。
　　J。N。　NESTROY；　Hollenangst
　　
　　I　Providence
　　
　　5
　　After　serving　six　years　of　his　sentence　at　Wandsworth；　Marty　Strauss　was　used　to　waiting。　He　waited　to　wash　and　shave　himself　every　morning；　he　waited　to　eat；　he　waited　to　defecate；　he　waited　for　freedom。　So　much　waiting。　It　was　all　part　of　the　punishment；　of　course；　as　was　the　interview　he'd　been　summoned　to　this　dreary　afternoon。　But　while　the　waiting　had　e　to　seem　easy；　the　interviews　never　had。　He　loathed　the　bureaucratic　spotlight：　the　Parole　File　bulging　with　the　Discipline　Reports；　the　Home　Circumstance　Reports；　the　Psychiatric　Evaluations；　the　way　every　few　months　you　stood　stripped　in　front　of　some　uncivil　servant　while　he　told　you　what　a　foul　thing　you　were。　It　hurt　him　so　much　he　knew　he'd　never　be　healed　of　it；　never　forget　the　hot　rooms　filled　with　insinuation　and　dashed　hopes。　He'd　dream　them　forever。
　　〃e　in；　Strauss。〃　The　room　hadn't　changed　since　he'd　last　been　here；　only　bee　staler。　The　man　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　table　hadn't　changed　either。　His　name　was　Somervale；　and　there　were　any　number　of　prisoners　in　Wandsworth　who　nightly　said　prayers　for　his　pulverization。　Today　he　was　not　alone　behind　the　plastic…topped　table。
　　〃Sit　down；　Strauss。〃　Marty　glanced　across　at　Somervale's　associate。　He　was　no　prison　officer。　His　suit　was　too　tasteful；　his　fingernails　too　well…manicured。　He　looked　to　be　in　late　middle…age；　solidly　built；　and　his　nose　was　slightly　crooked；　as　if　it　had　once　been　broken　and　then　imperfectly　reset。　Somervale　offered　the　introduction：　〃Strauss。　This　is　Mr。　Toy　。　。　。〃　〃Hello；〃　Marty　said。
　　The　tanned　face　returned　his　gaze；　it　was　a　look　of　frank　appraisal。
　　〃I'm　pleased　to　meet　you；〃　Toy　said。
　　His　scrutiny　was　more　than　casual　curiosity；　though　what…thought　Marty…was　there　to　see？　A　man　with　time　on　his　hands；　and　on　his　face；　a　body　grown　sluggish　with　too　much　bad　food　and　too　little　exercise；　an　ineptly　trimmed　mustache；　a　pair　of　eyes　glazed　with　boredom。　Marty　knew　every　dull　detail　of　his　own　appearance。　He　wasn't　worth　a　second　glance　any　longer。　And　yet　the　bright　blue　eyes　stared　on；　apparently　fascinated。
　　〃I　think　we　should　get　down　to　business；〃　Toy　said　to　Somervale。　He　put　his　hands　palm　down　on　the　tabletop。　〃How　much　have　you　told　Mr。　Strauss？〃　Mr。　Strauss。　The　prefix　was　an　almost　forgotten　courtesy。
　　〃I've　told　him　nothing；〃　Somervale　replied。
　　〃Then　we　should　begin　at　the　beginning；〃　Toy　said。　He　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　hands　still　on　the　table。
　　〃As　you　like；〃　said　Somervale；　clearly　gearing　himself　up　for　a　substantial　speech。　〃Mr。　Toy…〃　he　began。
　　But　he　got　no　further　before　his　guest　broke　in。
　　〃If　I　may？〃　said　Toy；　〃perhaps　I　can　best　summarize　the　situation。〃　〃Whatever　suits；〃　said　Somervale。　He　fumbled　in　his　jacket　pocket　for　a　cigarette；　barely　masking　his　chagrin。　Toy　ignored　him。　The　off…center　face　continued　to　look　across　at　Marty。
　　〃My　employer…〃　Toy　began　〃…is　a　man　by　the　name　of　Joseph　Whitehead。　I　don't　know　if　that　means　anything　to　you？〃　He　didn't　wait　for　a　reply；　but　went　on。　〃If　you　haven't　heard　of　him；　you're　doubtless　familiar　with　the　Whitehead　Corporation；　which　he　founded。　It's　one　of　the　largest　pharmaceutical　empires　in　Europe…〃　The　name　rang　a　faint　bell　in　Marty's　head；　and　it　had　some　scandalous　association。　But　it　was　tantalizingly　vague；　and　he　had　no　time　to　puzzle　it　through；　because　Toy　was　in　full　flight。
　　〃…Although　Mr。　Whitehead　is　now　in　his　late　sixties；　he　still　keeps　control　of　the　corporation。　He's　a　self…made　man；　you　understand；　and　he's　dedicated　his　life　to　its　creation。　He　chooses；　however；　not　to　be　as　visible　as　he　once　was…〃　A　front…page　photograph　suddenly　developed　in　Strauss〃　head。　A　man　with　his　hand　up　against　the　glare　of　a　flashbulb；　a　private　moment　snatched　by　some　lurking　paparazzo　for　public　consumption。
　　〃…He　shuns　publicity　almost　pletely；　and　since　his　wife's　death　he　has　little　taste　for　the　social　arena…〃　Sharing　the　unwele　attention　Strauss　remembered　a　woman　whose　beauty　astonished；　even　by　the　unflattering　light。　The　wife　of　whom　Toy　spoke；　perhaps。
　　〃…Instead　he　chooses　to　mastermind　his　corporation　out　of　the　spotlight；　concerning　himself　in　his　leisure　hours　with　social　issues。　Among　them；　overcrowding　in　prisons；　and　the　deterioration　of　the　prison　service　generally。〃　The　last　remark　was　undoubtedly　barbed；　and　found　Somervale　with　deadly　accuracy。　He　ground　out　his　half…smoked　cigarette　in　the　tinfoil　ashtray；　throwing　the　other　man　a　sour　glance。
　　〃When　the　time　came　to　engage　a　new　personal　bodyguard…〃　Toy　continued；　〃…it　was　Mr。　Whitehead's　decision　to　seek　a　suitable　candidate　amongst　men　ing　up　for　parole　rather　than　going　through　the　usual　agencies。　〃　He　can't　mean　me；　Strauss　thought。　The　idea　was　too　fine　to　tease　himself　with；　and　too　ludicrous。　And　yet　if　t