cb.damnationgame-第44节

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　　〃That's　my　business；　Carys。〃　She　stood；　sliding　up　the　wall　against　which　she'd　been　slumped。
　　〃I　don't　think　I　want　to　find　him　for　you。〃　〃Aren't　we　friends？〃　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃No。　Never。〃　〃e　now。〃　He　stepped　toward　her。　The　broken　hand　touched　her：　the　contact　was　feather…light。
　　〃I　think　you　are　a　ghost；〃　she　said。
　　She　left　him　standing　in　the　corridor；　and　went　up　to　the　bathroom　to　think　this　through；　locking　the　door　behind　her。　She　knew　without　a　shadow　of　a　doubt　that　he'd　harm　Toy　if　she　led　him　to　the　man。
　　〃Carys；〃　he　said　quietly。　He　was　outside　the　bathroom　door。　His　proximity　made　her　scalp　creep。
　　〃You　can't　make　me；〃　she　said。
　　〃Don't　tempt　me。〃　Suddenly　the　European's　face　loomed　in　her　head。　He　spoke　again：　〃I　knew　you　before　you　could　walk；　Carys。　I've　held　you　in　my　arms；　often。　You've　sucked　on　my　thumb。〃　He　was　speaking　with　his　lips　close　to　the　door；　his　low　voice　reverberated　in　the　wood　she　had　her　back　against。
　　〃It's　no　fault　of　yours　or　mine　that　we　were　parted。　Believe　me；　I'm　glad　you　carry　your　father's　gifts；　because　he　never　used　them。　He　never　once　understood　the　wisdom　there　was　to　be　found　with　them。　He　squandered　it　all：　for　fame；　for　wealth。　But　you　。　。　。　I　could　teach　you；　Carys。　Such　things。〃　The　voice　was　so　seductive　it　seemed　to　reach　through　the　door　and　enfold　her；　the　way　his　arms　had；　so　many　years　ago。　She　was　suddenly　minute　in　his　grasp；　he　cooed　at　her；　made　foolish　faces　to　bring　a　cherubic　smile　to　bloom。
　　〃Just　find　Toy　for　me。　Is　it　so　much　to　ask　for　all　my　favors　to　you？〃　She　found　herself　rocking　with　the　rhythm　of　his　cradling。
　　〃Toy　never　loved　you；〃　he　was　saying；　〃nobody　has　ever　loved　you。〃　That　was　a　lie：　and　a　tactical　error。　The　words　were　cold　water　on　her　sleepy　face。　She　was　loved！　Marty　loved　her。　The　runner；　her　runner。
　　Mamoulian　sensed　his　miscalculation。
　　〃Don't　defy　me；〃　he　said；　the　cooing　had　gone　from　his　voice。
　　〃Go　to　Hell；〃　she　replied。
　　〃As　you　wish　。　。　。〃　There　was　a　falling　note　in　his　words；　as　though　the　issue　was　closed　and　done　with。　He　didn't　leave　his　station　by　the　door；　however。　She　felt　him　close。　Was　he　waiting　for　her　to　tire；　and　e　out？　she　wondered。　Persuasion　by　physical　violence　wasn't　his　style；　surely；　unless　he　was　going　to　use　Breer。　She　hardened　herself　against　the　possibility。　She'd　claw　his　watery　eyes　out。
　　Minutes　passed；　and　she　was　sure　the　European　was　still　outside　though　she　could　hear　neither　movement　or　breath。
　　And　then；　the　pipes　began　to　rumble。　Somewhere　in　the　system；　a　tide　was　moving。　The　sink　made　a　sucking　sound；　the　water　in　the　toilet　bowl　splashed；　the　toilet　lid　flapped　open　and　slammed　closed　again　as　a　gust　of　fetid　air　was　discharged　from　below。　This　was　his　doing　somehow；　though　it　seemed　a　vacuous　exercise。　The　toilet　farted　again：　the　smell　was　noxious。
　　〃What's　happening？〃　she　asked　under　her　breath。
　　A　gruel　of　filth　had　started　to　seep　over　the　lip　of　the　toilet　and　dribble　onto　the　floor。　Wormy　shapes　moved　in　it。　She　shut　her　eyes。　This　was　a　fabrication；　conjured　up　by　the　European　to　subdue　her　mutiny：　she　would　ignore　it。　But　even　with　canceled　sight　the　illusion　persisted。　The　water　splashed　more　loudly　as　the　flood　rose；　and　in　the　stream　she　heard　wet　heavy　things　flopping　onto　the　bathroom　floor。
　　〃Well？〃　said　Mamoulian。
　　She　cursed　the　illusions　and　their　charmer　in　one　vitriolic　breath。
　　Something　skittered　across　her　bare　foot。　She　was　damned　if　she　was　going　to　open　her　eyes　and　give　him　another　sense　to　assault；　but　curiosity　forced　them　open。
　　The　dribbles　from　the　toilet　had　bee　a　stream；　as　if　the　sewers　had　backed　up　and　were　discharging　their　contents　at　her　feet。　Not　simply　excrement　and　water；　the　soup　of　hot　dirt　had　bred　monsters。　Creatures　that　could　be　found　in　no　sane　zoology：　things　that　had　been　fish　once；　crabs　once；　fetuses　flushed　down　clinic　drains　before　their　mothers　could　wake　to　scream；　beasts　that　fed　on　excrement　whose　bodies　were　a　pun　on　what　they　devoured。　Everywhere　in　the　silt　forsaken　stuff；　offal　and　dregs；　raised　itself　on　queasy　limbs　and　flapped　and　paddled　toward　her。
　　〃Make　them　go　away；〃　she　said。
　　They　had　no　intention　of　retreat。　The　scummy　tide　still　edged　forward：　the　fauna　the　toilet　was　vomiting　up　were　getting　larger。
　　〃Find　Toy；〃　the　voice　on　the　other　side　of　the　door　bargained。　Her　sweaty　hands　slid　on　the　handle；　but　the　door　refused　to　open。　There　was　no　hint　of　a　reprieve。
　　〃Let　me　out。〃　〃Just　say　yes。〃　She　flattened　herself　against　the　door。　The　toilet　lid　flew　open　in　the　strongest　gust　yet；　and　this　time　stayed　open。　The　flood　thickened　and　the　pipes　creaked　as　something　that　was　almost　too　large　for　them　began　to　force　its　way　toward　the　light。　She　heard　its　claws　rake　the　sides　of　the　pipes；　she　heard　the　chatter　of　its　teeth。
　　〃Say　yes。〃　〃No。〃　A　glistening　arm　was　thrown　up　from　the　belching　bowl；　and　flailed　around　until　its　digits　fixed　on　the　sink。　Then　it　began　to　haul　itself　up；　its　water…rotted　bones　rubbery。
　　〃Please！〃　she　screamed。
　　〃Just　say　yes。〃　〃Yes！　Yes！　Anything！　Yes！〃　As　she　spat　out　the　words　the　handle　of　the　door　moved。　She　turned　her　back　on　the　emerging　horror　and　put　her　weight　down　on　the　handle　at　the　same　time　as　her　other　hand　fumbled　with　the　key。　Behind　her；　she　heard　the　sound　of　a　body　contorting　itself　to　fetch　itself　free。　She　turned　the　key　the　wrong　way；　and　then　the　right。　Muck　splashed　on　her　shin。　It　was　almost　at　her　heels。　As　she　opened　the　door　sodden　fingers　snatched　at　her　ankle；　but　she　threw　herself　out　of　the　bathroom　before　it　could　catch　her；　and　onto　the　landing；　slamming　the　door　behind　her。
　　Mamoulian；　his　victory　won；　had　gone。
　　After　that；　she　couldn't　bring　herself　to　go　back　into　the　bathroom。　At　her　request　the　Razor…Eater　supplied　a　bucket　for　her　to　use；　which　he　brought　and　took　away　again　with　reverence。
　　The　European　never　spoke　of　the　incident　again。　There　was　no　need。　That　night　she　did　as　he　had　asked　her。　She　opened　up　her　head　and　went　to　look　for　Bill　Toy　and；　within　a　matter　of　minutes；　she　found　him。　So；　soon　after；　did　the　Last　European。
　　
　　43
　　Not　since　the　halcyon　days　of　his　big　wins　at　the　casinos　had　Marty　possessed　so　much　money　as　he　did　now。　Two　thousand　pounds　was　no　fortune　to　Whitehead；　but　it　raised　Marty　to　blind　heights。　Perhaps　the　old　man's　story　about　Carys　had　been　a　lie。　If　so；　he'd　wheedle　the　truth　out　of　him　in　time。　Slowee；　slowee；　catchee　monkey；　as　Feaver　used　to　say。　What　would　Feaver　say　to　see　Marty　now；　with　money　lapping　at　his　feet？
　　He　left　the　car　near　Euston；　and　caught　a　cab　to　the　Strand　to　cash　the　check。　Then　he　went　in　search　of　a　good　evening　suit。　Whitehead　had　suggested　an　outfitter　off　Regent　Street。　The　fitters　treated　him　with　some　brusqueness　at　first；　but　once　he　showed　them　the　color　of　his　money　the　tune　changed　to　sycophancy。　Curbing　his　smiles；　Marty　played　the　fastidious　buyer；　they　fawned　and　fussed；　he　let　them。　Only　after　three…quarters　of　an　hour　of　their　fey　attentions　did　he　alight　on　something　he　liked：　a　conservative　choice；　but　immaculately　styled。　The　suit；　and　the　acpanying　wardrobe…shoes；　shirts；　a　selection　of　ties…bit　more　deeply　into　the　cash　than　he'd　anticipated；　but　he　let　it　go；　like　water；　through　his　fingers。　The　suit；　and　one　set　of　accoutrements；　he　took　with　him。　The　rest　he　had　sent　to　the　Sanctuary。
　　It　was　lunchtime　when　he　emerged；　and　he　wandered　around　looking　for　somewhere　to　eat。　There'd　been　a　Chinese　restaurant　on　Gerard　Street　that　he　and　Charmaine　had　frequented　whenever　funds　allowed：　he　returned　there　now。　Though　its　facade　had　been　modernized　to　acmodate　a　large　neon　sign；　the　interior　was　much　the　same；　the　food　as　good　as　he　remembered。　He　sat　in　splendid　isolation　and　ate　and　drank　his　way　through　the　menu；　happy　to　play　the　rich　man　to　the　hilt。　He　ordered　half　a　dozen　cigars　after　the　meal；　downed　several　brandies　and　tipped　like　a　millionaire。　Papa　would　be　proud　of　me；　he　thought。　When　he　was　full；　drunk　and　satisfied；　he　headed　out　into　the　balmy　afternoon。　It　was　time　he　followed　the　rest　of　Whitehead's　instructions。
　　He　made　his　way　through　Soho；　wandering　for　a　few　minutes　until　he　found　a　betting　office。　As　he　entered　the　smoky　interior；　guilt　assailed　him；　but　he　told　his　spoilsport　conscience　to　go　hang。　He　was　obeying　orders　in　ing　here。
　　There　were　races　at　Newmarket；　Kempton　Park　and　Doncaster…each　name　evoked　some　bittersweet　association…and　he　bet　freely　on　every　one　on　the　board。　Soon　the　old　enthusiasm　had　killed　the　last　smidgen　of　guilt。　It　was　like　living；　this　game；　but　it　tasted　stronger。　It　dramatized；　with　its　promised　gains；　its　too…easy　losses；　the　sense　he　had　had　as　a　child　of　what　adult　life　must　be　like。　Of　how；　once　one　grew　out　of　boredom　and　into　the　secret；　bearded；　erectile　world　of　manhood；　every　word　would　be　loaded　with　risk　and　promise；　every　breath　taken　won　in　the　face　of　extraordinary　odds。
　　At　first；　the　money　dribbled　away　from　him；　he　didn't　bet　heavily；　but　the　frequency　of　the　losses　began　to　dwindle　his　reserves。　Then；　three…quarters　of　an　hour　into　the　session　things　to