cb.damnationgame-第71节

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her　business；　not　his。　She　stared；　transfixed；　at　the　packet。
　　〃It's　all　yours；〃　he　said；　and　threw　it　over　to　her。　It　landed　on　the　bed　beside　her。　〃You're　wele　to　it。〃　She　still　stared；　now　at　his　empty　hand。　He　broke　her　look　to　pick　up　his　stale　shirt；　and　slip　it　back　on。
　　〃Where　are　you　going？〃　〃I've　seen　you　high　on　that　crap。　I've　heard　the　garbage　you　talk。　I　don't　want　to　remember　you　like　that。〃　〃I　have　to　have　it。〃　She　hated　him；　she　looked　at　him　standing　in　a　patch　of　late…afternoon　sun；　with　his　bare　belly　and　his　bare　chest；　and　she　hated　every　fiber　of　him。　The　blackmail　she　could　understand。　It　was　crude；　but　functional。　This　desertion　was　a　worse　kind　of　trick　altogether。
　　〃Even　if　I　was　to　do　as　you　say　。　。　。〃　she　began；　the　thought　seemed　to　shrink　her。　〃。　。　。　I　won't　find　out　anything。〃　He　shrugged。　〃Look；　the　smack's　yours；〃　he　said。　〃You've　got　what　you　wanted。〃　〃And　what　about　you？　What　do　you　want？〃　〃I　want　to　live。　And　I　think　this　is　our　only　chance。〃　Even　then　it　was　such　a　slim　chance；　the　slimmest　crack　in　the　wall　through　which　they　might；　if　fate　loved　them；　slip。
　　She　weighed　up　the　options；　why　she　even　contemplated　his　idea　she　wasn't　certain。　On　another　day　she　might　have　said：　for　love's　sake。　Finally　she　said：　〃You　win。〃
　　
　　He　sat　down　and　watched　her　prepare　for　the　journey　ahead。　First；　she　washed。　Not　just　her　face；　her　whole　body；　standing　on　a　spread　towel…at　the　little　sink　in　the　corner　of　the　room；　with　the　gas…fired　water　heater　roaring　as　it　spat　water　into　the　bowl。　Watching　her；　he　got　an　erection；　and　he　felt　ashamed　that　he　should　be　thinking　of　sex　when　so　much　was　at　issue。　But　that　was　just　the　puritan　talking；　he　should　feel　whatever　felt　right。　She'd　taught　him　that。
　　When　she'd　finished　she　put　her　underwear　back　on；　and　a　T…shirt。　It　was　what　she'd　been　wearing　when　he'd　arrived　at　Caliban　Street；　he　noted：　simple　unconfining　clothes。　She　sat　on　a　chair。　Her　skin　rippled　with　gooseflesh。　He　wanted　to　be　forgiven　by　her；　to　be　told　that　his　manipulation　was　justified　and…whatever　happened　from　now　on…she　understood　that　he'd　acted　for　the　best。　She　offered　no　such　disclaimer。　She　just　said：　〃I　think　I'm　ready。〃　〃What　can　I　do？〃　〃Very　little；〃　she　replied。　〃But　be　here；　Marty。〃　〃And　if　。　。　。　you　know　。　。　。　if　anything　seems　to　be　wrong？　Can　I　help　you？〃　〃No；〃　she　answered。
　　〃When　will　I　know　that　you're　there？〃　he　asked。
　　She　looked　at　him　as　though　his　question　was　an　idiot's；　and　said：　〃You'll　know。〃
　　
　　62
　　It　wasn't　difficult　to　find　the　European：　her　mind　went　to　him　with　almost　distressing　readiness；　as　if　into　the　arms　of　a　long…lost　patriot。　She　could　distinctly　feel　the　pull　of　him；　though　not；　she　thought；　a　conscious　magnetism。　When　her　thoughts　arrived　at　Caliban　Street　and　entered　the　room　at　the　top　of　the　stairs；　her　suspicions　about　his　passivity　were　verified。　He　was　lying　on　the　bare　boards　of　the　room　in　a　posture　of　utter　exhaustion。　Perhaps；　she　thought；　I　can　do　this　after　all。　Like　a　teasing　mistress；　she　crept　to　his　side；　and　slipped　into　him。
　　She　murmured。
　　Marty　flinched。　There　were　movements　in　her　throat；　which　were　so　thin　he　felt　he　could　almost　see　the　words　shaping　in　it。　Speak　to　me；　he　willed　her。　Say　it's　all　right。　Her　body　had　bee　rigid。　He　touched　her。　Her　muscle　was　stone；　as　though　she'd　exchanged　glances　with　the　basilisk。
　　〃Carys？〃　She　murmured　again；　her　throat　palpitating；　but　no　words　came；　there　was　barely　breath。
　　〃Can　you　hear　me？〃　If　she　could；　she　made　no　sign　of　it。　Seconds　passed　into　minutes　and　still　she　was　a　wall；　his　questions　fracturing　against　her　and　falling　into　silence。
　　And　then　she　said：　〃I'm　here。〃　Her　voice　was　insubstantial；　like　a　foreign　station　found　on　a　radio；　words　from　some　unfixable　place。
　　〃With　him？〃　he　asked。
　　〃Yes。〃　No　prevarication　now；　he　charged　himself。　She'd　gone　to　the　European；　as　he'd　asked。　Now　he　had　to　use　her　courage　as　efficiently　as　possible　and　call　her　back　before　anything　went　wrong。　He　asked　the　most　difficult　question　first；　and　the　one　he　most　needed　an　answer　to。
　　〃What　is　he；　Carys？〃　〃I　don't　know；〃　she　said。
　　The　tip　of　her　tongue　flickered　out　to　spread　a　film　of　spit　across　her　lips。
　　〃So　dark；〃　she　muttered。
　　It　was　dark　in　him：　the　same　palpable　darkness　as　in　the　room　at　Caliban　Street。　But；　for　the　moment　at　least；　the　shadows　were　passive。　The　European　didn't　expect　intruders　here。　He'd　left　no　guardian　terrors　at　the　gates　of　his　brain。　She　stepped　deeper　into　his　head。　Darts　of　light　burst　at　the　corners　of　her　thought's　sight；　like　the　colors　that　came　after　she'd　rubbed　her　eyes；　only　more　brilliant　and　more　momentary。　They　came　and　went　so　quickly　she　was　not　certain　if　she　saw　anything　in　them　or　illuminated　by　them；　but　as　she　progressed　and　the　bursts　became　more　frequent；　she　began　to　see　patterns　there：　mas；　lattices；　bars；　dots；　spirals。
　　Marty's　voice　interrupted　the　reverie；　some　foolish　question　that　she　had　no　patience　with。　She　ignored　it。　Let　him　wait。　The　lights　were　being　more　intricate；　their　patterns　cross…fertilizing；　gaining　depth　and　weight。　Now　she　seemed　to　see　tunnels　and　tumbling　cubes；　seas　of　rolling　light；　fissures　opening　and　sealing；　rains　of　white　noise。　She　watched；　entranced　by　the　way　they　grew　and　multiplied；　the　world　of　his　thought　appearing　in　flickering　Heavens　above　her；　falling　in　showers　on　her　and　about　her。　Vast　blocks　of　intersecting　geometries　thundered　over；　hovering　inches　above　her　skull；　the　weight　of　small　moons。
　　Just　as　suddenly：　gone。　All　of　them。　Darkness　again；　as　relentless　as　ever；　pressed　on　her　from　every　side。　For　a　moment　she　had　the　sensation　of　being　smothered；　she　grabbed　for　breath；　panicking。
　　〃Carys？〃　〃I'm　all　right；〃　she　whispered　to　the　distant　inquirer。　He　was　a　world　away；　but　he　cared　for　her；　or　so　she　dimly　remembered。
　　〃Where　are　you？〃　he　wanted　to　know。
　　She　didn't　have　a　clue；　so　she　shook　her　head。　Which　way　should　she　advance；　if　at　all？　She　waited　in　the　darkness；　readying　herself　for　whatever　might　happen　next。
　　Suddenly　the　lights　began　again；　at　the　horizon。　This　time…for　their　second　performance…pattern　had　bee　form。　Instead　of　spirals　she　saw　rising　columns　of　burning　smoke。　In　place　of　seas　of　light；　a　landscape；　with　intermittent　sunshine　stabbing　distant　hillsides。　Birds　rose　on　burning　wings　then　turned　into　leaves　of　books；　fluttering　up　from　conflagrations　that　were　even　now　flaring　on　every　side。
　　〃Where　are　you？〃　he　asked　her　again。　Her　eyes　roved　maniacally　behind　her　closed　lids；　taking　in　this　burgeoning　province。　He　could　share　none　of　it；　except　through　her　words；　and　she　was　dumb　with　admiration　or　terror；　he　couldn't　tell　which。
　　There　was　sound　here　too。　Not　much；　the　promontory　she　walked　on　had　suffered　too　many　ravages　to　shout。　Its　life　was　almost　out。　Bodies　sprawled　underfoot；　so　badly　disfigured　they　might　have　been　dropped　out　of　the　sky。　Weapons；　horses；　wheels。　She　saw　all　of　this　as　if　by　a　show　of　lurid　fireworks；　with　no　sight　glimpsed　more　than　once。　In　the　instant　of　darkness　between　one　light…burst　and　the　next　the　entire　scene　would　change。　One　moment　she　was　standing　on　an　open　road　with　a　naked　girl　running　toward　her；　bawling。　The　next；　on　a　hillside　looking　down　on　a　razed　valley；　snatched　through　a　pall　of　smoke。　Now　a　silver　birch　copse；　now　not。　Now　a　ruin；　with　a　headless　man　at　her　feet；　again；　not。　But　always　the　fires　somewhere　near；　the　smuts　and　the　shrieks　dirtying　the　air；　the　sense　of　relentless　pursuit。　She　felt　it　could　go　on　forever；　these　scenes　changing　before　her…one　moment　a　landscape；　the　next　an　atrocity…without　her　having　time　to　correlate　the　disparate　images。
　　Then；　as　abruptly　as　the　first　patterns　had　ceased；　the　fires　did　also；　and　the　darkness　was　everywhere　about　her　again。
　　〃Where？〃　Marty's　voice　found　her。　He　was　so　agitated　in　his　confusion；　she　answered　him。
　　〃I'm　almost　dead；〃　she　said；　quite　calmly。
　　〃Carys？〃　He　was　terrified　that　naming　her　would　alert　Mamoulian；　but　he　had　to　know　if　she　spoke　for　herself；　or　for　him。
　　〃Not　Carys；〃　she　replied。　Her　mouth　seemed　to　lose　its　fullness；　the　lips　thinning。　It　was　Mamoulian's　mouth；　not　hers。
　　She　raised　her　hand　a　little　way　from　her　lap　as　if　making　to　touch　her　face。
　　〃Almost　dead；〃　she　said　again。　〃Lost　the　battle；　you　see。　Lost　the　whole　bloody　war　。　。　。〃　〃Which　war？〃　〃Lost　from　the　beginning。　Not　that　it　matters；　eh？　Find　myself　another　war。　There's　always　one　around。〃　〃Who　are　you？〃　She　frowned。　〃What's　it　to　you？〃　she　snapped　at　him。　〃None　of　your　business。〃　〃It　doesn't　matter；〃　Marty　returned。　He　feared　pushing　the　interrogation　too　hard。　As　it　was；　his　question　was　answered　in　the　next　breath。
　　〃My　name's　Mamoulian。　I'm　a　sergeant　in　the　Third　Fusiliers。　Correction：　was　a　sergeant。〃　〃Not　now？〃　〃No；　not　now。　I'm　nobody　now。　It's　safer　to　be　nobody　these　days；　don't　you　think？〃　The　tone　was　eerily　conversational；　as　though　the　European　knew　exactly　what　was　happening；　and　had　chosen　to　talk　with　Marty　through　Carys。　Another　game；　perhaps？
　　〃When　I　think　of　the　things　I've　done；〃　he　said；　〃to　stay　out　of　t