cb.damnationgame-第72节

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arys。　Another　game；　perhaps？
　　〃When　I　think　of　the　things　I've　done；〃　he　said；　〃to　stay　out　of　trouble。　I'm　such　a　coward；　you　see？　Always　have　been。　Loathe　the　sight　of　blood。〃　He　began　to　laugh　in　her；　a　solid；　unfeminine　laugh。
　　〃You're　just　a　man？〃　Marty　said。　He　could　scarcely　credit　what　he　was　being　told。　There　was　no　Devil　hiding　in　the　European's　cortex；　just　this　half…mad　sergeant；　lost　on　some　battlefield。　〃Just　a　man？〃　he　said　again。
　　〃What　did　you　want　me　to　be？〃　the　sergeant　replied；　quick　as　a　flash。　〃I'm　happy　to　oblige。　Anything　to　get　me　out　of　this　shit。〃　〃Who　do　you　think　you're　talking　to？〃　The　sergeant　frowned　with　Carys〃　face；　puzzling　this　one　out。
　　〃I'm　losing　my　mind；〃　he　said　dolefully。　〃I've　been　talking　to　myself　for　days　now　on　and　off。　There's　no　one　left；　you　see？　The　Third's　been　wiped　out。　And　the　Fourth。　And　the　Fifth。　All　blown　to　Hell！〃　He　stopped　and　pulled　a　wry　face。　〃Got　no　one　to　play　cards　with；　damn　it。　Can't　play　with　dead　men；　can　I？　They've　got　nothing　I　want　。　。　。〃　The　voice　trailed　away。
　　〃What　date　is　it？〃　〃Sometime　in　October；　isn't　it？〃　the　sergeant　came　back。　〃I've　lost　track　of　time。　Still；　it's　fucking　cold　at　night；　I　tell　you　that　much。　Yes；　must　be　October　at　least。　There　was　snow　in　the　wind　yesterday。　Or　was　it　the　day　before？〃　〃What　year　is　it？〃　The　sergeant　laughed。　〃I'm　not　that　far　gone；〃　he　said。　〃It's　1811。　That's　right。　I'm　thirty…two　on　the　ninth　of　November。　And　I　don't　look　a　day　over　forty。〃　It　was　1811。　If　the　sergeant　was　answering　truthfully　that　made　Mamoulian　two　centuries　old。
　　〃Are　you　sure？〃　Marty　asked。　〃The　year　is　1811；　you're　certain？〃　〃Shut　your　mouth！〃　the　answer　came。
　　〃What？〃　〃Trouble。〃　Carys　had　drawn　her　arms　up　against　her　chest；　as　though　constricted。　She　felt　enclosed…but　by　what　she　wasn't　certain。　The　open　road　she'd　been　standing　on　had　abruptly　disappeared；　and　now　she　sensed　herself　lying　down；　in　darkness。　It　was　warmer　here　than　it　had　been　on　the　road；　but　not　a　pleasant　heat。　It　smelled　putrid。　She　spat；　not　once　but　three　or　four　times；　to　rid　herself　of　a　mouthful　of　muck。　Where　was　she；　for　God's　sake？
　　Close　by　she　could　hear　the　approach　of　horses。　The　sound　was　muffled；　but　it　made　her；　or　rather　the　man　she　occupied；　panic。　Off　to　her　right；　somebody　moaned。
　　〃Ssh　。　。　。〃　she　hissed。　Didn't　the　moaner　hear　the　horses　too？　They'd　be　discovered；　and　though　she　didn't　know　why；　she　was　certain　discovery　would　prove　fatal。
　　〃What's　happening？〃　Marty　asked。
　　She　didn't　dare　reply。　The　horsemen　were　too　close　to　dare　a　word。　She　could　hear　them　dismounting　and　approaching　her　hiding　place。　She　repeated　a　prayer；　soundlessly。　The　riders　were　talking　now；　they　were　soldiers；　she　guessed。　An　argument　had　erupted　among　them　as　to　who　would　tackle　some　distasteful　duty。　Maybe；　she　prayed；　they'd　give　up　their　search　before　they　started。　But　no。　The　debate　was　over；　and　they　were　grunting　and　plaining　as　several　set　about　their　labors。　She　heard　them　moving　sacks；　and　flinging　them　down。　A　dozen；　two　dozen。　Light　seeped　through　to　where　she　lay；　scarcely　breathing。　More　sacks　were　moved；　more　light　fell　on　her。　She　opened　her　eyes；　and　finally　recognized　what　refuge　the　sergeant　had　chosen。
　　〃God　Almighty；〃　she　said。
　　They　weren't　sacks　she　lay　among；　but　bodies。　He　had　hidden　himself　in　a　mound　of　corpses。　It　was　the　heat　of　putrefaction　that　made　her　sweat。
　　Now　the　hillock　was　being　taken　apart　by　the　horsemen；　who　were　pricking　each　of　the　bodies　as　they　were　hauled　from　the　heap；　in　order　to　distinguish　living　from　dead。　The　few　who　still　breathed　were　pointed　out　to　the　officer。　He　dismissed　them　all　as　past　the　point　of　no　return；　they　were　swiftly　dispatched。　Before　a　bayonet　could　pierce　his　hide；　the　sergeant　rolled　over　and　showed　himself。
　　〃I　surrender；〃　he　said。　They　jabbed　him　through　the　shoulder　anyway。　He　yelled。　Carys　too。
　　Marty　reached　to　touch　her；　her　face　was　scrawled　with　pain。　But　he　thought　better　of　interfering　at　what　was　clearly　a　vital　juncture：　it　might　do　more　harm　than　good。
　　〃Well；　well；〃　said　the　officer；　high　on　the　horse。　〃You　don't　look　very　dead　to　me。〃　〃I　was　practicing；〃　the　sergeant　replied。　His　wit　earned　him　a　second　jab。　To　judge　by　the　looks　of　the　men　who　surrounded　him；　he'd　be　lucky　to　avoid　a　disemboweling。　They　were　ready　for　some　sport。
　　〃You're　not　going　to　die；〃　the　officer　said；　patting　his　mount's　gleaming　neck。　The　presence　of　so　much　decay　made　the　thoroughbred　uneasy。　〃We　need　answers　to　some　questions　first。　Then　you　can　have　your　place　in　the　pit。
　　Behind　the　officer's　plumed　head　the　sky　had　darkened。　Even　as　he　spoke　the　scene　began　to　lose　coherence；　as　though　Mamoulian　had　forgotten　how　it　went　from　here。
　　Under　her　lids　Carys〃　eyes　began　to　twitch　back　and　forth　again。　Another　welter　of　impressions　had　overtaken　her；　each　moment　delineated　with　absolute　precision；　but　all　ing　too　fast　for　her　to　make　any　sense　of。
　　〃Carys？　Are　you　all　right？〃　〃Yes；　yes；〃　she　said　breathlessly。　〃Just　moments　。　。　。　living　moments。〃　She　saw　a　room；　a　chair。　Felt　a　kiss；　a　slap。　Pain；　relief；　pain　again。　Questions；　laughter。　She　couldn't　be　certain；　but　she　guessed　that　under　pressure　the　sergeant　was　telling　the　enemy　everything　they　wanted　to　know　and　more。　Days　passed　in　a　heartbeat。　She　let　them　run　through　her　fingers；　sensing　that　the　European's　dreaming　head　was　moving　with　mounting　velocity　toward　some　critical　event。　It　was　best　to　let　him　lead　the　way；　he　knew　better　than　she　the　significance　of　this　descent。
　　The　journey　finished　with　shocking　suddenness。
　　A　sky　the　color　of　cold　iron　opened　above　her　head。　Snow　drifted　from　it；　a　lazy　fall　of　goosedown；　which　instead　of　warming　her　made　her　bones　ache。　In　the　claustrophobic　one…room　flat；　with　Marty　sitting　bare…chested　and　sweating　opposite　her；　Carys〃　teeth　began　to　chatter。
　　The　sergeant's　captors　were　done　with　their　interrogation；　it　seemed。　They　had　led　him　and　five　other　ragged　prisoners　out　into　a　small　quadrangle。　He　looked　around。　This　was　a　monastery；　or　had　been　until　its　occupation。　One　or　two　monks　stood　in　the　shelter　of　the　cloister　walkway　and　watched　events　in　the　yard　unfold　with　philosophical　gaze。
　　The　six　prisoners　waited　in　a　line　while　the　snow　fell。　They　were　not　bound。　There　was　nowhere　in　this　square　for　them　to　run　to。　The　sergeant；　on　the　end　of　the　line；　chewed　his　nails　and　tried　to　keep　his　thoughts　light。　They　were　going　to　die　here；　that　was　an　unavoidable　fact。　They　were　not　the　first　to　be　executed　this　afternoon。　Along　one　wall；　arranged　neatly　for　posthumous　inspection；　lay　five　dead　men。　Their　lopped　heads　had　been　placed；　the　ultimate　defamation；　at　their　groins。　Open…eyed；　as　if　startled　by　the　killing　stroke；　they　stared　at　the　snow　as　it　descended；　at　the　windows；　at　the　one　tree　that　was　planted　in　a　square　of　soil　among　the　stones。　In　summer；　it　surely　bore　fruit；　birds　made　idiot　song　in　it。　Now；　it　was　leafless。
　　〃They're　going　to　kill　us；〃　she　said　matter…of…factly。
　　It　was　all　very　informal。　The　presiding　officer；　a　fur　coat　pulled　around　his　shoulders；　was　standing　with　his　hands　at　a　blazing　brazier；　his　back　to　the　prisoners。　The　executioner　was　with　him；　his　bloody　sword　jauntily　leaned　on　his　shoulder。　A　fat；　lumbering　man；　he　laughed　at　some　joke　the　officer　made　and　downed　a　cup　of　something　warming　before　turning　back　to　his　business。
　　Carys　smiled。
　　〃What's　happening　now？〃　She　said　nothing；　her　eyes　were　on　the　man　who　was　going　to　kill　them；　she　smiled　on。
　　〃Carys。　What's　happening？〃　The　soldiers　had　e　along　the　line；　and　pushed　them　to　the　ground　in　the　middle　of　the　square。　Carys　had　bowed　her　head；　to　expose　the　nape　of　her　neck。　〃We're　going　to　die；〃　she　whispered　to　her　distant　confidant。
　　At　the　far　end　of　the　line　the　executioner　raised　his　sword　and　brought　it　down　with　one　professional　stroke。　The　prisoner's　head　seemed　to　leap　from　the　neck；　pushed　forward　by　a　geyser　of　blood。　It　was　lurid　against　the　gray　walls；　the　white　snow。　The　head　fell　face…forward；　rolled　a　little　way　and　stopped。　The　body　curled　to　the　ground。　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　Mamoulian　watched　the　proceedings；　trying　to　stop　his　teeth；　from　chattering。　He　wasn't　afraid；　and　didn't　want　them　to　think　he　was。　The　next　man　in　line　had　started　to　scream。　Two　soldiers　stepped　forward　at　the　officer's　barked　mand　and　seized　the　man。　Suddenly；　after　a　calm　in　which　you　could　hear　the　snow　pat　the　ground；　the　line　erupted　with　pleas　and　prayers；　the　man's　terror　had　opened　a　floodgate。　The　sergeant　said　nothing。　They　were　lucky　to　be　dying　in　such　style；　he　thought：　the　sword　was　for　aristocrats　and　officers。　But　the　tree　was　not　yet　tall　enough　to　hang　a　man　from。　He　watched　the　sword　fall　a　second　time；　wondering　if　the　tongue　still　wagged　after　death；　sitting　in　the　draining　palate　of　the　dead　man's　head。
　　〃I'm　not　afraid；〃　he　said。　〃What's　the　use　of　fear？　You　can't　buy　it　or　sell　it；　you　can't　make　love　to　it。　You　can't　even　wear　it　if　they　strip　off　your　shirt　and　you're　cold。〃　A　third　prisoner's　head　rolled　in　the　snow；　and　a　fourth。　A　soldier　laughed。　The　blood　steamed。　Its