cb.damnationgame-第80节

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's　dead。　That's　all　that　can　be　said。〃
　　〃。　。　。　I　did　it　。　。　。〃　〃No；　Carys。　It　wasn't　you。　It　was　something　that　had　to　be　done；　don't　concern　yourself。〃　He　took　her　wan　face　in　both　hands。　Often　he　had　cradled　her　head　when　she　was　a　child；　proud　that　she　was　the　pilgrim's　fruit。　In　those　embraces　he　had　nurtured　the　powers　she　had　grown　up　with；　sensing　that　a　time　might　e　when　he　would　need　her。
　　〃Just　open　the　door；　Carys。　Tell　him　you're　here；　and　he'll　open　it　for　you。〃　〃I　don't　want　。　。　。　to　see　him。〃　〃But　I　do。　You'll　be　doing　me　a　great　service。　And　once　it's　over；　there'll　be　nothing　to　be　afraid　of　ever　again。　I　promise　you　that。〃　She　seemed　to　see　some　sense　in　this。
　　〃The　door　。　。　。〃　he　prompted。
　　〃Yes。〃　He　loosed　her　face；　and　she　turned　away　from　him　to　climb　the　stairs。
　　
　　In　the　deep…pile　fort　of　his　suite；　his　jazz　playing　on　the　portable　hi…fi　he　had　personally　lugged　up　six　flights；　Whitehead　had　heard　nothing。　He　had　all　that　he　needed。　Drink；　books；　records；　strawberries。　A　man　might　sit　out　the　Apocalypse　up　here　and　be　none　the　worse　for　it。　He　had　even　brought　some　pictures：　the　early　Matisse　from　the　study；　Reclining　Nude；　Quai　St。　Michel；　a　Miro　and　a　Francis　Bacon。　The　last　was　a　mistake。　It　was　too　morbidly　suggestive；　with　its　hints　of　flayed　flesh；　he'd　turned　it　to　the　wall。　But　the　Matisse　was　a　joy；　even　by　candlelight。　He　was　staring　at　it；　never　less　than　enchanted　by　its　casual　facility；　when　the　knocking　came。
　　He　stood　up。　It　was　many　hours…he'd　lost　track　of　time…since　Strauss　had　been　here；　had　he　e　again？　Somewhat　groggy　with　vodka；　Whitehead　lurched　along　the　hall　of　the　suite；　and　listened　at　the　door。
　　〃Papa　。　。　。〃　It　was　Carys。　He　didn't　answer　her。　It　was　suspicious；　her　being　here。
　　〃It's　me；　Papa；　it's　me。　Are　you　there？〃　Her　voice　was　so　tentative；　she　sounded　like　a　child　again。　Was　it　possible　Strauss　had　taken　him　at　his　word；　and　sent　the　girl　to　him；　or　had　she　simply　e　back　of　her　own　accord；　the　way　Evangeline　had　after　cross　words？　Yes；　that　was　it。　She'd　e　because；　like　her　mother；　she　couldn't　help　but　e。　He　began　to　unlock　the　door；　fingers　awkward　in　anticipation。
　　〃Papa　。　。　。〃　At　last　he　got　the　best　of　the　key　and　the　handle　and　opened　the　door。　She　wasn't　there。　Nobody　was　there：　or　so　he　thought　at　first。　But　even　as　he　stepped　back　into　the　hall　of　the　suite　the　door　was　thrown　wide　and　he　was　flung　against　the　wall　by　a　youth　whose　hands　seized　him　at　neck　and　groin　and　pinned　him　flat。　He　dropped　the　vodka　bottle　he　was　carrying　and　threw　up　his　hands　to　signify　his　surrender。　When　he'd　shaken　the　assault　from　his　head　he　looked　over　the　youth's　shoulder　and　his　bleary　eyes　came　to　rest　on　the　man　who　had　followed　the　youth　in。
　　Quietly；　and　quite　without　warning；　he　began　to　cry。
　　
　　They　left　Carys　in　the　dressing　room　beside　the　master　bedroom　of　the　suite。　It　was　empty　but　for　a　fitted　wardrobe　and　a　pile　of　curtains；　which　had　been　removed　from　the　windows　and　then　forgotten。　She　made　a　nest　in　their　musty　folds　and　lay　down。　A　single　thought　circled　in　her　head：　I　killed　him。　She　had　felt　his　resistance　to　her　investigation；　felt　the　tension　building　in　him。　And　then；　nothing。
　　The　suite；　which　occupied　a　quarter　of　the　top　story；　boasted　two　views。　One　was　of　the　highway：　a　garish　ribbon　of　headlights。　The　other；　that　let　on　to　the　east　side　of　the　hotel；　was　gloomier。　The　small　dressing…room　window　faced　this　second　view：　a　stretch　of　wasteland；　then　the　fence　and　the　city　beyond　it。　But　from　her　position　lying　on　the　floor；　all　of　that　was　out　of　sight。　All　she　could　see　was　a　skyfield；　across　which　the　blinking　lights　of　a　jet　crept。
　　She　watched　its　circling　descent；　thinking　Marty's　name。
　　
　　〃Marty。　〃　They　were　lifting　him　into　an　ambulance。　He　still　felt　sick　to　the　pit　of　his　stomach　with　the　roller　coaster　he'd　been　on。　He　didn't　want　consciousness；　because　with　it　came　the　nausea。　The　hissing　had　gone　from　his　ears　however；　and　his　sight　was　intact。
　　〃What　happened？　Hit…and…run？〃　somebody　asked　him。
　　〃He　just　fell　down；〃　a　witness　replied。　〃I　saw　him。　Fell　down　in　the　middle　of　the　pavement。　I　was　just　ing　out　of　the　newsagents　when　I…〃　〃Marty。〃
　　〃…and　there　he　was…〃　〃Marty。　〃　His　name　was　sounding　in　his　head；　clear　as　a　spring…morning　bell。　There　was　a　renewed　trickle　of　blood　from　his　nose；　but　no　pain　this　time。　He　raised　his　hand　to　his　face　to　stem　the　flow　but　a　hand　was　already　there；　stanching　and　wiping。
　　〃You'll　be　all　right；〃　a　man's　voice　said。　Somehow　Marty　felt　this　to　be　indisputably　true；　though　it　was　nothing　to　do　with　this　man's　ministrations。　The　pain　had　gone；　and　the　fear　had　gone　with　it。　It　was　Carys　speaking　in　his　head。　It　had　been　all　along。　Now　some　wall　in　him　had　been　breached…forcibly　perhaps；　and　painfully；　but　the　worst　was　over…and　she　was　thinking　his　name　in　her　head　and　he　was　catching　her　thought　like　a　lobbed　tennis　ball。　His　previous　doubts　seemed　naive。　It　was　a　simple　act；　this　thought　catching；　once　you　had　the　knack　of　it。
　　
　　She　felt　him　wake　to　her。
　　For　several　seconds　she　lay　on　her　curtain　bed　while　the　jet　winked　across　the　window；　not　quite　daring　to　believe　what　her　instincts　were　telling　her…that　he　was　hearing　her；　that　he　was　alive。
　　Marty？　she　thought。　This　time；　instead　of　the　word　getting　lost　in　the　dark　between　his　mind　and　hers；　it　went　unerringly　home；　weled　into　his　cortex。　He　didn't　have　the　skill　to　frame　an　answer；　but　that　was　academic　at　this　point。　As　long　as　he　could　hear　and　understand；　he　could　e。
　　The　hotel；　she　thought。　Do　you　understand；　Marty？　I'm　with　the　European　at　a　hotel。　She　tried　to　remember　the　name　she'd　glimpsed　over　the　door。　Orpheus；　that　was　it。　She　had　no　address；　but　she　did　her　best　to　picture　the　building　for　him；　in　the　hope　that　he　could　make　sense　of　her　impressionist　directions。
　　
　　He　sat　up　in　the　ambulance。
　　〃Don't　worry。　The　car'll　be　taken　care　of；〃　the　attendant　said；　pressing　a　hand　on　his　shoulder　to　get　him　to　lie　back　down。　They'd　wrapped　a　scarlet　blanket　across　him。　Red　so　the　blood　doesn't　show；　he　registered　as　he　threw　it　off。
　　〃You　can't　get　up；〃　the　attendant　told　him。　〃You're　in　bad　shape。〃　〃I'm　fine；〃　Marty　insisted；　pushing　the　solicitous　hand　away。　〃You've　been　wonderful。　But　I've　got　a　prior　engagement。〃　The　driver　was　closing　the　double　doors　at　the　back　of　the　ambulance。　Through　the　narrowing　gap　Marty　could　see　a　ring　of　professional　bystanders　straining　to　catch　a　final　look　at　the　spectacle。　He　made　a　dive　for　the　doors。
　　The　spectators　were　disgruntled　to　see　Lazarus　risen；　and　worse；　to　see　him　smiling　like　a　loon　as　he　emerged；　apologizing；　from　the　back　of　the　vehicle。　Didn't　the　man　have　any　sense　of　occasion？
　　〃I'm　fine；〃　he　told　the　driver　as　he　backed　off　through　the　crowd。　〃Must　have　been　something　I　ate。〃　The　driver　stared　at　him；　unprehending。
　　〃You're　bloody；〃　he　managed　to　mutter。
　　〃Never　felt　better；〃　Marty　replied；　and　in　a　way；　despite　the　exhaustion　in　his　bones；　it　was　true。　She　was　here；　in　his　head；　and　there　was　still　time　to　make　things　right；　if　he　hurried。
　　The　Citroen　was　a　few　yards　down　the　road；　splashes　of　his　blood　painted　the　pavement　beside　it。　The　keys　were　still　in　the　ignition。
　　〃Wait　for　me；　babe；　〃　he　said；　and　started　back　toward　the　Pandemonium　Hotel。
　　
　　69
　　It　was　not　the　first　time　Sharon　had　been　locked　out　of　her　house　while　her　mother　entertained　a　man　the　young　girl　had　never　seen　before；　and　would；　on　past　form；　never　see　again；　but　tonight　the　expulsion　was　particularly　unwele。　She　felt　a　summer　cold　ing　on；　and　she　wanted　to　be　in　the　house　in　front　of　the　television　instead　of　out　in　the　street　after　dark　vainly　trying　to　devise　new　skipping　games　for　herself。　She　wandered　down　the　street；　beginning　a　solitary　game　of　hopscotch；　then　abandoning　it　on　the　fifth　square。　She　was　just　outside　Number　Eighty…two。　It　was　a　house　her　mother　had　warned　her　to　keep　clear　of。　A　family　of　Asians　lived　on　the　ground　floor…sleeping　twelve　to　a　bed；　or　so　Mrs。　Lennox　had　told　Sharon's　mother…in　conditions　of　criminal　squalor。　But　despite　its　reputation；　Number　Eighty…two　had　been　a　disappointment　all　summer：　until　today。　Today　Sharon　had　seen　peculiar　ings　and　goings　at　the　house。　Some　people　had　arrived　in　a　big　car　and　taken　a　sick…looking　woman　away　with　them。　And　now；　as　she　idled　at　the　hopscotch　game；　there　was　somebody　at　one　of　the　middle　floor　windows；　a　big；　shadowy　figure；　and　he　was　beckoning　to　her。
　　Sharon　was　ten。　It　would　be　a　year　before　her　first　period；　and　though　she　had　an　inkling　of　the　matter　between　men　and　women　from　her　half…sister；　she　thought　it　a　ridiculous　palaver。　The　boys　who　played　football　in　the　street　were　foulmouthed；　grubby　creatures；　she　could　scarcely　imagine　ever　pining　for　their　affections。
　　But　the　alluring　figure　at　the　window　was　a　male；　and　it　found　something　in　Sharon；　it　turned　over　a　rock。　Beneath　were　the　first　stirrings　of　lives　that　weren't　quite　ready　for　the　sun。　They　wriggled；　they　made　her　thin　legs　itch。　It　was　to　stop　that　itch　that　she　disobeyed　every　prohibition　on　Number　Eighty…two