scoonts.theminotaur-第23节

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eat　bastard。〃
　He　lost　it。　It　had　been　that　kind　of　evening；　〃You　crazy　cunt；〃　he　roared。　〃You　don't　know　shit。　I　went　down　to　the　corner　for　a　goddamn　beer　and　when　I　get　home　you're　fucking　loony　crazy。　I　haven't　cheated　on　you！　I　haven't　fucked　another　woman　since　that　night　I　knocked　you　up　at　the　drive…in。　You　don't　have　any　goddamn　evidence　at　all；　you　crazy　lunatic。〃
　He　heard　the　bedroom　door　slam　and　the　kids　sobbing。　He　threw　himself　onto　the　living…room　couch。　Some　days…it's　absolutely　crazy　how　some　days　just　go　bug…fuck　nuts。　You　almost　get　arrested；　smash　up　the　front　of　the　car；　your　wife　demands　a　divorce　because　you're　cheating　on　her　when　you're　not。　What　else？　What　else　can　fucking　happen　before　midnight？
　The　drop　was　empty。　He　stretched　out　on　the　couch　and　contemplated　that　fact。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　tried　to　relax。　He　could　hear　Lucy　putting　the　kids　to　bed　upstairs。　Finally　the　noises　stopped。
　He　would　have　to　call　them。　In　Miami　they　had　given　him　an　emergency　telephone　number　that　he　had　memorized　and　a　verification　code。　He　would　call。　He　looked　around　for　the　evening　paper。　On　top　of　the　TV。　He　flipped　to　the　sports　section。　The　code　was　simple；　the　location　and　opponent　in　the　next　scheduled　game　of　the　Bullets；　Orioles　or　Redskins；　whichever　was　in　season。　They　had　been　insistent；　he　was　never　to　call　except　in　an　emergency　and　then　only　from　a　pay　phone。　Well；　this　was　sure　as　hell　an　emergency。　But　he　wasn't　going　back　out　onto　those　streets　tonight；　no　way。　Even　if　he　could　work　up　the　courage；　Lucy　would　use　a　butcher　knife　on　his　crotch　when　he　got　back。
　He　went　into　the　kitchen　and　dialed　the　phone。　On　the　third　ring　a　man's　voice　answered　with　a　recitation　of　the　telephone　number。　The　voice　was　tired；　the　English　perfect。　〃Six…six…five；　oh…one…oh…five。〃
　〃This　is　Poor　Richard。〃　He　had　picked　his　code　name　himself。　Easier　for　him　to　remember；　they　said。　〃It　wasn't　there。　It　wasn't　at　the　dr…〃
　〃Verify　please。〃　The　voice　was　hard；　exasperated。
　〃The　Bullets　play　the　Celtics　tomorrow　night　at　Capital　Centre。〃
　〃I'll　call　you　back。　Where　are　you？〃
　〃Seven…two…nine；　seven…four…oh…one。〃
　〃You're　at　home？〃　The　voice　was　incredulous；　outraged。
　〃Yeah；　I…〃　He　stopped　when　he　realized　he　was　talking　to　a　dead　instrument。
　Shit。　He　would　have　to　call　again。　He　had　to　find　out　what　the　hell　was　going　on。　A　pay　phone。　Lucy　was　going　to　e　sweet…Jesus　holy…hell　screaming　unglued。　What　a　night！　He　picked　up　his　jacket　and　eased　the　front　door　shut　behind　him。
　
　From　her　seat　on　the　top　of　the　stairs；　Lucy　heard　the　door　close。　She　had　started　to　e　down　earlier　but　stopped　when　she　heard　him　enter　the　kitchen　and　pick　up　the　phone。　She　had　heard　his　side　of　the　conversation　and　she　sat　now　trying　to　figure　it　out。　〃Poor　Richard〃　he　had　called　himself。　It　wasn't　there。　The　Bullets　play　the　Celtics？　A　code　of　some　sort？
　What　is　he　into？　she　asked　herself；　her　horror　growing。　He　had　looked　so　stunned　when　she　said　she　knew。　That　look　was　the　verification　she　needed　that　he　was　cheating　on　her。　But　how　did　that　fit　with　a　code　and　nonsense　sentences？　Was　he　placing　bets　with　a　bookie？　No；　he　wasn't　spending　money　she　didn't　know　about。　Something　to　do　with　his　job　at　the　Pentagon？　Could　he　be　spying；　like　those　Walkers　several　years　ago？　No；　that　wasn't　possible。　Or　was　it？　He　would　do　it　if　he　could　get　away　with　it；　she　decided。　In　their　eleven　years　of　marriage　she　had　found　him　a　man　who　always　put　himself　first。
　What　else　could　it　be？　My　God；　what　other　possibilities　were　there？
　
　The　sun　was　still　embedded　in　the　gray　scud　over　the　ocean　on　Saturday　morning　when　Jake　and　Callie　walked　through　the　gap　in　the　low　dune　on　their　way　to　the　beach。　Callie　trailed　along　behind　him　on　the　narrow　path；　her　hands　tucked　into　the　pockets　of　her　windbreaker。
　He　strolled　as　he　always　did；　his　eyes　moving　restlessly　across　the　sky　and　the　sea　and　the　naked　sand　and　ing　to　rest　often　on　her。　Whenever　she　was　with　him　she　drew　his　eyes。　It　had　been　that　way　since　they　first　met；　one　of　the　little　unconscious　things　he　did　that　told　her　without　words　what　she　meant　to　him。　This　morning　walking　beside　him　she　was　acutely　aware　of　his　glances。
　〃How　did　your　little　interview　with　the　soul　stripper　go　yesterday？〃
　〃He　says　I　have　to　e　to　grips　with　your　decision　to　ram　that　transport　in　the　Med　last　fall。〃
　Jake　stopped　and　turned　to　face　her。　He　looked　bewildered。　〃What　the　hell　are　you　worrying　about　that　for？〃
　〃For　a　week　I　was　a　widow。〃
　He　turned　away　and　looked　out　to　sea。　It　was　a　moment　before　he　spoke。　〃You　may　be　again　someday。〃　He　faced　her。　〃Women　live　longer　than　men　these　days。　I　don't　have　a　crystal　ball；　Callie。　Jesus；　we　can't　stop　living　because　we're　mortal。〃　He　gestured　angrily。　〃I　may　get　hit　by　a　meteor　ten　seconds　from　now。　I　may　get　run　over　by　some　drunk　when　I　step　off　the　curb　at…〃
　He　stopped　because　she　was　walking　away　from　him；　along　the　beach；　her　arms　wrapped　around　her　cheat。
　He　hurried　after　her。　〃Hey…〃
　〃For　a　whole　week　you　were　dead！　You　had　killed　yourself　chasing　those　damned　Arabs　and　I　was　left　here　all　alone！〃　He　put　his　hand　on　her　arm　and　she　jerked　away；　whirling　to　face　him。　〃You　knew　how　much　I　loved　you　and。。。　and。。。　when　they　called　and　said　you　were　alive；　the　memorial　service　was　scheduled　for　the　next　morning。　I　was　going　to　bury　you。　You　were　dead！〃　He　enveloped　her　in　his　arms　and　she　pressed　her　face　against　his　shoulder。
　After　a　while　she　stopped　trembling　and　he　murmured；　〃Still　love　me？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃A　little　bit　or　a　whole　lot？〃
　〃I　haven't　decided。〃
　With　his　arm　around　her　shoulder；　he　started　them　walking　north　again。　In　a　moment　he　paused　and　kissed　her；　then　they　resumed　their　journey　with　their　arms　locked　together。
　
　Something　white。　Whatever　it　was　that　blocked　Toad's　gaze；　it　was　white。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　the　pain　and　nausea　washed　over　him；　enveloping　him。　Ye　gods。。。　Something　hard　and　cold　against　his　cheek…he　opened　his　eyes　again…and　white。　Lotta　light。。。　He　moved。　Shit！　He　was　lying　in　a　fucking　bathtub。
　He　raised　himself　slowly。　His　head　felt　like　it　was　ing　off。　He　was　still　dressed　in　his　khaki　uniform；　but　it　was　wrinkled　and　had　vomit　on　it。　He　still　had　his　shoes　on。　Oh　God；　he　felt　worse　than　he　had　ever　felt　in　his　entire　twenty…eight　years；　felt　like　he　had　been　dead　for　a　week　or　two。　He　sat　up　slowly。　His　head　was　being　hammered　on　by　an　angry　King　Kong。　After　a　moment　he　grasped　the　shower　handles　and　faucet　and　hauled　himself　erect　He　swayed　as　the　blood　pounded　in　his　temples　with　every　beat　of　his　heart。　Then　he　tried　to　step　out　of　the　tub。　He　tripped　and　sprawled　heavily　on　the　Boor；　striking　his　head　against　the　bottom　of　the　sink　cabinet　He　lay　there；　too　sick　and　dazed　to　move。
　Amid　the　pain　he　heard　the　door　open。　〃Good　morning。〃　A　woman's　voice。
　Toad　flopped　over　and　squinted　against　the　ceiling　light。　Rita　Moravia！
　What　had　he　done　to　deserve　this？　It's　true；　life　is　all　misery　and　pain。
　〃I'd　appreciate　it　if　you　would　transport　yourself　to　your　own　room；　Tarkington。　Now。　I　don't　want　anybody　to　get　the　wrong　idea　about　you　and　me。〃
　He　tried　to　speak。　His　mouth　was　dry　and　tasted　of　sour　vomit。　He　cleared　his　throat　and　licked　his　lips。　〃How'd　I　get　here？〃
　〃Four　men　carried　you　in　here　last　night。　We　thought　someone　should　keep　an　eye　on　you　during　the　night。　I　volunteered。〃
　〃Aren't　you　a　sweetie。〃
　〃I　want　you　out　of　here；　Tarkington。〃
　He　hoisted　himself　up　and　staggered　past　her。　He　was　going　to　have　to　find　another　bathroom　pretty　damn　quick。　He　went　through　the　little　sitting　room　and　got　the　door　open　and　was　hustling　down　the　hall　when　he　heard　her　voice　behind　him。　〃We're　flying　at　two　this　afternoon。　Meet　you　in　the　lobby　at　ten　till　twelve。〃
　
　Jake　sat　on　the　crest　of　the　low　dune　and　watched　the　glider　moving　north；　away　from　him　above　the　dune。　He　had　its　nose　pointed　obliquely　forty…five　degrees　out　to　sea；　but　the　velocity　of　the　ining　wind　was　such　that　the　plane　stayed　more　or　less　over　the　dune。　He　was　holding　her　low；　only　eight　or　ten　feet　up；　to　take　advantage　of　the　upward　vector　of　the　breeze　as　it　crossed　the　low　sand　hill。
　〃Better　turn　her　back　this　way；〃　advised　the　eleven…year…old　aviation　expert　from　up　the　street。
　Jake　banked　the　plane。　〃Keep　the　nose　up；〃　David　urged；　his　voice　rising。　Jake　fed　in　back　stick。　Too　late。　The　right　wingtip　kissed　the　sand　and　she　cartwheeled。　David　was　up　and　running　instantly。
　The　boy　was　examining　the　wreckage　when　Jake　reached　him。　The　rubber　bands　that　held　the　wings　to　the　fuselage　had　popped　off；　which　undoubtedly　minimized　the　damage。　〃A　hole　in　the　wing　Monokote　and　a　busted　spar　in　the　right　horizontal　stabilizer；〃　the　youngster　advised　cheerfully。　〃Not　bad。　Yippy…skippy！　You　gotta　remember　to　feed　in　a　little　back　stick　on　the　turns。〃
　〃Yeah。　Let's　take　it　over　to　my　house　and　fix　it。〃
　〃What　kind　of　planes　do　you　fly　in　the　navy？〃　David　asked　as　they　walked　down　the　beach　with　the　pieces　of　the　glider　in　their　arms。
　〃A…6s　mostly。　Last　year　I　flew　the　F…14　some。〃
　〃Wow；　those　fighters！　Did　you　see　Top　Gun？〃
　〃Uh…huh。〃
　〃My　dad　bought　th