ericlustbader.the ninja-第96节

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ght　green　trousers　lounged　in　the　doorway。　'Hits；'　he　murmured；　'loose　joints；　coke；　speed。　Quality　stuff。'
　Now　the　movie　marquees　came　one　after　another　in　a　seemingly　unending　line　on　both　sides　of　the　street。　Most　were　porn　houses　but　one；　the　one　Nicholas　had　seen　from　the　cab　window；　was　not。　Here　there　was　a　kung　fu　triple　bill。　Two　of　the　films　starred　Bruce　Lee。
　Nicholas　dug　out　a　buck…fifty　and　went　inside。　The　place　smelt　old　and　musty。　It　was　lighter　than　was　normal　in　most　theatres。　There　was　a　crowd　of　black　and　Puerto　Rican　kids　clamouring　around　the　soda　machine　at　the　back。
　He　took　a　seat。　The　place　was　almost　filled。　On　the　screen　Bruce　Lee　was　talking　earnestly　with　a　couple　of　evil…looking　Japanese　in　dubbed　English。　The　audience　was　noisy；　restless　for　the　action　sequences。　Dialogue　they　did　not　appreciate。
　Nicholas　sat　back；　watching　Lee　for　a　time。　The　years　had　not　diminished　his　aura…。　His　spirit　seemed　to　leap　off　the　screen；　making　the　most　slipshod　productions　worth　watching。
　Nicholas　recalled　the　first　time　they　had　met。　It　had　been　in　Hong　Kong；　ironically；　after　the　period　Lee　had　spent　in　Hollywood；　working　as　a　bit　player　in　films　and　TV　and　teaching　stars　enough　of　the　martial　arts　to　get　by　in　front　of　a　camera。
　He　was　beginning　to　be　somewhat　of　a　star　in　his　own　right　then。　They　had　taken　to　each　other　immediately　but　time　and　logistics　had　worked　against　them　and　they　had　never　seen　each　other　again。
　Lee's　death　had　e　as　a　shock　to　Nicholas。　Not　that　someone　would　try　to　kill　him　…　he　knew　enough　about　Lee　by　that　time　to　understand　that　the　man's　unpromising　nature　had　bee　a　thorn　in　some　decidedly　unsavoury　sides　…　but　that　an　attempt　had　succeeded。　He　had　always　wondered　how　it　had　been　done；　now　he　thought　he　knew。
　Outside；　it　was　still　stifling　and；　in　this　place　of　hot　lights；　fast　food；　dirty　dope　and　even　dirtier　deals；　more　so　than　elsewhere。
　It　took　him　fifteen　minutes　to　find　an　empty　cab　and　half　that　time　to　reach　the　Dakota；　there　was　little　traffic。
　He　had　stayed　at　the　decaying　theatre　just　long　enough　to　catch　one　of　Lee's　gorgeously　choreographed　action　sequences；　motivated；　as　usual；　by　revenge。　Tonight　there　seemed　nothing　artificial　about　that。
　Goldman；　dapper　as　ever　in　a　pale　blue　pinstripe　shirt　and　midnight…blue　linen　slacks；　met　him　at　the　door。　He　smiled　warmly　when　he　saw　Nicholas；　extending　a　firm　hand。　'Nick。　We　were　getting　worried　about　you。　He　turned；　still　in　the　doorway。　'Edna；　it's　him。'　He　pulled　Nicholas　inside；　pushed　a　rum　on　the　rocks　into　his　hand。　'Here。　It　looks　like　you　need　this。'
　Edna；　a　dark…haired　chubby　woman；　bustled　into　the　living　room　from　the　swing　door　to　the　large　kitchen。　She　beamed；　raised　her　hands。　'Tateleh！'　She　kissed　Nicholas　on　both　cheeks。　She　had　the　kind　of　incandescent　inner　warmth　that　made　mere　physical　beauty　irrelevant。　'Where　have　you　been　so　long；　you　haven't　e　to　see　us？'　Her　voice　held　just　the　right　balance　between　love　and　reproach。
　He　smiled　thinly。　'It's　good　to　see　you　both。'
　'That's　it；'　she　said　as　if　she　had　discovered　a　rare　artifact。　'You've　lost　weight。　e。〃　She　took　him　by　the　hand。　'We　eat　first。　Whatever　it　is　you　want　to　talk　to　Sam　about　can　wait　for　a　full　stomach。'
　They　ate　in　the　kitchen　with　the　yellow　and　beige　wallpaper　and　the　old　West　Side　fixtures；　the　oval　table　of　fine…grained　mahogany　richly　waxed；　covered　with　a　beautiful　embroidered　white…on…white　tablecloth。　A　brass　Menorah　stood　on　a　wall　shelf　above　the　table；　at　its　centre。
　Afterwards；　as　Edna　cleared　the　dishes；　Sam　nodded　silently　to　Nicholas　and　they　excused　themselves。　Edna　kissed　them　both　before　they　left。　'Whatever　is　wrong；'　she　told　him　with　absolute　faith；　'you　can　fix　it。　Right；　Sam？　Am　I　right？'
　'You're　always　right。'　He　ushered　Nicholas　into　the　living　room。
　Beige　and　pale　green　predominated。　Edna　despised　brilliant　primaries；　perhaps　because　she　saw　her　childhood　on　189th　Street　in　those　colours。　The　effect　was　a　soothing　one；　like　being　in　a　cool　forest　during　the　heat　of　the　day。
　They　sat　on　the　beige　velvet　couch　and　Sam　put　his　feet　up　on　a　matching　ottoman。　An　antique　clock　ticked　lightly　from　its　owl…like　perch　on　the　white　marble　mantelpiece。　A　great　bunch　of　dried　eucalyptus　in　a　pale　pink　ceramic　vase　stood　within　the　grate；　wafting　its　pungent　scent　into　the　room。　There　was　a　Utrillo　on　the　opposite　wall　and；　on　another；　a　small　Dali。　In　their　bedroom；　on　pale　blue　walls；　were　a　Picasso　and　a　Calder　which；　of　course；　Edna　detested。　They　were　all　originals　but　they　were　displayed　with　a　pleasing　lack　of　ostentation。
　'It　has　e　back；'　Nicholas　said　softly。　'All　my　past；　like　a　great　tidal　wave。〃
　Goldman　reached　for　a　hardwood　box；　took　out　a　cigar；　lit　it　slowly。
　'I've　lost　the　present　somewhere　along　the　line。　I　no　longer　know　where　I　am。'
　He　deliberately　blew　the　blue　smoke　away　from　Nicholas。　'Nicholas；　as　Shakespeare　so　cleverly　put　into　Ophelia's　mouth；　〃We　know　what　we　are；　but　we　know　not　what　we　may　be。〃'
　'Sam；　I　didn't　e　here　for　homilies！'　he　exploded。
　'Nor　did　I　mean　to　give　you　any。'　He　took　the　cigar　out　of　his　mouth；　laid　it　on　a　crystal　ashtray。　'Look；　it　is　totally　unreasonable　to　expect　to　know　or　understand　everything　about　yourself。　The　human　being　is　such　a　plex　animal　that　we　have　to　be　content　to　muddle　through　things　as　best　we　can。　Some　days；　it　just　doesn't　seem　nearly　enough。　At　other　times。。。'　He　shrugged　with　some　equanimity。
　'I　understand　all　that。　But　you're　the　expert　on　history。　I　am　only　partly　a　Jew。　I　haven't　had　the　training。　I　don't　…'
　'It　has　nothing；'　Goldman　said　seriously；　'at　all　to　do　with　training。　One　learns　the　meaning　of　being　a　Jew　just　as　one　learns　the　meaning　of　being　a　human　being　…　by　living　life；　not　by　learning　the　Torah。
　'It　es　from　what　you　feel　inside　and　the　important　thing　is　that　you　do　not　deny　what　is　inside　you。　Doubt　and　fears；　uncertainty　of　the　present　and　the　future　all　stem　from　that。　Your　self　must　be　free　to　go　in　whichever　direction　it　must　go。
　'The　spirit　flies；　Nicholas　…　it　is　the　only　thing　we　possess　which　can。　It　is　a　sin　to　tie　it　down；　to　deny　your　spirit　its　breath。　Life　is　nothing　without　it。　We　merely　survive；　from　day　to　day；　in　a　kind　of　unthinking　limbo。
　'Does　this　answer　your　question？'
　In　the　night…silence　of　the　tower　on　Park　Avenue；　he　sat　with　Raphael　Tomkin。　At　the　moment；　Tomkin　was　on　the　telephone。　Somewhere　in　the　world；　it　was　always　some　time　between　nine　and　five　and　that　meant　business　was　rolling。　Decisions；　vital　to　one　subsidiary　or　another；　and　thus　vital　to　the　corporation　as　a　whole；　required　the'　mind　of　the　mover　and　the　shaker。　Three　continents　awaited　the　oute　of　such　trans…Atlantic　or　tram…Pacific　conversations。
　While　Tomkin　talked　on　in　mega…figures；　a　kind　of　semi…secret　corporate　shorthand；　Nicholas　looked　at　the　tiny　bit　of　metal　and　plastic　he　held　between　his　fingers。　He　turned　it　like　a　miniature　world；　though　in　truth　it　was　only　a　disk　and　thus　flat；　so　that　it　caught　the　lamplight；　its　face　turning　to　a　slow　dazzle。
　Just　possibly；　he　thought；　this　little　piece　of　the　electronicized　present　could　be　the　key　to　it　all。　The　past；　the　present　and　the　future。　It　could　end　right　here；　if　he　chose。　If　he　chose。
　And　he　desperately　wanted　it　to　be　his　decision。
　He　felt；　quite　rightly；　that　Saigo　had　taken　all　initiative　from　him　and　he　felt　stripped　bare；　naked　and　defenceless　because　he　had　not　seen　what　was　happening。
　Saigo　had　been　leading　him　around　by　the　nose　until　he　was　dizzy；　laughing　all　the　way。　It　was　a　technique　from　the　Go　Rin　No　Sho。　What　was　its　name？　To　Hold　Down　a　Pillow。　Restrict　the　enemy's　useful　actions　while　encouraging　his　useless　ones。　Lead　him　around　as　if　he　had　a　ring　through　his　nose　and；　when　he　is　in　total　confusion；　strike。
　'Where've　you　been？'　Tomkin　asked；　cradling　the　phone。　He　looked　slightly　rumpled　at　this　time　of　the　night；　his　cream…coloured　linen　suit　wrinkled　at　the　insides　of　the　elbows；　his　medium…width　grey　silk　knitted　tie　slightly　askew。　The　flesh　of　his　face　had　lost　the　pink　glow　it　maintained　for　most　of　the　day；　seemed　pummelled　into　a　kind　of　uneasy　truce　…　submission　was　a　flat…out　impossibility　…　by　the　long　hours。　Lines　at　the　corners　of　his　eyes　had　bee　noticeable　but　they　merely　made　him　seem　that　much　more　human。　Nicholas　still　felt　himself　wondering　which　was　the　facade。
　'In　Chinatown。'
　Tomkin　grunted；　swivelling　round　in　his　high…backed　leather　chair。　His　hands　played　idly　across　his　desk's　electronic　console　as　a　Greek　peasant　might　fondle　his　worry　beads。　'Chinatown；　huh？　With　that　bastard；　Croaker；　I'll　bet。'　He　stared　into　Nicholas's　face　and　his　eyes；　like　chips　of　blue　quartz；　were　merciless。　They　were　sailor's　eyes；　Nicholas　thought。　The　eyes　of　a　man　well　seasoned　to　the　sardonic　tricks　of　the　sea　and　the　open　sky。　They　were　the　eyes　of　a　survivor；　shipwrecked；　his　crew　drowned；　this　man　would　make　it　onto　some　beachy　shore　and；　like　Crusoe；　vanquish　time　though　perhaps　not　solitude。　'You　better　not　get　too　friendly　with　that　cop。　Just　a　friendly　warning；　'cause　I'm　waiting　for　that　motherfucker　to　step　one　inch　out　of　line。　Then　I'