pdouglas.thecodex-第5部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


's　only　in　the　last　century　or　two　that　human　beings　stopped　interring　their　remains　with　grave　goods；　thus　breaking　a　long　tradition。
　It　is　a　tradition　I　am　glad　to　revive。
　The　fact　is；　almost　everything　we　know　of　the　past　es　to　us　through　grave　goods。　Some　have　called　me　a　tomb　robber。　Not　so。　I'm　not　a　robber；　I'm　a　recycler。　I　made　my　fortune　on　the　wealth　that　foolish　people　thought　they　were　taking　with　them　to　the　afterworld。　I've　decided　to　do　just　what　they　did　and　bury　myself　with　all　my　worldly　goods。　The　only　difference　between　me　and　them　is　that　I'm　no　fool。　I　know　there's　no　afterworld　where　I　can　enjoy　my　wealth。　Unlike　them；　I　die　with　no　illusions。　When　you're　dead　you're　dead。　When　you　die　you're　just　a　duffel　bag　of　rotting　meat；　grease；　brains；　and　bones…nothing　more。
　I'm　taking　my　wealth　to　the　grave　for　another　reason　entirely。　A　very　important　reason。　A　reason　that　concerns　the　three　of　you。
　
　He　paused；　looked　up。　His　hands　were　still　shaking　slightly；　and　the　muscles　in　his　jaw　were　flexing。
　〃Jesus　Christ；〃　Philip　whispered；　half　rising　from　his　seat；　his　hands　clenched。　〃I　don't　believe　this。〃
　Maxwell　Broadbent　raised　the　papers　to　read　some　more；　stumbled　over　the　words；　hesitated；　and　then　abruptly　stood　and　tossed　the　papers　onto　the　desk。　Screw　this；　he　said；　shoving　back　the　chair　with　a　violent　motion。　What　I've　got　to　say　to　you　is　too　important　for　a　damn　speech。　He　came　around　the　desk　with　several　great　strides；　his　enormous　presence　filling　the　screen　and；　by　extension；　the　room　where　they　were　sitting。　He　paced　in　front　of　the　camera；　agitated；　stroking　his　close…cropped　beard。
　This　isn't　easy。　I　don't　quite　know　how　to　explain　this　to　you　three。
　He　turned；　strode　back。
　When　I　was　your　age；　I　had　nothing。　Nothing。　I　came　to　New　York　from　Erie；　Pennsylvania；　with　just　thirty…five　dollars　and　my　father's　old　suit。　No　family。；　no　friends；　no　college　degree。　Nothing。　Dad　was　a　good　man；　but　he　was　a　bricklayer。　Mom　was　dead。　I　was　pretty　much　alone　in　the　world。
　〃Not　this　story　again；〃　moaned　Philip。
　It　was　the　fall　of　1963。　I　pounded　the　pavement　until　I　found　a　job；　a　shitty　job；　washing　dishes　at　Mama　Gina's　on　East　88th　and　Lex。　A　dollar　and　twenty…five　cents　an　hour。
　Philip　was　shaking　his　head。　Tom　felt　numb。
　Broadbent　stopped　pacing；　planted　himself　in　front　of　the　desk；　and　faced　the　camera；　slightly　hunched；　glowering　at　them。　I　can　just　see　you　three　now。　Philip；　you're　no　doubt　shaking　your　head　sadly；　Tom；　you're　probably　up　and　swearing。　And　Vernon；　you　think　I'm　just　plain　nuts。　God；　I　can　just　see　the　three　of　you。　I　feel　sorry　for　you；　I　really　do。　This　isn't　easy。
　He　resumed　his　pacing。　Gina's　wasn't　far　from　the　Metropolitan　Museum　of　Art。　I　went　in　there　one　day　on　a　whim；　and　it　changed　my　life。　I　spent　my　last　dollar　on　a　membership；　and　I　began　going　to　that　museum　every　day。　I　fell　in　love　with　the　place。　What　a　revelation！　I'd　never　seen　such　beauty；　such…He　waved　his　large　hand。　Christ；　but　you　know　all　this。
　〃We　certainly　do；〃　said　Philip　dryly。
　The　point　is；　I　started　with　nothing。　Nada。　I　worked　hard。　I　had　a　vision　for　my　life；　a　goal　I　read　everything　I　could　get　my　hands　on。　Schliemann　and　the　discovery　of　Troy；　Howard　Carter　and　King　Tut's　tomb；　John　Lloyd　Stephens　and　the　city　of　Copán；　the　excavation　of　the　Villa　of　the　Mysteries　at　Pompeii。　I　dreamed　of　finding　treasures　like　these；　digging　them　up；　owning　them。　I　cast　around：　Where　in　the　world　were　there　lost　tombs　and　temples　still　to　be　found？　The　answer　was　Central　America。　There　you　could　still　find　a　lost　city。　There　was　still　a　chance　for　me。
　Now　he　paused　to　open　a　box　on　his　desk。　He　withdrew　a　cigar；　trimmed　and　lit　it。
　〃Jesus　Christ；〃　said　Philip。　〃The　old　man's　incorrigible。〃
　Broadbent　waved　out　the　match；　tossed　it　onto　the　desk；　and　grinned。　He　had　beautiful　teeth；　and　they　glinted　white。　I'm　going　to　die　anyway；　why　not　enjoy　my　last　few　months。　Right；　Philip？　Still　smoking　that　pipe？　I'd　give　it　up　if　I　were　you。
　He　turned　and　paced；　trailing　little　puffs　of　blue。　Anyway；　I　saved　my　money　until　I　had　enough　to　go　to　Central　America。　I　went　there　not　because　I　wanted　to　make　money…although　that　was　part　of　it；　I'll　admit…but　because　I　had　a　passion。　And　I　found　it。　I　found　my　lost　city。
　He　spun；　turned；　paced。
　That　was　the　beginning。　That　got　me　started。　I　dealt　in　art　and　antiquities　only　as　a　way　to　finance　my　collecting。　And　look：
　He　paused；　gesturing　open…palmed　to　the　unseen　collection　in　the　house　around　him。
　Look。　Here's　the　result。　One　of　the　greatest　private　collections　of　art　and　antiquities　in　the　world。　These　aren't　just　things。　Every　piece　in　here　has　a　story；　a　memory　for　me。　How　I　first　saw　it；　how　I　fell　in　love　with　it；　how　I　acquired　it。　Each　piece　is　part　of　me。
　He　seized　a　jade　object　on　his　desk　and　held　it　toward　the　camera。
　Like　this　Olmec　head；　which　I　found　in　a　tomb　in　Piedra　Lumbre。　I　remember　the　day　。。。　the　heat；　the　snakes　。。。　and　I　remember　seeing　it　for　the　first　time；　lying　there　in　the　dust　of　the　tomb；　where　it　had　been　for　two　thousand　years。
　Philip　snorted。　〃The　joys　of　theft。〃
　He　put　the　piece　back　down。　For　two　thousand　years　it　had　rested　there…an　object　of　such　exquisite　beauty　it　makes　you　want　to　cry。　I　wish　I　could　tell　you　my　feelings　when　I　saw　that　flawless　jade　head　just　lying　there　in　the　dust。　It　wasn't　created　to　vegetate　in　the　darkness。　I　rescued　it　and　brought　it　back　to　life。
　His　voice　cracked　with　emotion。　He　paused；　cleared　his　throat；　put　the　head　down。　Then　he　fumbled　for　the　back　of　his　chair　and　sat　down；　laying　his　cigar　aside　in　the　ashtray。　He　turned　back　to　face　the　camera；　leaning　forward　on　the　desk。
　I'm　your　father。　I've　watched　you　three　grow　up。　I　know　you　better　than　you　know　yourselves。
　〃Not　likely；〃　said　Philip。
　As　I've　watched　you　grow　up；　I've　been　dismayed　to　see　in　you　a　feeling　of　entitlement。　Privilege。　A　rich…kid's　syndrome。　A　feeling　that　you　don't　have　to　work　too　hard；　study　too　hard；　exert　yourselves…because　you're　the　sons　of　Maxwell　Broadbent。　Because　someday；　without　lifting　a　goddamn　finger；　you'll　be　rich。
　He　rose　again；　restless　with　energy。　Look；　I　know　it's　mostly　my　fault。　I've　catered　to　your　whims；　bought　you　everything　you　wanted；　sent　you　to　all　the　best　private　schools；　dragged　you　around　Europe。　I　felt　guilty　about　the　divorces　and　all　that。　I　wasn't　born　to　be　a　married　man；　I　guess。　But　what　have　I　done？　I've　raised　three　kids　who；　instead　of　living　splendid　lives；　are　waiting　for　their　inheritance。　Great　Expectations　redux。
　〃Bullshit；〃　said　Vernon　angrily。
　Philip；　you're　an　assistant　professor　of　art　history　at　a　junior　college　on　Long　Island。　Tom？　A　horse　vet　in　Utah。　And　Vernon？　Well；　I　don't　even　know　what　you're　doing　now；　probably　living　in　some　ashram　somewhere；　giving　your　money　to　a　fraudulent　guru。
　〃Not　true！〃　said　Vernon。　〃Not　true！　Go　to　hell！〃
　Tom　could　say　nothing。　He　felt　a　nauseous　tightening　somewhere　in　his　gut。
　And　on　top　of　that；　the　father　went　on；　you　three　don't　get　along。　You　never　learned　to　cooperate；　to　be　brothers。　I　started　to　think：　What　have　I　done？　What　have　I　done？　What　kind　of　father　have　I　been？　Have　I　taught　my　sons　independence？　Have　I　taught　them　the　value　of　work？　Have　I　taught　them　self…reliance？　Have　I　taught　them　to　take　care　of　each　other？
　He　paused　and　fairly　shouted　out；　No！
　After　all　this；　after　everything；　the　schools；　Europe；　the　fishing　and　camping　trips；　I've　raised　three　quasi…failures。　Christ；　it's　my　fault　that　it　ended　up　this　way；　but　there　it　is。　And　then　I　found　out　I　was　dying；　and　that　put　me　in　a　panic。　How　was　I　going　to　fix　things？
　He　paused；　turned。　He　was　breathing　hard　now；　and　his　face　was　flushed。
　Nothing　like　having　death　poke　his　stinking　mug　into　your　face　to　make　you　think　about　things。　I　had　to　figure　out　what　to　do　with　my　collection。　I　sure　as　hell　wasn't　going　to　give　it　to　a　museum　or　some　university　for　a　bunch　of　tweedy…dums　to　gloat　over。　And　I　wasn't　going　to　let　some　scummy　auction　house　or　dealer　get　rich　from　all　my　hard　work；　break　it　up　and　disperse　it　to　the　four　corners　after　I'd　spent　a　lifetime　assembling　it。　Absolutely　not。
　He　mopped　his　brow；　wadded　up　the　handkerchief　in　a　fist；　and　gestured　at　the　camera　with　it。
　I　had　always　planned　to　leave　it　to　you。　But　when　it　came　down　to　it；　I　realized　it　would　be　the　very　worst　thing　I　could　do　to　you。　No　way　was　I　going　to　hand　over　to　you　half　a　billion　dollars　that　you　hadn't　earned。
　He　went　back　behind　the　desk；　eased　his　enormous　frame　into　the　chair；　and　took　another　cigar　from　a　leather　box。
　Look　at　me；　still　smoking。　Too　late　now。
　He　clipped　the　end；　lit　it。　The　cloud　of　smoke　confused　the　automatic　focus　on　the　camera；　and　it　went　blurry；　shifting　back　and　forth；　trying　to　find　its　focus。　When　the　smoke　drifted　leftward　out　of　the　frame；　Maxwell　Broadbent's　square；　handsome　face　leapt　back　into　focus。
　And　then　it　came　to　me。　It　was　brilliant。　All　my　life　I'd　been　excavating　tombs　and　dealing　in　grave　goods。　I　knew　all　the　tricks　for　hiding　tombs；　every　booby　trap；　everything。　I　suddenly　realized　that　I；　too；　could　take　it　with　me。　And　then　I　could　do　something　for　you　that　would　really　be　a　legacy。
　He　paused；　clasped　his　hands；　and　leaned　forward。
　You're　going　to　earn　this　money。　I've　arranged　to　bury　myself　and　my　collection　in　a　tomb　somewhere　in　the　world。　I　challenge　you　to　find　me。　If　you　do；　you　can　rob　my　tomb　and　have　it　all。　That's　my　challenge　to　you；　my　three　sons。
　He　inhaled；　tried　to　smile。
　I　warn　you：　It's　going　to　be　difficult　and　dangerous。　Nothing　in　life　worth　doing　is　easy。　And　here's　the　kicker：　You'll　never　succeed　unless　you　cooperate。
　He　brought　his　massive　fist　down　on　the　desk。
　That's　it　in　a　nutshell。　I　didn't　do　much　for　you　in　life；　but　by　God　I'm　going　to　fix　that　with　my　death。
　He　got　up　again　and　walked　over　to　the　camera。　His　arm　reached　out　to　turn　it　off；　and　then；　as　an　afterthought；　he　paused；　his　blurry　face　looming　gigantically　on　the　screen：
　I've　never　been　much　on　sentiment；　so　I'll　just　say　to　you；　good…bye。　Good…bye；　Philip；　Vernon；　and　Tom。　Good…bye　and　goo