tc.redrabbit-第23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！


　　　〃Morning；　Jack；〃　Cathy　said；　entering　the　kitchen　in　her　pink　housecoat。
　　　It　was　shabby；　which　was　surprising；　since　his　wife　was　always　a　fastidious　dresser。　He　hadn't　asked；　but　supposed　it　had　sentimental　significance。
　　　〃Hey；　babe。〃　Jack　rose　to　give　his　wife　the　first　kiss　of　the　day；　acpanied　by　a　rather　limp　hug。　〃Paper？〃
　　　〃No。　I'll　save　it　for　the　train。〃　She　pulled　open　the　refrigerator　door　and　pulled　some　things　out。　Jack　didn't　look。
　　　〃Having　coffee　this　morning？〃
　　　〃Sure。　I　don't　have　any　procedures　scheduled。〃　If　she　had　a　surgery　scheduled；　Cathy　kept　off　the　coffee；　lest　the　caffeine　give　her　hands　a　minor　tremor。　You　couldn't　have　that　when　you　were　screwing　an　eyeball　back　together。　No；　today　was　get…acquainted　day　with　Professor　Byrd。　Bernie　Kate　knew　him　and　called　him　a　friend；　which　boded　well；　and　besides；　Cathy　was　about　as　good　as　eye　surgeons　got；　and　there　was　no　reason　for　her　to　be　the　least　bit　concerned　about　a　new　hospital　and　a　new　boss。　Still；　such　concerns　were　human；　though　Cathy　was　too　macho　to　let　it　show。　〃How　does　bacon　and　eggs　grab　you？〃　she　asked。
　　　〃I'm　allowed　to　have　some　cholesterol？〃　her　husband　asked　in　surprise。
　　　〃Once　a　week；〃　Mrs。　Dr。　Ryan　replied；　imperiously。　Tomorrow　she'd　serve　him　oatmeal。
　　　〃Sounds　good　to　me；　babe；〃　Ryan　said；　with　some　pleasure。
　　　〃I　know　you'll　get　something　bad　for　you　at　the　office　anyway。〃
　　　〃Mm？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　croissant　and　butter；　probably。　They're　made　entirely　out　of　butter　anyway；　you　know。〃
　　　〃Bread　without　butter　is　like　a　shower　without　soap。〃
　　　〃Tell　me　that　when　you　get　your　first　heart　attack。〃
　　　〃My　last　physical；　my　cholesterol　was。。。　what？〃
　　　〃One　fifty…two；〃　Cathy　answered；　with　an　annoyed　yawn。
　　　〃And　that's　pretty　good？〃　her　husband　persisted。
　　　〃It's　acceptable；〃　she　admitted。　But　hers　had　been　one　forty…six。
　　　〃Thank　you；　honey；〃　Ryan　acknowledged；　turning　to　the　op…ed　page　of　the　Times。　The　letters　to　the　editor　here　were　a　positive　hoot；　and　the　quality　of　the　writing　throughout　the　papers　was　superior　to　anything　he　found　in　the　American　print　media。　Well；　they　had　invented　the　language　over　here；　Ryan　figured；　and　fair　was　fair。　The　turn　of　phrase　here　was　often　as　elegant　as　poetry；　and　occasionally　too　subtle　for　his　American　eye　to　appreciate。　He'd　pick　it　up；　he　figured。
　　　The　familiar　sound　and　pleasant　smell　of　frying　bacon　soon　permeated　the　room。　The　coffee…tempered　with　milk　instead　of　cream…was　agreeable；　and　the　news　wasn't　of　the　sort　to　ruin　breakfast。　Except　for　the　ungodly　rime；　things　were　not　all　that　bad；　and　besides；　the　worst　part　of　waking　up　was　already　behind　him。
　　　〃Cathy？〃
　　　〃Yeah；　Jack？〃
　　　〃Have　I　told　you　yet　that　I　love　you？〃
　　　She　ostentatiously　checked　her　watch。　〃You're　a　little　late；　but　I'll　write　that　off　to　the　early　hour。〃
　　　〃What's　your　day　look　like；　honey？〃
　　　〃Oh；　meet　the　people；　look　around　at　how　things　are　laid　out。　Meet　my　nurses　especially。　I　hope　I　get　good　ones。〃
　　　〃Is　that　important？〃
　　　〃Nothing　screws　surgery　up　worse　that　a　clumsy　scrub　nurse。　But　the　people　at　Hammersmith　are　supposed　to　be　pretty　good；　and　Bernie　says　that　Professor　Byrd　is　about　the　best　guy　they　have　over　here。　He　teaches　at　Hammersmith　and　Moorefields。　He　and　Bernie　go　back　about　twenty　years。　He's　been　to　Hopkins　a　lot；　but　somehow　I've　never　bumped　into　him。　Over　easy？〃　she　asked。
　　　〃Please。〃
　　　Then　came　the　sound　of　cracking　eggs。　Like　Jack；　Cathy　believed　in　a　proper　cast…iron　skillet。　Harder　to　clean；　perhaps；　but　the　eggs　tasted　a　lot　better　that　way。　Finally　came　the　sound　of　the　toaster　lever　being　depressed。
　　　The　sports　page…it　was　called　〃sport〃　（singular）　over　here…told　Jack　everything　he'd　ever　need　to　know　about　soccer；　which　wasn't　much。
　　　〃How'd　the　Yankees　do　last　night？〃　Cathy　asked。
　　　〃Who　cares？〃　her　husband　countered。　He'd　grown　up　with　Brooks　Robinson　and　Milt　Pappas　and　the　Orioles。　His　wife　was　a　Yankees　fan。　It　was　hard　on　the　marriage。　Sure；　Mickey　Mantle　had　been　a　good　player…probably　loved　his　mother；　too…but　he'd　played　in　pinstripes；　i　that　was　that。　Ryan　rose　and　fixed　the　coffee　for　his　wife；　handing　it　icr　with　a　kiss。
　　　〃Thanks；　honey。〃　Cathy　handed　Jack　his　breakfast。　The　eggs　looked　a　little　different；　as　though　the　chickens　had　eaten　orange　corn　to　makes　the　yellows　e　out　so　bright。　But　they　tasted　just　fine。　Five　satisfying　minutes　after　that；　Ryan　headed　for　the　shower　to　make　room　for　his　wife。
　　　Ten　minutes　later；　he　was　picking　out　a　shirt…white　cotton；　buttondown…striped　tie；　and　his　Marine　Corps　tie　pin。　At　6：40；　there　was　a　knock　at　the　door。
　　　〃Good　morning。〃　It　was　Margaret　van　der　Beek；　the　nanny/governess。　She　lived　just　a　mile　away　and　drove　herself。　Remended　from　an　agency　vetted　by　the　SIS；　she　was　a　South　Africa　native；　the　daughter　of　a　minister；　thin；　pretty；　and　seemingly　very　nice。　She　carried　a　huge　purse。　Her　hair　was　napalm…red；　which　hinted　at　Irish　ancestry；　but　it　was　apparently　strictly　South　African…Dutch。　Her　accent　was　different　from　those　most　locals；　but　nonetheless　pleasant　to　Jack's　ear。　〃Good　morning；　Miss　Margaret。〃　Ryan　waved　her　into　the　house。　〃The　kids　are　still　asleep；　but　I　expect　them　up　at　any　moment。〃
　　　〃Little　Jack　sleeps　well　for　five　months。〃
　　　〃Maybe　it's　the　jet　lag；〃　Ryan　thought　out　loud；　though　Cathy　had　said　that　infants　didn't　suffer　from　it。　Jack　had　trouble　swallowing　that。　In　any　case；　the　little　bastard…Cathy　snarled　at　Jack　whenever　he　said　that…hadn't　gone　to　sleep　until　half　past　ten　the　previous　night。　That　was　harder　on　Cathy　than　on　Jack。　He　could　sleep　through　the　noise。　She　couldn't。　〃Almost　time；　honey；〃　Jack　called。
　　　〃I　know；　Jack；〃　came　the　retort。　Then　she　appeared；　carrying　their　son；　nth　Sally　following　in　her　yellow　bunny…rabbit　sleeper。　〃Hey；　little　girl。〃　Ryan　went　over　to　lift　his　daughter　for　a　hug　and　kiss。　Sally　smiled　back　and　rewarded　her　daddy　with　a　ferocious　hug。　How　children　could　wake　up　in　such　a　good　humor　was　a　perverse　mystery　to　him。　Maybe　it　was　some　important　bonding　instinct；　to　make　sure　their　parents　looked　after　them；　like　when　they　smiled　at　mommy　and　daddy　sporadically　from　their　first　moment。　Clever　little　critters；　babies。
　　　〃Jack；　put　a　bottle　on；〃　Cathy　said；　heading　with　the　little　guy　to　the　changing　table。
　　　〃Roger　that；　doc；〃　the　intelligence　analyst　responded　dutifully；　doubling　back　into　the　kitchen　for　a　bottle　of　the　junk　he'd　mixed　up　the　previous　night…that　was　man's　work；　Cathy　had　made　clear　to　him　during　Sally's　infancy。　Like　moving　furniture　and　taking　out　the　garbage；　the　household　tasks　for　which　men　were　genetically　prepared。
　　　It　was　like　cleaning　a　rifle　to　a　soldier：　unscrew　the　top；　reverse　the　nipple；　place　bottle　in　pot　with　four　to　five　inches　of　water；　turn　on　stove；　and　wait　a　few　minutes。
　　　That　would　be　Miss　Margaret's　task；　however。　Jack　saw　the　taxi　outside　the　window；　just　pulling　onto　the　parking　pad。
　　　〃Car's　here；　babe。〃
　　　〃Okay；〃　was　the　resigned　response。　Cathy　didn't　like　leaving　her　kids　for　work。　Well；　probably　no　mother　did。　Jack　watched　her　head　into　the　half…bath　to　wash　her　hands；　then　emerge　to　put　on　the　suit　coat　that　went　with　her　gray　outfit…even　gray　cloth…covered　flat　shoes。　She　wanted　to　make　a　good　first　impression。　A　kiss　for　Sally；　and　one　for　the　little　guy；　and　she　headed　for　the　door；　which　Jack　held　open　for　her。
　　　The　taxi　was　an　ordinary　Land　Rover　saloon　car…only　London　required　the　classic　English　taxi　for　public　livery；　though　some　of　the　older　ones　found　their　way　into　the　hinterland。　Ryan　had　arranged　the　morning　pickup　the　previous　day。　The　driver　was　one　Edward　Beaverton；　and　he　seemed　awfully　chipper　for　a　man　who　had　to　work　before　7：00　A。M。
　　　〃Howdy；〃　Jack　said。　〃Ed；　this　is　my　wife。　She's　the　good…looking　Dr。　Ryan。〃
　　　〃Good　morning；　mum；〃　the　driver　said。　〃You're　a　surgeon；　I　understand。〃
　　　〃That's　right；　ophthalmic…〃
　　　Her　husband　cut　her　off：　〃She　cuts　up　eyeballs　and　sews　them　back　together。　You　should　watch；　Eddie；　it's　fascinating　to　see　how　she　does　it。〃
　　　The　driver　shuddered。　〃Thank　you；　sir；　but；　no；　thank　you。〃
　　　〃Jack　just　says　that　to　make　people　throw　up；〃　Cathy　told　the　driver。　〃Besides；　he's　too　much　of　a　wuss　to　e　watch　any　real　surgery。〃
　　　〃And　properly　so；　mum。　Much　better　to　cause　surgery　than　to　attend　it。〃
　　　〃Excuse　me？〃
　　　〃You're　a　former　Marine？〃
　　　〃That's　right。　And　you？〃
　　　〃I　was　in　the　Parachute　Regiment。　That's　what　they　taught　us：　Better　to　inflict　harm　on　the　other　bloke　than　to　suffer　it　yourself。〃
　　　〃Most　Marines　would　agree　with　that　one；　pal；〃　Ryan　agreed　with　a　chuckle。
　　　〃That's　not　what　they　taught　us　at　Hopkins；〃　Cathy　sniffed。
　　　It　was　an　hour　later　in　Rome。　Colonel　Goderenko；　titularly　the　Second　Secretary　at　the　Soviet　Embassy；　had　about　two　hours　per　day　of　diplomatic　duties；　but　most　of　his　time　was　taken　up　by　his　job　as　rezident；　or　Chief　of　Station　for　the　KGB。　It　was　a　busy　posting。　Rome　was　a　major　information　nexus　for　NATO；　a　city　in　which　one　could　obtain　all　manner　of　political　and　military　intelligence；　and　that　was　his　main　professional　concern。　He　and　his　six　full…　and　part…time　officers　ran　a　total　of　twenty…three　agents…Italian　（and　one　German）　nationals　who　fed　information　to　the　Soviet　Union　for　political　or　pecuniary　reasons。　It　would　have　been　better　for　him　if　their　motivation　was　mainly　ideological；　but　that　was　rapidly　being　a　thing　of　the　past。　The　rezidentura　in　Bonn　had　a　better　atmosphere　in　which　to　work。　Germans　were　Germans；　and　many　of　them　could　be　persuaded　that　helping　out　their　co…linguists　in　the　DDR　was　preferable　to　working　with　the　Americans；　British；　and　French　who　called　themselves　allies　of　the　Fatherland。　For　Goderenko　and　his　fellow　Russians；　Germans　would　never　be　allies；　whatever　politics　whey　might　claim　to　have；　though　the　fig　leaf　of　Marxism…Leninism　could　sometimes　be　a　useful　disguise。
　　　In　Italy；　things　were　different。　The　lingering　memory　of　Benito　Mussolini　was　pretty　well　faded　now；　and　the　local　true…believer　munists　were　more　interested　in　wine　and　pasta　than　revolutionary　Marxism；　except　for　the　bandits　of　the　Red　Brigade…and　they　were　dangerous　hooligans　rather　than　politically　reliable　opera