dclegg.purity-第1部分

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　Chapter　One　Who　I　am
　1
　These　are　the　things　I　know：
　Outerbridge　Island　has　briny　water　running　beneath　its　rocks；　a　subterranean　series　of　narrow　channels　between　the　Sound　and　the　Atlantic。
　You　can　see　the　entrances　to　these　channels　on　the　northern　side　of　the　island　at　low　tide。　These　channels　feed　into　the　Great　Salt　Pond　on　the　westerly　side　of　the　island　before　it　empties　into　the　sea。　It　was　said　that　once…upon…a…time；　a　Dutch　trading　ship　smashed　up　against　the　rocks；　and　local　pirates　fed　upon　the　treasures　found　within　the　hold　of　the　ship。　The　treasure；　it　is　said；　was　buried　in　the　narrow　caverns。　To　add　to　the　chill　of　this　tale；　it　was　also　said　that　the　pirates　fed　upon　the　flesh　of　the　survivors　of　the　wreck　for　days。
　I've　actually　swum　into　the　caverns　at　times。　I'm　slender　enough；　and　in　good　enough　shape　to　maneuver　in　the　darkness　of　the　water；　but　I　never　found　treasure；　nor　did　I　emerge　in　the　Great　Salt　Pond　by　following　the　channels　within　that　part　of　the　island。　I　needed　air；　after　all。
　If　you　want　something　badly　enough；　there　are　ways　to　get　it。
　This　doesn't　mean　that　they　are　traditional　means。　It　doesn't　mean　that　pain　is　not　involved。　It　doesn't　mean　that　the　cost　may　not　overwhelm　the　need。　It　just　means　there　are　ways　to　get　what　you　really　want　in　this　world。
　If　one　has　a　conscience；　one　can　be　driven　mad。　Therefore；　a　conscience　is　a　key　to　madness。　Everyone　is　a　potential　madman。　Everyone。　The　sweetest　boy　in　the　world　can　be　driven　to　the　most　irrational　of　acts。　The　girl　who　has　the　world　at　her　feet；　likewise；　could　be　driven　to　some　act　of　desperation　and　tragedy。
　And；　in　many　ways；　we　want　the　irrational　and　the　tragic　and　the　desperate；　because　they　bring　meaning　and　life　back　into　our　existences。
　Another　fact：　My　mother　prizes　three　things　above　all　others：
　The　rose　garden　which　my　father　planted　for　her　before　I　was　born。　It　runs　in　spirals　along　the　bluffs　and　the　small　hillock　behind　our　cottage。　There　are　fourteen　varieties　of　roses；　with　hues　ranging　from　pale　peach　to　blood　red。
　Her　koi　pond；　which　is　really　the　Montgomery's　koi　pond；　but　it　sits　on　our　side　of　the　property。　It　is　largish　for　a　pond；　and　narrow；　nearly　a　reflecting　pool。　It　was　built　deep　for　the　harsh　winters　…　the　koi　can　survive　a　thick　layer　of　ice　as　long　as　they　can　bury　themselves　down　in　the　silt。　My　father　covers　the　pool　with　a　plastic　tarp　to　further　protect　the　fish。
　And　lastly；　my　mother　prizes　the　gun。
　My　maternal　grandfather　had　a　small　pistol　that　had　been　given　to　him　by　his　mother。　It　was　a　small　Colt　pistol　…　what　my　grandfather　called　a　vest　pistol；　but　which　I　thought　of　as　a　Saturday　Night　Special。　It　had　mother…of…
　pearl　grips；　and　a　clip　that　could　not　be　removed　from　it。　My　grandfather　had　given　my　mother　the　pistol　in　the　early　years　of　her　marriage　for　when　my　father　would　beat　her。　My　father　never　beat　my　mother；　but　my　grandfather　would　apparently　not　believe　it。　The　pistol　is　useless；　I　heard　my　mother　once　say。　Never　been　fired。　I　could　barely　shoot　a　cat　with　it；　she　joked。　Someday；　she　told　me；　when　she　was　weepy　and　bitter　about　life；　she　would　go　to　Boston　and　sell　it　to　a　collector　and　take　the　money　and　go　far；　far　away。　When　I　first　discovered　my　true　god　and　his　nature；　I　took　the　pistol。
　Final　fact：
　Faith　plays　into　all　this。　One　must　have　faith　that　one　can　do　what　one　sets　out　to　do。　One　must　have　the　courage　of　one's　convictions。　All　the　world's　history　teaches　us　this。
　For　me；　it　is　that　god　I　discovered。
　I　call　it　Dagon；　although　its　name　is　unknown　to　me。　It　came　from　the　sea；　and　I　held　it　captive；　briefly。　I　am　its　priest。
　And　Dagon；　in　a　twisted　and　true　way；　upholds　what　I　stand　for。
　One　must　stand　for　something。
　For　me；　it　is　the　force　of　love。
　The　undertow　of　love。
　But　that　sounds　romantic；　and　I'm　not　a　romantic　at　all。
　I've　been　called　a　lot　of　things　since　the　day　I　was　born；　never　romantic。
　Schemer。　Athlete。　Brain。　Manipulator。　User。　mon。　Handsome。
　Shallow。　Arrogant。　Mad。　Sociopath。　Cold　eyes。
　All　by　my　mother。
　Jenna　Montgomery　once　told　me　I　had　the　most　beautiful　eyes　she'd　ever　seen　on　a　boy。
　I　had　to　catch　my　breath　when　she　told　me　that。
　2
　Years　ago；　I　came　upon　the　god　during　a　storm　of　late　November；　a　frozen；　bitter　storm；　in　which　I　had　gotten　caught　down　at　the　caverns；　taking　a　dinghy　out　to　look　for　the　famous　buried　pirate　treasure。　I　was　twelve　and　lonely；　and　when　I　saw　the　god　thrust　in　between　a　rock　and　a　hard　place；　as　it　were；　I　knew　immediately　who　and　what　it　was；　and　how　I　should　please　it。　I　read　in　my　father's　bible　that　Dagon　was　the　god　of　the　Philistines；　the　Fish…
　God。　I　found　other　books；　too；　with　titles　like　The　Shadow　Over　Innsmouth　and　Dagon　that　further　told　of　the　god　and　its　worshippers　and　what　was　needed　to　feed　the　god。
　Some　may　say　it　is　just　an　abominable　statue；　a　cheap　and　even　grotesque　trinket　of　some　distant　bazaar；　brought　by　sailors　or　perhaps　even　the　pirates。　It　is　green　with　age；　and　made　wholly　of　stone。　Its　eyes　are　merely　garnet；　its　tail　and　fins　carved　with　some　exquisite　artistry。
　But　when　I　bled　a　seagull　over　the　cold　eyes　of　the　little　god；　while　the　storm　raged　around　me；　I　felt　a　prayer　had　been　answered。
　I　breathed　easier　then。
　3
　Breathing　is　essential　to　survival；　and　although　this　seems　like　a　given；　we　know　…　scientifically　…　that　it　is　not。　Most　of　the　problems　of　life　are　like　that：　simple；　obvious；　graspable；　yet　shrouded　in　a　secret。
　If　one　can　breathe　well　…　through　any　crisis；　any　exertion　…　then　one　will　survive。
　It　is　those　who　stop　breathing　who　have　let　go　of　their　wills　to　live。
　I　am　what　people　in　this　world　call　a　sociopath；　although　the　idea　of　killing　someone　has　never　interested　me。　A　sociopath　is　not　necessarily　a　killer；　and　to　assume　this　is　to　play　a　dangerous　game。　Just　as　not　all　famous　people　are　rich；　not　all　sociopaths　are　Jeffrey　Dahmer。　If　Jeffrey　was　one　at　all。　You　must　know　this　about　me　if　you're　going　to　understand　exactly　what　went　on　at　Outerbridge　Island　the　summer　I　turned　eighteen；　the　summer　before　Jenna　Montgomery　was　to　leave　me　forever。
　They　say　that　people　like　me　can't　experience　love；　but　I　find　that　a　ridiculous　statement。　I'm　fully　capable　of　giving　and　receiving　love；　and　it　is　monstrous　to　suggest　otherwise。　Even　all　those　years　ago；　love　burned　in　me　just　as　it　did　any　boy　who　had　fallen。
　My　mother　would　take　her　daily　pain　pill　as　I　grew　up　…　her　pains　being　life　itself　and　even　her　child　…　and　tell　me　that　there　were　two　kinds　of　people　in　this　world；　the　kind　that　give　and　the　kind　that　take；　and　I　knew　I　was　neither；　but　somewhere　in　between　the　rest　of　the　world：　I　was　someone　who　observed；　perhaps　too　coldly　sometimes。　I　still　observe；　and　observation　has　brought　me　to　this　place　again。
　Outerbridge　Island；　with　its　rocky　ledges　and　glassy　sea；　the　fog　that　came　suddenly；　the　sun　that　tore　through　clouds　like　a　nuclear　explosion；　the　summers　that　went　for　years；　the　years　that　passed　in　a　summer。
　The　storms　that　came　and　stayed　and　never　left。
　4
　Let　me　turn　it　all　back　to　the　day　I　was　born；　since　from　what　I've　read　about　sociopaths；　it's　fairly　genetic。　My　grandmother　was　probably　the　carrier　of　the　gene；　since　she　went　crazy　and　ended　up　in　what　they　called　a　nursing　home　over　in　Massachusetts；　but　which　I　found　out　…　later　in　life；　of　course　…　was　an　impoverished　sanitarium；　the　sort　of　which　nightmares　are　born。　My　mother　told　me　that　it　was　my　grandfather's　fault　for　driving　her　to　do　things　…　again；　not　kill；　for　we　have　never　been　murderers　…　just　things　that　caused　people　to　believe　my　grandmother　was　insane。　When　I　was　born；　my　mother　told　me　when　I　was　eleven　or　twelve；　I　was　a　difficult　birth　and　my　own　umbilical　cord　practically　strangled　me　as　I　exited　her　body。　She　said　I　was　blue　in　the　face　for　nearly　a　minute　from　lack　of　oxygen　before　the　doctor　got　me　coughing。　Then；　I　spent　the　first　two　weeks　of　my　life　in　the　hospital；　for　I　was　a　month　premature　and　no　one　thought　I　would　live。
　Sometimes　I　think　this　is　why　I'm　a　sociopath。　I've　seen　documentaries　on　PBS　about　baby　monkeys　who　are　separated　from　their　mothers　for　a　short　time；　and　this　makes　them　seem　without　conscience　（if　that　is　truly　what　a　sociopath　is；　although　I　don't　believe　it）。　My　mother　said　she　didn't　touch　me　for　the　first　month；　she　was　terrified　I'd　die；　and　because　she　had　already　lost　one　child　…　two　years　earlier　…　in　some　kind　of　crib　death　scenario；　she　feared　holding　her　first　son；　me。　My　father　had　to　do　all　the　touching　and　picking　up；　and　even　…　my　mother　told　me　…　when　I　had　to　nurse　from　her　breast；　she　was　too　terrified。　Instead；　my　aunt　became　my　wet　nurse　…　she　who　had；　just　five　months　before；　given　birth　to　twins　and　seemed　to　have　milk　enough　for　the　entire　population　of　the　island。　There　were　times；　when　I　was　older；　that　I　wished　my　aunt　had　taken　me　back　with　her　to　her　home　on　the　mainland。
　Times　when　I　hated　the　island。　Hated　my　mother　and　father。　Hated　looking　at　the　Montgomery　house　…　the　Montgomery　Mansion；　the　Montgomery　palazzo；　the　Big　Place　…　staring　down　at　us。
　But　I　suppose　all　this　anger　came　about　because　of　those　first　few　days　of　life。
　These　things　aren't　spoken　of　much　in　families　…　how　we　each　came　to　be。　My　mother　suffered　through　bouts　of　depression；　particularly　in　the　winter；　and　she　would　stand　in　front　of　her　bedroom　window；　looking　out　across　the　Sound；　her　face　a　shimmering　reflection　in　the　thick　windowglass；　and　tell　me　all　about　myself。
　She　told　me　that　when　I　was　six　weeks　old；　she　realized　I　had　never　really　cried；　at　least　not　the　way　babies　were　supposed　to。　Instead；　I　would　turn　red；　and　my　mouth　would　open；　and　I'd　scream。　That's　how　she'd　know　I　was　hungry　or　needed　changing。　Because　she　was　so　grateful　to　have　a　child　after　she　felt　God　had　taken　away　her　first　in　retribution　for　youthful　transgressions；　she　tried　not　to　think　about　what　my　lack　of　tears　might　mean。
　As　she'd　tell　this　kind　of　story；　I'd　shift　unfortably　on　her　bed；　wishing　she'd　release　me　from　this　kind　of　intimacy　…　the　closeness　of　her　depression；　the　morbid　way　her　mind　would　pi