rm.thenightboat-第4部分

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to　pieces。　The　sand　parted；　cracked　open　in　a　dozen　seams。　It　slid　under　him；　an　avalanche　of　it　covered　Moore　and　he　fell　backward；　toppling　toward　the　wild　Abyss；　his　tank　slamming　against　coral。　Great　bubbles　of　air　were　roaring　all　around　him；　some　of　them　ripping　their　way　free　of　the　sand。　Something　struck　him　like　the　blow　of　a　fist；　his　mask　was　torn　from　his　face　and　the　water　blinded　him。　When　he　felt　for　a　grip；　frantically；　his　hands　closed　around　a　solid　object。　He　held　on；　the　currents　twisting　at　him；　the　noise　a　throbbing　pain　at　his　temples。　And　then　a　realization　came　to　him　that　almost　caused　him　to　shout　out　in　terror：　he　was　rising。
　　There　was　a　shudder　beneath　him；　and　through　the　blue…green　distortion　he　saw　a　dark；　massive　shape　towering　above　him。　His　lungs　were　filling；　he　was　rising　too　quickly。　He　let　go　his　grip　and　kicked　out　with　his　fins　against　a　hard　surface　that　slid　past　him。　He　was　thrown　away　from　the　thing；　twisted　and　turned　and　mauled　by　the　fierce　currents；　lost　in　the　explosion　of　sand　and　sea。　When　he　could　see　again　he　was　looking　toward　the　surface　into　the　sun。
　　Or　where　the　sun　had　been。
　　For　now　it　was　obscured　by　the　huge　shape；　the　thing　was　rising　to　the　surface；　trailing　sand；　its　shadow　covered　him；　and　he　felt　lost　in　its　darkness。　He　watched　it；　eyes　stinging。　The　shape　broke　through　the　surface　in　a　roil　of　foam；　and　through　the　ringing　in　his　ears　he　heard　the　thunder　of　sea　surging　against　iron。　It　hung　there；　rocking　slowly　from　side　to　side。
　　Get　up！　Moore　screamed　to　himself。　No；　no。　Control。　Control。　He　swam　furiously　out　of　the　thing's　ominous　shadow　and　began　to　stroke　very　slowly　for　the　top。　He　had　been　thrown　almost　to　the　rim　of　the　Abyss；　and　he　concentrated　on　following　the　slope　of　the　shelving　bottom。　He　found　his　anchor　line；　pulled　the　anchor　free　and　began　to　climb。　He　stopped　for　depression　at　ten　feet；　watching　the　hull　of　his　skiff　being　battered　by　the　waves。　When　his　head　finally　broke　water；　he　spat　out　his　mouthpiece　and　hung　on　to　the　skiff's　gunwale；　staring　at　what　lay　not　more　than　thirty　yards　from　him。
　　〃Dear　God；〃　he　whispered。
　　Its　hull　was　over　two　hundred　feet　long；　red　sunlight　had　settled　into　splices　in　the　iron　flesh；　like　the　bleeding　wounds　of　a　giant　saurian。　Water　foamed　around　a　sharp；　evil…looking　prow。　Remnants　of　an　iron　railing　hung　twisted　over　the　side；　partly　submerged；　there　were　long　dents　and　gashes　in　the　superstructure　and　in　the　bulwark　of　a　conning　tower。　Moore　could　hear　the　sea　hissing　against　its　sides。
　　A　submarine。
　　One　of　the　old　World　War　II　types；　with　a　flat　deck　and　a　hungry…for…battle　look　about　it。　It　seemed　to　be　a　monstrous　predator　reawakened；　eager　for　prey。
　　Moore　hung　from　the　skiffs　gunwale；　unable　to　think　what　he　should　do。　And　as　he　watched；　he　saw　the　bow　of　the　thing　begin　to　turn。　The　currents　had　it　now；　shoving　against　its　mass。　Alive　again；　the　submarine　began　to　move　slowly　and　inexorably　toward　the　island　of　Coquina。
　　　
　　　Two
　　
　　WHEN　MASON　HOLBE　picked　up　his　next　card　he　knew　Lady　Luck　with　her　shining　golden　hair　and　dress　of　crackling　folding　money　was　standing　at　his　right　shoulder。　He　tried　to　keep　the　look　of　the　barracuda　out　of　his　eyes；　but　it　was　damned　hard　to　do。　He　had　a　pair　of　queens　and　triple　jacks；　he　raised　his　eyes　very　carefully。。。oh；　mon；　he　told　himself；　do　keep　that　look　innocent！。。。to　Percy　〃Pudge〃　Layne；　who　sat　across　from　him　at　the　up…ended；　rusted　fuel　drum　they　used　as　a　card　table。　Percy；　a　rotund　black　with　a　high　forehead　and　close…set　oval　eyes；　regarded　him　in　silence。
　　〃e　on；　mon！〃　said　Mason　carefully；　trying　to　affect　an　off…handed　aggravation。　〃How　many　cards？〃
　　〃Three。〃　He　tossed　the　three　down；　took　another　three　off　the　top　of　a　dog…eared　pack　that　had　been　used　in　boatyard　games　for　as　long　as　both　men　could　remember。
　　〃Okay；　what　you　puttin'　up？〃　Mason　said；　ready　to　get　on　with　it。
　　Percy　shook　his　head；　his　face　wrinkled　up　and　worried。　He　gazed　out　across　Mason's　broad　shoulder　at　the　plain　of　the　sea　beyond；　then　dropped　his　eyes　back　to　his　hand。　Without　a　word　he　reached　beside　him　to　a　pack　of　cigarettes　that　had　been　broken　in　half。　He　put　four　halves　before　him。
　　〃Fine。〃　Mason　put　out　his　four　cigarette　halves；　raked　out　three　more。　〃And　three。〃
　　Percy　shrugged；　met　the　raise。
　　〃What　you　got；　my　fine　friend？〃　Mason　asked；　ready　to　leap。
　　〃Not　so　good；　I　doan　think；〃　said　the　other　man。　He　laid　down　his　cards　in　a　fan　shape。　〃You　can　beat　that；　I　know。〃　Before　him　on　the　drum　were　two　aces；　two　wild　deuces；　and　a　six。
　　Mason　sat；　numb　from　the　neck　up。　He　dropped　his　cards　down。　Percy　laughed　out　loud　and　took　the　cigarette　halves　to　add　to　a　growing　heap。　〃Came　up　lucky　as　all　hell　on　that　draw；〃　he　said　quietly。
　　〃I　ain't　playing　no　more　with　these　old　cards！〃　Mason　said。　〃You　can　just　damned　see　through　the　back　of　'em！　Jesus　Christ！〃
　　〃Oh　shaddup；〃　Percy　said；　〃and　lay　down　your　ante。〃
　　The　afternoon　breeze　off　the　sea　was　cool　and　fresh。　It　was　a　wele　relief　to　get　out　here　when　the　sun　was　high；　away　from　the　heat　of　the　wharfs　and　the　stench　of　fuel　oil；　grease；　and　battery　acids。　They　could　hear　the　banging　of　a　hammer　against　timber　and　the　drawing　of　a　handsaw　repeated　over　and　over　again…someone　still　working　in　the　boatyard。　Probably　J。R。；　or　the　foreman；　Lenny；　burning　themselves　up　in　that　sun　to　finish　replacing　the　Ginger's　broken　hull　planks。　The　old　man　who　operated　her；　Harless；　or　〃Hairless；〃　as　the　boatyard　men　called　him；　was　a　good　friend　of　the　yard's　owner；　Kevin　Langstree；　and　so　that　accounted　for　the　rush　that　had　been　put　into　the　repair　work。
　　The　Langstree　boatyard　had　seen　better　days。　It　was　a　jumble　of　wharf　pilings；　huts；　piles　of　timber　and　empty　oil　drums；　crates　and　boxes　strewn　everywhere；　heavy　ropes　coiled　like　thick　brown　pythons；　and　a　morass　of　bald　tires　stacked　up　to　protect　the　hulls　of　boats。　It　had　been　affluent　once；　bustling　with　traffic　from　the　island　harbor；　an　anchorage　for　both　British　and　American　freighters。　Now　it　was　kept　up　primarily　to　service　the　island's　fishing　fleet　and　to　do　repair　work　if　necessary　on　the　yachts　that　cruised　through　here　during　the　tourist　season。　The　work　force　had　been　cut　to　a　third　of　what　it　had　been　during　the　early　part　of　World　War　II；　when　the　boatyard　was　paid　handsomely　for　repairs　made　on　the　huge　Allied　warships　that　had　fought　the　Germans　in　the　Caribbean。　In　those　days；　as　the　aging　Langstree　liked　to　tell　everyone；　the　boatyard　had　worked　fifty　men　on　two　shifts；　the　work　was　plentiful　and　hard　but　the　men　knew　what　they　were　doing。　They　were　all　tough；　muscular　islanders　with　a　mon…sense；　natural　knowledge　of　both　the　small　fishing　trawlers　and　the　larger；　more　plex　steel…hulled　craft。　They　had　learned　the　art　of　fast　patching；　of　making　use　of　available　materials　until　what　had　seemed　hopeless　was　again　ready　for　the　sea。　They　could　take　down　and　put　back　together　ocean…going　diesels　blindfolded；　restore　the　snapped　rudders　and　broken　hulls　of　sailing　sloops；　rebuild　skiff　motors　by　spit　and　wire。
　　But　no　more。　Many　of　those　men　had　moved　away　from　Coquina　in　search　of　better…paying　jobs　after　the　war　had　ended；　some　of　them　had　died　in　action；　for　a　boatyard　servicing　warships　in　a　bat　zone　was　a　prime　target　for　the　enemy。　Now　most　of　the　yard　was　abandoned。　Of　two　tin…roofed　wooden　structures　used　as　drydocks　only　one　was　in　use；　and　that　only　occasionally　when　a　larger　boat　needed　a　patch　job　or　some　such　serious　work。　The　other；　allowed　to　fall　to　pieces　in　the　salt　air；　had　been　constructed　by　the　British　navy　for　the　purpose　of　storing　damaged　warships　until　they　could　either　be　patched　or　until　the　heavy　naval　tugs　could　arrive　for　them；　it　was　filled　with　supplies　and　equipment　left　over　when　the　warships　were　no　longer　needed　to　patrol　the　Caribbean。　Although　the　jobs　had　dried　up；　the　boatyard　had　always　maintained　a　proud　reputation　and　was　the　only　thing　that　kept　Coquina　on　the　map。　Most　of　the　workmen　made　ends　meet　for　their　families　by　moonlighting　either　as　fishermen　or　farmers。
　　〃Deal；〃　Percy　said　over　the　noise　of　the　hammer。　He　glanced　across；　the　bulkheadlike　doorway　to　the　nearest　drydock　had　been　opened　and　he　could　see　J。R。's　head　as　the　man　worked　in　the　concrete…reinforced　pit。　Beside　the　shelter　were　the　bleaching　bones　of　an　abandoned　ketch；　its　splintered　hull　as　white　as　the　grass…thatched　sand　around　it。　A　few　dozen　yards　away；　beneath　a　block…and…tackle　assembly；　were　the　wharfs；　where　a　couple　of　fishing　boats　were　moored。　A　sign　on　long　stilts　at　the　far　end　of　the　wharfs；　facing　the　sea；　read　in　weather…beaten　red　paint：　LANGSTREE　BOATYARD。
　　Percy　was　not　really　concentrating　as　the　cards　were　placed　face…down　before　him。　He　was　looking　out　at　the　sea。　He　had　watched　the　little　skiff　with　the　white　man　in　it　move　on　through　the　bommies　of　Kiss　Bottom；　and　while　he　and　Mason　played　he　gazed　curiously　out　at　the　Abyss；　where　the　skiff；　only　a　white　dot　against　the　blueness　of　sea　and　sky；　floated　at　anchor。　He　wondered　what　the　white　man　was　doing　there。　In　the　middle　of　the　sea；　beneath　that　searing　orb　of　sun！　Moore　had　to　be　crazy　as　hell。　Even　he；　Percy；　with　his　black　flesh　thickened　by　years　of　outdoor　work；　avoided　the　early　afternoon　heat；　preferring　instead　to　play　poker　beneath　the　shading　palm　fronds　or　drink　beer　and　swap　old　stories　with　the　other　men　up　at　the　Landfall。
　　He　picked　up　his　hand。　Four　and　six　of　clubs；　heart's　king；　ten　of　hearts；　and　ace　of　diamonds。　What　to　discard；　what　to　build　on？　He　suddenly　felt　like　a　fool　sitting　here。　He　had　nets　to　mend　for　the　next　morning's　fishing。　Without　them　he'd　have　to　depend　on　trawling　lines；　and　he　didn't　want　to。　The　fish　were　getting　too　smart　to　grab　just　any　old　bait　these　days；　and　the　huge　nets　on　the　industry　boats　that　worked　these　waters　on　an　erratic　basis　frightened　away　the　fish　that　weren't　scooped　up。　Damn　it；　he　thought　angrily；　it's　gettin'　tough　for　a　man　to　feed　his　own　mouth；　much　less　a　wife's　and　two　children's。
　　〃What　you　want；　mon？〃　Mason　asked　him。
　　And　when　the　other　man　looked　up；　intending　to　ask　fo