jefflong.yearzero-第49部分

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　〃You　want　contact；〃　she　clarified。
　〃Yes。〃
　〃That　means　they'll　need　to　be　inoculated；〃　she　said。　〃Two　thousand　years　of　disease　have　evolved　since　they　died。　Their　blood　is　pure。　We're　lucky　Tara　survived　you。〃
　He　chased　her。　〃This　needs　to　be　done　outdoors；〃　he　added。　〃In　the　sun。〃
　She　resisted。　〃What　if　one　escaped？　One　did。　He　almost　killed　himself　getting　loose。〃
　Nathan　Lee　was　ready。　He　showed　her　his　pencil　sketch　for　a　courtyard　with　high　walls。　〃We　can　make　it　in　the　parking　lot　on　the　side　of　Alpha　Lab。　It's　empty。　There's　a　tree　in　the　middle。　The　housing　department　has　prefab　concrete　slabs；　thirty　feet　tall。〃
　〃Who　is　this　for？〃　she　demanded。　〃You　or　them？〃
　〃They　need　a　little　freedom。　A　little　patch　of　sky。　I　know　what　I'm　talking　about。〃
　His　persistence　aggravated　her。　〃What　about　your　daughter？〃　she　threw　at　him。
　It　took　his　breath。　He　stopped。What　was　he　doing？　Grace　was　here；　in　Ochs's　keeping；　but　she　was　out　there；　Ochs　or　not。　Had　he　strayed；　justifying　the　Year　Zero　men　as　a　means　to　his　end；　a　way　to　outwait　his　enemy？
　Ahead　in　the　hallway；　Miranda　had　stopped；　too。
　〃I　didn't　mean　it　that　way；〃　she　said。
　But　she　had；　and　that　was　good；　he　thought。　He　needed　the　hurt。　Nothing　macho。　It　simply　kept　him　close　to　himself。　〃We're　fine；〃　he　said。
　〃What　else　do　you　want？〃　she　asked。
　〃I　should　think　about　this；〃　he　said。
　〃Bull；〃　she　retorted。　〃You　were　talking　about　the　clones。　I　was　a　little　overloaded；　that's　all。　You're　onto　something。　Keep　going。　What　else　will　you　need？〃
　He　tried　to　put　Grace　from　his　thoughts　again。　〃They　need　to　be　together；〃　he　said。　〃Every　day。　All　of　us　mixed　in　with　each　other。〃
　〃They're　used　to　being　handled　like　animals。　They　might　kill　each　other。　Or　you。　You're　the　first　one　they'd　go　after；　their　captor。〃
　〃I'll　be　one　of　them。〃
　〃A　clone　from　the　year　zero？〃
　〃They'll　never　know　the　difference。〃
　〃You　don't　speak　their　language。〃
　〃And　so　I　need　a　translator。〃
　In　the　end；　she　agreed　to　everything。
　While　the　yard　was　being　built；　and　the　clones'　immune　systems　were　getting　boosted　into　the　twenty…first　century；　a　matter　of　seven　days；　Nathan　Lee　prepared　his　time　machine。
　Above　all；　he　needed　the　right　translator。　Once　the　word　spread　of　what　he　was　doing；　it　turned　out　Los　Alamos　held　hundreds　of　Hebrew　speakers。　For　part　of　the　a　week　he　interviewed　volunteers　ranging　from　Israelis　and　emigres　from　the　old　Soviet　bloc　to　bar　mitzvah　kids　from　the　Bronx　and　Cleveland　Heights。　Not　all　were　Jewish。　A　number　of　Mormons…the　sciences　teemed　with　them…turned　out　to　be　fluent　in　Hebrew；　too；　from　either　their　missionary　work　or　Bible　scholarship。
　But　two　thousand　years　ago；　the　binding　language　of　the　Levant　had　been　Aramaic；　now　considered　a　dead　language。　That　was　the　language　moners　would　have　spoken　on　a　daily　basis　in　the　towns　and　countryside　of　Judea　and　Samaria　and　Galilee。　In　a　sense；　Aramaic　was　the　language　of　captivity；　for　it　had　displaced　Hebrew　during　the　Jews'　long　exile　in　ancient　Babylon。　Well　into　the　second　century；　synagogues　had　provided　Aramaic　translations；　or　Targums；　of　Hebrew　scripture　to　the　uneducated　masses。　It　was　the　language　the　clones　murmured　in　their　cells。
　During　his　field　research　in　northern　Syria；　Nathan　Lee　had　learned　of　a　small　munity　ofSuriani；　or　Syrian　Orthodox　Christians；　who　had　been　expelled　from　Turkey　in　the　late　1970s　and　ended　up　in　a　remote　village　above　Aleppo。　He　had　made　the　journey　a　few　times　just　to　listen　to　them　speaking　an　extinct　tongue。　Now；　to　his　surprise；　Los　Alamos　contained　a　scientist　who　had　been　born　in　that　very　village。
　His　name　was　Ismail　Abouma　Symeon。　He　spoke　with　a　heavy　Scottish　accent；　the　product　of　his　university　training　in　Edinburgh。　His　experience　with　mammal　cloning　had　brought　him　to　the　Hill。　〃Call　me　Ishmael；〃　he　solemnly　declared　on　their　first　meeting。
　Nathan　Lee　went　along　with　it。　〃Ishmael；〃　he　repeated　with　the　same　grave　dignity。
　Immediately　a　smile　cracked　the　man's　black　beard。　〃Kidding；〃　he　said。　〃You　Yanks。　Izzy　will　do。〃
　Izzy　was　a　find　in　more　ways　than　one。　Besides　his　Aramaic　and　good　humor；　he　was　a　natural。　More　than　any　of　the　Hebrew　speakers；　who　leaned　towards　the　urban　and　intellectual；　Izzy　had　the　soil　and　times　in　him。　Family　lore　connected　him　to　Simeon　Stylites　the　Elder；　a　hermit　who'd　gotten　tired　of　being　pestered　by　the　masses　and　spent　the　last　thirty　years　of　his　life　on　top　of　a　pillar。
　〃Old　Simeon；〃　Izzy　called　him。　〃He　kicked　off　a　whole　movement。　It　spread　across　Europe；　monks　building　higher　and　higher　pillars。　Reminds　me　of　that　Everest　mania　back　in　the　nineties；　all　those　hard　men　acting　like　they　wanted　no　damn　thing　to　do　with　the　masses；　but　perching　themselves　in　public　view　where　you　couldn't　miss　them。　Same　thing；　the　stylites。　They'd　die　up　there　from　hunger；　exposure；　lightning。　When　they　finally　came　tumbling　down；　pilgrims　would　fight　for　pieces　of　their　bodies。　Martyrs。　Always　some　fool　ready　to　believe。〃
　Nathan　Lee　told　him　about　his　plan　to　infiltrate　the　clones　and　mingle　with　them。　〃I'm　not　sure　how　they'll　behave；〃　he　warned。　〃We'll　have　to　disguise　ourselves。　It　could　be　dangerous。〃
　〃I'm　good　for　it；〃　said　Izzy。　〃Gone　half　blind　from　the　microscope。　Be　nice；　some　sun。　Can't　wait　to　meet　the　lads。　Let's　see　where　they　lead。〃
　　
　AT　NOON　OF　THE　DAYof　first　contact；　August　20；　the　clones　emerged　into　the　courtyard　one　by　one。　Each　wore　the　same　rubber　shower　sandals　and　white　hospital　bathrobes　without　the　sashes。　Nathan　Lee　had　begged　the　clothing　from　the　missary；　all　of　a　kind；　none　better　or　worse　than　the　others。　It　was　simple　for　now；　something　to　cover　their　nakedness；　nothing　with　zippers　or　buttons。
　Izzy　was　near　the　front　of　the　column　of　men；　Nathan　Lee　next　to　last。　There　were　thirty…eight　of　them；　Miranda　had　picked　up　a　few　more。　They　surfaced　into　direct　sunlight。　Blinded；　they　halted　in　a　knot　just　outside　the　door　and　held　their　hands　to　their　eyes。
　The　air　smelled　of　pines　and　sagebrush。　One　of　the　men　moaned；　a　long　stream　of　lunatic　rapture。　When　he　stopped　to　take　a　breath；　his　moans　went　on　echoing　off　the　polished　walls。　Otherwise　they　stood　silent。
　It　was　strange　to　be　standing　among　them。　For　over　a　month　now；　Nathan　Lee　had　been　observing　them　over　a　black　and　white　TV　monitor。　He　knew　some　of　their　names；　and　how　long　they　had　been　alive　this　second　life。　He　had　some　idea　of　the　experiments　they　had　been　used　for；　and　how　and　where　they　had　most　likely　died　two　eons　ago。　He　could　have　shown　each　one　of　them　the　bits　of　bone　and　mummified　flesh　from　which　they'd　been　born。　For　all　he　knew；　one　night；　years　ago；　he　had　even　helped　tear　some　of　these　very　men　from　the　dirt　of　Golgotha　while　Ochs　shined　a　flashlight　down　on　him。　Now　they　pressed　against　his　shoulders。　He　could　feel　the　heat　of　their　living　bodies。
　He　waited　near　the　back　of　the　bunched　men　for　whatever　came　next。　He　looked　across　their　little　sea　of　heads；　and　their　hair　was　black　and　russet　and　sandy；　thick；　thinning；　curly；　and　straight。　They　didn't　smell　like　men。　Every　day　for　months　the　ceiling　nozzles　had　sprayed　them　with　disinfectant；　and　it　coated　their　pores。　The　smell　reminded　him　of　anatomy　lab。
　He　tried　to　see　through　their　eyes。　The　hard　blacktop　would　seem　to　them　mysterious　with　its　fading　white　stripes。　The　walls　towered。　Boxlike　cameras　swiveled　on　metal　joints　high　above　their　reach。　A　fire　awaited　them　by　the　big　evergreen。　At　least　that　much　would　be　familiar；　he　hoped。　After　a　few　minutes；　his　plan　worked。　The　crackle　of　flames　and　the　sweet　white　pi？on　smoke　drew　them　over。
　First　one；　then　another　let　loose　of　the　doorway。　They　staggered　and　shuffled；　even　the　barrel…chested　men　with　jaws　like　horseshoes。　Their　bodies　were　feeble。　Nathan　Lee　copied　their　slow；　awkward　gait。　Some　of　the　men's　surgery　scars　had　healed　to　the　bone；　and　they　crossed　the　ground　bent　or　hitching　with　pain。　It　was　less　than　a　hundred　feet　to　the　fire；　but　they　acted　like　it　was　a　mile。　One　man　fell。　No　one　reached　down　to　help　him。　Nathan　Lee　noticed　that。　They　did　not　connect　to　the　tribe　of　their　rebirth　yet。　Each　took　care　of　himself。
　In　terms　of　pure　ethnography；　the　anthropologist　was　supposed　to　observe；　not　shape；　especially　at　the　outset。　Copying　the　others；　Nathan　Lee　walked　past　the　struggling　invalid。　The　man　lay　on　the　warm　black…top；　groaning。　When　Nathan　Lee　looked　back；　he　was　trying　to　crawl　to　join　the　group。　But　the　clones'　flesh　was　soft　from　captivity。　The　skin　on　the　man's　bare　knees　ripped　like　tissue。　Blood　smeared　the　asphalt。
　The　clones　gathered　near　the　fire。　Those　who　bothered　to　notice　their　fallen　brother　merely　watched。　Their　skin　might　be　soft；　but　their　eyes　were　hard。　Nathan　Lee　understood；　or　thought　he　did。　They　were　repelled　by　the　man's　weakness　because　it　exposed　their　own　weakness。　Their　fraility　was　strange　to　them；　and　so　they　shut　out　this　frail　stranger。　In　the　space　of　ten　feet；　the　man's　white　robe　had　bee　filthy　with　oil　and　dirt。　He　tired　quickly。　After　another　minute；　he　gave　up　and　simply　lay　in　the　middle　of　the　parking　lot。
　Nathan　Lee　glanced　around　to　see　who　was　still　watching；　and　was　startled　to　find　one　of　the　clones　watching　him。　It　was　the　fugitive；　his　scarred　face　a　patchwork　of　expressions。　One　eyelid；　sewn　back　in　place　too　tightly；　suggested　fury。　The　razor　wire　had　caught　him　across　the　mouth；　and　one　side　drooped；　while　the　other　side　curved　in　a　goofy　smile。　Nathan　Lee　nodded　at　him；　and　the　fugitive's　plastic　eyelids　blinked　in　what　could　as　easily　have　been　contempt　as　a　greeting。
　The　clones　gathered　around　the　crackle　and　spit　of　the　flames。　No　one　spoke。　On　the　far　side　of　the　fire；　Izzy　shot　a　confused　glance　at　Nathan　Lee。　Had　they　misjudged？　Were　the　clones　more　damaged　than　they　realized？　Over　half　the　men　had　never　uttered　a　sound　in　their　cells。　Nathan　Lee　had　imagined　traveling　with　them　through　their　once…upon…a…time　landscapes。　But　maybe　he　was　wrong。　The　years　of　isolation　and　medical　torture　might　have　broken　their　minds。　Or　they　may　never　have　had　real　minds。　The　skeptics　could　be　right。　The　act　of　cloning　might　have　created　only　the　shapes　of　men。　Their　murmured