el.the miko-第30部分

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ore　here；　a　uniquely　Japanese　esthetic。
　The　pebbles　which　covered　the　ground　were　hand　picked　for　their　size；　shape；　and　color。　They　were　carefully　raked　twice　a　day　in　order　to　maintain　the　precise　symmetry　the　garden's　designer　had　labored　so　hard　to　create。
　Three　black；　angular　rocks　jutted　up　from　different　parts　of　the　garden。　In　contrast　to　the　pebbles；　each　one　was　unique　unto　itself；　its　ridges　and　rills　affecting　the　onlooker　in　varying　ways；　triggers　for　the　evocation　of　disparate　moods。
　The　place　was　tranquil　and　invigorating　at　the　same　time。
　Akiko　turned　her　head　and　sat　on　the　cold　stone　bench；　her　legs　tucked　neatly　under　her。　Her　hands　were　folded　in　her　lap；　the　fingers　relaxed　and　slightly　curved。　The　attitude　was　so　wholly　feminine　that　it　was　quite　impossible　to　tell　what　unimaginable　bursts　of　coordinated　energy　this　body　was　capable　of。
　She　was　acutely　aware　of　the　arc　of　a　shadow　inside　her；　a　demarcation　between　light　and　dark　whose　edge　was　as　finely　honed　as　the　most　masterfully　forged　katana　blade。　From　this　place　of　shade　she　felt　the　rippling　of　her　hatred；　her　longing　to　wreak　a　horrendous　vengeance。　Her　body　trembled　in　anticipation；　there　was　a　low　rumbling　shaking　her　brain　apart；　making　her　moan　as　if　she　were　in　exquisite　pain。
　Then　she　felt　a　veil　of　wind　caress　her　cheek；　cooling　her。　Sweat　dried　along　her　hairline；　the　precise　symmetry　of　the　garden　seized　her；　and　she　was　altogether　calm　again。　She　sighed　in　the　aftermath　of　a　great　storm　and　closed　her　eyes。　Her　head　felt　heavy；　and　as　her　pulsebeat　slowed；　she　reviewed　the　events　of　the　evening。
　In　the　stillness　of　the　Zen　pebble　garden；　Akiko　was　thankful　that　she　did　not　have　to　contend　with　a　mother…in…law。　For　Sato's　mother；　like　all　Japanese　mothers；　would　rule　this　house。　Wasn't　that　why　the　central　living　section　was　called　omoya　by　tradition：　mother　house。　Akiko　shuddered　inwardly。　How　would　she　possibly　be　able　to　endure　the　orders　of　the　heramochi；　the　one　with　the　right　to　hold　the　spoon　used　to　serve　rice；　the　head　of　the　household。　No。　Far　better　that　she　was　dead　and　buried　along　with　Sato's　war…hero　brother。
　Alone　with　only　the　cryptomeria；　blacker　even　than　the　surrounding　night；　with　the　shadows　of　the　Zen　stones　striking　her　in　odd　rippling　patterns；　Akiko　stood　up　and；　under　the　scrutiny　of　the　pinpoint　uncaring　stars；　threw　off　her　kimono　in　one　convulsive　gesture。
　Naked；　the　hard　blue　light　vying　with　the　pink　neon　excrescence　from　Shinjuku　and　the　faraway　Ginza；　boulevards　that　never　slept；　she　stepped　out　onto　the　precisely　raked　rows　of　pebbles。　They　felt　so　cold　and　smooth　on　her　bare　soles。'
　Between　two　of　the　jutting　black　rocks　she　spread　herself；　draped　on　the　flat　ground；　curled　and　serpentine；　half　in　light；　half　in　shadow；　and　became　one　with　all　that　surrounded　her。
　There　was　an　acute　irony　in　using　Tanya　against　the　Russians；　an　elliptical　symmetry　that　affected　Minck　in　just　the　same　way　as　did　gazing　upon　one　of　Thomas　Hart　Benton's　huge　canvases：　its　very　existence　made　life　worth　living。
　After　Moscow；　Minck　had　needed　elements　to　demonstrate　to　him　in　a　direct　fashion　the　nobler；　the　elegant　and　uplifting　aspects　of　life。　His　incarceration　had　leeched　that　part　of　his　memory　away。　In　returning　to　America　he　had　had　to　learn　the　positive　aspects　of　the　human　race　all　over　again。
　He　looked　up　now　as　he　sensed　Tanya's　approach。　That　was　another　consequence　of　his　imprisonment。　Some　unseen　layer　of　his　mind　had　been　rubbed　away　by　the　constant　scrutiny　he　had　been　under；　and　like　sandpaper　taken　to　skin；　what　was　revealed　underneath　was　a　hypersensitivity　to　human　presence。
　Minck　stared　into　those　cool　blue　eyes；　dotted　with　gray。　They　were　large　and　direct；　and　they　were　always　the　first　things　he　saw　when　he　looked　at　her。　That　was　his　own　personal　purgatory。
　They　were　the　eyes　of　Mikhail。　Her　brother's　eyes。　Mikhail；　the　dissident；　had　been　the　reason　for　Minck's　infiltration　into　Moscow　in　the　first　place。　Mikhail　had　sent　a　message　into　the　West：　he　possessed　information　vital　to　the　American　secret　service　system。　Minck　had　been　chosen　by　puter…because　of　his　facility　with　idiomatic　Russian　as　well　as　his　somatic　matchup　with　the　Slavic　Caucasian　type…and　they　had　sent　him　in　to　pull　Mikhail　out　or；　if　that　were；　as　they　put　it；　unfeasible；　to　extract　the　information　from　him。
　But　in　pursuit　of　that　knowledge；　he　had　been　traduced。　Someone　in　Mikhail's　cell　had　been　turned；　and　Minck's　rdv　with　the　dissident　had　ended　in　a　hail　of　submachine…gun　fire　literally　tearing　Mikhail　in　two；　in　spotlights　picking　Minck　out　of　the　shadows；　the　snow　falling；　falling。　All　sounds　muffled；　blood　in　the　snow　like　chips　of　coal　strewn　in　an　explosion　of　malice；　chain…wrapped　tires　clink…clink…clinking　in　his　ears　as　he　ran　from　the　raised　voices；　the　muzzles　spewing　red　death　hidden　behind　the　angry　glare　of　the　spotlights。　And　running　through　the　knifing　cold；　snowflakes　riming　his　lashes；　blinding　him；　making　him　think；　oddly；　of　Kathy；　his　college　sweetheart；　his　wife。　How　she　loved　the　snow；　holding　out　her　delicate　hand；　laughing　in　delight　as　one　by　one　the　flakes　landed　on　her　flesh；　melting　only　after　giving　up　their　secret　to　her；　only　her。
　Slipping　on　the　patch　of　ice；　undone　by　the　blanket　of　snow；　his　ankle　wrenching；　going　down；　and　then　strong　arms　binding　him；　lights　in　his　face；　the　gassy　smells　of　cabbage　and　borscht　invading　his　nostrils；　voices　harsh　and　guttural；　〃Gde　bumagie！　Kak　vass　zavoot！〃　Where　are　your　papers？　What　is　your　name？　repeated　over　and　over；　life　already　reduced　down　to　one　dull　fragment。　Eight　years　ago。
　〃Carroll？〃
　She　was　the　only　one　who　knew　what　the　C。　stood　for；　the　only　one　who　would　dare　use　it　if　it　were　known。　It　was　the　only　outward　manifestation　he　would　permit　of　the　powerful　bond　between　them。
　〃Yes；　Tanya。〃
　She　glanced　down　at　the　brief　he　had　been　reading。　〃Is　the　file　on　Nicholas　Linnear　plete？〃
　〃No　file　on　a　human　being　is　ever　plete；　no　matter　how　up　to　date　it　is。　I　want　you　to　remember　that。〃　He　said　this　last　needlessly　since　Tanya　remembered　everything。
　Looking　at　her　again；　Minck　was　struck　anew　by　how　much　she　resembled　Mikhail。　Both　had　the　finely　chiseled；　high…cheek…boned　face　of　the　purebred　White　Russian　rather　than　the　broad；　coarse…structured　visage　of　the　Slav。　Both　had　that　thick；　straight　shock　of　hair；　though　in　latter　days　Tanya　had　had　hers　dyed　a　deep…burnished　blond　because；　she　said；　it　helped　dampen　the　memories。
　After　he　had　broken　out　of　Lubyanka；　a　colonel's　blood　on　his　trembling　hands；　with　all　of　the　considerable　might　of　the　Komitet　Gosudarstvennoy　Bezopasnost　marshaled　against　him；　with　the　militia　out　beating　on　dissident　necks　to　extract　information　on　his　whereabouts；　Tanya　had　led　him　out　of　Moscow　and；　eventually；　Russia。
　He　owed　her　a　lot；　and　it　had　incensed　him　when　in　the　hands　of　the　Family…in　those　days；　of　course；　there　was　no　Red　Station…they　had　taken　her　away　from　him　and；　in　a　lightless　cell；　had　begun　on　her　what　the　KGB　had　worked　on　him。　He　soon　put　a　stop　to　that；　risking　his　own　termination　in　the　process。　But　that　was　only　his　first　stumbling　step　to　reclaiming　a　life　that　he　thought　had　been　cut　away　from　him　as　surely　and　as　professionally　as　a　surgeon　takes　a　scalpel　to　flesh。
　Because　of　his　incarceration；　he　was　himself　suspect　at　first。　But　when　he　delivered　Mikhail's　information　to　them　they　saw　reason　and　no　longer　suspected　him　of　having　been　turned。　He　never　let　them　know；　however；　that　the　information　had　e　from　Tanya　long　after　Mikhail　had　died　in　the　bloody　Moscow　fusillade；　torn　in　frozen　chunks　from　her　throat　during　the　long；　bitter　nights　in　hiding；　so　near　the　encroaching　death　drawing　in　all　around　them。　He　had　had　little　strength　after　his　ordeal　and　she　had　done　his　fighting　for　him；　rising　silently　up　out　of　their　hiding　places　in　cave　or　fen　to　cut　down　any　soldier　who　strayed　too　close；　a　blood…drenched　spectral　figure　returning　to　him　after　each　lethal　foray　to　lead　him　onward　toward　freedom。　She　was　strong　and　she　was　hard　and　she　had　saved　him　many　times；　repaying　him　for　taking　her　out　of　Lubyanka　with　him。　And；　he　had　quickly　learned；　her　mind　was　as　quick　and　powerful　as　was　her　body。　Her　memory　had　been　the　repository　for　all　of　Mikhail's　secrets；　he　being　far　too　intelligent　to　mit　anything　so　explosive　to　paper。
　When；　three　years　before；　Minck；　rising　rapidly　in　the　Family；　had　proposed　the　creation　of　the　Red　Station　to　deal　with　all　the　Russias；　their　satellites；　and　their　global　dealings；　he　was　granted　eighteen　months　in　which　to　deliver　what　his　presentation　promised。　It　had　only　taken　him　eighteen　weeks；　and　from　then　on　a　burgeoning　slice　of　the　Family's　annual　budget　was　assured。　He　negotiated　for　his　section　much　as　a　good　attorney　for　a　star　baseball　player　will　negotiate　with　a　club　president。　His　contract　was　airtight。　If　he　continued　to　deliver。　And　Minck　made　certain　of　that。
　But　it　was　not　really　of　budgets；　Tanya；　or　even　the　Family　that　Minck　was　thinking　now。　He　had　sunk　deep　into　an　odd　kind　of　reverie　that；　increasingly；　had　bee　his　habit　over　the　past　several　months。
　In　fact　he　was　wondering　how　a　highly　intelligent；　well…trained　operations　officer　named　Carroll　Gordon　Minck　could　find　himself　in　such　dire　straits。
　It　was　somewhat　of　a　shock　to　him；　because　after　his　nightmare　ordeal　in　Lubyanka　he　never　thought　he　would　feel　this　way　again。　In　those　bleak；　bloodfilled　days；　the　memory　of　Kathy　was　all　that　he　had　allowed　himself　to　dwell　on。　Anything　to　do　with　the　Family　was　strictly　no　go　since　at　any　given　moment　he　could　be　dragged　from　his　steel　cot　and　shot　full　of　God　only　knew　what　new　blend　of　chemicals…psychedelics　and　neutral　stimulators…　so　that　he　would　be　transported　and　talking　before　he　knew　that　he　had　opened　his　mouth。
　The　Russians　were　at　last　as　intimate　with　Kathy　as　he　had　ever　been。　But　they　knew　no　more　about　the　Family　than　they　had　the　day　the　snow　had　worked　against　him　and　they　had　pulled　him　in。　〃Gde　bumagie！　Kak　vass　zavoot！〃
　When　he　returned　to　America；　his　relationship　with　Kathy　was　irreparably　damaged。　He　had　shared　their　most　intimate　mome