alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第15部分

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ter　sub…zero　temperatures　above。　But　there　was　no　help　for　it：　if　it　would　take　us　a　week　to　reach　the　coast；　and　in　all　optimism　I　couldn't　count　on　less；　rationing　would　have　to　start　now。
　
　In　a　matter　of　a　couple　of　hours　the　thermometer　reading　had　risen　with　astonishing　speed…these　dramatic　temperature　variations　were　monplace　on　the　ice…cap…and　it　was　beginning　to　snow　when　we　emerged　from　the　hatch　and　moved　across　to　where　the　tractor　lay。　The　rise　in　temperature　flattered　only　to　deceive：　the　south　wind　brought　with　it　not　only　snow　but　a　rapidly　climbing　humidity；　and　the　air　was　almost　unbearably　chill。
　
　We　ripped　off　the　covering　tarpaulin…it　cracked　and　tore　but　I　was　no　longer　concerned　with　preserving　it…and　our　guests　saw　for　the　first　time　the　vehicle　upon　which　all　their　lives　were　to　depend。　Slowly　I　played　my　torch　over　it…the　dark　shroud　of　the　arctic　night　had　already　fallen　across　the　ice…cap…and　I　heard　the　quick　indrawn　hiss　of　breath　beside　me。
　
　〃Drove　it　out　when　the　museum　attendant　wasn't　looking；　I　suppose。〃　Corazzini　kept　his　voice　carefully　expressionless。　〃Or　did　you　just　find　it　here…left　over　from　the　last　ice…age？〃
　
　〃It　is　a　bit　old；〃　I　admitted。　〃Pre…war。　But　all　we　can　afford。　The　British　Government　isn't　quite　so　lavish　with　its　IGY　expenditure　as　the　Russians　and　your　people。　Know　it？　It's　the　prototype；　the　ancestor　of　the　modern　arctic　tractor。〃
　
　〃Never　seen　it　before。　What　is　it？〃
　
　〃French。　A　10…20　Citroen。　Underpowered；　narrow…tracked　as　you　can　see；　and　far　too　short　for　its　weight。　Lethal　in　crevasse　country。　Plods　along　fairly　well　on　the　frozen　ice…cap；　but　you'd　be　better　with　a　bicycle　when　there's　any　depth　at　all　of　new…fallen　snow。　But　it's　all　we　have。〃
　
　Corazzini　said　no　more。　As　the　managing　director　of　a　factory　producing　some　of　the　finest　tractors　in　the　world；　I　suppose　his　heart　was　too　full　to　say　any　more。　But　his　disappointment　made　no　difference　to　his　drive；　his　sheer　unflagging　determination。　For　the　next　few　hours　he　worked　like　a　demon。　So；　too；　did　Zagero。
　
　Less　than　five　minutes　after　we　had　started　work　we　had　to　stop　again　to　rig　up　a　canvas　screen；　lashed　to　aluminium　poles　brought　up　from　the　runnel；　round　three　sides　of　the　tractor：　work　had　been　impossible　in　that　snow　and　knife…like　wind　that　lanced　through　even　the　bulkiest　layers　of　clothing…and　most　of　them　were　now　wearing　so　many　that　they　could　move　only　with　difficulty…as　if　they　were　tissue　paper。　Behind　this　screen　we　placed　a　portable　oil　stove…the　very　illusion　of　warmth　was　better　than　nothing…two　storm　lanterns　and　the　blow…torches　without　which　we　could　have　made　no　progress　at　all。　Even　with　this　shelter；　practically　everyone　had　to　go　below　from　time　to　time　to　rub　and　pound　life　back　into　his　freezing　body：　only　Jackstraw　and　I；　in　our　caribou　furs；　could　stay　up　almost　indefinitely。　Joss　was　below　all　the　afternoon：　after　spending　a　couple　of　hours　trying　to　raise　our　field　party　on　the　tractor's　emergency　radio　he　gave　up　and　went　doggedly　back　to　work　on　the　RCA。
　
　Our　first　job；　the　removal　of　the　hoped　canvas　hood；　gave　us　some　measure　of　the　difficulty　of　the　task　that　lay　before　us。　The　hood　was　secured　by　only　seven　bolts　and　nuts；　but　these　had　been　in　position　for　over　four　months　now；　were　frozen　solid　and　took　over　an　hour　to　remove：　each　set　had　to　be　thawed　out　separately　by　blow…torch　before　the　heavy　wrenches　could　get　the　nuts　to　turn。
　
　Then　came　the　assembly　of　the　wooden　body。　This　was　in　fifteen　prefabricated　pieces；　three　each　for　the　floor；　sides；　roof　and　front…the　back　was　only　a　canvas　screen。　Each　set　of　three　pieces　had　to　be　brought　out　singly　through　the　narrow　hatchway　before　assembly；　and　it　was　the　devil's　own　job；　in　that　numbing　cold　and　flickering　semi…darkness；　to　locate　and　line　up　the　bolt…holes　in　the　wood　with　the　matching　holes　in　the　connecting　iron　cross…pieces。　It　took　us　well　over　an　hour　to　assemble　and　fit　the　floor　section　alone；　and　it　was　beginning　to　look　as　if　we　would　be　here　until　midnight　when　Corazzini　had　the　idea…and　a　brilliant　one　it　seemed　at　the　time…of　assembling　the　various　sections　in　the　parative　warmth　and　brightness　of　the　cabin；　sliding　the　plicated　piece　out　vertically　into　the　food　and　fuel　tunnel；　sawing　a　long　narrow　slit　through　the　snow　roof；　which　was　no　more　than　a　foot　thick　in　the　middle；　and　hauling　the　sections　up　from　below。
　
　After　this　we　made　rapid　progress。　By　five　o'clock　the　entire　body　shell　was　pleted　and　with　the　end　in　sight　less　than　a　couple　of　hours　away；　everyone　worked　more　furiously　than　ever。
　
　Most　of　them　were　unskilled；　ham…handed　and　pletely　unused　to　any　physical　work　at　all；　far　less　work　of　this　cruel；　exacting　nature；　but　my　opinion　of　them　was　rising　all　the　time。　Corazzini　and　Zagero　especially；　were　tireless；　and　Theodore　Mahler；　the　silent　little　Jew　whose　entire　conversational　range　so　far　had　been　limited　to　'Yes'；　〃No'；　〃Please'　and　'Thank　you'；　was　indefatigable；　pletely　selfless　and　unplaining；　driving　his　slight　body　to　lengths　of　which　I　would　never　have　believed　it　capable。　Even　the　Senator；　the　Rev。　Smallwood　and　Solly　Levin　did　what　they　could；　as　best　they　could；　trying　their　best　to　hide　their　misery　and　their　pain。　By　this　time　everyone；　even　Jackstraw　and　myself；　was　shaking　almost　uncontrollably　with　the　cold　so　that　our　hands　and　elbows　rat…tat…tatted　like　machine…guns　against　the　wooden　sides　of　the　tractor：　and　our　hands　themselves；　through　constant　contact　with　metal　were　in　a　shocking　state；　puffed　and　bleeding　and　blistered；　the　mittens　continuously　filled　with　lumps　and　slivers　of　ice　that　never　melted。
　
　We　had　just　installed　the　four　collapsible　bunks　and　were　fitting　the　stove…pipe　through　its　circular　hole　in　the　roof　when　someone　called　me。　I　jumped　down　and　all　but　knocked　over　Marie　LeGarde。
　
　〃You　shouldn't　be　out　here；〃　I　scolded。　〃It's　far　too　cold　for　you；　Miss　LeGarde。〃
　
　〃Don't　be　silly；　Peter。〃　I　could　never　bring　myself　to　call　her　'Marie'；　though　she　had　asked　me　to　several　times。　〃I　have　to　get　used　to　it；　don't　I？　Would　you　e　below　for　a　moment　or　two；　ptease？〃
　
　〃Why？　I'm　busy。〃
　
　〃But　not　indispensable；〃　she　retorted。　〃I　want　you　to　have　a　look　at　Margaret。〃
　
　〃Margaret…oh；　the　stewardess。　What　does　she　want？〃
　
　〃Nothing。　It's　I　who　want　it。　Why　are　you　so　hostile　towards　her？〃　she　asked　curiously。　〃It's　not　like　you…at　least；　I　don't　think　it　is。　She's　a　fine　girl。〃
　
　〃What　does　the　fine　girl　want？〃
　
　〃What　in　the　world's　got　into　you？　Why…oh；　forget　it。　I'm　not　going　to　fight　with　you。　Her　back　hurts…she's　in　considerable　pain。　e　and　see　it；　please。〃
　
　〃I　offered　to　see　it　last　night。　If　she　wants　me　now　why　doesn't　she　e　and　ask　me？〃
　
　〃Because　she's　scared　of　you；　that's　why；〃　she　said　angrily。　She　stamped　a　foot　in　the　frozen　snow。　〃Will　you　go　or　not？〃
　
　I　went。　Below；　I　stripped　off　my　gloves；　emptied　the　ice　out　of　them　and　washed　my　blistered；　bleeding　hands　in　disinfectant。　I　saw　Marie　LeGarde's　eyes　widen　at　the　sight　of　my　hands；　but　she　said　nothing：　maybe　she　knew　I　wasn't　in　the　mood　for　condolences。
　
　I　rigged　up　a　screen　in　the　corner　of　the　room　remote　from　the　table　where　the　women　had　been　gathering　and　dividing　out　the　remaining　food　supplies；　and　had　a　look　at　Margaret　Ross's　back。　It　was　a　mess；　all　right；　a　great　ugly　blue　and　purpling　bruise　from　the　spine　to　the　left　shoulder：　in　the　centre；　just　below　the　shoulder　blade；　was　a　deep　jagged　cut；　which　looked　as　if　it　had　been　caused　by　a　heavy　blow　from　some　triangular　piece　of　sharp　metal。　Whatever　had　caused　it　had　passed　clean　through　her　tunic　and　blouse。
　
　〃Why　didn't　you　show　me　this　yesterday？〃　I　asked　coldly。
　
　〃I　…1　didn't　want　to　bother　you；〃　she　faltered。
　
　Didn't　want　to　bother　me；　I　thought　grimly。　Didn't　want　to　give　yourself　away；　you　mean。　In　my　mind's　eye　I　had　a　picture　of　the　pantry　where　we　had　found　her；　and　I　was　almost　certain　now　that　I　could　get　the　proof　that　I　needed。　Almost；　but　not　quite。　I'd　have　to　go　to　check。
　
　〃Is　it　very　bad？〃　She　twisted　round；　and　I　could　see　there　were　tears　in　the　brown　eyes　from　the　pain　of　the　disinfectant　I　was　rubbing　on　none　too　gently。
　
　〃Bad　enough；〃　I　said　shortly。　〃How　did　you　get　this？〃
　
　〃I've　no　idea；〃　she　said　helplessly。　〃I　just　don't　know；　Dr　Mason。〃
　
　〃Perhaps　we　can　find　out。〃
　
　〃Find　out？　Why？　What　does　it　matter？〃　She　shook　her　head　wearily。　〃I　don't　understand；　I　really　don't。　What　have　I　done；　Dr　Mason？〃
　
　It　was　magnificent；　I　had　to　admit。　I　could　have　hit　her；　but　it　was　magnificent。
　
　〃Nothing；　Miss　Ross。　Just　nothing　at　all。〃　By　the　time　I　had　pulled　on　my　parka；　gloves；　goggles　and　mask　she　was　fully　dressed；　staring　at　me　as　I　climbed　up　the　steps　and　out　through　the　hatch。
　
　The　snow　was　falling　quite　heavily　now；　gusting　in　swirling　ghostly　flumes　through　the　pale　beam　of　my　torch：　it　seemed　to　vanish　as　it　hit　the　ground；　freezing　as　it　touched；　or　scudding　smoke…like　over　the　frozen　surface　with　a　thin　rustling　sound。　But　the　wind　was　at　my　back；　the　bamboo　markers　stretched　out　in　a　dead　straight　line　ahead；　never　less　than　two　of　them　in　the　beam　of　my　torch；　and　I　had　reached　the　crashed　plane　in　five　or　six　minutes。
　
　I　jumped　for　the　windscreen；　hooked　my　fingers　over　the　sill；　hauled　myself　up　with　some　difficulty　and　wriggled　my　way　into　the　control　cabin。　A　moment　later　I　was　in　the　stewardess's　pantry；　flashing　my　torch　around。
　
　On　the　after　bulkhead　was　a　big　refrigerator；　with　a　small　hinged　table　in　front　of　it；　and　at　the　far　end；　under　the　window；　a　hinged　box　covered　over　what　might　have　been　a　heating　unit　or　sink　or　both。　I　didn't　bother　investigating；　I　wasn't　interested。　What　I　was　interested　in　was　the　for'ard　bulkhead；　and　I　examined　it　carefully。　It　was　given　up　entirely　to　the　small　closed　doors　of　little　metal　lockers　let　in　flush　to　the　wall…food　containers；　probably…and　there　wasn't　a　single　metal　projection　in　the　entire　wall；　nothing　that　could　possibly　account　for　the　wound　in　the　stewardess's　back。　And　if　she　had　been　here　at　the　moment　of　impact；　that　was　the　wa