cb.damnationgame-第13部分

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she　represents　their　next　meal　but　because　she's　their　world。　You　must　make　me　your　world；　Mr。　Strauss；　my　preservation；　my　sanity；　my　smallest　fort　must　be　uppermost　in　your　mind　every　waking　moment。　If　it　is；　I　promise　you　freedoms　you　never　dreamed　of　experiencing。　The　kind　of　freedoms　that　are　only　in　the　gift　of　very　wealthy　men。　If　not；　I　will　put　you　back　in　prison　with　your　record　book　irredeemably　spoiled。　Understand　me？〃　〃I　understand。〃　Whitehead　nodded。
　　〃e　then；〃　he　said。　〃Walk　beside　me。〃　He　turned　and　walked　on。　The　fence　swung　around　behind　the　back　of　the　woods　at　this　point；　and　rather　than　plunging　into　the　undergrowth　Whitehead　suggested　they　truncate　their　journey　by　heading　toward　the　pool。　〃One　tree　looks　much　like　the　next　to　me；〃　he　mented。　〃You　can　e　here　and　trudge　around　to　your　heart's　content　later　on。〃　They　skirted　the　edge　of　the　woods　long　enough　for　Marty　to　get　an　impression　of　their　density；　however。　The　trees　hadn't　been　systematically　planted；　this　was　no　regimented　Forestry　mission　reserve。　They　stood　close　to　each　other；　their　limbs　intertwined；　a　mixture　of　deciduous　varieties　and　pines　all　fighting　for　growing　space。　Only　occasionally；　where　an　oak　or　a　lime　stood　bare…branched　this　early　in　the　year；　did　light　bless　the　undergrowth。　He　promised　himself　a　return　here　before　spring　prettified　it。
　　Whitehead　summoned　Marty's　thoughts　back　into　focus。
　　〃From　now　on　I　expect　you　to　be　within　summoning　distance　most　of　the　time。　I　don't　want　you　with　me　every　moment　of　the　day　。　。　。　just　need　you　in　the　vicinity。　On　occasion；　and　only　with　my　permission；　you'll　be　permitted　to　leave　on　your　own。　You　can　drive？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Well；　there's　no　shortage　of　cars；　so　we'll　sort　something　out　for　you。　This　isn't　strictly　within　the　guidelines　set　out　by　the　parole　board。　Their　remendation　was　that　you　remain；　as　it　were；　in　custody　here　for　six　probationary　months。　But　I　frankly　see　no　reason　to　prevent　you　visiting　your　loved　ones…at　least　when　there　are　other　people　around　to　look　after　my　welfare。〃　〃Thank　you。　I　appreciate　it。〃　〃I'm　afraid　I　can't　allow　you　any　time　just　at　the　moment。　Your　presence　here　is　vital。〃　〃Problems？〃　〃My　life　is　constantly　threatened；　Strauss。　I；　or　rather　my　offices；　receive　hate　mail　all　the　time。　The　difficulty　is　in　separating　the　crank　who　spends　his　time　writing　filth　to　public　figures　from　the　genuine　assassin。〃　〃Why　should　anyone　want　to　assassinate　you？〃　〃I'm　one　of　the　wealthiest　men　outside　America。　I　own　panies　that　employ　tens　of　thousands　of　people；　I　own　tracts　of　land　so　large　I　could　not　walk　them　in　the　years　remaining　to　me　if　I　began　now；　I　own　ships；　art；　horseflesh。　It's　easy　to　make　an　icon　of　me。　To　think　that　if　I　and　my　life　were　brought　down　there'd　be　peace　on　earth　and　goodwill　to　men。〃　〃I　see。〃　〃Sweet　dreams；〃　he　said　bitterly。
　　The　pace　of　their　march　had　begun　to　slow。　The　great　man's　breath　was　rather　shorter　now　than　it　had　been　half　an　hour　before。　Listening　to　him　talk　it　was　easy　to　forget　his　advanced　years。　His　opinions　had　all　the　absolutism　of　youth。　No　room　here　for　the　mellowness　of　advancing　years；　for　ambiguity　or　doubt。
　　〃I　think　it's　time　we　headed　back；〃　he　said。
　　The　monologue　had　finally　lapsed；　and　Marty　had　no　taste　for　further　talk。　No　energy　either。　Whitehead's　style…with　its　unsignaled　swerves　and　bends…had　exhausted　him。　He'd　have　to　get　used　to　the　pose　of　the　attentive　listener：　find　a　face　to　use　when　these　lectures　began；　and　put　it　on。　Learn　to　nod　knowingly　in　the　right　places；　to　murmur　platitudes　at　the　appropriate　breaks　in　the　flow。　It　would　take　a　while；　but　he'd　get　the　trick　of　handling　Whitehead　in　time。
　　〃This　is　my　fortress；　Mr。　Strauss；〃　the　old　man　announced　as　they　approached　the　house。　It　didn't　look　particularly　garrisoned：　the　brick　was　too　warm　to　be　stern。　〃Its　sole　function　is　to　keep　me　from　harm。〃　〃Like　me。〃　〃Like　you；　Mr。　Strauss。〃　Behind　the　house；　one　of　the　dogs　had　started　barking。　The　solo　rapidly　became　a　chorus。
　　〃Feeding　time；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　
　　15
　　It　took　several　weeks〃　living　on　the　estate　for　Marty　to　understand　fully　the　rhythm　of　the　Whitehead　household。　Like　the　benign　dictatorship　it　was；　the　shape　of　each　day　was　defined　absolutely　by　Whitehead's　plans　and　whims。　As　the　old　man　had　told　Marty　that　first　day；　the　house　was　a　shrine　to　him；　his　worshipers　came　daily　to　touch　the　hem　of　his　opinion。　Some　of　their　faces　he　recognized：　captains　of　industry；　two　or　three　government　ministers　（one　of　whom　had　recently　left　office　in　disgrace；　was　he　ing　here；　Marty　wondered；　asking　for　forgiveness　or　retribution？）；　pundits；　guardians　of　public　morality…many　people　Marty　knew　by　sight　but　couldn't　name；　even　more　he　didn't　know　at　all。　He　was　introduced　to　none　of　them。
　　Once　or　twice　a　week　he　might　be　asked　to　remain　in　the　room　while　the　meetings　were　held；　but　more　often　than　not　he　was　required　only　to　be　within　hailing　distance。　Wherever　he　was；　he　was　invisible　as　far　as　most　of　the　guests　were　concerned：　ignored；　treated　at　best　as　part　of　the　furniture。　At　first　it　was　irritating；　everyone　in　the　house　had　a　name　but　him；　it　seemed。　As　time　passed；　however；　he　grew　to　be　glad　of　his　anonymity。　He　wasn't　required　to　give　an　opinion　on　everything；　so　he　could　let　his　mind　drift　with　no　danger　of　being　called　into　the　conversation。　It　was　good　too　to　be　dislocated　from　the　concerns　of　these　almighty　people：　their　lies　seemed；　he　thought；　fraught　and　artificial。　He　saw　in　many　of　their　faces　looks　he　recognized　from　his　years　in　Wandsworth：　the　constant　fretting　over　minor　gibes；　over　their　place　in　the　hierarchy。　The　rules　might　be　more　civil　in　this　circle　than　in　Wandsworth；　but　the　struggles；　he　began　to　understand；　were　fundamentally　the　same。　All　power　games　of　one　kind　or　another。　He　was　pleased　to　have　no　part　in　them。
　　Besides；　his　mind　had　more　important　issues　to　mull　over。　For　one　thing；　there　was　Charmaine。　More　out　of　curiosity　than　passion；　perhaps；　he　had　begun　to　think　about　her　a　good　deal。　He　found　himself　wondering　how　her　body　looked　seven　years　on。　Did　she　still　shave　the　thin　line　of　hair　that　ran　down　from　her　navel　to　her　pubes；　did　her　fresh　sweat　still　smell　so　pungent？　He　wondered　too　if　she　still　loved　love　the　way　she　had。　She　had　shown　more　unreserved　appetite　for　the　physical　act　than　any　woman　he'd　known；　it　was　one　of　the　reasons　he'd　married　her。　Was　it　still　so？　And　if　it　was；　with　whom　did　she　slake　her　thirst？　He　turned　these　and　a　dozen　other　questions　about　her　over　and　over　in　his　head；　and　promised　himself　that　at　the　first　opportunity　he'd　go　and　see　her。
　　The　weeks　saw　his　physique　improve。　The　strict　regime　of　exercise　he'd　set　for　himself　that　first　night　began　as　a　torment；　but　after　a　few　days　of　punished　and　plaining　muscles　the　exertion　began　to　bear　fruit。　He　got　up　at　five…thirty　each　morning　and　took　an　hour…long　run　around　the　grounds。　After　a　week　of　following　the　same　circuit　he　altered　the　route；　which　allowed　him　to　explore　the　estate　at　the　same　time　as　exercising。　There　was　a　great　deal　to　see。　Spring　hadn't　arrived　in　force　yet；　but　there　were　stirrings。　Crocuses　were　beginning　to　show　themselves；　as　were　the　spears　of　daffodils。　On　the　trees；　fat　buds　were　starting　to　split；　leaves　were　unfurling。　It　had　taken　him　almost　a　week　to　cover　the　estate　fully；　and　to　work　out　the　relation　of　one　part　of　it　to　another；　now　he　more　or　less　had　a　grasp　of　the　arrangement。　He　knew　the　lake；　the　dovecote；　the　swimming　pool；　the　tennis　courts；　the　kennels；　the　woods　and　the　gardens。　One　morning；　when　the　sky　was　exceptionally　clear；　he　had　circuited　the　entire　grounds；　hugging　the　fence　all　the　way　around　the　estate　even　when　it　threaded　its　way　along　the　back　of　the　woods。　He　now　reckoned　he　had　as　thorough　a　knowledge　of　the　place　as　anyone；　including　its　owner。
　　It　was　a　joy；　not　just　the　exploration；　and　the　freedom　of　running　miles　without　someone　looking　over　your　shoulder　all　the　time；　but　the　reacquaintance　with　a　dozen　natural　spectacles。　He　loved　being　up　to　watch　the　sun　rise；　and　it　was　almost　as　though　he　was　running　to　meet　it；　as　though　dawn　was　for　him　and　him　alone；　a　promise　of　light　and　warmth　and　life　to　e。
　　He　soon　lost　the　ring　of　flab　around　his　middle；　the　divide　of　his　abdominals　showed　again：　the　washboard　stomach　he'd　always　been　so　proud　of　as　a　younger　man；　and　thought　he'd　lost　forever。　Muscles　he'd　forgotten　he　had　came　back　into　play；　at　first　to　make　their　presence　felt　in　aching；　then　to　simply　live　a　glowing；　ruddy　life。　He　was　sweating　out　years　of　frustration　and　showering　it　away；　and　he　was　lighter　for　it。　He　was　aware；　once　more；　of　his　body　as　a　system；　its　parts　correspondents；　its　health　dependent　on　balance　and　respectful　usage。
　　If　Whitehead　noted　any　change　in　his　manner　or　physique；　no　ment　was　made。　But　Toy；　on　one　of　his　trips　up　to　the　house　from　London；　immediately　registered　the　change　in　him。　Marty　noted　an　alteration　in　Toy　too；　but　for　the　worse。　It　wasn't　plausible　to　ment　on　how　weary　he　looked　Marty　felt　their　relationship　wouldn't　yet　allow　for　such　familiarity。　He　just　hoped　Toy　wasn't　suffering　from　something　serious。　The　sudden　wasting　of　his　wide　face　suggested　a　devouring　somewhere　in　the　man's　innards。　The　nimbleness　in　his　step；　which　Marty　put　down　to　Toy's　Years　in　the　ring；　had　also　gone。
　　There　were　other　mysteries　here；　besides　Toy's　decline。　For　one　thing；　there　was　the　collection：　the　works　of　the　great　masters　that　lined　the　corridors　of　the　sanctuary。　They　were　neglected。　Nobody　had　dusted　their　surfaces　in　months；　perhaps　years；　and　in　addition　to　the　yellowing　varnish　that　dimmed　their　fineness　they　were　further　spoiled　by　a　layer　of　grime。　Marty　had　never　had　much　taste　for　art；　but　given　time　to　look　at　these　pictures；　he　found　his　appetite　for　it　good。　Many　of　them；　the　portraits　and　the　religious　works；　he　didn't　really　like：　they　weren't　of　people　he　knew　or　events　he　understood。　But　in　a　small　hallway　on　the　first　floor　that　led　to　the　extension　that　had　been　Evangeline's　suite；　and　was　now　the　sauna　and　solarium；　he　found　two　paintings　that　caught　his　imagination。　They　were　both　landscapes；