cb.damnationgame-第19部分

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rom　sacred。
　　After　twelve　months　Toy　had　moved　Yvonne　into　the　house　Whitehead　had　purchased　for　him　in　Pimlico；　a　retreat　from　the　world　of　the　Whitehead　Corporation　that　the　old　man　never　inquired　about；　a　place　where　he　and　Yvonne　could　talk…or　be　silent…together；　where　he　could　indulge　his　passion　for　Schubert；　and　she　could　write　letters　to　her　family；　which　was　spread　across　half　the　globe。
　　That　night；　when　he　got　back；　he　told　her　about　the　man　on　the　train；　the　constellation　namer。　She　found　the　whole　story　pointless；　couldn't　see　the　romance　of　it　at　all。
　　〃I　just　thought　it　was　strange；〃　he　said。
　　〃I　suppose　it　is；〃　she　replied；　unimpressed；　and　went　back　to　her　dinner　preparations。　A　few　words　on；　she　stopped。
　　〃What's　wrong；　Billy？〃　〃Why　should　something　be　wrong？〃　〃Everything's　fine？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Really？〃　She　was　always　quick　to　ferret　out　his　secrets。　He　gave　up　before　she　really　began　on　him；　it　wasn't　worth　the　effort　of　deception。　He　stroked　the　ridge　of　his　broken　nose；　a　familiar　trick　when　he　was　nervous。　Then　he　said；　〃It's　all　going　to　e　down。　Everything。〃　His　voice　trembled　and　fell　away。　When　it　was　clear　he　wasn't　going　to　elaborate　she　put　down　the　dinner　plates　and　crossed　to　his　chair。　He　looked　up；　almost　startled；　when　she　touched　his　ear。
　　〃What　are　you　thinking　about？〃　she　asked；　more　gently　than　before。
　　He　took　hold　of　her　hand。
　　〃There　might　e　a　time　。　。　。　not　so　far　away　。　。　。　when　I'd　ask　you　to　leave　with　me；〃　he　said。
　　〃Leave？〃　〃Just　up　and　go。〃　〃Where？〃　〃I　haven't　thought　that　through　yet。　We'd　just　go。〃　He　halted；　and　looked　at　her　fingers；　which　were　now　dovetailed　with　his。　〃Would　you　e　with　me？〃　he　asked　at　last。
　　〃Of　course。〃　〃Ask　no　questions？〃　〃What　is　this；　Billy？〃　〃I　said：　ask　no　questions。
　　〃Just　go？〃　〃Just　go。〃　She　looked　long　and　hard　at　him：　he　was　washed　out；　poor　love。　Too　much　of　that　wretched　old　fart　in　Oxford。　How　she　hated　Whitehead；　though　she'd　never　met　him。
　　〃Yes；　of　course　I'd　go；〃　she　replied。
　　He　nodded。　She　thought　he　might　cry。
　　〃When？〃　she　said。
　　〃I　don't　know。〃　He　tried　to　smile；　but　it　looked　misbegotten。　〃Perhaps　it　won't　even　be　necessary。　But　I　think　it's　all　going　to　e　down；　and　when　it　does　I　don't　want　us　to　be　there。〃　〃You　make　it　sound　like　the　end　of　the　world。〃　He　didn't　reply。　She　didn't　feel　able　to　chisel　at　him　for　answers：　he　was　too　delicate。
　　〃Just　one　question？〃　she　ventured。　〃It's　important　to　me。〃　one。
　　〃Did　you　do　something；　Billy？　I　mean；　something　illegal？　Is　that　what　it　is？
　　His　Adam's　apple　bobbed　as　he　swallowed　his　grief。　There　was　so　much　more　she　had　to　teach　him　yet；　about　allowing　those　feelings　out。　He　wanted　to：　she　could　see　so　much　bubbling　away　behind　his　eyes。　But　there；　for　now；　it　would　stay。　She　knew　better　than　to　press　him。　He'd　only　withdraw。　And　he　needed　her　undemanding　presence　more　than　she　needed　answers。
　　〃It's　all　right；〃　she　said；　〃there's　no　need　to　tell　me　if　you　don't　want　to。
　　His　hand　was　gripping　hers　so　tightly　she　thought　they'd　never　unknot　them。
　　〃Oh；　Billy。　Nothing's　that　terrible；〃　she　murmured。
　　Again；　he　made　no　reply。
　　
　　22
　　The　old　haunts　were　much　the　same　as　Marty　had　remembered　them；　but　he　felt　like　a　ghost　there。　Along　the　rubbish…strewn　back　alleys　where　he'd　fought　and　run　as　a　boy　there　were　new　batants；　and；　he　suspected；　far　more　serious　games。　They　were　glue　sniffers；　these　grubby　ten…year…olds；　according　to　the　pages　of　the　Sunday　tabloids。　They　would　grow　up；　disenfranchised；　into　needle　freaks　and　pill　pushers；　they　cared　for　nothing　and　nobody；　least　of　all　themselves。
　　He'd　been　an　adolescent　criminal；　of　course。　Theft　was　a　rite　of　passage　here。　But　it　had　usually　been　that　lazy；　almost　passive　form　of　thieving：　sidling　up　to　something　and　walking；　or　driving；　away　with　it。　If　the　theft　looked　too　problematic；　forget　it。　Plenty　of　other　shiny　things　to　be　fingered。　It　wasn't　crime　in　the　way　he'd　e　to　understand　the　word　later。　It　was　the　magpie　instinct　at　work；　taking　whatever　opportunity　offered；　never　intending　much　harm　by　it；　or　working　up　a　sweat　if　things　didn't　quite　fall　your　way。
　　But　these　kids…there　was　a　group　of　them　lounging　on　the　corner　of　Knox　Street…they　looked　like　a　more　lethal　breed　altogether。　Though　they'd　grown　up　in　the　same　lusterless　environment；　he　and　they；　with　its　few　wretched　attempts　at　tree　planting；　its　barbed　wire　and　glass…topped　walls；　its　relentless　concrete…though　they　shared　all　that；　he　knew　they'd　have　nothing　to　say　to　one　another。　Their　desperation　and　their　lassitude　intimidated　him：　he　felt　nothing　was　beyond　them。　Not　a　place　to　grow　up　in；　this　street；　or　any　of　them；　along　the　row。　In　a　way　he　was　glad　his　mother　had　died　before　the　worst　of　the　changes　disfigured　the　neighborhood。
　　He　got　to　Number　Twenty…six。　It　had　been　repainted。　On　one　of　her　visits　Charmaine　had　told　him　Terry；　one　of　her　brothers…in…law；　had　done　it　for　her　a　couple　of　years　back；　but　Marty　had　forgotten；　and　the　change　of　color；　after　so　many　years　of　imagining　it　green　and　white；　was　a　slap　in　the　face。　It　was　a　bad　job；　purely　cosmetic；　and　the　paint　on　the　windowsills　was　lifting　and　peeling　already。　Through　the　window　the　lace　curtains　that　he'd　always　loathed　so　much　had　been　replaced　with　a　blind；　which　was　down。　On　the　window　ledge　inside　a　collection　of　porcelain　figures；　wedding　presents；　gathered　dust；　trapped　in　the　forsaken　space　between　blind　and　glass。
　　He　still　had　his　keys；　but　he　couldn't　bring　himself　to　use　them。　Besides；　she'd　probably　changed　the　lock。　Instead；　he　pressed　the　bell。　It　didn't　ring　in　the　house；　and　he　knew　it　was　audible　from　the　street；　so　it　clearly　no　longer　worked。　He　rapped　his　knuckles　on　the　door。
　　For　half　a　minute　there　was　no　sound　from　inside。　Then；　eventually；　he　heard　dragging　footsteps　（she'd　be　wearing　open…backed　sandals；　he　guessed；　and　they　made　her　walk　ragged）；　and　Charmaine　opened　the　door。　Her　face　was　not　made…up；　and　its　nakedness　made　even　plainer　response　to　his　standing　there。　She　was　unpleasantly　surprised。
　　〃Marty；〃　was　all　she　managed　to　say。　No　weling　smile；　no　tears。
　　〃I　came　on　the　off…chance；〃　he　said；　attempting　nonchalance。　But　it　was　obvious　that　he'd　made　a　tactical　error　from　the　moment　she　sighted　him。
　　〃I　thought　you　weren't　allowed　out…〃she　said；　then　corrected　herself；　〃…I　mean；　you　know；　I　thought　you　weren't　allowed　off　the　estate。〃　〃I　asked　for　special　dispensation；〃　he　said。　〃Can　I　e　in；　or　do　we　talk　on　the　doorstep？〃　〃Oh　。　。　。　oh；　yes。　Of　course。〃　He　stepped　inside；　and　she　closed　the　door　behind　him。　There　was　an　unfortable　moment　in　the　narrow　hallway。　Their　proximity　seemed　to　demand　an　embrace；　yet　he　felt　unable；　and　she　unwilling；　to　make　the　gesture。　She　promised　with　a　patently　artificial　smile；　followed　by　a　light　kiss　on　the　cheek。
　　〃I'm　sorry；〃　she　said；　apologizing　for　nothing　in　particular。　She　led　him　down　the　hallway　to　the　kitchen。　〃I　just　didn't　expect　you；　that's　all。　e　on　in。　The　place　is　in　chaos；　I'm　afraid。〃　The　house　smelled　stale；　as　though　it　needed　a　good　airing。　Washing；　drying　on　the　radiators；　made　the　atmosphere　muggy；　like　the　sauna　back　at　the　Sanctuary。
　　〃Take　a　seat；〃　she　said；　lifting　a　bag　of　unsorted　groceries　off　one　of　the　kitchen　chairs；　〃I'll　just　finish　here。〃　There　was　a　second　load　of　dirty　washing　on　the　kitchen　table…hygienic　as　ever…which　she　began　to　load　into　the　washing　machine；　her　chatter　nervous；　her　eyes　never　meeting　his　as　she　concentrated　on　the　matter　in　hand；　the　towels；　the　underwear；　the　blouses。　He　recognized　none　of　the　clothes；　and　found　himself　ferreting　through　the　soiled　items　looking　for　something　he　had　seen　her　in　before。　If　not　six　years　before；　then　in　visits　to　the　prison。　But　it　was　all　new　stuff。
　　〃…I　just　didn't　expect　you…〃　she　was　saying；　closing　the　machine　and　loading　powder　into　it。　〃I　was　sure　you'd　call　first。　And　look　at　me；　I　look　like　a　wet　rag。　God；　it　would　be　today；　I've　got　so　much　to　do…〃　She　finished　with　the　machine；　pushed　the　sleeves　of　her　sweater　back　up；　said：　〃Coffee？〃　and　turned　to　the　kettle　to　make　some　without　waiting　for　an　answer。　〃You　look　well；　Marty；　you　really　do。〃　How　did　she　know？　She'd　scarcely　taken　two　glances　at　him　in　her　whirlwind　of　activity。　Whereas　he；　he　couldn't　take　his　eyes　off　her。　He　sat　watching　her　at　the　sink；　wringing　out　a　cloth　to　swab　down　the　counter；　and　nothing　had　changed　in　six　years…not　really…just　a　few　lines　on　their　faces。　He　had　a　feeling　in　him　that　was　like　panic；　something　to　be　held　down　for　fear　it　make　a　fool　of　him。
　　She　made　him　coffee；　talked　about　the　way　the　neighborhood　had　changed；　about　Terry　and　the　saga　of　choosing　the　paint　for　the　front　of　the　house；　about　how　much　it　cost　on　the　subway　from　Mile　End　to　Wandsworth；　about　how　well　he　looked…〃You　really　do；　Marty；　I'm　not　just　saying　that〃…she　talked　about　everything　but　something。　It　wasn't　Charmaine　talking；　and　that　hurt。　Hurt　her　too；　he　knew。　She　was　marking　time　with　him；　that　was　all　it　was；　filling　the　minutes　with　vacuous　chat　until　he　gave　up　in　despair　and　left。
　　〃Look；〃　she　said。　〃I　really　must　change。〃　〃Going　out？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Oh。〃
　　〃…if　you'd　said；　Marty；　I　would　have　cleared　a　space。　Why　didn't　you　ring　me？〃　〃Maybe　we　could　go　out　for　a　meal　sometime？〃　he　suggested。
　　〃Maybe。〃　She　was　viciously　nonmittal。
　　〃…things　are　a　bit　hectic　just　at　the　moment。〃　〃I'd　like　a　chance　to　talk。　You　know；　properly。〃　She　was　getting　edgy：　he　knew　the　signs　well；　and　she　was　aware　of　his　scrutiny。　She　picked　up　the　coffee　mugs　and　took　them　to　the　sink。
　　〃I　really　must　dash；〃　she　said。　〃Make　yourself　some　more　coffee　if　you　want。　Stuff's　in　the…well；　you　know　where　it　is。　There's　a　lot　of　things　of　yours　here；　you　know。　Motorcycle　magazines　and　stuff。　I'll　sort　them　out　for　you。　Excuse　me。　I　have　to　change。〃　She　hurried…positively　raced；　he　thought…into　the　hallway；　and　went　upstairs。　He　heard　her　moving　about　heavily；　she　was　never　light…footed。　Water　was　running　in　the　bathroom。　The　toilet　flushed。　He　wandered　through　from　the　kitchen　into　the　back　room。　It　smelled　of　old　cigarettes；　and　the　ashtray　balanced　on　the　a