cb.damnationgame-第40部分

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as　a　fabrication；　conjured　up　by　the　European　to　subdue　her　mutiny：　she　would　ignore　it。　But　even　with　canceled　sight　the　illusion　persisted。　The　water　splashed　more　loudly　as　the　flood　rose；　and　in　the　stream　she　heard　wet　heavy　things　flopping　onto　the　bathroom　floor。
　　〃Well？〃　said　Mamoulian。
　　She　cursed　the　illusions　and　their　charmer　in　one　vitriolic　breath。
　　Something　skittered　across　her　bare　foot。　She　was　damned　if　she　was　going　to　open　her　eyes　and　give　him　another　sense　to　assault；　but　curiosity　forced　them　open。
　　The　dribbles　from　the　toilet　had　bee　a　stream；　as　if　the　sewers　had　backed　up　and　were　discharging　their　contents　at　her　feet。　Not　simply　excrement　and　water；　the　soup　of　hot　dirt　had　bred　monsters。　Creatures　that　could　be　found　in　no　sane　zoology：　things　that　had　been　fish　once；　crabs　once；　fetuses　flushed　down　clinic　drains　before　their　mothers　could　wake　to　scream；　beasts　that　fed　on　excrement　whose　bodies　were　a　pun　on　what　they　devoured。　Everywhere　in　the　silt　forsaken　stuff；　offal　and　dregs；　raised　itself　on　queasy　limbs　and　flapped　and　paddled　toward　her。
　　〃Make　them　go　away；〃　she　said。
　　They　had　no　intention　of　retreat。　The　scummy　tide　still　edged　forward：　the　fauna　the　toilet　was　vomiting　up　were　getting　larger。
　　〃Find　Toy；〃　the　voice　on　the　other　side　of　the　door　bargained。　Her　sweaty　hands　slid　on　the　handle；　but　the　door　refused　to　open。　There　was　no　hint　of　a　reprieve。
　　〃Let　me　out。〃　〃Just　say　yes。〃　She　flattened　herself　against　the　door。　The　toilet　lid　flew　open　in　the　strongest　gust　yet；　and　this　time　stayed　open。　The　flood　thickened　and　the　pipes　creaked　as　something　that　was　almost　too　large　for　them　began　to　force　its　way　toward　the　light。　She　heard　its　claws　rake　the　sides　of　the　pipes；　she　heard　the　chatter　of　its　teeth。
　　〃Say　yes。〃　〃No。〃　A　glistening　arm　was　thrown　up　from　the　belching　bowl；　and　flailed　around　until　its　digits　fixed　on　the　sink。　Then　it　began　to　haul　itself　up；　its　water…rotted　bones　rubbery。
　　〃Please！〃　she　screamed。
　　〃Just　say　yes。〃　〃Yes！　Yes！　Anything！　Yes！〃　As　she　spat　out　the　words　the　handle　of　the　door　moved。　She　turned　her　back　on　the　emerging　horror　and　put　her　weight　down　on　the　handle　at　the　same　time　as　her　other　hand　fumbled　with　the　key。　Behind　her；　she　heard　the　sound　of　a　body　contorting　itself　to　fetch　itself　free。　She　turned　the　key　the　wrong　way；　and　then　the　right。　Muck　splashed　on　her　shin。　It　was　almost　at　her　heels。　As　she　opened　the　door　sodden　fingers　snatched　at　her　ankle；　but　she　threw　herself　out　of　the　bathroom　before　it　could　catch　her；　and　onto　the　landing；　slamming　the　door　behind　her。
　　Mamoulian；　his　victory　won；　had　gone。
　　After　that；　she　couldn't　bring　herself　to　go　back　into　the　bathroom。　At　her　request　the　Razor…Eater　supplied　a　bucket　for　her　to　use；　which　he　brought　and　took　away　again　with　reverence。
　　The　European　never　spoke　of　the　incident　again。　There　was　no　need。　That　night　she　did　as　he　had　asked　her。　She　opened　up　her　head　and　went　to　look　for　Bill　Toy　and；　within　a　matter　of　minutes；　she　found　him。　So；　soon　after；　did　the　Last　European。
　　
　　43
　　Not　since　the　halcyon　days　of　his　big　wins　at　the　casinos　had　Marty　possessed　so　much　money　as　he　did　now。　Two　thousand　pounds　was　no　fortune　to　Whitehead；　but　it　raised　Marty　to　blind　heights。　Perhaps　the　old　man's　story　about　Carys　had　been　a　lie。　If　so；　he'd　wheedle　the　truth　out　of　him　in　time。　Slowee；　slowee；　catchee　monkey；　as　Feaver　used　to　say。　What　would　Feaver　say　to　see　Marty　now；　with　money　lapping　at　his　feet？
　　He　left　the　car　near　Euston；　and　caught　a　cab　to　the　Strand　to　cash　the　check。　Then　he　went　in　search　of　a　good　evening　suit。　Whitehead　had　suggested　an　outfitter　off　Regent　Street。　The　fitters　treated　him　with　some　brusqueness　at　first；　but　once　he　showed　them　the　color　of　his　money　the　tune　changed　to　sycophancy。　Curbing　his　smiles；　Marty　played　the　fastidious　buyer；　they　fawned　and　fussed；　he　let　them。　Only　after　three…quarters　of　an　hour　of　their　fey　attentions　did　he　alight　on　something　he　liked：　a　conservative　choice；　but　immaculately　styled。　The　suit；　and　the　acpanying　wardrobe…shoes；　shirts；　a　selection　of　ties…bit　more　deeply　into　the　cash　than　he'd　anticipated；　but　he　let　it　go；　like　water；　through　his　fingers。　The　suit；　and　one　set　of　accoutrements；　he　took　with　him。　The　rest　he　had　sent　to　the　Sanctuary。
　　It　was　lunchtime　when　he　emerged；　and　he　wandered　around　looking　for　somewhere　to　eat。　There'd　been　a　Chinese　restaurant　on　Gerard　Street　that　he　and　Charmaine　had　frequented　whenever　funds　allowed：　he　returned　there　now。　Though　its　facade　had　been　modernized　to　acmodate　a　large　neon　sign；　the　interior　was　much　the　same；　the　food　as　good　as　he　remembered。　He　sat　in　splendid　isolation　and　ate　and　drank　his　way　through　the　menu；　happy　to　play　the　rich　man　to　the　hilt。　He　ordered　half　a　dozen　cigars　after　the　meal；　downed　several　brandies　and　tipped　like　a　millionaire。　Papa　would　be　proud　of　me；　he　thought。　When　he　was　full；　drunk　and　satisfied；　he　headed　out　into　the　balmy　afternoon。　It　was　time　he　followed　the　rest　of　Whitehead's　instructions。
　　He　made　his　way　through　Soho；　wandering　for　a　few　minutes　until　he　found　a　betting　office。　As　he　entered　the　smoky　interior；　guilt　assailed　him；　but　he　told　his　spoilsport　conscience　to　go　hang。　He　was　obeying　orders　in　ing　here。
　　There　were　races　at　Newmarket；　Kempton　Park　and　Doncaster…each　name　evoked　some　bittersweet　association…and　he　bet　freely　on　every　one　on　the　board。　Soon　the　old　enthusiasm　had　killed　the　last　smidgen　of　guilt。　It　was　like　living；　this　game；　but　it　tasted　stronger。　It　dramatized；　with　its　promised　gains；　its　too…easy　losses；　the　sense　he　had　had　as　a　child　of　what　adult　life　must　be　like。　Of　how；　once　one　grew　out　of　boredom　and　into　the　secret；　bearded；　erectile　world　of　manhood；　every　word　would　be　loaded　with　risk　and　promise；　every　breath　taken　won　in　the　face　of　extraordinary　odds。
　　At　first；　the　money　dribbled　away　from　him；　he　didn't　bet　heavily；　but　the　frequency　of　the　losses　began　to　dwindle　his　reserves。　Then；　three…quarters　of　an　hour　into　the　session　things　took　a　turn　for　the　better；　horses　he　plucked　from　thin　air　romped　home　at　ridiculous　odds；　one　after　the　other。　In　one　race　he　made　back　what　he'd　lost　in　the　previous　two；　and　more。　The　enthusiasm　turned　to　euphoria。　This　was　the　very　feeling　he'd　tried　so　hard　to　describe　to　Whitehead…of　being　in　charge　of　chance。
　　Finally；　the　wins　began　to　bore　him。　Pocketing　his　winnings　without　taking　any　proper　account　of　them；　he　left。　The　money　in　his　jacket　was　a　thick　wedge；　it　ached　to　be　spent。　On　instinct；　he　sauntered　through　the　crowds　to　Oxford　Street；　selected　an　expensive　shop；　and　bought　a　nine…hundred…pound　fur　coat　for　Charmaine；　then　hailed　a　cab　to　take　it　to　her。　It　was　a　slow　journey；　the　wage…slaves　were　beginning　to　make　their　escape；　and　the　roads　were　snarled。　But　his　mood　forbade　irritation。
　　He　had　the　taxi　drop　him　off　at　the　corner　of　the　street；　because　he　wanted　to　walk　the　length　of　it。　Things　had　changed　since　he'd　last　been　here；　two　and　a　half　months　before。　Early　spring　was　now　early　summer。　Now；　at　almost　six　in　the　evening；　the　warmth　of　the　day　hadn't　dissipated；　there　was　growing　time　in　it　still。　Nor；　he　thought；　was　it　just　the　season　that　had　advanced；　bee　riper；　he　had　too。
　　He　felt　real。　God　in　Heaven；　that　was　it。　At　last　he　was　able　to　operate　in　the　world　again；　affect　it；　shape　it。
　　Charmaine　came　to　the　door　looking　flustered。　She　looked　more　flustered　still　when　Marty　stepped　in；　kissed　her；　and　put　the　coat　box　in　her　arms。
　　〃Here。　I　bought　you　something。〃　She　frowned。　〃What　is　it；　Marty？〃　〃Take　a　look。　It's　for　you。〃　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃I　can't。〃　The　front　door　was　still　open。　She　was　ushering　him　back　toward　it；　or　at　least　attempting　to。　But　he　wouldn't　go。　There　was　something　beneath　the　look　of　embarrassment　on　her　face：　anger；　panic　even。　She　pressed　the　box　back　at　him；　unopened。
　　〃Please　go；〃　she　said。
　　〃It's　a　surprise；〃　he　told　her；　determined　not　to　be　repelled。
　　〃I　don't　want　any　surprises。　Just　go。　Ring　me　tomorrow。〃　He　wouldn't　take　the　proffered　box；　and　it　fell　between　them；　breaking　open。　The　sumptuous　gleam　of　the　coat　spilled　out；　she　couldn't　help　but　stoop　to　pick　it　up。
　　〃Oh；　Marty　。　。　。〃　she　whispered。
　　As　he　looked　down　at　her　gleaming　hair　someone　appeared　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。
　　〃What's　the　problem？〃　Marty　looked　up。　Flynn　was　standing　on　the　half…landing；　dressed　only　in　underwear　and　socks。　He　was　unshaven。　For　a　few　seconds　he　said　nothing；　juggling　the　options。　Then　the　smile；　his　panacea；　swarmed　across　his　face。
　　〃Marty；〃　he　exclaimed；　〃what's　buzzing？〃　Marty　looked　at　Charmaine；　who　was　looking　at　the　floor。　She…　had　the　coat　in　her　arms；　bundled　up　like　a　dead　animal。
　　〃I　see；〃　Marty　said。
　　Flynn　descended　a　few　stairs。　His　eyes　were　bloodshot。
　　〃It's　not　what　you　think。　Really　it　isn't；〃　he　said；　stopping　halfway　down；　waiting　to　see　which　way　Marty　would　jump。
　　〃It's　exactly　what　you　think；　Marty；〃　Charmaine　said　quietly。　〃I'm　sorry　you　had　to　find　out　like　this；　but　you　never　rang。　I　said　ring　before　you　e　round。〃　〃How　long？〃　Marty　murmured。
　　〃Two　years；　more　or　less。〃　Marty　glanced　up　at　Flynn。　They'd　played　together　with　that　black　girl…Ursula；　was　it？…only　a　few　weeks　past；　and　when　the　milk　was　spilt　Flynn　had　slid　away。　He'd　e　back　here；　to　Charmaine。　Had　he　washed；　Marty　wondered；　before　he'd　joined　Charmaine　in　their　double　bed？　Probably　not。
　　〃Why　him？〃　he　found　himself　asking。　〃Why　him；　for　Christ's　sake？　Couldn't　you　have　improved　on　that？〃　Flynn　said　nothing　in　his　own　defense。
　　〃I　think　you　should　leave；　Marty；〃　Charmaine　said；　clumsily　attempting　to　rebox　the　coat。
　　〃He's　such　a　shit；〃　Marty　said。　〃Can't　you　see　what　a　shit　he　is？〃　〃He　was　there；〃　she　retorted　bitterly。　〃You　weren't。〃　〃He's　a　fucking　pimp；　for　Christ's　sake！〃　〃Yes；〃　she　said；　letting　the　box　lie；　and　standing　up　at　last；　eyes　furious；　to　spit　all　the　truth　out。　〃Yes；　that's　right。　Why　do　you　think　I　took　up　with　him？〃　〃No；　Char…〃　〃Hard　times；　Marty。　Nothing　to　live　on　but　fresh　air　and　love　letters。〃　She'd　whored　for