cb.damnationgame-第58部分

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　　He　achieved　the　summit　of　the　stairs　and　limped　toward　it。
　　Though　it　was　totally　dark　in　the　cellar；　that　scarcely　concerned　the　Razor…Eater。　It　was　many　weeks　since　his　eyes　had　worked　as　well　as　they'd　used　to：　he'd　learned　to　substitute　touch　for　sight。　He　stood　up　and　tried　to　think　clearly。　Soon　the　European　would　e　home。　There　would　be　punishment　for　leaving　the　house　unattended　and　letting　this　escape　take　place。　Worse　than　that；　he　would　not　see　the　girl　anymore；　no　longer　be　able　to　watch　her　pass　water；　that　fragrant　water　he　preserved　for　special　occasions。　He　was　desolate。
　　He　heard　her　moving　even　now　in　the　hallway　above　him；　she　was　going　up　the　stairs。　The　rhythm　of　her　tiny　feet　was　familiar　to　him；　he'd　listened　long　nights　and　days　to　her　padding　back　and　forth　in　her　cell。　In　his　mind's　eye　the　ceiling　of　the　cellar　became　transparent；　he　looked　up　between　her　legs　as　she　climbed　the　stairs；　that　lavish　slit　gaped。　It　made　him　angry　to　be　losing　it；　and　her。　She　was　old；　of　course；　not　like　the　pretty　at　the　table；　or　the　others　on　the　streets；　but　there　had　been　times　when　her　presence　had　been　the　one　thing　keeping　him　from　insanity。
　　He　went　back；　stumbling　in　the　pitch；　in　the　direction　of　his　little　autocannibal；　whose　dining　had　been　so　rudely　interrupted。　Before　he　got　to　her；　his　foot　kicked　at　one　of　the　carving　knives　he'd　left　on　the　table　should　she　want　to　help　herself。　He　went　down　on　all　fours　and　patted　the　ground　until　he　found　it；　and　then　he　crawled　back　up　the　stairs　and　started　to　hack　at　the　wood　where　the　light　through　the　door　crack　showed　the　bolts　to　be。
　　
　　Carys　didn't　want　to　go　to　the　top　of　the　house　again。　There　was　so　much　up　there　she　feared。　Innuendo　rather　than　fact；　but　enough　to　make　her　weak。　Why　Marty　had　gone　up…and　that　was　the　only　place　he　could　have　gone…confounded　her。　Despite　his　claim　to　understanding；　there　was　still　so　much　he　had　to　learn。
　　〃Marty？〃　she'd　called；　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　hoping　he'd　appear　at　the　top；　smiling；　and　limp　down　to　her　without　her　having　to　go　up　and　fetch　him。　But　her　inquiry　was　met　with　silence；　and　the　night　wasn't　getting　any　younger。　The　European　might　e　to　the　door　at　any　moment。
　　Unwillingly；　she　started　up　the　stairs。
　　
　　Marty　had　never　understood　until　now。　He'd　been　a　virgin；　living　in　a　world　innocent　of　this　deep　and　exhilarating　penetration；　not　simply　of　body；　of　mind　too。　The　air　in　the　room　closed　around　his　head　as　soon　as　he　stepped　into　it。　The　plates　of　his　skull　seemed　to　grind　against　each　other；　the　voice　of　the　room；　no　longer　needing　its　whispered　tones；　shouted　in　his　brain。　So　you　came？　Of　course　you　came。　Wele　to　Wonderland。　He　was　dimly　aware　that　it　was　his　own　voice　that　was　speaking　these　words。　It　had　probably　been　his　voice　all　along。　He　had　been　talking　to　himself　like　a　lunatic。　Even　though　he'd　now　seen　through　the　trick；　the　voice　came　again；　lower　this　time…This　is　a　fine　place　to　find　yourself　in；　don't　you　think？
　　At　the　question；　he　looked　around。　There　was　nothing　to　see；　not　even　walls。　If　there　were　windows　in　the　room；　they　were　hermetically　sealed。　Not　a　chink　of　the　outside　world　belonged　in　here。
　　〃I　don't　see　anything；〃　he　murmured　in　reply　to　the　room's　boast。
　　The　voice　laughed；　he　laughed　with　it。
　　Nothing　here　to　be　frightened　of；　it　said。　Then；　after　a　smirking　pause：　Nothing　here　at　all。
　　And　that　was　right；　wasn't　it？　Nothing　at　all。　It　wasn't　just　darkness　that　kept　him　sightless；　it　was　the　room　itself。　He　glanced　giddily　over　his　shoulder：　he　could　no　longer　see　the　door　behind　him；　even　though　he　knew　he　had　left　it　open　when　he　came　in。　There　should　have　been　at　least　a　glimmer　of　light　from　downstairs　spilling　into　the　room。　But　that　illumination　had　been　eaten　up；　as　was　the　beam　of　his　flashlight。　A　smothering　gray　fog　pressed　so　close　to　his　eyes　that　even　if　he　lifted　his　hand　up　in　front　of　him　he　could　see　nothing。
　　You're　all　right　here；　the　room　soothed　him。　No　judges　here；　no　bars　here。
　　〃Am　I　blind？〃　he　asked。
　　No；　the　room　replied。　You're　seeing　truly　for　the　first　time。
　　〃I　。　。　。　don't　。　。　。　like　it。〃　Of　course　you　don't。　But　you'll　learn　in　time。　Living's　not　for　you。　Ghosts　of　ghosts；　the　living　are。　You　want　to　lie　down；　be　done　with　that　caper。　Nothing's　essential；　boy。
　　〃I　want　to　leave。〃　Would　I　tell　you　lies？
　　〃I　want　to　leave　。　。　。　please。〃　You're　in　safe　hands。
　　〃Please。〃　He　stumbled　forward；　confused　as　to　which　way　the　door　was。　In　front；　or　behind？　Arms　spread　before　him　like　a　blind　man　on　a　cliff　edge；　he　reeled；　looking　for　some　point　of　security。　This　wasn't　the　adventure　he'd　thought　it　would　be；　it　was　nothing。　Nothing　is　essential。　Once　stepped　into；　this　boundless　nowhere　had　neither　distance　nor　depth；　north　nor　south。　And　everything　outside　it…the　stairs；　the　landing；　the　stairs　below　that；　the　hallway；　Carys…all　of　it　was　like　a　fabrication。　A　dream　of　palpability；　not　a　true　place。　There　was　no　true　place　but　here。　All　he'd　lived　and　experienced；　all　he'd　taken　joy　in；　taken　pain　in；　it　was　insubstantial。　Passion　was　dust。　Optimism；　self…deception。　He　doubted　now　even　the　memory　of　senses：　the　textures；　the　temperatures。　Color；　form；　pattern。　All　diversions…games　the　mind　had　invented　to　disguise　this　unbearable　zero。　And　why　not？　Looking　too　long　into　the　abyss　would　madden　a　man。
　　Not　mad；　surely？　said　the　room；　savoring　the　thought。
　　Always；　even　in　his　blackest　moments　（lying　on　a　bunk　in　a　hothouse　cell；　listening　to　the　man　in　the　bed　below　sob　in　his　sleep）　there　had　been　something　to　look　forward　to：　a　letter；　a　dawn；　release；　some　glimpse　of　meaning。
　　But　here；　meaning　was　dead。　Future　and　past　were　dead。　Love　and　life　were　dead。　Even　death　was　dead；　because　anything　that　excited　emotion　was　unwele　here。　Only　nothing：　once　and　for　all；　nothing。
　　〃Help　me；〃　he　said；　like　a　lost　child。
　　Go　to　Hell；　the　room　respectfully　replied；　and　for　the　first　time　in　his　life；　he　knew　exactly　what　that　meant。
　　On　the　second　landing；　Carys　stopped。　She　could　hear　voices；　not；　now　she　listened　more　closely；　plural；　but　the　same　voice…Marty's　voice…speaking　and　answering　itself。　It　was　difficult　to　know　where　the　exchange　was　ing　from；　the　words　seemed　to　be　everywhere　and　nowhere。　She　glanced　into　her　room；　then　into　Breer's。　Finally；　steeling　herself　for　a　repeat　of　her　nightmare；　she　looked　into　the　bathroom。　He　was　in　none　of　them。　There　was　no　avoiding　the　unpalatable　conclusion。　He'd　gone　upstairs；　back　to　Mamoulian's　room。
　　Even　as　she　crossed　the　landing　to　the　flight　of　stairs　that　led　up　to　the　top　story；　another　sound　caught　her　attention：　somewhere　below　a　blade　was　hacking　wood。　She　knew　at　once　it　was　the　Razor…Eater。　He　was　up　and　itching　to　e　for　her。　What　a　house　this　is；　she　thought；　for　all　its　bland　facade。　It　would　take　another　Dante　to　describe　its　depths　and　heights：　dead　children；　Razor…Eaters；　addicts；　madmen　and　all。　Surely　the　stars　that　hung　at　its　zenith　squirmed　in　their　settings；　in　the　earth　beneath　it；　the　magma　curdled。
　　In　the　European's　room；　Marty　cried　out；　a　bewildered　plea。　Calling　his　name　in　answer；　and　hoping　to　God　he　heard　her；　she　scrambled　to　the　top　of　the　stairs　and　crossed；　heart　in　mouth；　toward　the　door。
　　
　　He　had　fallen　to　his　knees；　what　was　left　of　his　self…preservation　was　a　tattered　and　hopeless　thought；　gray　on　gray。　Even　the　voice　had　stopped　now。　It　was　bored　with　the　banter。　Besides；　it　had　taught　its　lesson　well。　Nothing　is　essential；　it　had　said；　and　shown　him　the　why　and　how；　or　rather　dug　up　that　part　of　him　that　had　known　all　along。　Now　he　would　just　wait　for　the　progenitor　of　this　elegant　syllogism　to　e　and　dispatch　him。　He　lay　down；　not　certain　if　he　was　alive　or　dead；　if　the　man　who　would　presently　e　would　kill　him　or　resurrect　him：　only　certain　that　to　lie　down　was　easiest；　in　this；　the　emptiest　of　all　possible　worlds。
　　
　　Carys　had　been　in　this　Nowhere　before。　She'd　tasted　its　flat；　futile　air。　But　in　the　past　few　hours　she　had　glimpsed　something　beyond　its　aridity。　There　had　been　victories　today；　not　large；　perhaps；　but　victories　nevertheless。　She　thought　of　the　way　Marty　had　e；　his　eyes　with　more　than　lust　in　them。　That　was　a　victory；　wasn't　it？　She'd　won　that　feeling　out　of　him；　earned　it　in　some　incalculable　way。　She　would　not　be　beaten　by　this　last　oppressor；　this　stale　beast　that　smothered　her　senses。　It　was　only　the　European's　residue；　after　all。　His　sloughings；　left　to　decorate　his　bower。　Scurf；　dross。　It　and　he　were　contemptible。
　　〃Marty；〃　she　said。　〃Where　are　you？〃　〃Nowhere　。　。　。〃　came　a　voice。
　　She　followed　it；　stumbling。　Desolation　pressed　in；　insisting　on　her。
　　
　　Breer　paused　for　a　moment。　A　long　way　off；　he　heard　voices。　He　couldn't　make　out　the　words；　but　the　sense　was　academic。　They　hadn't　escaped　yet；　that　was　the　important　thing。　He　had　plans　for　them　once　he　got　out：　especially　the　man。　He　would　divide　him　into　tiny　pieces；　until　not　even　his　loved　ones　could　tell　which　part　was　his　finger；　which　his　face。
　　He　began　to　hack　at　the　wood　with　renewed　fervor。　Under　his　relentless　attack　the　door　finally　began　to　splinter。
　　
　　Carys　followed　Marty's　voice　through　the　fog；　but　he　eluded　her。　Either　he　was　moving　around　or　else　the　room　was　somehow　deceiving　her；　echoing　his　voice　off　the　walls；　or　even　impersonating　him。　Then　his　voice　called　her　name；　close　by。　She　turned　in　the　murk；　utterly　without　bearings。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　door　she'd　entered　by…it　had　disappeared；　as　had　the　windows。　The　pieces　of　her　resolve　began　to　unglue。　Doubt　seeped　in；　smirking。
　　Well；　well。　And　who　are　you？　somebody　asked。　Perhaps　herself。
　　〃I　know　my　name；〃　she　breathed。　It　wasn't　going　to　unseat　her　that　way。　〃I　know　my　name。〃　She　was　a　pragmatist；　damn　it！　She　wasn't　prone　to　believing　that　the　world　was　all　in　the　mind。　That's　why　she'd　gone　to　H：　the　world　was　too　real。　Now　here　was　this　vapor　in　her　ears；　telling　her　she　was　nothing；　everything　was　nothing；　nameless　muck。
　　〃Shit；〃　she　told　it。　〃You're　shit。　His　shit！〃　It　didn't　deign　to　reply；　she　took　the　advantage　while　she　had　it。
　　〃Marty。　Can　you　h