cb.damnationgame-第6部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


Flynn　the　flash。
　　〃He　sends　his　best；〃　she　said。
　　〃You　told　me；〃　he　reminded　her。
　　Another　pause；　the　conversation　was　more　crucifying　every　time　she　came。　Not　for　him　so　much　as　for　her。　She　seemed　to　go　through　a　trauma　every　time　she　spat　a　single　word　out。
　　〃I　went　to　see　the　solicitors　again。〃　〃Oh；　yes。〃　〃It's　all　going　ahead；　apparently。　They　said　the　papers　would　be　through　next　month。〃　〃What　do　I　do；　just　sign　them？〃　〃Well　。　。　。　he　said　we　needed　to　talk　about　the　house；　and　all　the　stuff　we've　got　together。〃　〃You　have　it。〃　〃But　it's　ours；　isn't　it？　I　mean；　it　belongs　to　both　of　us。　And　when　you　e　out　you're　going　to　need　somewhere　to　live；　and　furniture　and　everything。　〃　〃Do　you　want　to　sell　the　house？〃　Another　wretched　pause；　as　though　she　was　trembling　on　the　edge　of　saying　something　far　more　important　than　the　banalities　that　would　surely　surface。
　　〃I'm　sorry；　Marty；〃　she　said。
　　〃What　for？〃　She　shook　her　head；　a　tiny　shake。　Her　hair　shimmered。
　　〃Don't　know；〃　she　said。
　　〃This　isn't　your　fault。　None　of　this　is　your　fault。〃　〃I　can't　help…〃　She　stopped　and　looked　up　at　him；　suddenly　more　alive　in　the　urgency　of　her　fright…was　that　what　it　was；　fright？…than　she'd　been　in　a　dozen　other　wooden　exchanges　they'd　endured　in　one　chilling　room　or　another。　Her　eyes　were　liquefying；　swelling　up　with　tears。
　　〃What's　wrong？〃　She　stared　at　him：　the　tears　brimmed。
　　〃Char　。　。　。　what's　wrong？〃　〃It's　all　over；　Marty；〃　she　said；　as　though　this　fact　had　hit　her　for　the　first　time；　over；　finished；　fare　thee　well。
　　He　nodded；　〃Yes。〃　〃I　don't　want　you　。　。　。〃　She　stopped；　paused；　then　tried　again。　〃You　mustn't　blame　me。〃　〃I　don't　blame　you。　I've　never　blamed　you。　Christ；　you've　been　here；　haven't　you？　All　this　time。　I　hate　seeing　you　in　this　place；　you　know。　But　you　came；　when　I　needed　you；　you　were　there。〃　〃I　thought　it　would　be　all　right；〃　she　said；　talking　on　as　though　he'd　not　even　spoken；　〃I　really　did。　I　thought　you'd　be　ing　out　soon…and　maybe　we'd　make　it　work；　you　know。　We　still　had　the　house　and　all。　But　these　last　couple　of　years；　everything　just　started　falling　apart。〃　He　watched　her　suffering；　thinking：　I'll　never　be　able　to　forget　this；　because　I　caused　it；　and　I'm　the　most　miserable　shit　on　God's　earth　because　look　what　I　did。　There'd　been　tears　at　the　beginning；　of　course；　and　letters　from　her　full　of　hurt　and　half…buried　accusations；　but　this　wracking　distress　she　was　showing　now　went　so　much　deeper。　It　wasn't　from　a　twenty…two…year…old；　for　one　thing；　it　was　ing　from　a　grown　woman；　and　it　shamed　him　deeply　to　think　he'd　caused　it；　shamed　him　in　a　way　he　thought　he'd　put　behind　him。
　　She　blew　her　nose　on　a　tissue　teased　from　a　packet。
　　〃Everything's　a　mess；〃　she　said。
　　〃Yes。〃　〃I　just　want　to　sort　it　out。〃　She　gave　a　cursory　glance　at　her　watch；　too　fast　to　register　the　time；　and　stood　up。
　　〃I'd　better　go；　Marty。〃　〃Appointment？〃　〃No　。　。　。〃　she　replied；　a　transparent　lie　which　she　made　no　real　effort　to　carry　off；　〃might　do　some　shopping　later　on。　Always　makes　me　feel　better。　You　know　me。〃　No；　he　thought。　No　I　don't　know　you。　If　I　once　did；　and　I'm　not　even　sure　of　that；　it　was　a　different　you；　and　God　I　miss　her。　He　stopped　himself。　This　was　not　the　way　to　part　with　her；　he　knew　that　from　past　encounters。　The　trick　was　to　be　cold；　to　finish　on　a　note　of　formality；　so　that　he　could　go　back　to　his　cell　and　forget　her　until　the　next　time。
　　〃I　wanted　you　to　understand；〃　she　said。　〃But　I　don't　think　I　explained　it　very　well。　It's　just　such　a　bloody　mess。〃　She　didn't　say　goodbye：　tears　were　beginning　again；　and　he　was　certain　that　she　was　frightened；　under　the　talk　of　solicitors；　that　she　would　recant　at　the　last　moment…out　of　weakness；　or　love；　or　both…and　by　walking　out　without　turning　around　she　was　keeping　the　possibility　at　bay。
　　Defeated；　he　went　back　to　the　cell。　Feaver　was　asleep。　He'd　stuck　a　vulva　torn　from　one　of　his　magazines　onto　his　forehead　with　spit；　a　favorite　routine　of　his。　It　gaped…a　third　eye…above　his　closed　lids；　staring　and　staring　without　hope　of　sleep。
　　
　　7
　　〃Strauss？〃　Priestley　was　at　the　open　door；　staring　into　the　cell。　Beside　him；　on　the　wall　some　wit　had　scrawled：　〃If　you　feel　horny；　kick　the　door。　A　cunt　will　appear。〃　It　was　a　familiar　joke…he'd　seen　the　same　gag　or　similar　on　a　number　of　cell　walls…but　now；　looking　at　Priestley's　thick　face；　the　association　of　ideas…the　enemy　and　a　woman's　sex…struck　him　as　obscene。
　　〃Strauss？〃　〃Yes；　Sir。〃　〃Mr。　Somervale　wants　to　see　you。　About　three…fifteen。　I'll　e　and　collect　you。　Be　ready　at　ten　past。〃　〃Yes；　Sir。〃　Priestley　turned　to　go。
　　〃Can　you　tell　me　what　it's　about；　Sir？〃　〃How　the　fuck　should　I　know？〃
　　
　　Somervale　was　waiting　in　the　Interview　Room　at　three…fifteen。　Marty's　file　was　on　the　table　in　front　of　him；　its　drawstrings　still　knotted。　Beside　it；　a　buff　envelope；　unmarked。　Somervale　himself　was　standing　by　the　reinforced　glass　window；　smoking。
　　〃e　in；〃　he　said。　There　was　no　invitation　to　sit　down；　nor　did　he　turn　from　the　window。
　　Marty　closed　the　door　behind　him；　and　waited。　Somervale　exhaled　smoke　through　his　nostrils　noisily。
　　〃What　do　you　suppose；　Strauss？〃　he　said。
　　〃I　beg　your　pardon；　sir？〃　〃I　said：　what　do　you　suppose；　eh？　Imagine。〃　Marty　followed　none　of　this　so　far；　and　wondered　if　the　confusion　was　his　or　Somervale's。　After　an　age；　Somervale　said：　〃My　wife　died。〃　Marty　wondered　what　he　was　expected　to　say。　As　it　was；　Somervale　didn't　give　him　time　to　formulate　a　response。　He　followed　the　first　three　words　with　five　more：　〃They're　letting　you　out；　Strauss！〃　He　placed　the　bald　facts　side　by　side　as　if　they　belonged　together；　as　if　the　entire　world　was　in　collusion　against　him。
　　〃Am　I　going　with　Mr。　Toy？〃　Marty　asked。
　　〃He　and　the　board　believe　you　are　a　suitable　candidate　for　the　job　at　Whitehead's　estate；〃　Somervale　said。　〃Imagine。〃　He　made　a　low　sound　in　his　throat；　which　could　have　been　laughter。　〃You'll　be　under　close　scrutiny；　of　course。　Not　by　me；　but　by　whoever　follows　me。　And　if　you　once　step　out　of　line　。　。　。〃　〃I　understand。〃　〃I　wonder　if　you　do。〃　Somervale　drew　on　his　cigarette；　still　not　turning　around。　〃I　wonder　if　you　understand　just　what　kind　of　freedom　you've　chosen…〃　Marty　wasn't　about　to　let　this　kind　of　talk　spoil　his　escalating　euphoria。　Somervale　was　defeated；　let　him　talk。
　　〃Joseph　Whitehead　may　be　one　of　the　richest　men　in　Europe　but　he's　also　one　of　the　most　eccentric；　I　hear。　God　knows　what　you're　letting　yourself　in　for；　but　I　tell　you；　I　think　you　may　find　life　in　here　a　good　deal　more　palatable。〃　Somervale's　words　evaporated；　his　sour　grapes　fell　on　deaf　ears。　Either　through　exhaustion；　or　because　he　sensed　that　he'd　lost　his　audience；　he　gave　up　his　disparaging　monologue　almost　as　soon　as　it　began；　and　turned　from　the　window　to　finish　this　distasteful　business　as　expeditiously　as　he　could。　Marty　was　shocked　to　see　the　change　in　the　man。　In　the　weeks　since　they'd　last　met；　Somervale　had　aged　years；　he　looked　as　though　he'd　survived　the　intervening　time　on　cigarettes　and　grief。　His　skin　was　like　stale　bread。
　　〃Mr。　Toy　will　pick　you　up　from　the　gates　next　Friday　afternoon。　That's　February　thirteenth。　Are　you　superstitious？〃　〃No。〃　Somervale　handed　the　envelope　across　to　Marty。
　　〃All　the　details　are　in　there。　In　the　next　couple　of　days　you'll　have　a　medical；　and　somebody　will　be　here　to　go　through　your　position　vis…à…vis　the　parole　board。　Rules　are　being　bent　on　your　behalf；　Strauss。　God　knows　why。　There's　a　dozen　more　worthy　candidates　in　your　wing　alone。〃　Marty　opened　the　envelope；　quickly　scanned　the　tightly　typed　pages；　and　pocketed　them。
　　〃You　won't　be　seeing　me　again；〃　Somervale　was　saying；　〃for　which　I'm　sure　you're　suitably　grateful。〃　Marty　let　not　a　flicker　of　response　cross　his　face。　His　feigned　indifference　seemed　to　ignite　a　pocket　of　unused　loathing　in　Somervale's　fatigued　frame　His　bad　teeth　showed　as　he　said：　〃If　I　were　you；　I'd　thank　God；　Strauss。　I'd　thank　God　from　the　bottom　of　my　heart。〃　〃What　for　。　。　。　Sir？〃　〃But　then　I　don't　suppose　you've　got　much　room　for　God；　have　you？〃　The　words　contained　pain　and　contempt　in　equal　measure。　Marty　couldn't　help　thinking　of　Somervale　alone　in　a　double　bed；　a　husband　without　a　wife；　and　without　the　faith　to　believe　in　seeing　her　again；　incapable　of　tears。　And　another　thought　came　fast　upon　the　first：　that　Somervale's　stone　heart；　which　had　been　broken　at　one　terrible　stroke；　was　not　so　dissimilar　from　his　own。　Both　hard　men；　both　keeping　the　world　at　bay　while　they　waged　private　wars　in　their　guts。　Both　ending　up　with　the　very　weapons　they'd　forged　to　defeat　their　enemies　turned　on　themselves。　It　was　a　vile　realization；　and　had　Marty　not　been　buoyant　with　the　news　of　his　release　he　might　not　have　dared　think　it。　But　there　it　was。　He　and　Somervale；　like　two　lizards　lying　in　the　same　stinking　mud；　suddenly　seemed　very　like　twins。
　　〃What　are　you　thinking；　Strauss？〃　Somervale　asked。
　　Marty　shrugged。
　　〃Nothing；〃　he　said。
　　〃Liar；〃　said　the　other。　Picking　up　the　file；　he　walked　out　of　the　Interview　Room；　leaving　the　door　open　behind　him。
　　Marty　telephoned　Charmaine　the　following　day；　and　told　her　what　had　happened。　She　seemed　pleased；　which　was　gratifying。　When　he　came　off　the　phone　he　was　shaking；　but　he　felt　good。
　　He　lived　the　last　few　days　at　Wandsworth　with　stolen　eyes；　or　that's　how　it　seemed。　Everything　about　prison　life　that　he　had　bee　so　used　to…the　casual　cruelty；　the　endless　jeering；　the　power　games；　the　sex　games…all　seemed　new　to　him　again；　as　they　had　been　six　years　before。
　　They　were　wasted　years；　of　course。　Nothing　could　bring　them　back；　nothing　could　fill　them　up　with　useful　experience。　The　thought　depressed　him。　He　had　so　little　to　go　out　into　the　world　with。　Two　tattoos；　a　body　that　had　seen　better　days；　memories　of　anger　and　despair。　In　the　journey　ahead　he　was　going　to　be　traveling　light。
　　
　　8
　　The　night　before　he　left　Wandsworth　he　had　a　dream。　His　nightlife　had　not　been　much　to　shout　about　during　the　years　of　his　sentence。　Wet　dreams　about　Charmaine　had　soon　stopped；　as　had　his　more　exotic　flights　of　fancy；　as　though　his　subconscious；　sympathetic　to　confinement；　wanted　to　avoid　taunting　him　wi