cb.damnationgame-第67部分

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　　As　to　the　how　of　finding　Whitehead；　the　only　lead　Marty　had　was　the　strawberries。　It　had　been　Pearl　who'd　told　him　that　Old　Man　Whitehead　had　never　let　a　day　go　by　without　strawberries。　Not　in　twenty　years；　she'd　claimed。　Wasn't　it　possible；　then；　that　he'd　continued　to　indulge　himself；　even　in　hiding？　It　was　a　slender　line　of　inquiry。　But　appetite；　as　Marty　had　so　recently　learned；　was　at　the　crux　of　this　conundrum。
　　He　tried　to　persuade　Carys　to　e　with　him；　but　she　was　wrung　out　to　the　point　of　collapse。　Her　journeys；　she　said；　were　over；　she'd　seen　too　much　for　one　day。　All　she　wanted　now　was　the　sunshine　island；　and　on　that　point　she　would　not　be　moved。　Reluctantly；　Marty　left　her　to　her　fix；　and　went　off　to　discuss　strawberries　with　Mr。　Halifax　of　Holborn。
　　Left　alone；　Carys　found　forgetfulness　very　quickly。　The　sights　she　had　witnessed　in　Mamoulian's　head　were　dismissed　to　the　dim　past　from　which　they'd　e。　The　future；　if　there　was　to　be　one；　was　ignored　here；　where　there　was　only　tranquility。　She　bathed　under　a　sun　of　nonsenses；　while　outside　a　soft　rain　began。
　　
　　
　　
　　XII　The　Fat　Man　Dances
　　
　　64
　　Breer　didn't　mind　the　change　in　the　weather。　It　was　altogether　too　sultry　on　the　street；　and　the　rain；　with　its　symbolic　cleansing；　made　him　feel　more　fortable。　Though　it　was　many　weeks　since　he'd　felt　the　least　spasm　of　pain；　he　did　itch　in　the　heat。　Not　even　an　itch　really。　It　was　a　more　fundamental　irritation：　a　crawling　sensation　on　or　beneath　his　skin　that　no　ointment　allayed。　The　drizzle　seemed　to　subdue　it　a　measure；　however；　for　which　he　was　grateful。　Either　the　rain；　or　the　fact　that　he　was　going　to　see　the　woman　he　loved。　Though　Carys　had　attacked　him　several　times　（he　wore　the　wounds　like　trophies）　he　forgave　her　her　trespasses。　She　understood　him　better　than　anyone　else。　She　was　unique…a　goddess；　despite　her　body　hair…and　he　knew　that　if　he　could　only　see　her　again；　display　himself　for　her；　touch　her；　all　would　be　well。
　　But　first　he　had　to　get　to　the　house。　It　had　taken　him　a　while　to　find　a　taxi　that　would　stop　for　him；　and　when　one　obliged　the　driver　only　took　him　part　of　the　way　before　telling　him　to　get　out　because；　he　claimed；　the　smell　was　so　repulsive　he　wouldn't　be　able　to　get　another　fare　all　day。　Shamed　by　this　all…too…public　rejection…the　taxi　driver　harangued　him　from　his　cab　as　he　drove　away…Breer　took　to　the　back　streets；　where　he　hoped　he　wouldn't　be　sneered　and　sniggered　at。
　　It　was　in　one　such　backwater；　just　a　few　minutes〃　walk　from　where　Carys　was　waiting　for　him；　that　a　young　man　with　blue　swallows　tattooed　on　his　neck　stepped　out　of　a　doorway　to　offer　the　Razor…Eater　some　assistance。
　　〃Hey；　man。　You　look　sick；　you　know　that？　Let　me　lend　you　a　hand。〃　〃No；　no；〃　Breer　grunted；　hoping　the　Good　Samaritan　would　leave　him　alone。　〃I'm　fine；　really。〃　〃But　I　insist；〃　Swallows　said；　picking　up　his　pace　to　overtake　Breer；　then　standing　in　the　Razor…Eater's　way。　He　glanced　up　and　down　the　road　to　check　for　witnesses　before　pushing　Breer　into　the　doorway　of　a　bricked…up　house。
　　〃You　keep　your　mouth　shut；　man；〃　he　said；　whipping　out　a　knife　and　pressing　it　to　Breer's　bandaged　throat；　〃and　you'll　be　OK。　Just　empty　your　pockets。　Quick！　Quick！〃　Breer　made　no　move　to　ply。　The　suddenness　of　the　attack　had　disoriented　him；　and　the　way　the　youth　had　seized　his　splinted　neck　had　made　him　giddy。　Swallows　pushed　the　knife　a　little　way　into　the　bandaging　to　make　his　point　clear。　The　victim　smelled　bad；　and　the　thief　wanted　the　job　over　and　done　with　as　soon　as　possible。
　　〃Pockets；　man！　You　deaf？〃　He　pushed　the　knife　deeper。　The　man　didn't　flinch。　〃I'll　do　it；　man；〃　the　thief　warned；　〃I'll　slit　your　fucking　throat。〃　〃Oh；〃　said　Breer；　unimpressed。　More　to　quiet　the　tick　than　out　of　fear；　he　rummaged　in　the　pocket　of　his　coat　and　found　a　handful　of　possessions。　Some　coins；　a　few　peppermints　that　he'd　continued　to　suck　until　his　saliva　supply　dried　up；　and　a　bottle　of　aftershave。　He　proffered　them　with　faint　apology　on　his　rouged　face。
　　〃That　all　you've　got？〃　Swallows　was　outraged。　He　tore　open　Breer's　coat。
　　〃Don't；〃　the　Razor…Eater　suggested。
　　〃Bit　hot　to　be　wearing　a　coat；　isn't　it？〃　said　the　thief。　〃What　are　you　hiding？〃　The　buttons　gave　as　he　tore　at　the　jacket　Breer　was　wearing　beneath　his　coat；　and　now　the　thief　was　staring；　open…mouthed；　at　the　handles　of　the　knife　and　fork　that　were　still　buried　in　the　Razor…Eater's　abdomen。　The　stains　of　dried　fluids　that　ran　from　the　wounds　were　only　marginally　less　disgusting　than　the　brown　rot　that　was　spreading　down　from　his　armpits　and　up　from　his　groin。　In　his　panic；　the　thief　pressed　the　knife　more　deeply　into　Breer's　throat。
　　〃Christ；　man…〃　Anthony；　having　lost　his　dignity；　his　self…esteem；　and；　did　he　but　know　it；　his　life…had　only　his　temper　left　to　lose。　He　reached　up　and　took　hold　of　the　inquiring　knife　in　a　greasy　palm。　The　thief　relinquished　it　a　moment　too　late。　Breer；　swifter　than　his　bulk　suggested；　twisted　blade　and　hand　back；　and　broke　his　assailant's　wrist。
　　Swallows　was　seventeen。　He　had　lived；　he　thought；　a　full　life　for　a　seventeen…year…old。　He'd　seen　two　violent　deaths；　he'd　lost　his　virginity　to　his　half…sister…at　fourteen；　he'd　raised　whippets；　he'd　watched　snuff　movies；　he'd　taken　every　kind　of　pill　he　could　get　his　trembling　hands　on：　it　had　been；　he　thought；　a　busy　existence；　full　of　acquired　wisdom。　But　this　was　new。　Nothing　like　this；　ever。　It　made　his　bladder　ache。
　　Breer　still　had　hold　of　the　thief's　useless　arm。
　　〃Let　me　go　。　。　。　please。〃　Breer　just　looked　at　him；　his　jacket　still　swinging　open；　those　bizarre　wounds　displayed。
　　〃What　do　you　want；　man？　You're　hurting　me。〃　Swallows〃　jacket　was　also　open。　Inside　was　another　weapon；　thrust　into　a　deep　pocket。
　　〃Knife？〃　Breer　said；　looking　at　the　handle。
　　〃No；　man。〃　Breer　reached　for　it。　The　youth；　eager　to　oblige；　pulled　the　weapon　out　and　dropped　it　at　Breer's　feet。　It　was　a　machete。　Its　blade　was　stained；　but　its　edge　keen。
　　〃It's　yours；　man。　Go　on；　take　it。　Only　let　go　of　my　arm；　man。〃　〃Pick　it　up。　Get　down　and　pick　it　up；〃　Breer　said；　releasing　the　injured　wrist。　The　youth　went　down　onto　his　haunches　and　picked　the　machete　up；　then　handed　it　to　Breer。　The　Razor…Eater　took　it。　The　tableau；　with　him　standing　over　his　kneeling　victim；　blade　in　hand；　meant　something　to　Breer；　but　he　couldn't　fix　exactly　what。　A　picture　from　his　book　of　atrocities；　perhaps。
　　〃I　could　kill　you；〃　he　observed　with　some　detachment。
　　The　thought　had　not　escaped　Swallows。　He　closed　his　eyes；　and　waited。　But　no　blow　came。　The　man　simply　said；　〃Thank　you；〃　and　walked　away。
　　Kneeling　in　the　doorway；　Swallows　began　to　pray。　He　quite　surprised　himself　with　this　show　of　godliness；　reciting　by　rote　the　prayers　he　and　Hosanna；　his　half…sister；　had　said　together　before　and　after　they'd　sinned。
　　He　was　still　praying　ten　minutes　later；　when　the　rain　started　to　e　on　in　earnest。
　　
　　65
　　It　took　Breer　several　minutes　of　searching　along　Bright　Street　before　he　found　the　yellow　house。　Once　he'd　located　it；　he　stood　outside　for　several　minutes；　preparing　himself。　She　was　here：　his　salvation。　He　wanted　their　reunion　to　be　as　perfect　as　he　could　make　it。
　　The　front　door　was　open。　Children　were　playing　on　the　threshold；　having　been　driven　from　their　hopscotch　arid　skipping　games　by　the　onset　of　the　rain。　He　edged　past　them　with　caution；　anxious　that　his　lumpen　feet　shouldn't　crush　a　tiny　hand。　One　particularly　fetching　child　earned　a　smile　from　him：　she　did　not　return　it；　however。　He　stood　in　the　hallway；　trying　to　remember　where　the　European　had　told　him　Carys　was　hiding。　Second　floor；　wasn't　it？
　　
　　Carys　heard　somebody　moving　about　on　the　landing　outside　the　room；　but　that　passage　of　shabby　wood　and　peeling　wallpaper　lay　across　unbridgeable　straits；　far　from　her　Island。　She　was　quite　safe　where　she　was。
　　Then　somebody　outside　knocked　on　the　door：　a　tentative；　gentlemanly　knock。　She　didn't　answer　at　first；　but　when　the　knocking　came　again　she　said；　〃Go　away。〃　After　several　seconds〃　hesitation；　the　handle　of　the　door　was　lightly　jiggled。
　　〃Please　。　。　。〃　she　said；　as　politely　as　possible；　〃go　away。　Marty　isn't　here。〃　The　handle　was　rattled　again；　this　time　more　strongly。　She　heard　soft　fingers　working　at　the　wood；　or　was　that　the　slosh　of　waves　on　the　shore　of　the　Island？　She　couldn't　find　it　in　her　to　be　frightened　or　even　concerned。　It　was　good　H　Marty　had　brought。　Not　the　best…she'd　only　had　that　from　Papa…but　it　took　away　every　fiber　of　fear。
　　〃You　can't　e　in；〃　she　told　the　would…be　intruder。　〃You'll　have　to　go　away　and　e　back　later。〃　〃It's　me；〃　the　Razor…Eater　tried　to　say。　Even　through　the　haze　of　sunshine　she　knew　the　voice。　How　could　Breer　be　whispering　at　the　door　like　this？　Her　mind　was　playing　unwele　tricks。
　　She　sat　up　on　the　bed；　while　the　noise　of　his　pressure　on　the　door　increased。　Suddenly；　tiring　of　subtlety；　he　pushed。　Once；　twice。　The　lock　succumbed　too　easily；　and　he　stumbled　into　the　room。　It　wasn't　mind…play　after　all；　he　was　here　in　all　his　glory。
　　〃Found　you；〃　he　said；　the　perfect　prince。
　　He　carefully　closed　the　door　behind　him　and　presented　himself　to　her。　She　looked　disbelievingly　at　him：　his　broken　neck　supported　by　some　homemade　contraption　of　wood　and　bandages；　his　shabby　clothes。　He　worked　at　one　of　his　leather　gloves　to　take　it　off；　but　it　wouldn't　e。
　　〃I　came　to　see　you；〃　he　said；　the　words　fractured。
　　〃Yes。〃　He　pulled　at　the　glove。　There　was　a　soft；　sickly　noise。　She　looked　at　his　hand。　Much　of　the　skin　had　e　off　with　the　glove。　He　extended　this　seeping　patchwork　to　her。
　　〃You　have　to　help　me；〃　he　told　her。
　　〃Are　you　alone？〃　she　asked　him。
　　〃Yes。〃　That　was　something　at　least。　Perhaps　the　European　didn't　even　know　he　was　here。　He'd　e　courting；　to　judge　by　this　pathetic　attempt　at　civility。　His　dalliance　went　back　to　that　first　encounter　in　the　steam　room。　She　hadn't　screamed　or　puked；　and　that　had　won　his　undying　loyalty。
　　〃Help　me；〃　he　moaned。
　　〃I　can't　help　you。　I　don't　know　how　to。〃　〃Let　me　touch　you。〃　〃You're　ill。〃　The　hand　was　still　extended。　He　took　a　step　forward。　Did　he　think　she　was　an　icon　of　some　kind；　a　talisman　that…once　tou