cb.damnationgame-第76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！


e　could　resist　them　long　enough　to　bring　their　forger　down。　Whitehead　raised　the　gun　and　pointed　it　at　the　European。　Without　giving　the　card…player　another　moment　to　confound　him；　he　fired。　The　first　shot　hit　Mamoulian's　chest；　the　second　his　stomach。　Perplexity　crossed　the　European's　face。　Blood　spread　from　the　wounds　across　his　shirt。　He　did　not　fall；　however。　Instead；　in　a　voice　so　even　it　was　as　if　the　shots　had　not　been　fired；　he　said：　〃Do　you　want　to　go　outside；　Pilgrim？〃　Behind　Whitehead；　the　door　handle　had　started　to　rattle。
　　〃Is　that　what　you　want？〃　Mamoulian　demanded。　〃To　go　outside？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Then　go。〃　Whitehead　stepped　away　from　the　door　as　it　was　flung　open　with　such　venom　the　handle　impaled　itself　in　the　corridor　wall。　The　old　man　turned　away　from　Mamoulian　to　make　good　his　escape；　but　before　he　could　take　a　step　the　light　in　the　corridor　was　sucked　away　into　the　pitch　darkness　beyond　the　door；　and　to　his　horror　Whitehead　realized　that　the　hotel　had　disappeared　from　beyond　the　threshold。　There　were　no　carpets　and　mirrors　out　there；　no　stairs　winding　down　to　the　outside　world。　Only　a　wilderness　he'd　walked　in　half　a　life　ago：　a　square；　a　sky　shot　with　trembling　stars。
　　〃Go　out；〃　the　European　invited　him。　〃It's　been　waiting　for　you　all　these　years。　Go　on！　Go！〃　The　floor　beneath　Whitehead's　feet　seemed　to　have　bee　slick；　he　felt　himself　sliding　toward　the　past。　His　face　was　washed　by　the　open　air　as　it　glided　into　the　hallway　to　meet　him。　It　smelled　of　spring；　of　the　Vistula；　which　roared　to　the　sea　ten　minutes〃　walk　from　here；　it　smelled　of　blossom　too。　Of　course　it　smelled　of　blossom。　What　he'd　mistaken　for　stars　were　petals；　white　petals　lifted　by　the　breeze　and　gusted　toward　him。　The　sight　of　the　petals　was　too　persuasive　to　be　ignored；　he　let　them　lead　him　back　into　this　glorious　night；　when　for　a　few　shimmering　hours　the　whole　world　had　promised　to　be　his　for　the　taking。　Even　as　he　conceded　his　senses　to　the　night　the　tree　appeared；　as　phenomenal　as　he　had　so　often　dreamed　it；　its　white　head　shaking　slightly。　Somebody　lurked　in　the　shade　beneath　its　laden　branches；　their　smallest　movement　caused　a　new　cascade。　His　entranced　reason　made　one　final　snatch　at　the　reality　of　the　hotel；　and　he　reached　to　touch　the　door　of　the　suite；　but　his　hand　missed　it　in　the　darkness。　There　was　no　time　to　look　again。　The　obscured　watcher　was　emerging　from　the　cover　of　the　branches。　Déjà　vu　suffused　Whitehead；　except　that　the　first　time　he'd　been　here　there　had　only　been　a　glimpse　of　the　man　beneath　the　tree。　This　time　the　reluctant　sentinel　broke　cover。　Smiling　a　wele；　Lieutenant　Konstantin　Vasiliev　showed　his　burned　face　to　the　man　who'd　e　visiting　from　the　future。　Tonight　the　lieutenant　would　not　shamble　off　for　a　rendezvous　with　a　dead　woman；　tonight　he　would　embrace　the　thief；　who　had　grown　furrowed　and　bearded；　but　whose　presence　here　he'd　awaited　a　lifetime。
　　〃We　thought　you'd　never　e；〃　Vasiliev　said。　He　pushed　a　branch　aside　and　stepped　fully　into　the　dead　light　of　this　fantastical　night。　He　was　proud　to　show　himself；　though　his　hair　was　entirely　burned　off；　his　face　black　and　red；　his　body　full　of　holes。　His　trousers　were　open；　his　member　erect。　Perhaps；　later；　they　would　go　to　his　mistress　together；　he　and　the　thief。　Drink　vodka　like　old　friends。　He　grinned　at　Whitehead。　〃I　told　them　you'd　e　eventually。　I　knew　you　would。　To　see　us　again。〃　Whitehead　raised　the　gun　he　still　had　in　his　hand；　and　fired　at　the　lieutenant。　The　illusion　was　not　interrupted　by　this　violence；　however；　merely　reinforced。　Shouts…in　Russian…echoed　from　beyond　the　square。
　　〃Now　look　what　you've　done；〃　Vasiliev　said。　〃Now　the　soldiers　will　e。〃　The　thief　recognized　his　error。　He　had　never　used　a　gun　after　a　curfew：　it　was　an　invitation　to　arrest。　He　heard　booted　feet　running；　close　by。
　　〃We　must　hurry；〃　the　lieutenant　insisted；　casually　spitting　out　the　bullet；　which　he　had　caught　between　his　teeth。
　　〃I'm　not　going　with　you；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　〃But　we've　waited　so　long；〃　Vasiliev　replied；　and　shook　the　branch　to　cue　the　next　act。　The　tree　raised　its　limbs　like　a　bride；　shrugging　off　its　trousseau　of　blossom。　Within　moments　the　air　was　thick　with　a　blizzard　of　petals。　As　they　settled；　spilling　their　radiance　onto　the　ground；　the　thief　began　to　pick　out　the　familiar　faces　that　waited　beneath　the　branches。　People　who；　down　the　years；　had　e　to　this　wasteland；　to　this　tree；　and　gathered　under　it　with　Vasiliev；　to　rot　and　weep。　Evangeline　was　among　them；　the　wounds　that　had　been　so　tastefully　concealed　as　she'd　lain　in　her　coffin　now　freely　displayed。　She　did　not　smile；　but　she　stretched　her　arms　out　to　embrace　him；　her　mouth　forming　his　name…〃Jojo〃…as　she　stepped　forward。　Bill　Toy　was　behind　her；　in　evening　dress；　as　if　for　the　Academy。　His　ears　bled。　Beside　him；　her　face　opened　from　lip　to　brow；　was　a　woman　in　a　nightgown。　There　were　others　too；　some　of　whom　he　recognized；　many　of　whom　he　didn't。　The　woman　who'd　led　him　to　the　card…player　was　there；　bare…breasted；　as　he　remembered　her。　Her　smile　was　as　distressing　as　ever。　There　were　soldiers　too；　others　who'd　lost　to　Mamoulian　like　Vasiliev。　One　wore　a　skirt　in　addition　to　his　bullet　holes。　From　under　its　folds　a　snout　appeared。　Saul…his　carcass　ravaged…sniffed　his　old　master；　and　growled。
　　〃See　how　long　we've　waited？〃　Vasiliev　said。
　　The　lost　faces　were　all　looking　at　Whitehead；　their　mouths　open。　No　sound　emerged。
　　〃I　can't　help　you。〃　〃We　want　to　cease；〃　the　lieutenant　said。
　　〃Go；　then。〃　〃Not　without　you。　He　won't　die　without　you。〃　Finally　the　thief　understood。　This　place；　which　he'd　glimpsed　in　the　sauna　at　the　Sanctuary；　existed　within　the　European。　These　ghosts　were　creatures　he'd　devoured。　Evangeline！　Even　she。　They　waited；　the　tattered　remains　of　them；　in　this　no…man's…land　between　flesh　and　death；　until　Mamoulian　sickened　of　existence　and　lay　down　and　perished。　Then　they　too；　presumably；　would　have　their　liberty。　Until　then　their　faces　would　make　that　soundless　O　at　him；　a　melancholy　appeal。
　　The　thief　shook　his　head。
　　〃No；〃　he　said。
　　He　would　not　give　up　his　breath。　Not　for　an　orchard　of　trees；　not　for　a　nation　of　despairing　faces。　He　turned　his　back　on　Muranowski　Square　and　its　plaintive　ghosts。　The　soldiers　were　shouting　nearby：　soon　they　would　arrive。　He　looked　back　toward　the　hotel。　The　penthouse　corridor　was　still　there；　across　the　doorstep　of　a　bombed　house：　a　surreal　juxtaposition　of　ruin　and　luxury。　He　crossed　the　rubble　toward　it；　ignoring　the　soldiers〃　orders　for　him　to　halt。　Vasiliev's　cries　were　loudest；　however。　〃Bastard！〃　he　screeched。　The　thief　blocked　his　curses　and　stepped　out　of　the　square　and　back　into　the　heat　of　the　hallway；　raising　his　gun　as　he　did　so。
　　〃Old　news；〃　he　said；　〃you　don't　scare　me　with　it。〃　Mamoulian　was　still　standing　at　the　other　end　of　the　corridor；　the　minutes　the　thief　had　spent　in　the　square　had　not　elapsed　here。　〃I'm　not　afraid！〃　Whitehead　shouted。　〃You　hear　me；　you　soulless　bastard？　I'm　not　afraid！〃　He　fired　again；　this　time　at　the　European's　head。　The　shot　hit　his　cheek。　Blood　came。　Before　Whitehead　could　fire　again；　Mamoulian　retaliated。
　　〃There　are　no　limits；〃　he　said；　his　voice　trembling；　〃to　what　I　shall　do！〃　His　thought　caught　the　thief　by　the　throat；　and　twisted。　The　old　man's　limbs　convulsed；　the　gun　flew　out　of　his　hand；　his　bladder　and　bowels　failed　him。　Behind　him；　in　the　square；　the　ghosts　began　to　applaud。　The　tree　shook　itself　with　such　vehemence　that　the　few　blossoms　it　still　carried　were　swept　into　the　air。　Some　of　them　flew　toward　the　door；　melting　on　the　threshold　of　past　and　present；　like　snowflakes。　Whitehead　fell　against　the　wall。　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　caught　sight　of　Evangeline；　spitting　blood　at　him。　He　began　to　slide　down　the　wall；　his　body　jangled　as　if　in　the　throes　of　a　grand　mal。　He　let　out　one　word　through　his　rattling　jaws。　He　said：　〃No！〃　On　the　bathroom　floor　Marty　heard　the　denial　howled　out。　He　tried　to　stir　himself；　but　his　consciousness　was　sluggish；　and　his　beaten　body　ached　from　scalp　to　skin。　Taking　hold　of　the　bath；　he　hoisted　himself　to　his　knees。　He'd　clearly　been　forgotten：　his　part　in　the　proceedings　was　purely　ic　relief。　He　tried　to　stand；　but　his　lower　limbs　were　traitorous；　they　buckled　beneath　him；　and　he　fell　again；　feeling　every　bruise　on　impact。
　　In　the　hallway　Whitehead　had　sunk　down　onto　his　haunches；　mouth　gaga。　The　European　moved　in　for　the　coup　de　grace；　but　Carys　interrupted。
　　〃Leave　him；〃　she　said。
　　Distracted；　Mamoulian　turned　toward　her。　The　blood　on　his　cheek　had　traced　a　single　line　to　his　jaw。　〃You　too；〃　he　murmured。　〃No　limits。〃　Carys　backed　off　into　the　gaming　room。　The　candle　on　the　table　had　begun　to　flare。　Energy　was　loose　in　the　suite；　and　the　spitting　flame　was　fat　and　white　on　it。　The　European　looked　at　Carys　with　hunger　in　his　eyes。　There　was　an　appetite　on　him…an　instinctive　response　to　his　blood　loss…and　all　he　could　see　in　her　was　nourishment。　Like　the　thief：　hungry　for　another　strawberry　though　his　belly　was　full　enough。
　　〃I　know　what　you　are；〃　Carys　said；　deflecting　his　gaze。
　　From　the　bathroom；　Marty　heard　her　ploy。　Stupid；　he　thought；　to　tell　him　that。
　　〃I　know　what　you　did。〃　The　European's　eyes　widened；　smoky。
　　〃You're　nobody；〃　the　girl　started　to　say。　〃You're　just　a　soldier　who　met　a　monk；　and　strangled　him　in　his　sleep。　What　have　you　got　to　be　so　proud　of？〃　Her　fury　beat　against　his　face。　〃You're　nobody！　Nobody　and　nothing！〃　He　reached　to　catch　hold　of　her。　She　dodged　him　around　the　cardtable　once；　but　he　threw　it　over；　the　pack　scattering；　and　caught　her。　His　hold　felt　like　a　vast　leech　on　her　arm；　taking　blood　from　her　and　giving　only　the　void；　only　purposeless　dark。　He　was　the　Architect　of　her　dreams　again。
　　〃God　help　me；〃　she　breathed。　Her　senses　crumbled　and　grayness　streamed　in　to　take　their　place。　He　pulled　her　out　of　her　body　with　one　insolent　wrench　and　took　her　into　him；　dropping　her　husk　to　the　floor　beside　the　overturned　table。　He　wiped　his　mouth　with　the　back　of　his　hand　and　looked　up　at　the　evangelists。　They　were　standing　in　the　doorway　staring　at　him。　He　felt　sick　with　his　greed。　She　was　in　him…all　of　her　at　once…and　it　was　too　much。　And　the　Saints　were　making　it　worse