ib.thewaspfactory-第22部分

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　relations　and　uncles　and　aunts　to　say　〃Och；　they're　old　so　young　these　days〃　and　things　like　that　before　I　was　even　born。'
　　
　　'But　he　is　insane；　all　the　same。'
　　
　　'That's　what　they　say；　but　I　don't　know。'
　　
　　'What　about　the　dogs？　And　the　maggots？'
　　
　　'OK；　that　looks　pretty　crazy；　I'll　admit；　but　sometimes　I　think　maybe　he's　up　to　something；　maybe　he's　not　really　crazy　after　all。　Perhaps　he　just　got　fed　up　acting　normal　and　decided　to　act　crazy　instead；　and　they　locked　him　up　because　he　went　too　far。'
　　
　　'And　he's　mad　at　them；'　Jamie　grinned；　drinking　his　pint　as　I　annihilated　various　dodging；　multi…coloured　spacecraft　on　the　screen。　I　laughed。　'Yeah；　if　you　like。　Oh；　I　don't　know。　Maybe　he　really　is　crazy。　Maybe　I　am。　Maybe　everybody　is。　Or　at　least　all　of　my　family。'
　　
　　'Now　you're　talking。'
　　
　　I　looked　up　at　him　for　a　second；　then　smiled。　'It　does　occur　to　me　sometimes。　My　dad's　an　eccentric。。。　I　suppose　I　am；　too。'　I　shrugged；　concentrated　on　the　space　battle　again。　'But　it　doesn't　bother　me。　There　are　a　lot　madder　people　about　the　place。'
　　
　　Jamie　sat　in　silence　for　a　while　as　I　went　from　screenful　to　screenful　of　wheeling；　whining　craft。　Finally　my　luck　ran　out　and　they　caught　me。　I　took　up　my　pint　as　Jamie　settled　in　to　blast　a　few　of　the　gaudy　formations。　I　looked　at　the　top　of　his　head　as　he　bent　to　the　task。　He　was　starting　to　go　bald；　though　I　knew　he　was　only　twenty…three。　He　reminded　me　again　of　a　puppet；　with　his　out…of…proportion　head　and　stubby　little　arms　and　legs　waggling　with　the　exertion　of　punching　the　'fire'　button　and　jiggling　the　positioning　joystick。
　　
　　'Yeah；'　he　said　after　a　while；　still　attacking　the　oning　craft；　'and　a　lot　of　them　seem　to　be　politicians　and　presidents　and　things。'
　　
　　'What？'　I　said；　wondering　what　he　was　talking　about。
　　
　　'The　madder　people。　A　lot　of　them　seem　to　be　leaders　of　countries　or　religions　or　armies。　The　real　loonies。'
　　
　　'Aye；　I　suppose。'　I　said　thoughtfully；　watching　the　battle　on　the　screen　upside　down。　'Or　maybe　they're　the　only　sane　ones。　After　all；　they're　the　ones　with　all　the　power　and　riches。　They're　the　ones　who　get　everybody　else　to　do　what　they　want　them　to　do；　like　die　for　them　and　work　for　them　and　get　them　into　power　and　protect　them　and　pay　taxes　and　buy　them　toys；　and　they're　the　ones　who'll　survive　another　big　war；　in　their　bunkers　and　tunnels。　So；　given　things　being　the　way　they　are；　who's　to　say　they're　the　loonies　because　they　don't　do　things　the　way　Joe　Punter　thinks　they　ought　to　be　done？　If　they　thought　the　same　way　as　Joe　Punter；　they'd　be　Joe　Punter；　and　somebody　else　would　be　having　all　the　fun。'
　　
　　'Survival　of　the　fittest。'
　　
　　'Yeah。'
　　
　　'Survival　of　the…'　Jamie　drew　his　breath　in　sharply　and　pulled　the　stick　so　hard　he　almost　fell　off　his　stool；　but　he　managed　to　dodge　the　darting　yellow　bolts　that　had　driven　him　into　the　corner　of　the　screen　'…nastiest。'　He　looked　up　at　me　and　grinned　quickly　before　hunching　over　the　controls　again。　I　drank；　nodded。
　　
　　'If　you　like。　If　the　nastiest　survive；　then　that's　our　tough　shit。'
　　
　　'〃Us〃　being　all　us　Joe　Punters；'　Jamie　said。
　　
　　'Aye；　or　everybody。　The　whole　species。　If　we're　really　so　bad　and　so　thick　that　we'd　actually　use　all　those　wonderful　H…bombs　and　Neutron　bombs　on　each　other；　then　maybe　it's　just　as　well　we　do　wipe　ourselves　out　before　we　can　get　into　space　and　start　doing　horrible　things　to　other　races。'
　　
　　'You　mean　we'll　be　the　Space　Invaders？'
　　
　　'Yeah！'　I　laughed；　and　rocked　back　on　my　stool。　'That's　it！　That's　really　us！'　I　laughed　again　and　tapped　the　screen　above　a　formation　of　red　and　green　flapping　things；　just　as　one　of　them；　peeling　off　to　the　side　of　the　main　pack；　dived　down　firing　at　Jamie's　craft；　missing　it　with　its　shots　but　clipping　him　with　one　green　wing　as　it　disappeared　off　the　bottom　of　the　screen；　so　that　Jamie's　craft　detonated　in　a　blaze　of　flashing　red　and　yellow。
　　
　　'Shit；'　he　said；　sitting　back。　He　shook　his　head。
　　
　　I　sat　forward　and　waited　for　my　craft　to　appear。
　　
　　Just　a　little　drunk　on　my　three　pints；　I　cycled　back　to　the　island　whistling。　I　always　enjoyed　my　lunch…time　chats　with　Jamie。　We　sometimes　talk　when　we　meet　on　Saturday　nights；　but　we　can't　hear　when　the　bands　are　on；　and　afterwards　I'm　either　too　drunk　to　talk　or；　if　I　can　speak；　I'm　too　drunk　to　recall　much　of　what　I've　said。　Which；　e　to　think　of　it；　is　probably　just　as　well；　judging　by　the　way　people　who　are　normally　quite　sensible　dissolve　into　gibbering；　rude；　opinionated　and　bombastic　idiots　once　the　alcohol　molecules　in　their　bloodstream　outnumber　their　neurons；　or　whatever。　Luckily；　one　only　notices　this　if　one　stays　sober　oneself；　so　the　solution　is　as　pleasant　（at　the　time；　at　least）　as　it　is　obvious。
　　
　　My　father　was　asleep　in　a　deckchair　in　the　front　garden　when　I　got　back。　I　left　the　bike　in　the　shed　and　watched　him　from　the　shed　door　for　a　while；　poised　so　that　if　he　happened　to　wake　up　it　would　look　as　though　I　was　just　in　the　act　of　shutting　the　door。　His　head　was　tilted　a　little　to　me　and　his　mouth　was　slightly　open。　He　had　dark　glasses　on；　but　I　could　just　see　through　them　to　his　closed　eyes。
　　
　　I　had　to　go　for　a　piss；　so　I　didn't　watch　him　for　very　long。　Not　that　I　had　any　particular　reason　for　watching　him；　I　just　liked　doing　it。　It　made　me　feel　good　to　know　that　I　could　see　him　and　he　couldn't　see　me；　and　that　I　was　aware　and　fully　conscious　and　he　wasn't。
　　
　　I　went　into　the　house。
　　
　　
　　
　　I　had　spent　Monday；　after　a　cursory　check　of　the　Poles；　making　one　or　two　repairs　and　improvements　to　the　Factory；　working　through　the　afternoon　until　my　eyes　got　sore　and　my　father　had　to　call　up　to　me　to　e　down　for　my　dinner。
　　
　　In　the　evening　it　rained；　so　I　had　stayed　in　and　watched　television。　I　went　to　bed　early。　Eric　didn't　call。

　　
　　
　　
　　After　I'd　got　rid　of　about　half　the　beer　I'd　drunk　in　the　Arms；　I　went　to　have　another　look　at　the　Factory。　I　clambered　up　into　the　loft；　all　sunlight　and　warmth　and　smelling　of　old　and　interesting　books；　and　I　decided　to　clear　the　place　up　a　bit。
　　
　　I　sorted　out　old　toys　into　boxes；　got　a　few　rolls　of　carpet　and　wallpaper　back　into　their　places　from　where　they'd　fallen；　pinned　a　couple　of　maps　back　on　to　the　sloping　wooden　under…roof；　cleared　away　some　of　the　tools　and　bits　and　pieces　that　I'd　used　to　repair　the　Factory；　and　loaded　the　various　sections　of　the　Factory　that　needed　to　be　loaded。
　　
　　I　found　some　interesting　things　while　I　was　doing　all　this：　a　home…made　astrolabe　I'd　carved；　a　box　containing　the　folded…flat　parts　for　a　scale　model　of　the　defences　around　Byzantium；　the　remains　of　my　collection　of　telegraph…pole　insulators；　and　some　old　jotters　from　when　my　father　was　teaching　me　French。　Leafing　through　them；　I　couldn't　see　any　obvious　lies；　he　hadn't　taught　me　to　say　anything　obscene　instead　of　'Excuse　me'　or　'Can　you　direct　me　to　the　railway　station；　please？'；　though　I'd　have　thought　the　temptation　would　have　been　all　but　irresistible。
　　
　　I　pleted　tidying　the　loft；　sneezing　a　few　times　as　the　golden　space　filled　with　motes　of　shining　dust。　I　looked　over　the　refurbished　Factory　again；　just　because　I　love　looking　at　it　and　tinkering　with　it　and　touching　it　and　tipping　some　of　its　little　levers　and　doors　and　devices。　Finally　I　dragged　myself　away；　telling　myself　that　I'd　get　a　chance　to　use　it　properly　soon　enough。　I　would　capture　a　fresh　wasp　that　afternoon　to　use　the　following　morning。　I　wanted　another　interrogation　of　the　Factory　before　Eric　arrived；　I　wanted　more　of　an　idea　what　was　going　to　happen。
　　
　　It　was　a　little　risky；　of　course；　asking　it　the　same　question　twice；　but　I　thought　the　exceptional　circumstances　demanded　it；　and　it　was　my　Factory；　after　all。
　　
　　I　got　the　wasp　without　any　difficulty。　It　more　or　less　walked　into　the　ceremonial　jam…jar　which　I　have　always　used　to　hold　subjects　for　the　Factory。　I　kept　the　jar；　sealed　with　the　lid　with　the　holes　in　it　and　stocked　with　a　few　leaves　and　a　morsel　of　orange　peel；　standing　in　the　shade　of　the　river　bank　while　I　made　a　dam　there　that　afternoon。
　　
　　I　worked　and　sweated　in　the　sunlight　of　late　afternoon　and　early　evening　while　my　father　did　a　bit　of　painting　at　the　back　of　the　house　and　the　wasp　felt　its　way　around　the　inside　of　the　jar；　antennae　waving。
　　
　　Halfway　through　building　the　dam…not　the　best　time…I　thought　it　might　be　amusing　to　make　it　an　Exploder；　so　I　set　the　overflow　going　and　trotted　up　the　path　to　the　shed　for　the　War　Bag。　I　brought　it　back　and　sorted　out　the　smallest　bomb　I　could　find　wired　for　electrical　detonation。　I　attached　it　to　the　wires　from　the　torch…firer　by　the　bared　ends　poking　out　of　the　drilled　hole　in　the　black　metal　casing　and　wrapped　the　bomb　in　a　couple　of　plastic　bags。　I　shoved　the　bomb　backwards　into　the　base　of　the　main　dam；　leading　the　wires　away　and　back　behind　the　dam；　past　the　static　waters　backed　up　behind　it　to　near　where　the　wasp　crawled　in　its　jar。　I　covered　the　wires　over　so　that　it　looked　more　natural；　then　went　on　building　the　dam。
　　
　　The　dam　system　ended　up　very　big　and　plicated　and　included　not　one　but　two　little　villages；　one　between　two　of　the　dams　and　one　downstream　from　the　last　one。　I　had　bridges　with　little　roads；　a　small　castle　with　four　towers；　and　two　road　tunnels。　Just　before　tea…time　I　played　out　the　last　of　the　wire　from　the　torch　body　and　took　the　wasp　jar　up　on　to　the　top　of　the　nearby　dune。
　　
　　I　could　see　my　father；　still　painting　the　window　surrounds　of　the　lounge。　I　can　just　remember　the　designs　he　used　to　have　on　the　front　of　the　house；　the　face　turned　towards　the　sea；　they　were　fading　even　then；　but　they　were　minor　classics　of　tripped…out　art；　as　I　recall；　great　sweeping　sworls　and　mandalas　that　leaped　about　the　house　front　like　Technicolor　tattoos；　curving　round　windows　and　arching　over　the　door。　A　relic　from　the　days　when　my　father　was　a　hippy；　they　are　worn　and　gone　now；　erased　by　wind　and　sea　and　rain　and　sunlight。　Only　the　vaguest　outlines　are　still　discernible　now；　along　with　a　few　freak　patches　of　real　colour