cb.imajica1-第6部分

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ttle　light　caught　his　cheek　and　she　saw；　or　thought　she　saw；　tears　there；　spilling　from　those　dark　eyes。　Then　the　light　went；　not　just　from　his　cheek　but　from　the　whole　world。　And　as　everything　slipped　away；　she　could　only　hold　on　to　the　thought　that　somehow　her　murderer　knew　who　she　was。　。　。。
　〃Judith？〃
　Somebody　was　holding　her。　Somebody　was　shouting　to　her。　Not　the　assassin　but　Marlin。　She　sagged　in　his　arms；　catching　dizzied　sight　of　the　assailant　running　across　the　pavement；　with　another　man　in　pursuit。　Her　eyes　swung　back　to　Marlin；　who　was　asking　her　if　she　was　all　right；　then　back　to　the　street　as　brakes　shrieked　and　the　failed　assassin　was　struck　squarely　by　a　speeding　car；　which　reeled　around；　wheels　locked　and　sliding　over　the　sleet…greased　street；　throwing　the　man's　body　off　the　hood　and　over　a　parked　car。　The　pursuer　threw　himself　aside　as　the　vehicle　mounted　the　pavement；　slamming　into　a　lamppost。
　Jude　put　her　arm　out　for　some　support　other　than　Mar…fin；　her　fingers　finding　the　wall。　Ignoring　his　advice　that　she　stay　still；　she　started　to　stumble　towards　the　place　where　her　assassin　had　fallen。　The　driver　was　being　helped　from　his　smashed　vehicle；　unleashing　a　stream　of　obscenities　as　he　emerged。　Others　were　appearing　on　the　scene　to　lend　help　in　forming　a　crowd；　but　Jude　ignored　their　stares　and　headed　across　the　street；　Marlin　at　her　side。　She　was　determined　to　reach　the　body　before　anybody　else。　She　wanted　to　see　it　before　it　was　touched；　wanted　to　meet　its　open　eyes　and　fix　its　dead　expression；　know　it；　for　memory's　sake。
　She　found　his　blood　first；　spattered　in　the　gray　slush　underfoot；　and　then；　a　little　way　beyond；　the　assassin　himself；　reduced　to　a　lumpen　form　in　the　gutter。　As　she　came　within　a　few　yards　of　it；　however；　a　shudder　passed　down　its　spine　and　it　rolled　over；　showing　its　face　to　the　sleet。　Then；　impossible　though　this　seemed；　given　the　blow　it　had　been　struck；　the　form　started　to　haul　itself　to　its　feet。　She　saw　how　bloodied　it　was；　but　she　saw　also　that　it　was　still　essentially　whole。　It's　not　human；　she　thought；　as　it　stood　upright；　whatever　it　is；　it's　not　human。　Marlin　groaned　with　revulsion　behind　her；　and　a　woman　on　the　pavement　screamed。　The　man's　gaze　went　to　the　screamer；　wavered；　then　returned　to　Jude。
　It　wasn't　an　assassin　any　longer。　Nor　was　it　Gentle。　If　it　had　a　self；　perhaps　this　was　its　face：　split　by　wounds　and　doubf　pitiful；　lost。　She　saw　its　mouth　open　and　close　as　il　it　was　attempting　to　address　her。　Then　Marlin　made　a　move　to　pursue　it；　and　it　ran。　How；　after　such　an　accident；　its　limbs　managed　any　speed　at　all　was　a　miracle；　but　it　was　off　at　a　pace　that　Marlin　couldn't　hope　to　match。　He　made　a　show　of　pursuit　but　gave　up　at　the　first　intersection；　returning　to　Jude　breathless。
　〃Drugs　〃　he　said；　clearly　angered　to　have　missed　his　chance　at　heroism。　〃Fucker's　on　drugs。　He's　not　feeling　any　pain。　Wait　till　he　es　down；　he'll　drop　dead。　Fucker！　How　did　he　know　you？〃
　〃Did　he？〃　she　said；　her　whole　body　trembling　now；　as　relief　at　her　escape　and　terror　at　how　close　she'd　e　to　losing　her　life　both　stung　tears　from　her。　〃He　called　you　Judith；〃　Marlin　said。　In　her　mind's　eye　she　saw　the　assassin's　mouth　open　and　close　and　on　them　read　the　syllables　of　her　name。
　〃Drugs；〃　Marlin　was　saying　again；　and　she　didn't　waste　words　arguing；　though　she　was　certain　he　was　wrong。　The　only　drug　in　the　assassin's　system　had　been　purpose；　and　that　would　not　lay　him　low；　tonight　or　any　other。
　
　
　4
　
　ELEVEN　DAYS　AFTER　HE　HAD　TAKEN　ESTABROOK　to　the　encampment　in　Streatham；　Chant　realized　he　would　soon　be　having　a　visitor。　He　lived　alone；　and　anonymously；　in　a　one…room　flat　on　a　soon…to…be…condemned　estate　close　to　the　Elephant　and　Castle；　an　address　he　had　given　to　nobody；　not　even　his　employer。　Not　that　his　pursuers　would　be　distracted　from　finding　him　by　such　petty　secrecy。　Unlike　Homo　sapiens；　the　species　his　long…dead　master　Sarton　had　been　wont　to　call　the　blossom　on　the　simian　tree；　Chant's　kind　could　not　hide　themselves　from　oblivion's　agents　by　closing　a　door　and　drawing　the　blinds。　They　were　like　beacons　to　those　that　preyed　on　them。
　Men　had　it　so　much　easier。　The　creatures　that　had　made　meat　of　them　in　earlier　ages　were　zoo　specimens　now；　brooding　behind　bars　for　the　entertainment　of　the　victorious　ape。　They　had　no　grasp；　those　apes；　of　how　close　they　lay　to　a　state　where　the　devouring　beasts　of　Earth's　infancy　would　be　little　more　than　fleas。　That　state　was　called　the　In　Ovo；　and　on　the　other　side　of　it　lay　four　worlds；　the　so…called　Reconciled　Dominions。　They　teemed　with　wonders：　individuals　blessed　with　attributes　that　would　have　made　them；　in　this；　the　Fifth　Dominion；　fit　for　sainthood　or　burning；　or　both；　cults　possessed　of　secrets　that　would　overturn　in　a　moment　the　dogmas　of　faith　and　physics　alike；　beauty　that　might　blind　the　sun　or　set　the　moon　dreaming　of　fertility。　All　this；　separated　from　Earth…the　unreconciled　Fifth…by　the　abyss　of　the　In　Ovo。
　It　was　not；　of　course；　an　impossible　journey　to　make。　But　the　power　to　do　so；　which　was　usually…and　contemptuously…referred　to　as　magic；　had　been　waning　in　the　Fifth　since　Chant　had　first　arrived。　He'd　seen　the　walls　of　reason　built　against　it；　brick　by　brick。　He'd　seen　its　practitioners　hounded　and　mocked；　seen　its　theories　decay　into　decadence　and　parody；　seen　its　purpose　steadily　forgotten。　The　Fifth　was　choking　in　its　own　certainties；　and　though　he　took　no　pleasure　in　the　thought　of　losing　his　life；　he　would　not　mourn　his　removal　from　this　hard　and　unpoetic　Dominion。
　He　went　to　his　window　and　looked　down　the　five　stories　into　the　courtyard。　It　was　empty。　He　had　a　few　minutes　yet；　to　pose　his　missive　to　Estabrook。　Returning　to　his　table；　he　began　it　again；　for　the　ninth　or　tenth　time。　There　was　so　much　he　wanted　to　municate；　but　he　knew　that　Estabrook　was　utterly　ignorant　of　the　involvement　of　his　family；　whose　name　he'd　abandoned；　with　the　fate　of　the　Dominions。　It　was　too　late　now　to　educate　him。　A　warning　would　have　to　suffice。　But　how　to　word　it　so　it　didn't　sound　like　the　rambling　of　a　wild　man？　He　set　to　again；　putting　the　facts　as　plainly　as　he　could；　though　doubting　that　these　words　would　save　Estabrook's　life。　If　the　powers　that　prowled　this　world　tonight　wanted　him　dispatched；　nothing　short　of　intervention　from　the　Unbeheld　Himself；　Hapexa…mendios；　the　all…powerful　occupant　of　the　First　Dominion；　would　save　him。
　With　the　note　finished；　Chant　pocketed　it　and　headed　out　into　the　darkness。　Not　a　moment　too　soon。　In　the　frosty　quiet　he　heard　the　sound　of　an　engine　too　suave　to　belong　to　a　resident　and　peered　over　the　parapet　to　see　the　men　getting　out　the　car　below。　He　didn't　doubt　that　these　were　his　visitors。　The　only　vehicles　he'd　seen　here　so　polished　were　hearses。　He　cursed　himself。　Fatigue　had　made　him　slothful；　and　now　he'd　let　his　enemies　get　dangerously　close。　He　ducked　down　the　back　stairs…glad；　for　once；　that　there　were　so　few　lights　working　along　the　landings…as　his　visitors　strode　towards　the　front。　From　the　flats　he　passed；　the　sound　of　lives：　Christmas　pops　on　the　radio；　argument；　a　baby　laughing；　which　became　tears；　as　though　it　sensed　there　was　danger　near。　Chant　knew　none　of　his　neighbors；　except　as　furtive　faces　glimpsed　at　windows；　and　now…　though　it　was　too　late　to　change　that…he　regretted　it。
　He　reached　ground　level　unharmed；　and　discounting　the　thought　of　trying　to　retrieve　his　car　from　the　courtyard　he　headed　off　towards　the　street　most　heavily　trafficked　at　this　time　of　night；　which　was　Kennington　Park　Road。　If　he　was　lucky　he'd　find　a　cab　there；　though　at　this　time　of　night　they　weren't　frequent。　Fares　were　harder　to　pick　up　in　this　area　than　in　Covent　Garden　or　Oxford　Street；　and　more　likely　to　prove　unruly。　He　allowed　himself　one　backward　glance；　then　turned　his　heels　to　the　task　of　flight。
　Though　classically　it　was　the　light　of　day　which　showed　a　painter　the　deepest　flaws　in　his　handiwork；　Gentle　worked　best　at　night：　the　instincts　of　a　lover　brought　to　a　simpler　art。　In　the　week　or　so　since　he'd　returned　to　his　studio　it　had　once　again　bee　a　place　of　work：　the　air　pungent　with　the　smell　of　paint　and　turpentine；　the　burned…down　butts　of　cigarettes　left　on　every　available　shelf　and　plate。　Though　he'd　spoken　with　Klein　daily　there　was　no　sign　of　a　mission　yet；　so　he　had　spent　the　time　reeducating　himself。　As　Klein　had　so　cruelly　observed；　he　was　a　technician　without　a　vision；　and　that　made　these　days　of　meandering　difficult。　Until　he　had　a　style　to　forge；　he　felt　listless；　like　some　latter　day　Adam；　born　with　the　power　to　impersonate　but　bereft　of　subjects。　So　he　set　himself　an　exercise。　He　would　paint　a　canvas　in　four　radically　different　styles：　a　cubist　North；　an　impressionist　South；　an　East　after　Van　Gogh；　a　West　after　Dali。　As　his　subject　he　took　Cara…vaggio's　Supper　at　Emmaus。　The　challenge　drove　him　to　a　healthy　distraction；　and　he　was　still　occupied　with　it　at　three…thirty　in　the　morning；　when　the　telephone　rang。　The　line　was　watery；　and　the　voice　at　the　other　end　pained　and　raw；　but　it　was　unmistakably　Judith。
　〃Is　that　you；　Gentle？〃
　〃It's　me。〃　He　was　glad　the　line　was　so　bad。　The　sound　of　her　voice　had　shaken　him；　and　he　didn't　want　her　to　know。　〃Where　are　you　calling　from？〃
　〃New　York。　I'm　just　visiting　for　a　few　days。〃
　〃It's　good　to　hear　from　you。〃
　〃I'm　not　sure　why　I'm　calling。　It's　just　that　today's　been　strange　and　I　thought　maybe；　oh…〃　She　stopped。　Laughed　at　herself；　perhaps　a　little　drunkenly。　〃I　don't　know　what　I　thought；〃　she　went　on。　〃It's　stupid。　I'm　sorry。〃
　〃When　are　you　ing　back？〃
　〃I　don't　know　that　either。〃
　〃Maybe　we　could　get　together？〃
　〃I　don't　think　so；　Gentle。〃
　〃Just　to　talk。〃
　〃This　line's　getting　worse。　I'm　sorry　I　woke　you。〃
　〃You　didn't…〃
　〃Keep　warm；　huh？〃
　〃Judith…〃
　〃Sorry；　Gentle。〃
　The　line　went　dead。　But　the　water　she'd　spoken　through　gurgled　on；　like　the　noise　in　a　seashell。　Not　the　ocean　at　all；　of　course；　just　illusion。　He　put　the　receiver　down　and…　knowing　he'd　never　sleep　now…squeezed　out　some　fresh　bright　worms　of　paint　to　work　with；　and　set　to。
　It　was　the　whistle　from　the　gloom　behind　him　that　alerted　Chant　to　the　fact　that　his　escape　had　not　gone　unnoticed。　It　was　not　a　whistle　th