cb.imajica1-第26章

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gged　off　the　blanket　and　refused　the　oxygen　mask　they　were　ready　to　clamp　to　his　face；　insisting　that　he　wanted　no　help。　With　so　many　others　in　need；　they　didn't　waste　time　attempting　to　persuade　him　but　went　to　aid　those　who　were　sobbing　and　shrieking　on　all　sides。　They　were　the　lucky　ones；　who　had　voices　to　raise。　He　saw　others　being　carried　past　who　were　too　far　gone　to　plain；　and　still　others　lying　beneath　makeshift　shrouds　on　the　pavement；　blackened　limbs　jutting　out　here　and　there。
　He　turned　his　back　on　this　horror　and　began　to　make　his　way　around　the　edge　of　the　encampment。　The　fence　was　being　torn　down　to　allow　the　hoses；　which　thronged　the　street　like　mating　snakes；　access　to　the　fire。　The　engines　pumped　and　roared；　their　reeling　blue　lights　no　petition　for　the　fierce　brightness　of　the　fire　itself。　By　that　blaze　he　saw　a　substantial　crowd　had　gathered　to　watch。　They　raised　a　cheer　as　the　fence　was　toppled；　sending　plagues　of　fireflies　up　as　it　fell。　He　moved　on　as　the　firefighters　advanced　into　the　conflagration；　bringing　their　hoses　to　bear　on　the　heart　of　the　fire。　By　the　time　he'd　made　a　half　circuit　of　the　site　and　was　standing　opposite　the　breach　they'd　made；　the　flames　were　already　in　retreat　in　several　places；　smoke　and　steam　replacing　their　fury。　He　watched　them　gain　ground　from　his　new　vantage　point；　hoping　for　some　glimpse　of　life；　until　the　appearance　of　another　two　machines　and　a　further　group　of　firefighters　drove　him　on　around　the　perimeter；　back　to　the　place　from　which　he'd　emerged。
　There　was　no　sign　of　Pie　'oh'　pah；　either　being　carried　from　the　blaze　or　standing　among　those　few　survivors　who；　like　Gentle；　had　refused　to　be　taken　away　to　be　tended。　The　smoke　issuing　from　the　fire's　steady　defeat　was　thickening；　and　by　the　time　he　got　back　to　the　row　of　bodies　on　the　pavement…the　number　of　which　had　doubled…the　whole　scene　was　barely　visible　through　the　pall。　He　looked　down　at　the　shrouded　forms。　Was　one　of　them　Pie　'oh'　pah？　As　he　approached　the　nearest　of　them　a　hand　was　laid　on　his　shoulder；　and　he　turned　to　face　a　policeman　whose　features　were　those　of　a　boy　soprano；　smooth　and　troubled。
　〃Aren't　you　the　one　who　brought　out　the　kid？〃　he　said。
　〃Yes。　Is　she　all　right？〃
　〃I'm　sorry；　mate。　I'm　afraid　she's　dead。　Was　she　your　kid？〃
　He　shook　his　head。　〃There　was　somebody　else。　A　black　guy　with　long　curly　hair。　He　had　blood　on　his　face。　Has　he　e　out　of　there？〃
　Formal　language　now：　〃I　haven't　seen　anybody。of　that　description。〃
　Gentle　looked　back　towards　the　bodies　on　the　pavement。
　〃It's　no　use　looking　there；〃　the　policeman　said。　〃They're　all　black　now；　whatever　color　they　started　out。〃
　〃I　have　to　look；〃　Gentle　said。
　〃I'm　telling　you　it's　no　use。　You　wouldn't　recognize　them。　Why　don't　you　let　me　put　you　in　an　ambulance？　You　need　seeing　to。〃
　〃No。　I　have　to　keep　looking；〃　Gentle　said；　and　was　about　to　move　off　when　the　policeman　took　hold　of　his　arm。
　〃I　think　you'd　be　better　away　from　the　fence；　sir；〃　he　said。　〃There's　some　danger　of　explosions。〃
　〃But　he　could　still　be　in　there。〃
　〃If　he　is；　sir；　I　think　he's　gone。　There's　not　much　chance　of　anybody　else　ing　out　alive。　Let　me　take　you　to　the　police　line。　You　can　watch　from　there。〃
　Gentle　shook　off　the　man's　hold。
　〃I'll　go；〃　he　said。　〃I　don't　need　an　escort。〃
　It　took　an　hour　for　the　fire　to　be　finally　brought　under　control；　by　which　time　it　had　little　left　to　consume。　During　that　hour　all　Gentle　could　do　was　wait　behind　the　cordon　and　watch　as　the　ambulances　came　and　went；　ferrying　the　last　of　the　injured　away　and　then　taking　the　bodies。　As　the　boy　soprano　had　predicted；　no　further　victims　were　brought　out；　dead　or　alive；　though　Gentle　waited　until　all　but　a　few　late　arrivals　among　the　crowd　had　left；　and　the　fire　was　almost　pletely　doused。　Only　when　the　last　of　the　firelighters　emerged　from　the　crematorium；　and　the　hoses　were　turned　off；　did　he　give　up　hope。　It　was　almost　two　in　the　morning。　His　limbs　were　burdened　with　exhaustion；　but　they　were　light　beside　the　weight　in　his　chest。　To　go　heavyhearted　was　no　poet's　conceit：　it　felt　as　though　the　pump　had　turned　to　lead　and　was　bruising　the　plush　meat　of　his　innards。
　As　he　wandered　back　to　his　car　he　heard　the　whistling　again；　the　same　tuneless　sound　floating　on　the　dirty　air。　He　stopped　walking　and　turned　to　all　pass　points；　looking　for　the　source；　but　the　whistler　was　already　out　of　sight；　and　Gentle　was　too　weary　to　give　chase。　Even　if　he　had；　he　thought；　even　if　he'd　caught　it　by　its　lapels　and　threatened　to　break　its　burned　bones；　what　purpose　would　that　have　served？　Assuming　it　had　been　moved　by　his　threat　（and　pain　was　probably　meat　and　drink　to　a　creature　that　whistled　as　it　burned）　he'd　be　no　more　able　to　prehend　its　reply　than　interpret　Chant's　letter：　and　for　similar　reasons。　They　were　both　escapees　from　the　same　unknown　land；　whose　borders　he'd　grazed　when　he'd　gone　to　New　York；　the　same　world　that　held　the　God　Hapexamendios　and　had　given　birth　to　Pie　'oh'　pah。　Sooner　or　later　he'd　find　a　way　to　gain　access　to　that　state；　and　when　he　did　all　the　mysteries　would　e　clear：　the　whistler；　the　letter；　the　lover。　He　might　even　solve　the　mystery　that　he　met　most　mornings　in　the　shaving　mirror：　the　face　he　thought　he'd　known　well　enough　until　recently；　but　whose　code　he　now　realized　he'd　forgotten　and　would　not　now　remember　without　the　help　of　the　undiscovered　God。
　Back　in　the　house　in　Primrose　Hill；　Godolphin　sat　up　through　the　night　and　listened　to　the　news　bulletins　reporting　the　tragedy。　The　number　of　dead　rose　every　hour；　two　more　victims　had　already　perished　in　the　hospital。　Theories　were　being　advanced　everywhere　as　to　the　cause　of　the　fire；　pundits　used　the　event　to　ment　on　the　lax　safety　standards　applied　to　sites　where　itinerants　camped　and　demanded　a　full　Parliamentary　inquiry　to　prevent　a　repeat　of　such　a　conflagration。
　The　reports　appalled　him。　Though　he'd　given　Dowd　leash　enough　to　dispatch　the　mystif…and　who　knew　what　hidden　agenda　lay　there？…the　creature　had　abused　the　freedom　he'd　been　granted。　There　would　have　to　be　punishment　meted　out　for　such　abuse；　though　Godolphin　was　in　no　mood　to　plot　that　now。　He'd　bide　his　time；　choose　his　moment。　It　would　e。　Meanwhile；　Dowd's　violence　seemed　to　him　further　evidence　of　a　disturbing　pattern。　Things　he'd　thought　immutable　were　changing。　Power　was　slipping　from　the　possession　of　those　who'd　traditionally　held　it　into　the　hands　of　underlings…fixers；　familiars；　and　functionaries…who　were　ill　equipped　to　use　it。　Tonight's　disaster　was　symptomatic　of　that。　But　the　disease　had　barely　begun　to　take　hold。　Once　it　spread　through　the　Dominions　there'd　be　no　stopping　it。　There　had　already　been　uprisings　in　Vanaeph　and　L'Himby；　there　were　mutterings　of　rebellion　in　Yzordderrex；　now　there　was　to　be　a　purge　here　in　the　Fifth　Dominion；　organized　by　the　Tabula　Rasa；　a　perfect　background　to　Dowd's　vendetta　and　its　bloody　consequences。　Everywhere；　signs　of　disintegration。
　Paradoxically　the　most　chilling　of　those　signs　was　superficially　an　image　of　reconstruction：　that　of　Dowd　re…creating　his　face　so　that　if　he　was　seen　by　any　member　of　the　Society　he'd　not　be　recognized。　It　was　a　process　he'd　undertaken　with　each　generation；　but　this　was　the　first　time　any　Godolphin　had　witnessed　said　process。　Now　Oscar　thought　back　on　it；　he　suspected　Dowd　had　deliberately　displayed　his　transformative　powers；　as　further　evidence　of　his　newfound　authority。　It　had　worked。　Seeing　the　face　he'd　grown　so　used　to　soften　and　shift　at　the　will　of　its　possessor　was　one　of　the　most　distressing　spectacles　Oscar　had　set　eyes　upon。　The　face　Dowd　had　finally　fixed　was　sans　mustache　and　eyebrows；　the　head　sleeker　than　his　other；　and　younger：　the　face　that　of　an　ideal　National　Socialist。　Dowd　must　also　have　caught　that　echo；　because　he　later　bleached　his　hair　and　bought　several　new　suits；　all　apricot　but　of　a　much　severer　cut　than　those　he'd　worn　in　his　earlier　incarnation。　He　sensed　the　instabilities　ahead　as　well　as　Oscar；　he　felt　the　rot　in　the　body　politic　and　was　readying　himself　for　a　New　Austerity。
　And　what　more　perfect　tool　than　fire；　the　book　burner's　joy；　the　soul　cleanser's　bliss？　Oscar　shuddered　to　contemplate　the　pleasure　Dowd　had　taken　from　his　night's　work；　callously　murdering　innocent　human　families　in　pursuit　of　the　mystif。　He　would　return　to　the　house；　no　doubt；　with　tears　on　his　face　and　say　he　regretted　the　hurt　he'd　done　to　the　children。　But　it　would　be　a　performance；　a　sham。　There　was　no　true　capacity　for　grief　or　regret　in　the　creature；　and　Oscar　knew　it。　Dowd　was　deceit　incarnate；　and　from　now　on　Oscar　knew　he　had　to　be　on　his　guard。　The　fortable　years　were　over；　Hereafter　he　would　sleep　with　his　bedroom　door　locked。
　
　
　15
　
　In　her　rage　at　his　conspiracies　Jude　had　contemplated　several　possible　ways　to　revenge　herself　upon　Estabrook；　ranging　from　the　bloodily　intimate　to　the　classically　detached。　But　her　nature　never　ceased　to　surprise　her。　All　thoughts　of　garden　shears　and　prosecutions　dimmed　in　a　short　time；　and　she　came　to　realize　that　the　worst　harm　she　could　do　him…given　that　the　harm　he'd　intended　to　do　her　had　been　stopped　in　its　tracks…was　to　ignore　him。　Why　give　him　the　satisfaction　of　her　least　interest　in　him？　From　now　on　he　would　be　so　far　beneath　her　contempt　as　to　be　invisible。　Having　unburdened　herself　of　her　story　to　Taylor　and　Clem；　she　sought　no　further　audience。　From　now　on　she　wouldn't　sully　her　lips　with　his　name　or　let　her　thoughts　dally　with　him　for　two　consecutive　seconds。　At　least；　that　was　the　pact　she　made　with　herself。　It　proved　difficult　to　keep。
　On　Boxing　Day　she　received　the　first　of　what　were　to　be　many　calls　from　him；　which　she　resolutely　cut　short　the　instant　she　recognized　his　voice。　It　wasn't　the　authoritative　Estabrook　she'd　been　used　to　hearing；　and　it　took　her　three　exchanges　before　she　realized　who　was　on　the　other　end　of　the　line；　at　which　point　she　put　down　the　receiver　and　let　it
　lie　uncradled　for　the　rest　of　the　day。　The　following　morning　he　called　again；　and　this　time；　just　in　case　he　was　in　any　doubt；　she　told　him；　〃I　don't　ever　want　to　hear　your　voice　again；〃　and　once　more　cut　him　off。
　When　she'd　done　so　she　realized　he'd　been　sobbing　as　he　spoke；　which　gave　her　no　little　satisfaction；　and　the　hope　that　he　wouldn't　try　again。　A　frail　hope；　he　called　twice　that　evening；　leaving　messages　on　her　answering　machine　while　she　was　out　at　a　party　flung　by　Chester　Klein。　There　she　heard　news　of　Gentle；　to　whom　she　hadn't　spoken　since　their　odd　parting　at　the　studio。　Chester；　who　was　much　the　worse　for　vodka；　told　her　plainly　he　expected　Gentle　to　have　a　full…blown　nervous　breakdown　in　a　short　time。　He'd　spoken　to　the　Bastard　Boy　twice　since　Christmas；　and　he　was　increasingly　incoherent。
　〃What　is　it　about　all　you　men？〃　she　found　herself　saying。　〃You　fall　apart　so　easily。〃
　〃That's　because　we're　the　more　tragic　of　the　sexes；〃　Chester　returned。　〃God；　woman；　can't　you　see　how　we　suffer？〃
　〃Frankly；　no。〃
　〃Well；　we　do。　Take　it　from　me。　We　do。〃
　〃Is　there　any　particular　reason；　or　is　it　just　free…form　suffering？〃
　〃We're　all　sealed　up；〃　Klein　said。　〃Nothing　can　get　in。〃
　〃So　are　women。　What's　the…〃
　〃Women　get　fucked；〃　Klein　interrupted；　pronouncing　the　word　wi