cb.imajica1-第28章

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st　had　succeeded　in　rendering　the　act　without　grotesquerie；　but　rather　in　the　manner　of　instructions　for　some　extraordinary　magical　illusion。　It　was　only　when　she　closed　the　book；　and　found　the　images　lingering　in　her　head；　that　they　distressed　her；　and　to　sluice　them　out　she　turned　her　distress　into　a　righteous　rage　that　Estabrook　would　not　only　purchase　such　bizarrenesses　but　hide　them　from　her。　Another　reason　to　be　well　out　of　his　pany。
　The　second　package　contained　a　much　more　innocent　item：　what　appeared　to　be　a　fragment　of　statuary　the　size　of　her　fist。　One　facet　had　been　crudely　marked　with　what　could　have　been　a　weeping　eye；　a　lactating　nipple；　or　a　bud　seeping　sap。　The　other　facets　revealed　the　structure　of　the　block　from　which　the　image　had　been　carved。　It　was　predominantly　a　milky　blue；　but　shot　through　with　fine　seams　of　black　and　red。　She　liked　the　feel　of　it　in　her　hand　and　only　reluctantly　put　it　down　to　pick　up　the　third　parcel。　The　contents　of　this　were　the　prettiest　find：　half　a　dozen　pea…sized　beads；　which　had　been　obsessively　carved。　She'd　seen　oriental　ivories　worked　with　this　level　of　care；　but　they'd　always　been　behind　museum　glass。　She　took　one　of　them　to　the　window　to　study　more　closely。　The　artist　had　carved　the　bead　to　give　the　impression　that　it　was　in　fact　a　ball　of　gossamer　thread；　wound　upon　itself。　Curious；　and　oddly　inviting。　As　she　turned　it　over　in　her　fingers；　and　over；　and　over；　she　found　her　concentration　narrowing；　focusing　on　the　exquisite　interweaving　of　threads；　almost　as　though　there　were　an　end　to　be　found　in　the　ball；　and　if　she　could　only　grasp　it　with　her　mind　she　might　unravel　it　and　discover　some　mystery　inside。　She　had　to　force　herself　to　look　away；　or　she　was　certain　the　bead's　will　would　have　overwhelmed　her　own；　and　she'd　have　ended　up　staring　at　its　detail　until　she　collapsed。
　She　returned　to　the　desk　and　put　the　bead　back　among　its　fellows。　Staring　at　it　so　intently　had　upset　her　equilibrium　somewhat。　She　felt　slightly　dizzy；　the　litter　she'd　left　on　the　desk　slipping　out　of　focus　as　she　rifled　through　it。　Her　hands　knew　what　she　wanted；　however；　even　if　her　conscious　thought　didn't。　One　of　them　picked　up　the　fragment　of　blue　stone；　while　her　other　strayed　back　to　the　bead　she'd　relinquished。　Two　souvenirs：　why　not？　A　piece　of　stone　and　a　bead。　Who　could　blame　her　for　dispossessing　Estabrook　of　such　minor　items　when　he'd　intended　her　so　much　harm？　She　pocketed　them　both　without　further　hesitation　and　set　about　wrapping　up　the　book　and　the　remaining　beads；　returning　them　to　the　safe　and　closing　it；　and　replacing　drawing　and　key。　Then　she　picked　up　the　cloth　in　which　the　fragment　had　been　wrapped；　pocketed　that；　took　the　jewelry；　and　returned　to　the　front　door；　turning　off　the　lights　as　she　went。　At　the　door　she　remembered　she'd　opened　the　kitchen　window　and　headed　back　to　close　it。　She　didn't　want　the　place　burglarized　in　her　absence。　There　was　only　one　thief　who　had　right　of　trespass　here；　and　that　was　her。
　She　felt　well　satisfied　with　the　morning's　work　and　treated　herself　to　a　glass　of　wine　with　her　spartan　lunch；　then　started　unpacking　her　loot。　As　she　laid　her　hostage　clothes　out　on　the　bed；　her　thoughts　returned　to　the　pillow　book。　She　regretted　leaving　it　now；　it　would　have　been　the　perfect　gift　for　Gentle；　who　doubtless　imagined　he'd　indulged　every　physical　excess　known　to　man。　No　matter。　She'd　find　an　opportunity　to　describe　its　contents　to　him　one　of　these　days　and　astonish　him　with　her　memory　for　depravity。　A　call　from　Clem　interrupted　her　work。　He　spoke　so　softly　she　had　to　strain　to　hear。　The　news　was　grim。　Taylor　was　at　death's　door；　he　said；　having　two　days　before　succumbed　to　another　sudden　bout　of　pneumonia。　He　refused　to　be　hospitalized；　however。　His　last　wish；　he'd　said；　was　to　die　where　he　had　lived。
　〃He　keeps　asking　for　Gentle；〃　Clem　explained。　〃And　I've　tried　to　telephone　him　but　he　doesn't　answer。　Do　you　know　if　he's　gone　away？〃
　〃I　don't　think　so；〃　she　said。　〃But　I　haven't　spoken　to　him　since　Christmas　Night。〃
　〃Could　you　try　and　find　him　for　me？　Or　rather　for　Taylor？　If　you　could　maybe　go　round　to　the　studio　and　rouse　him？　I'd　go　myself　but　I　daren't　leave　the　house。　I'm　afraid　as　soon　as　I　step　outside　。　。　。〃　He　faltered；　tears　in　his　breath。　〃I　want　to　be　here　if　anything　happens。〃
　〃Of　course　you　do。　And　of　course　I'll　go。　Right　now。〃　〃Thanks。　I　don't　think　there's　much　time；　Judy。〃　Before　she　left　she　tried　calling　Gentle；　but　as　Clem　had　already　warned　her；　nobody　answered。　She　gave　up　after　two　attempts；　put　on　her　jacket；　and　headed　out　to　the　car。　As　she　reached　into　her　pocket　for　the　keys　she　realized　she'd　brought　the　stone　and　the　bead　with　her；　and　some　superstition　made　her　hesitate；　wondering　if　she　should　deposit　them　back　inside。　But　time　was　of　the　essence。　As　long　as　they　remained　in　her　pocket；　who　was　going　to　see　them？　And　even　if　they　did；　what　did　it　matter？　With　death　in　the　air　who　was　going　to　care　about　a　few　purloined　bits　and　pieces？
　She　had　discovered　the　night　she'd　left　Gentle　at　the　studio　that　he　could　be　seen　through　the　window　if　she　stood　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　street；　so　when　he　failed　to　answer　the　door；　that　was　where　she　went　to　spy　him。　The　room　seemed　to　be　empty；　but　the　bare　bulb　was　burning。　She　waited　a　minute　or　so　and　he　stepped　into　view；　shirtless　and　bedraggled。　She　had　powerful　lungs　and　used　them　now；　hollering　his　name。　He　didn't　seem　to　hear　at　first。　But　she　tried　again；　and　this　time　he　looked　in　her　direction；　crossing　to　the　window。
　〃Let　me　in！〃　she　yelled。　〃It's　an　emergency。〃
　The　same　reluctance　she　read　in　his　retreat　from　the　window　was　on　his　face　when　he　opened　the　door。　If　he　had　looked　bad　at　the　party；　he　looked　considerably　worse　now。
　〃What's　the　problem？〃　he　said。
　〃Taylor's　very　sick；　and　Clem　says　he　keeps　asking　for　you。〃
　Gentle　looked　bemused；　as　though　he　was　having　difficulty　remembering　who　Taylor　and　Clem　were。
　〃You　have　to　get　cleaned　up　and　dressed；〃　she　said。　〃Furie；　are　you　listening　to　me？〃
　She'd　always　called　him　Furie　when　she　was　irritated　with　him；　and　that　name　seemed　to　work　its　magic　now。　Though　she'd　expected　some　objection　from　him；　given　his　phobia　where　sickness　was　concerned；　she　got　none。　He　looked　too　drained　to　argue；　his　stare　somehow　unfinished；　as　though　it　had　a　place　it　wanted　to　rest　but　couldn't　find。　She　followed　him　up　the　stairs　into　the　studio。
　〃I'd　better　clean　up；〃　he　said；　leaving　her　in　the　midst　of　the　chaos　and　going　into　the　bathroom。
　She　heard　the　shower　run。　As　ever；　he'd　left　the　bathroom　door　wide　open。　There　was　no　bodily　function；　to　the　most　fundamental；　he'd　ever　shown　the　least　embarrassment　about；　an　attitude　which　had　shocked　her　at　first　but　which　she'd　taken　for　granted　after　a　time；　so　that　she'd　had　to　relearn　the　laws　of　propriety　when　she'd　gone　to　live　with　Estabrook。
　〃Will　you　find　a　clean　shirt　for　me？〃　he　called　through　to　her。　〃And　some　underwear？〃
　It　seemed　to　be　a　day　for　going　through　other　people's　belongings。　By　the　time　she'd　found　a　denim　shirt　and　a　pair　of　overwashed　boxer　shorts；　he　was　out　of　the　shower；　standing　in　front　of　the　bathroom　mirror　bing　his　wet　hair　back　from　his　brow。　His　body　hadn't　changed　since　she'd　last　looked　at　it　naked。　He　was　as　lean　as　ever；　his　buttocks　and　belly　tight；　his　chest　smooth。　His　hooded　prick　drew　her　eye：　the　part　that　truly　gave　the　lie　to　Gentle's　name。　It　was　no　great　size　in　this　passive　state；　but　it　was　pretty　even　so。　If　he　knew　he　was　being　scrutinized　he　made　no　sign　of　it。　He　peered　at　himself　in　the　mirror　without　affection；　then　shook　his　head。
　〃Should　I　shave？〃　he　said。
　〃I　wouldn't　worry　about　it；〃　she　said。　〃Here's　your　clothes。〃
　He　dressed　quickly；　repairing　to　his　bedroom　to　find　a　pair　of　boots；　leaving　her　to　idle　in　the　studio　while　he　did　so。　The　painting　of　the　couple　she'd　seen　on　Christmas　Night　had　gone；　and　his　equipment…paints；　easel；　and　primed　canvases…had　been　unceremoniously　dumped　in　a　corner。　In　their　place；　newspapers；　many　of　their　pages　bearing　reports　on　a　tragedy　she　had　only　noted　in　passing：　the　death　by　fire　of　twenty…one　men；　women；　and　children　in　an　arson　attack　in　South　London。　She　didn't　give　the　reports　close　scrutiny。　There　was　enough　to　mourn　this　gloomy　afternoon。
　Clem　was　pale　but　tearless。　He　embraced　them　both　at　the　front　door；　then　ushered　them　into　the　house。　The　Christmas　decorations　were　still　up；　awaiting　Twelfth　Night；　the　perfume　of　pine　needles　sharpening　the　air。
　〃Before　you　see　him；　Gentle；〃　Clem　said。　〃I　should　explain　that　he's　got　a　lot　of　drugs　in　his　system；　so　he　drifts　in　and　out。　But　he　wanted　to　see　you　so　badly。〃
　〃Did　he　say　why？〃　Gentle　asked。
　〃He　doesn't　need　a　reason；　does　he？〃　Clem　said　softly。　〃Will　you　stay；　Judy？　If　you　want　to　see　him　when　Gentle's　been　in。　。　。〃
　〃I'd　like　that。〃
　While　Clem　took　Gentle　up　to　the　bedroom；　Jude　went　through　to　the　kitchen　to　make　a　cup　of　tea；　wishing　as　she　did　so　that　she'd　had　the　foresight　to　tell　Gentle　as　they　drove　about　how　Taylor　had　talked　of　him　the　week　before；　particularly　the　tale　about　his　speaking　in　tongues。　It　might　have　provided　Gentle　with　some　sense　of　what　Taylor　needed　to　know　from　him　now。　The　solving　of　mysteries　had　been　much　on　Taylor's　mind　on　Christmas　Night。　Perhaps　now；　whether　drugged　or　not；　he　hoped　to　win　some　last　reprieve　from　his　confusion。　She　doubted　Gentle　would　have　any　answers。　The　look　she'd　seen　him　give　the　bathroom　mirror　had　been　that　of　a　man　to　whom　even　his　own　reflection　was　a　mystery。
　Bedrooms　were　only　ever　this　hot　for　sickness　or　love；　Gentle　thought　as　Clem　ushered　him　in：　for　the　sweating　out　of　obsession　or　contagion。　It　didn't　always　work；　of　course；　in　either　case；　but　at　least　in　love　failure　had　its　satisfactions。　He'd　eaten　very　little　since　he'd　departed　the　scene　in　Streatham；　and　the　stale　heat　made　him　feel　lightheaded。　He　had　to　scan　the　room　twice　before　his　eyes　settled　on　the　bed　in　which　Taylor　lay；　so　nearly　enveloped　was　it　by　the　soulless　attendants　of　modern　death：　an　oxygen　tank　with　its　tubes　and　mask；　a　table　loaded　with　dressings　and　towels；　another；　with　a　vomit　bowl；　bedpan；　and　towels；　and　beside　them　a　third；　carrying　medication　and　ointments。　In　the　midst　of　this　panoply　was　the　magnet　that　had　drawn　them　here；　who　now　seemed　very　like　their　prisoner。　Taylor　was　propped　up　on　plastic…covered　pillows；　with　his　eyes　closed。　He　looked　like　an　ancient。　His　hair　was　thin；　his　frame　thinner　still；　the　inner　life　of　his　body…　bone；　nerve；　and　vein…painfully　visible　through　skin　the　color　of　his　sheet。　It　was　all　Gentle　could　do　not　to　turn　and　flee　before　the　man's　eyes　flickered　open。　Death　was　here　again；　so　soon。　A　different　heat　this　time；　and　a　different　scene；　but　he　was　assailed　by　the　same　mixture　of　fear　and　ineptitude　he'd　felt　in　Streatham。
　He　hung　back　at　the　door；　leaving　Clem　to　approach　the　bed　first　and　softly　wake　the　sleeper。
　Taylor　stirred；　an　irritated　look　on　his　face　until　his　gaze　found　Gentle。　Then　the　anger　at　being　called　back　into　pain　went　from　his　brow；　and　he　said；　〃You　found　him。〃
　〃It　was　Judy；　not　me；〃　Clem　said。
　〃Oh；　Judy。　She's　a　wonder；〃　Taylor　murmured。
　He　trie