cb.damnationgame-第16章

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rn　for　this　education　he'd　asked　scarcely　anything：　a　few　minor　services；　no　more。　But　Breer　wasn't　so　trusting　that　he　didn't　suspect　a　time　would　e　when　the　Last　European…please　call　me　Mr。　Mamoulian；　he　used　to　say；　but　Breer　had　never　really　got　his　tongue　around　that　ical　name…when　this　strange　panion　would　ask　for　help　in　his　turn。　It　wouldn't　be　an　odd　job　or　two　he'd　ask　either；　it　would　be　something　terrible。　Breer　knew　that；　and　feared　it。
　　In　dying　he　had　hoped　to　escape　the　debt　ever　being　called　in。　The　longer　he'd　been　away　from　Mr。　Mamoulian…and　it　was　six　years　since　they'd　last　met…the　more　the　memory　of　the　man　had　e　to　frighten　Breer。　The　European's　image　had　not　faded　with　time：　quite　the　contrary。　His　eyes；　his　hands；　the　caress　of　his　voice　had　stayed　crystal…clear　when　yesterday's　events　had　bee　a　blur。　It　was　as　if　Mamoulian　had　never　quite　gone；　as　though　he'd　left　a　sliver　of　himself　in　Breer's　head　to　polish　up　his　picture　when　time　dirtied　it；　to　keep　a　watch　on　his　servant's　every　deed。
　　No　surprise　then；　that　the　man　had　e　in　when　he　had；　interrupting　the　death　scene　before　it　could　be　played　out。　No　surprise　either　that　he　was　talking　to　Breer　now　as　though　they'd　never　been　parted；　as　though　he　was　the　loving　husband　to　Breer's　devoted　wife；　and　the　years　had　never　intervened。　Breer　watched　Mamoulian　move　from　sink　to　table　as　he　prepared　the　tea；　locating　the　pot；　setting　out　the　cups；　performing　each　domestic　act　with　hypnotic　economy。　The　debt　would　have　to　be　paid；　he　knew　that　now。　There　would　be　no　darkness　until　it　was　paid。　At　the　thought；　Breer　began　to　sob　quietly。
　　〃Don't　cry；〃　said　Mamoulian；　not　turning　from　the　sink。
　　〃I　wanted　to　die；〃　Breer　murmured。　The　words　came　out　as　though　through　a　mouthful　of　pebbles。
　　〃You　can't　perish　yet；　Anthony。　You　owe　me　a　little　time。　Surely　you　must　see　that？〃　〃I　wanted　to　die；〃　was　all　Breer　could　repeat　in　response。　He　was　trying　not　to　hate　the　European；　because　the　man　would　know。　He'd　feel　it　for　certain；　and　maybe　lose　his　temper。　But　it　was　so　difficult：　resentment　bubbled　up　through　the　sobbing。
　　〃Has　life　been　treating　you　badly？〃　the　European　asked。
　　Breer　sniffed。　He　didn't　want　a　father　confessor；　he　wanted　the　dark。　Couldn't　Mamoulian　understand　that　he　was　past　explanations；　past　healing？　He　was　shit　on　the　shoe　of　a　mongol；　the　most　worthless；　irredeemable　thing　in　creation。　The　image　of　himself　as　a　Razor…Eater；　as　the　last　representative　of　a　once…terrible　tribe；　had　kept　his　self…esteem　intact　for　a　few　perilous　years；　but　the　fantasy　had　long　since　lost　its　power　to　sanctify　his　vileness。　There　was　no　possibility　of　working　the　same　trick　twice。　And　it　was　a　trick；　just　a　trick；　Breer　knew　that；　and　hated　Mamoulian　all　the　more　for　his　manipulations。　I　want　to　be　dead；　was　all　he　could　think。
　　Did　he　say　the　words　out　loud？　He　hadn't　heard　himself　speak；　but　Mamoulian　answered　him　as　though　he　had。
　　〃Of　course　you　do。　I　understand；　I　really　do。　You　think　it's　all　an　illusion：　tribes；　and　dreams　of　salvation。　But　take　it　from　me；　it　isn't。　There's　purpose　in　the　world　yet。　For　both　of　us。〃　Breer　drew　the　back　of　his　hand　across　his　swollen　eyes；　and　tried　to　control　his　sobs。　His　teeth　no　longer　chattered；　that　was　something。
　　〃Have　the　years　been　so　cruel？〃　the　European　inquired。
　　〃Yes；〃　Breer　said　sullenly。
　　The　other　nodded；　looking　across　at　the　Razor…Eater　with　passion　in　his　eyes；　or　at　least　an　adequate　impersonation　of　same。
　　〃At　least　they　didn't　lock　you　away；〃　he　said。　〃You've　been　careful。〃　〃You　taught　me　how；〃　Breer　conceded。
　　〃I　showed　you　only　what　you　already　knew；　but　were　too　confused　by　other　people　to　see。　If　you've　forgotten；　I　can　show　you　again。〃　Breer　looked　down　at　the　cup　of　sweet；　milkless　tea　the　European　had　set　on　the　bedside　table。
　　〃…or　do　you　no　longer　trust　me？〃　〃Things　have　changed；〃　Breer　mumbled　with　his　thick　mouth。
　　Now　it　was　Mamoulian's　turn　to　sigh。　He　sat　on　the　chair　again；　and　sipped　at　his　own　tea　before　replying。
　　〃Yes；　I'm　afraid　you're　right。　There's　less　and　less　place　for　us　here。　But　does　that　mean　we　should　throw　up　our　hands　and　die？〃　Looking　at　the　sober；　aristocratic　face；　at　the　haunted　hollows　of　his　eyes；　Breer　began　to　remember　why　he'd　trusted　this　man。　The　fear　he'd　felt　was　dwindling；　the　anger　too。　There　was　a　calm　in　the　air；　and　it　was　seeping　into　Breer's　system。
　　〃Drink　your　tea；　Anthony。〃　〃Thank　you。〃　〃Then　I　think　you　should　change　your　trousers。〃　Breer　blushed；　he　couldn't　help　himself。
　　〃Your　body　responded　quite　naturally；　there's　nothing　to　be　ashamed　of。　Semen　and　shit　make　the　world　go　round。〃　The　European　laughed；　softly；　into　his　teacup；　and　Breer；　not　feeling　the　joke　to　be　at　his　expense；　joined　in。
　　〃I　never　forgot　you；〃　Mamoulian　said。　〃I　told　you　I'd　e　back　for　you　and　I　meant　what　I　said。〃　Breer　nursed　his　cup　in　hands　that　still　trembled；　and　met　Mamoulian's　gaze。　The　look　was　as　unfathomable　as　he'd　remembered；　but　he　felt　warm　toward　the　man。　As　the　European　said；　he　hadn't　forgotten；　he　hadn't　gone　away　never　to　return。　Maybe　he　had　his　own　reasons　for　being　here　now　maybe　he'd　e　to　squeeze　payment　out　of　a　long…standing　debtor；　but　that　was　better；　wasn't　it；　than　being　forgotten　entirely？
　　〃Why　e　back　now？〃　he　asked；　putting　down　his　cup。
　　〃I　have　business；〃　Mamoulian　replied。
　　〃And　you　need　my　help？〃　〃That's　right。〃　Breer　nodded。　The　tears　had　stopped　entirely。　The　tea　had　done　him　good：　he　felt　strong　enough　to　ask　an　insolent　question　or　two。
　　〃What　about　me？〃　came　the　reply。
　　The　European　frowned　at　the　inquiry。　The　lamp　beside　the　bed　flickered；　as　though　the　bulb　was　at　crisis　point；　and　about　to　go　out。
　　〃What　about　you？〃　he　asked。
　　Breer　was　aware　that　he　was　on　tricky　ground；　but　he　was　determined　not　to　be　weak。　If　Mamoulian　wanted　help；　then　he　should　be　prepared　to　deliver　something　in　exchange。
　　〃What's　in　it　for　me？〃　he　asked。
　　〃You　can　be　with　me　again；〃　the　European　said。
　　Breer　grunted。　The　offer　was　less　than　tempting。
　　〃Is　that　not　enough？〃　Mamoulian　wanted　to　know。　The　lamplight　was　more　fitful　by　the　moment；　and　Breer　had　suddenly　lost　his　taste　for　impertinence。
　　〃Answer　me；　Anthony；〃　the　European　insisted。　〃If　you've　got　an　objection；　voice　it。〃　The　flickering　was　worsening；　and　Breer　knew　he'd　made　an　error；　pressing　Mamoulian　for　a　covenant。　Why　hadn't　he　remembered　that　the　European　loathed　bargains　and　bargainers　alike？　Instinctively　he　fingered　the　noose　groove　around　his　neck。　It　was　deep；　and　permanent。
　　〃I'm　sorry　。　。　。〃　he　said；　rather　lamely。
　　Just　before　the　lamp　bulb　gave　out　pletely；　he　saw　Mamoulian　shake　his　head。　A　tiny　shake；　like　a　tick。　Then　the　room　was　drowned　in　darkness。
　　〃Are　you　with　me；　Anthony？〃　the　Last　European　murmured。
　　The　voice；　normally　so　even；　was　twisted　out　of　true。
　　〃Yes　。　。　。〃　Breer　replied。　His　lazy　eyes　weren't　being　accustomed　to　the　dark　with　their　usual　speed。　He　squinted；　trying　to　sort　out　the　European's　form　in　the　surrounding　gloom。　He　needn't　have　troubled　himself。　Scant　seconds　later　something　across　the　room　from　him　seemed　to　ignite；　and　suddenly；　awesomely；　the　European　was　providing　his　own　illumination。
　　Now；　with　this　lurid　lantern　show　to　set　his　sanity　reeling；　tea　and　apologies　were　forgotten：　The　dark；　life　itself；　were　forgotten；　and　there　was　only　time；　in　a　room　turned　inside　out　with　terrors　and　petals；　to　stare　and　stare　and　maybe；　if　one　had　a　sense　of　the　ridiculous；　to　say　a　little　prayer。
　　
　　20
　　Alone　in　Breer's　sordid　one…room　flat　the　Last　European　sat　himself　down　and　played　solitaire　with　his　favorite　pack　of　cards。　The　Razor…Eater　had　dressed　himself　up　and　gone　out　to　taste　the　night。　If　he　concentrated；　Mamoulian　could　find　the　parasite　with　his　mind；　and　taste　vicariously　whatever　experiences　the　other　man　was　enjoying。　But　he　had　no　appetite　for　such　games。　Besides；　he　knew　all　to　well　what　the　Razor…Eater　would　be　doing；　and　it　frankly　revolted　him。　All　pursuits　of　the　flesh；　whether　conventional　or　perverse；　appalled　him；　and　as　he　grew　older　the　disgust　deepened。　On　some　days　he　could　barely　stand　to　look　at　the　human　animal　without　the　roving　gloss　of　its　eye　or　the　pinkness　of　its　tongue　awaking　nausea　in　him。　But　Breer　would　be　useful　in　the　struggle　to　e；　and　his　bizarre　desires　gave　him　an　insight；　albeit　crude；　into　Mamoulian's　tragedy；　an　insight　that　made　him　a　more　pliant　attendant　than　the　usual　panions　the　European　had　tolerated　in　his　long；　long　life。
　　Most　of　the　men　and　women　in　whom　Mamoulian　had　placed　his　trust　had　betrayed　him。　The　pattern　had　repeated　itself　so　often　down　the　decades　that　he　was　sure　he　would　one　day　bee　hardened　to　the　pain　such　betrayals　caused。　But　he　never　achieved　such　precious　indifference。　The　cruelty　of　other　people…their　callous　usage　of　him…never　failed　to　wound　him；　and　though　he　had　extended　his　charitable　hand　to　all　manner　of　crippled　psyches；　such　ingratitude　was　unforgivable。　Perhaps；　he　mused；　when　this　endgame　was　all　over　and　done　with…when　he'd　collected　his　debts　in　blood；　dread　and　night…then　maybe　he'd　lose　the　terrible　itch　that　tormented　him　day　and　night；　that　drove　him　on　without　hope　of　peace　to　new　ambitions　and　new　betrayals。　Maybe　when　all　this　was　over　he　would　be　able　to　lie　down　and　die。
　　The　pack　in　his　hand　was　pornographic。　He　played　with　it　only　when　he　was　feeling　strong；　and　only　then　alone。　Handling　the　images　of　extreme　sensuality　was　a　test　he　set　himself；　one　that　if　he　failed；　he　would　fail　in　private。　Today　the　filth　on　the　cards　was；　after　all；　just　human　depravity；　he　could　turn　the　designs　over　and　not　be　distressed　by　them。　He　even　appreciated　their　wit：　the　way　each　of　the　suits　detailed　a　different　area　of　sexual　activity；　the　spots　incorporated　into　each　intricately　rendered　picture。　Hearts　represented　male/female　congress；　though　by　no　means　limited　to　the　missionary　position。　Spades　were　oralist；　depicting　simple　fellatio　and　its　mare　elaborate　variations。　Clubs　were　analist：　the　spot　cards　portraying　homosexual　and　heterosexual　buggery；　the　court　cards；　anal　sex　with　animals。　Diamonds；　the　most　exquisitely　drawn　of　the　suits；　were　sadomasochistic；　and　here　the　artist's　imagination　had　known　no　bounds。　On　these　cards　men　and　women　suffered　all　manner　of　humiliation；　their　wracked　bodies　bearing　diamond…shaped　wounds　to　designate　each　card。
　　But　the　grossest　image　in　the　pack　was　that　of　the　Joker。　He　was　a　coprophiliac；　and　sat　down　before　a　plateful　of　steaming　excrement；　his　eyes　vast　with　greed；　while　a　scabby　monkey；　its　bald　face　horribly　human；　bared　its　puckered　backside　to　the　viewer。
　　Mamoulian　picked　up　the　card　and　studied　the　picture。　The　leering　face　of　the　shit…eating　fool　brought　the　bitterest　of　smiles　to　his　bloodless　lips。　This　was　surely　the　definitive　human　portrait。　The　other　pictures　on　the　cards；　with　their　pretensions　to　love　and　physical　pleasure；　only　hid　this　terrible　truth　away　for　a　while。　Sooner　or　later；　however　ripe　the　body；　however　glorious　the　face；　whatever　wealth　or　power　or　faith　could　promise；　a　man　was　escorted　to　a　table　groaning　under　the　weight　of　h