cb.damnationgame-第22章

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y　conjured　from　his　body。　That　he　made　no　attempt　to　describe；　or　even　report。　He'd　simply　told　the　old　man　that　the　lights　along　the　fence　had　failed　and　that　under　the　cover　of　darkness　the　intruder　had　made　off。　It　made　a　lame　finale　to　the　encounter　but　he　had　no　powers　to　improve　on　his　story。　His　mind；　still　juggling　the　visions　of　the　previous　night；　was　too　uncertain　of　objective　truth　to　contemplate　a　more　elaborate　lie。
　　He　hadn't　slept　for　over　twenty…four　hours　now。　He'd　spent　the　bulk　of　the　night　checking　the　perimeter；　scouring　the　fence　for　the　place　the　intruder　had　breached。　There　was　no　break　in　the　wire；　however。　Either　the　man　had　slipped　into　the　grounds　when　the　gates　were　opened　for　one　of　the　guests〃　cars；　which　was　plausible；　or　else　he　had　scaled　the　fence；　disregarding　an　electric　charge　that　would　have　struck　most　men　dead。　Having　seen　the　tricks　the　man　was　capable　of　Marty　was　not　about　to　discount　this　second　scenario。　After　all；　this　same　man　had　rendered　the　alarms　inoperative…and　somehow　drained　the　lights　of　power　along　the　stretch　of　fence。　How　he'd　achieved　these　feats　was　anybody's　guess。　Certainly　scant　minutes　after　the　man's　disappearance　the　entire　system　was　fully　operational　again：　the　alarms　working　and　the　cameras　functioning　all　around　the　boundary。
　　Once　he'd　checked　the　fences　thoroughly；　he'd　gone　back　into　the　house　and　sat　in　the　kitchen　to　reconstruct　every　detail　of　what　he'd　just　experienced。　About　four　in　the　morning　he'd　heard　the　dinner　party　break　up：　laughter；　the　slamming　of　car　doors。　He'd　made　no　move　to　report　the　break…in　then　and　there。　There　was；　he　reasoned；　no　use　in　souring　Whitehead's　evening。　He　just　sat　and　listened　to　the　noise　of　people　at　the　other　end　of　the　house。　Their　voices　were　incoherent　smears；　as　if　he　were　underground；　and　they　above。　And　while　he　listened；　drained　after　his　adrenaline　high；　memories　of　the　man　at　the　fence　flickered　in　front　of　him。
　　He　told　none　of　this　to　Whitehead。　Just　the　plainest　outline　of　events；　and　those　few　words：　〃Tell　him　that　I　was　here。〃　It　was　enough。
　　〃Was　he　badly　hurt？〃　Whitehead　said；　not　turning　from　the　window。
　　〃He　lost　a　finger；　as　I　said。　And　he　was　bleeding　pretty　badly。〃　〃In　pain；　would　you　say？〃　Marty　hesitated　before　replying。　Pain　was　not　the　word　he　wanted　to　employ；　not　pain　as　he　understood　it。　But　if　he　used　some　other　word；　like　anguish…something　that　hinted　at　the　gulfs　behind　the　glacial　eyes…he　risked　trespass　into　areas　he　was　not　prepared　to　go；　especially　not　with　Whitehead。　He　was　certain　that　if　he　once　let　the　old　man　sense　any　ambivalence；　the　knives　would　be　out。　So　he　replied：　〃Yes。　He　was　in　pain。〃　〃And　you　say　he　bit　the　finger　off？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Maybe　you'd　look　for　it　later。〃　〃I　have。　I　think　one　of　the　dogs　must　have　taken　it。〃　Did　Whitehead　chuckle　to　himself？　It　sounded　so。
　　〃Don't　you　believe　me？〃　Marty　said；　taking　the　laughter　to　be　at　his　expense。
　　〃Of　course　I　believe　you。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　he　came。〃　〃You　know　who　he　is？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Then　you　can　have　him　arrested。〃　The　private　amusement　had　stopped。　The　words　that　followed　were　colorless。
　　〃This　is　no　conventional　trespasser；　Strauss；　as　I'm　sure　you're　aware。　The　man　is　a　professional　assassin　of　the　first　rank。　He　came　here　with　the　express　purpose　of　killing　me。　With　your　intervention；　and　that　of　the　dogs；　he　was　prevented。　But　he　will　try　again…〃　〃All　the　more　reason　to　have　him　found；　sir。〃　〃No　police　force　in　Europe　could　locate　him。〃
　　〃…if　he's　a　known　assassin…〃　Marty　said；　pressing　the　point。　His　refusal　to　let　this　bone　go　until　he　had　the　marrow　from　it　had　begun　to　irritate　the　old　man。　He　growled　his　reply。
　　〃He's　known　to　me。　Perhaps　to　a　few　others　who　have　encountered　him　down　the　years　。　。　。　but　that's　all。〃　Whitehead　crossed　from　the　window　to　his　desk；　unlocked　it；　and　brought　out　something　wrapped　in　cloth。　He　laid　it　on　the　polished　desk…top　and　unwrapped　it。　It　was　a　gun。
　　〃You'll　carry　this　with　you　at　all　times　in　future；〃　he　told　Marty。　〃Pick　it　up。　It　won't　bite。〃　Marty　took　the　gun　from　the　desk。　It　was　cold　and　heavy。
　　〃Have　no　hesitation；　Strauss。　This　man　is　lethal。〃　Marty　passed　the　gun　from　hand　to　hand；　it　felt　ugly。
　　〃Problem？〃　Whitehead　inquired。
　　Marty　chewed　on　his　words　before　speaking　them。　〃It's　only　。　。　。　well；　I'm　on　parole；　sir。　I'm　supposed　to　be　obeying　the　letter　of　the　law。　Now　You　give　me　a　gun；　and　tell　me　to　shoot　on　sight。　I　mean；　I'm　sure　you're　right　about　him　being　an　assassin；　but　I　don't　think　he　was　even　armed。〃　Whitehead's　expression；　hitherto　impartial；　changed　as　Marty　spoke。　His　teeth　showed　yellow　as　he　snapped　his　reply。
　　〃You're　my　property；　Strauss。　You　concern　yourself　with　me；　or　you　get　to　Hell　out　of　here　tomorrow　morning。　Me！〃　He　jabbed　finger　at　his　own　chest。　〃Not　yourself。　Forget　yourself。〃　Marty　swallowed　a　throatful　of　possible　retorts：　none　were　polite。
　　〃You　want　to　go　back　to　Wandsworth？〃　the　old　man　said。　All　signs　of　anger　had　disappeared；　the　yellow　teeth　were　sheathed。　〃Do　you？〃　〃No。　Of　course　not。〃　〃You　can　go　if　you　want。　Just　say　the　word。〃　〃I　said　no！　。　。　。　Sir。〃　〃Then　you　listen；〃　the　old　man　said。　〃The　man　you　met　last　night　means　me　harm。　He　came　here　to　kill　me。　If　he　es　again…and　he　will…I　want　you　to　return　the　pliment。　Then　we'll　see；　won't　we；　boy？〃…the　teeth　showed　again；　a　fox's　smile。　〃Oh；　yes　。　。　。　we'll　see。〃
　　
　　Carys　woke　feeling　seedy。　At　first　she　remembered　nothing　of　the　previous　night；　but　she　gradually　began　to　recall　the　bad　trip　that　she'd　undergone：　the　room　like　a　living　thing；　the　phantom　fingertips　that　had　plucked…oh；　so　gently…at　the　hairs　on　the　nape　of　her　neck。
　　She　couldn't　remember　what　had　happened　when　the　fingers　had　delved　too　deep。　Had　she　lain　down；　was　that　it？　Yes；　now　she　remembered；　she　had　lain　down。　It　was　only　then；　when　her　head　hit　the　pillow　and　sleep　claimed　her；　that　the　bad　times　had　really　begun。
　　Not　dreams：　at　least　not　like　she'd　had　before。　There'd　been　no　theatrics；　no　symbols；　no　fugitive　memories　weaving　between　the　horrors。　There　had　been　nothing　at　all：　and　that　had　been　（still　was）　the　terror。　She　had　been　delivered　into　a　void。
　　〃Void。〃　It　was　just　a　dead　word　when　she　spoke　it　aloud：　it　didn't　begin　to　describe　the　place　she'd　discovered；　its　emptiness　more　immaculate；　the　terrors　it　awoke　more　atrocious；　the　hope　of　salvation　in　its　deeps　more　fragile　than　in　any　place　she　had　ever　guessed　at。　It　was　a　legendary　Nowhere；　beside　which　every　other　dark　was　blindingly　bright；　every　other　despair　she　had　endured　a　mere　flirtation　with　the　pit；　not　the　pit　itself。
　　Its　architect　had　been　there　too。　She　remembered　something　of　his　mild　physiognomy；　which　had　convinced　her　not　a　jot。　See　how　extraordinary　this　emptiness　is；　he　had　boasted；　how　pure；　how　absolute？　A　world　of　marvels　can't　pare；　can　never　hope　to　pare；　with　such　sublime　nothingness。
　　And　when　she　awoke　the　boasts　remained。　It　was　as　if　the　vision　were　true；　while　the　reality　she　now　occupied　was　a　fiction。　As　if　color　and　shape　and　substance　were　pretty　distractions　designed　to　paste　over　the　fact　of　this　emptiness　he　had　shown　her。　Now　she　waited；　scarcely　aware　of　time　passing；　occasionally　stroking　the　sheet　or　feeling　the　weave　of　the　carpet　under　her　bare　feet；　waiting　in　despair　for　the　moment　it　all　peeled　back　and　the　void　appeared　again　to　devour　her。
　　Well；　she　thought；　I'll　go　to　the　sunshine　island。　If　ever　she　deserved　to　play　there　awhile；　she　deserved　it　now；　having　suffered　so　much。　But　something　soured　the　thought。　Wasn't　the　island　a　fiction　too？　If　she　went　there　now；　wasn't　she　weaker　next　time　the　architect　came；　void　in　hand？　Her　heart　started　to　beat　very　loudly　in　her　ears。　Who　was　there　to　help　her？　Nobody　who　understood。　Just　Pearl；　with　her　accusing　eyes　and　her　sly　contempt；　and　Whitehead；　content　to　feed　her　H　as　long　as　it　kept　her　pliant；　and　Marty；　her　runner；　sweet　in　his　way；　but　so　naively　pragmatic　she　could　never　begin　to　explain　the　plexities　of　the　dimensions　she　lived　in。　He　was　a　one…world　man；　he　would　look　at　her　bewildered；　trying　to　understand；　and　failing。
　　No；　she　had　no　guides；　no　signposts。　It　would　be　better　if　she　went　back　the　way　she　knew。　Back　to　the　island。
　　It　was　a　chemical　lie；　and　it　killed　with　time；　but　life　killed　in　time；　didn't　it？　And　if　dying　was　all　there　was；　didn't　it　make　sense　to　go　to　it　happy　rather　than　fester　in　a　dirty　hole　of　a　world　where　the　void　whispered　at　every　corner？　So　when　Pearl　came　upstairs　with　her　H；　she　took　it；　thanked　her　politely；　and　went　to　the　island；　dancing。
　　
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　　Fear　could　make　the　world　go　round　if　its　wheels　were　efficiently　oiled。　Marty　had　seen　the　system　in　practice　at　Wandsworth：　a　hierarchy　built　upon　fear。　It　was　violent；　unstable　and　unjust；　but　perfectly　workable。
　　Seeing　Whitehead；　the　calm；　still　center　of　his　universe；　so　changed　by　fear；　so　sweaty；　so　full　of　panic；　had　e　as　an　unwele　shock。　Marty　had　no　personal　feelings　for　the　old　man…or　none　that　he　was　aware　of…but　he'd　seen　Whitehead's　species　of　integrity　at　work；　and　had　profited　by　it。　Now；　he　felt；　the　stability　he　had　e　to　enjoy　was　threatened　with　extinction。　Already　the　old　man　was　clearly　withholding　information…perhaps　pivotal　to　Marty's　understanding　of　the　situation…about　the　intruder　and　his　motives。　In　place　of　Whitehead's　previous　plain　talking；　there　was　innuendo　and　threats。　That　was　his　prerogative；　of　course。　But　it　left　Marty　with　a　guessing　game　on　his　hands。
　　One　point　was　unarguable：　whatever　Whitehead　claimed；　the　man　at　the　fence　had　been　no　conventional　hired　killer。　Several　inexplicable　things　had　happened　at　the　fence。　The　lights　had　waxed　and　waned　as　if　on　cue；　the　cameras　had　mysteriously　failed　when　the　man　had　appeared。　The　dogs　had　registered　this　riddle　too。　Why　else　had　they　shown　such　a　confusion　of　anger　and　apprehension？　And　there　remained　the　illusions…those　air…burning　pictures。　No　sleight　of　hand；　however　elaborate；　could　explain　them　satisfactorily。　If　Whitehead　knew　this　〃assassin〃　as　well　as　he　claimed；　then　he　must　know　the　man's　skills　too：　he　was　simply　too　afraid　to　talk　about　them。
　　Marty　spent　the　day　asking　the　discreetest　of　questions　around　the　house　but　it　rapidly　became　apparent　that　Whitehead　had　said　nothing　of　the　events　to　Pearl；　Lillian　or　Luther。　This　was　odd。　Surely　now　was　the　very　time　to　make　everyone　more　vigilant？　The　only　person　to　suggest　he　had　any　knowledge　of　the　night's　events　was　Bill　Toy；　but　when　Marty　raised　the　subject　he　was　evasive。
　　〃I　realize　you've　been　put　in　a　difficult　situation；　Marty；　but　so　are　we　all　at　the　moment。〃　〃I　just　feel　I　could　do　the　job　better　〃
　　〃…if　you　knew　the　facts。〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Well；　I　think　you　have　to　concede　that　Joe　knows　best。〃　He　made　a　rueful　face。　〃We　should　all　have　that　tattooed　on　our　hands；　don't　you　think？　Joe　Knows　Best。　I　wish　I　could　tell　more。　I　wish　I　knew　more。　I　think　it's　probably　easiest　for　all　concerned　if　you　let　the　matter　drop。〃　〃He　gave　me　a　gun；　Bill。〃　〃I　know。〃　〃And　he　told　me　to　use　it。〃　Toy　nodded；　he　looked　pained　by　all　of　this；　even　regretful。
　　〃These　are　bad　times；　Marty。　W