cb.damnationgame-第29章

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letting　the　telephone　drop。　Then　she　went　to　sit　down。　The　couch　was　damp：　large；　sticky　stains　were　spreading　on　it　from　the　place　where　she　always　sat。　She　assumed　it　was　something　to　do　with　her；　but　she　couldn't　work　out　how　or　why。　Nor　could　she　explain　the　flies　that　congregated　all　over　her；　in　her　hair；　in　her　clothes；　whining　away。
　　〃Who　is　this？〃　she　asked　again。　The　question　remained　perfectly　pertinent；　though　she　was　no　longer　speaking　to　the　stranger　on　the　phone。　The　rotting　skin　of　her　hands；　the　blood　she　left　in　the　tub　after　bathing；　the　horrid　look　the　mirror　gave　her…all　inspired　the　same　hypnotic　inquiry：　〃Who　is　this？〃　〃Who　is　this？　Who　is　this？　Who　is　this？〃
　　
　　
　　VI　The　Tree
　　
　　34
　　Breer　hated　the　house。　It　was　cold；　and　the　natives　in　this　part　of　the　city　were　inhospitable。　He　was　regarded　with　suspicion　as　soon　as　he　stepped　out　of　the　front　door。　There　were；　he　had　to　concede；　reasons　for　this。　In　recent　weeks　a　smell　had　begun　to　linger　around　him；　a　sickly；　syrupy　smell　that　made　him　almost　ashamed　to　get　too　close　to　the　pretty　ones　along　the　schoolyard　railing；　for　fear　they　would　put　their　fingers　to　their　noses；　making　a　〃poo…poo〃　sound；　and　run　off　calling　him　names。　When　they　did　that；　it　made　him　want　to　die。
　　Though　there　was　no　heating　in　the　house；　and　he　had　to　bathe　in　cold　water；　he　nevertheless　washed　from　head　to　foot　three　or　four　times　a　day；　hoping　to　dislodge　the　smell。　When　that　didn't　work　he　bought　perfume…sandalwood　in　particular…and　doused　his　body　with　it　after　each　ablution。　Now　the　ments　they　called　after　him　weren't　about　excreta　but　about　his　sex　life。　He　took　the　brunt　of　their　remarks　with　equanimity。
　　Nevertheless；　dull　resentments　festered　in　him。　Not　just　about　the　way　he　was　treated　in　the　district。　The　European；　after　a　courtship　that　had　been　polite；　was　more　and　more　treating　him　with　contempt：　as　a　lackey　rather　than　an　ally。　It　irritated　him；　the　way　he　was　sent　to　this　haunt　or　that　looking　for　Toy…asked　to　b　a　city　of　millions　in　search　of　a　shriveled　old　man　whom　Breer　had　last　seen　scrambling　over　a　wall　stark　naked；　his　scrawny　buttocks　white　in　the　moonlight。　The　European　was　losing　his　sense　of　proportion。　Whatever　crimes　this　Toy　had　mitted　against　Mamoulian　they　could　scarcely　be　profound；　and　it　made　Breer　weak　with　tiredness　to　contemplate　another　day　wandering　the　streets。
　　Despite　his　weariness；　the　capacity　for　sleep　seemed　to　have　deserted　him　almost　entirely。　Nothing；　not　even　the　fatigue　that　killed　his　nerves；　could　persuade　his　body　to　close　down　for　more　than　a　few　eye…fluttering　minutes；　and　even　then　his　mind　dreamed　such　things；　such　dreadful　things；　it　was　scarcely　possible　to　call　the　slumber　blissful。　The　only　fort　remaining　to　him　was　his　pretties。
　　That　was　one　of　the　few　advantages　in　this　house：　it　had　a　cellar。　Just　a　dry；　cool　space；　which　he　was　systematically　clearing　of　the　rubbish　left　by　the　previous　owners。　It　was　a　long　job；　but　he　was　gradually　getting　the　place　the　way　he　wanted　it；　and　though　he　had　never　much　liked　enclosed　spaces　there　was　something　about　the　darkness；　and　the　sense　of　being　underground；　that　answered　an　unarticulated　need　in　him。　Soon　he　would　have　it　all　scrubbed。　He　would　put　colored　paper　chains　around　the　walls；　and　flowers　in　vases　on　the　floor。　A　table　maybe；　with　a　cloth　on　it；　smelling　of　violets；　fortable　chairs　for　his　guests。　Then　he　could　begin　to　entertain　friends　in　the　manner　to　which　he　hoped　they　would　bee　accustomed。
　　All　his　arrangements　could　be　effected　much　more　quickly　if　he　weren't　forever　interrupted　by　the　damn…fool　errands　the　European　sent　him　on。　But　the　time　for　such　servitude；　he'd　decided；　had　e　to　an　end。　Today；　he　would　tell　Mamoulian　that　he　wouldn't　be　blackmailed　or　bullied　into　playing　this　game。　He'd　threaten　to　leave　if　it　came　to　the　worst。　He'd　go　north。　There　were　places　north　where　the　sun　didn't　e　up　for　five　months　of　the　year…he'd　read　about　such　places…and　that　seemed　fine　to　him。　No　sun；　and　deep　caves　to　live　in；　holes　where　not　even　moonlight　could　stray。　The　time　had　e　to　lay　his　cards　on　the　table。
　　
　　If　the　air　in　the　house　was　cold；　it　was　even　colder　in　Mamoulian's　room。　The　European　seemed　to　exhale　a　breath　that　was　mortuary…chilled。
　　Breer　stood　in　the　doorway。　He'd　only　been　in　this　room　once　before；　and　he　had　a　niggling　fear　of　it。　It　was　too　plain。　The　European　had　asked　Breer　to　nail　boards　across　the　window：　this　he　had　done。　Now；　by　the　light　of　a　single　wick；　burning　in　a　dish　of　oil　on　the　floor；　the　room　looked　bleak　and　gray；　everything　in　it　seemed　insubstantial；　even　the　European。　He　sat　in　the　dark　wood　chair　that　was　the　only　furnishing…and　looked　at　Breer　with　eyes　so　glazed　he　could　have　been　blind。
　　〃I　didn't　call　you　up　here；〃　Mamoulian　said。
　　〃I　wanted　。　。　。　to　talk　to　you。〃　〃Close　the　door；　then。〃　Though　this　was　against　his　better　judgment；　Breer　obeyed。　The　lock　clicked　at　his　back；　the　room　was　now　centered　on　that　single　flame　and　the　fitful　luminosity　it　offered。　Sluggishly　Breer　looked　around　the　room　for　someplace　to　sit；　or　at　least　lean。　But　there　was　no　fort　here：　its　austerity　would　have　shamed　an　ascetic。　Just　a　few　blankets　on　the　bare　boards　in　the　corner；　where　the　great　man　slept；　some　books　stacked　against　the　wall；　a　pack　of　cards；　a　jug　of　water　and　a　cup；　little　else。；　The　walls；　except　for　the　rosary　that　hung　from　a　hook；　were　naked。
　　〃What　do　you　want；　Anthony？〃　All　Breer　could　think　was：　I　hate　this　room。
　　〃Say　what　you　have　to　say。〃　〃I　want　to　go　。　。　。〃　〃Go？〃　〃Away。　The　flies　bother　me。　There　are　so　many　flies。〃　〃No　more　than　there　are　in　any　other　May。　It　is　perhaps　a　little　warmer　than　usual。　All　the　signs　are　that　the　summer　will　be　blistering。〃　The　thought　of　heat　and　light　made　Breer　sick。　And　that　was　another　thing：　the　way　his　belly　revolted　if　he　put　food　into　it。　The　European　had　promised　him　a　new　world…health；　wealth　and　happiness…but　he　was　suffering　the　torments　of　the　damned。　It　was　a　cheat：　all　a　cheat。
　　〃Why　didn't　you　let　me　die？〃　he　said；　without　thinking　what　he　was　saying。
　　〃I　need　you。〃　〃But　I　feel　ill。〃　〃The　work　will　soon　be　over。〃　Breer　looked　straight　at　Mamoulian；　something　he　very　rarely　mustered　the　courage　to　do。　But　desperation　was　a　rod　at　his　back。
　　〃You　mean　finding　Toy？〃　he　said。　〃We　won't　find　him。　It's　impossible。〃　〃Oh；　but　we　will；　Anthony。　That　I　insist　upon。〃　Breer　sighed。　〃I　wish　I　was　dead；〃　he　said。
　　〃Don't　say　that。　You've　got　all　the　freedom　you　want；　haven't　you？　You　feel　no　guilt　now；　do　you？〃　〃Most　people　would　happily　suffer　your　minor　disforts　to　be　guiltless；　Anthony：　to　mit　their　heart's　desire　to　flesh　and　never　be　called　to　regret　it。　Rest　today。　Tomorrow　we're　going　to　be　busy；　you　and　I。〃　〃Why？〃　〃We're　going　to　visit　Mr。　Whitehead。〃　Mamoulian　had　told　him　about　Whitehead　and　the　house　and　the　dogs。　The　damage　they'd　done　to　the　European　was　conspicuous。　Though　his　torn　hand　had　healed　quickly；　the　tissue　damage　was　irreparable。　A　finger　and　a　half　missing；　ugly　scars　raking　palm　and　face；　a　thumb　that　would　no　longer　move　properly：　his　facility　with　the　cards　was　permanently　spoiled。　It　was　a　long　and　sorry　tale　he'd　told　Breer　the　day　he'd　returned；　bloodied；　from　his　encounter　with　the　dogs。　A　history　of　promises　broken　and　trust　despised；　of　atrocities　mitted　against　friendship。　The　European　had　wept　freely　in　the　telling　of　it；　and　Breer　had　glimpsed　the　profundity　of　pain　in　him。　They　were　both　despised　men；　conspired　against　and　spat　upon。　Remembering　the　European's　confessional；　the　sense　of　injustice　Breer　had　felt　at　the　time　was　reawoken。　And　here　was　he；　who　owed　the　European　so　much…his　life；　his　sanity…planning　to　turn　his　back　on　his　Savior。　The　Razor…Eater　felt　ashamed。
　　〃Please；〃　he　said；　eager　to　make　amends　for　his　petty　plaints；　〃let　me　go　and　kill　this　man　for　you。〃　〃No；　Anthony。〃　〃I　can；〃　Breer　insisted。　〃I'm　not　afraid　of　dogs。　I　feel　no　pain；　not　now；　not　since　you　came　back。　I　can　kill　him　in　his　bed。〃　〃I'm　sure　you　could。　And　I　will　certainly　need　you；　to　keep　the　dogs　off　me。〃　〃I'll　tear　them　apart。〃　Mamoulian　looked　deeply　pleased。
　　〃You　do　that；　Anthony。　I　loathe　the　species。　Always　have。　You　deal　with　them　while　I　have　words　with　Joseph。〃　〃Why　bother　with　him？　He's　so　old。〃　〃So　am　I；〃　Mamoulian　replied。　〃Older　than　I　look；　believe　me。　But　a　bargain　is　a　bargain。〃　〃It's　difficult；〃　said　Breer；　his　eyes　wet　with　phlegmy　tears。
　　〃What　is？〃　〃Being　the　Last。〃　〃Oh；　yes。〃　〃Needing　to　do　everything　properly；　so　that　the　tribe's　remembered　。　。　。〃　Breer's　voice　broke。　All　the　glories　he'd　missed；　not　being　born　into　a　Great　Age。　What　must　that　dream　time　have　been　like；　when　the　Razor…Eaters　and　the　Europeans；　and　all　the　other　tribes；　held　the　world　in　their　hands？　There　would　never　e　such　an　Age　again；　Mamoulian　had　said　so。
　　〃You　won't　be　forgotten；〃　the　European　promised。
　　〃I　think　I　will。〃　The　European　stood　up。　He　seemed　bigger　than　Breer　remembered　him；　and　darker。
　　〃Have　a　little　faith；　Anthony。　There　is　so　much　to　look　forward　to。〃　Breer　felt　a　touch　at　the　back　of　his　neck。　It　seemed　a　moth　had　alighted　there　and　was　stroking　his　nape　with　its　furred　antennae。　His　head　had　begun　to　buzz；　as　though　the　flies　that　beset　him　had　laid　eggs　in　his　ears；　and　they　were　suddenly　hatching。　He　shook　his　head　to　try　to　dislocate　the　sensation。
　　〃It's　all　right；〃　he　heard　the　European　say　through　the　whirring　of　their　wings。　〃Be　calm。〃　〃I　don't　feel　well；〃　Breer　protested　meekly；　hoping　his　weakness　would　make　Mamoulian　merciful。　The　room　was　fragmenting　around　him；　the　walls　separating　from　the　floor　and　ceiling；　the　six　sides　of　this　gray　box　ing　apart　at　the　seams　and　letting　all　kinds　of　nothingness　in。　Everything　had　disappeared　into　a　fog：　furniture；　blankets；　even　Mamoulian。
　　〃There's　so　much　to　look　forward　to；〃　he　heard　the　European　repeat；　or　was　it　an　echo；　ing　back　to　him　from　some　far…off　cliff　face？　Breer　was　terrified。　Though　he　could　no　longer　even　see　his　outstretched　arm；　he　knew　that　this　place　went　on　forever　and　he　was　lost　in　it。　The　tears　came　thicker。　His　nose　ran；　his　guts　knotted。
　　Just　as　he　thought　he　must　scream　or　lose　his　mind；　the　European　appeared　out　of　the　nothingness　in　front　of　him；　and　by　the　lightning　flash　of　his　eclipsed　consciousness　Breer　saw　the　man　transformed。　Here　was　the　source　of　all　flies；　all　blistering　summers　and　killing　winters；　all　loss；　all　fear；　floating　before　him　more　naked　than　any　man　had　right　to　be；　naked　to　the　point　of　not…being。　Now　he　spread　his　good　hand　toward　Breer。　In　it　were　bone　dice；　carved　with　faces　Breer　almost　recognized；　and　the　Last　European　was　crouching；　and　was　tossing　the　dice；　faces　and　all；　into　the　void；　while　somewhere　close　by　a　thing　with　fire　for　a　head　wept　and　wept　until　it　seemed　they　would　all　drown　in　tears。
　　
　　35
　　Whitehead　took　the　vodka　glass；　and　the　bottle；　and　went　down　to　the　sauna。　It　had　bee　a　favorite　retreat　of　his　during　the　weeks　of　Crisis。　Now；　though　the　danger　was　far　from　over；　he　had　lost　focus　on　the　state　of　the　Empire。　Large　sectors　of　the　corporation's　European　and　Far　Eastern　operations　ha