cb.damnationgame-第34章

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　the　plate；　a　bowl　of　strawberries；　partially　devoured；　and　a　glass　of　water。　The　frugality　of　the　meal　matched　the　environment：　the　meat；　sliced　to　the　point　of　transparency；　rare　and　moist；　the　casual　arrangement　of　cups　and　strawberry　bowl。　An　arbitrary　precision　invested　everything；　an　eerie　sense　of　chance　beauty。　Between　Marty　and　Whitehead　a　mote　of　dust　turned　in　the　air；　fluctuating　between　the　light　bulb　and　table；　its　…direction　influenced　by　the　merest　exhalation。
　　〃Try　the　meat；　Martin。〃　〃I'm　not　hungry。〃　〃It's　superb。　My　guest　brought　it。〃　〃You　know　who　they　are；　then。〃　〃Yes；　of　course。　Now　eat。〃　Reluctantly　Marty　cut　a　piece　of　the　slice　in　front　of　him；　and　tasted　it。　The　texture　dissolved　on　the　tongue；　delicate　and　appetizing。
　　〃Finish　it　off；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　Marty　did　as　the　old　man　had　invited：　the　night's　exertions　had　given　him　an　appetite。　A　glass　of　red　wine　was　poured　for　him；　he　drank　it　down。
　　〃Your　head's　full　of　questions；　no　doubt；〃　Whitehead　said。　〃Please　ask　away。　I'll　do　my　best　to　answer。〃　〃Who　are　they？〃　he　asked。
　　〃Friends。〃　〃They　broke　in　like　assassins。〃　〃Is　it　not　possible　that　friends；　with　time；　can　bee　assassins？〃　Marty　hadn't　been　prepared　for　that　particular　paradox。　〃One　of　them　sat　where　you're　sitting　now。〃　〃How　can　I　be；　your　bodyguard　if　I　don't　know　your　friends　from　your　enemies？〃　Whitehead　paused；　and　looked　hard　at　Marty。
　　〃Do　you　care？〃　he　asked　after　a　beat。
　　〃You've　been　good　to　me；〃　Marty　replied；　insulted　by　the　inquiry。　〃What　kind　of　coldhearted　bastard　do　you　take　me　for？〃　〃My　God　。　。　。〃　Whitehead　shook　his　head。　〃Marty　。　。　。〃　〃Explain　to　me。　I　want　to　help。〃　〃Explain　what？〃　〃How　you　can　invite　a　man　who　wants　to　kill　you　to　eat　dinner　with　you。
　　Whitehead　watched　the　dust　mote　turning　between　them。　He　either　thought　the　question　beneath　contempt；　or　had　no　answer　for　it。
　　〃You　want　to　help　me？〃　he　said　eventually。　〃Then　bury　the　dogs。〃　〃Is　that　all　I'm　good　for？〃　〃The　time　may　e…〃　〃So　you　keep　telling　me；〃　Marty　said；　standing　up。　He　wasn't　going　to　get　any　answers；　that　much　was　apparent。　Just　meat　and　good　wine。　Tonight；　that　wasn't　enough。
　　〃Can　I　go　now？〃　he　asked；　and　without　waiting　for　a　reply　turned　his　back　on　the　old　man　and　went　to　the　door。
　　As　he　opened　it；　Whitehead　said：　〃Forgive　me；〃　very　quietly。　So　quietly　in　fact　that　Marty　wasn't　sure　whether　the　words　were　intended　for　him　or　not。
　　He　closed　the　door　behind　him　and　went　back　through　the　house　to　check　that　the　intruders　had　indeed　gone；　they　had。　The　steam　room　was　empty。　Carys　had　obviously　returned　to　her　room。
　　Feeling　insolent；　he　slipped　into　the　study　and　poured　himself　a　treble　whisky　from　the　decanter；　and　then　sat　in　Whitehead's　chair　by　the　window；　sipping　and　thinking。　The　alcohol　did　nothing　for　the　clarity　of　his　mind：　it　simply　dulled　the　ache　of　frustration　he　felt。　He　slipped　away　to　bed　before　dawn　described　the　ragged　bundles　of　fur　on　the　lawn　too　distinctly。
　　
　　
　　VII。
　　No　Limits
　　
　　40
　　It　was　no　morning　for　burying　dead　dogs；　the　sky　was　too　high　and　promising。　Jets；　trailing　vapor；　crossed　to　America；　the　woods　budded　and　winged　with　life。　Still；　the　work　had　to　be　done；　however　inappropriate。
　　Only　by　the　unpromising　light　of　day　was　it　possible　to　see　the　full　extent　of　the　slaughter。　In　addition　to　killing　the　dogs　around　the　house；　the　intruders　had　broken　into　the　kennels　and　systematically　murdered　all　its　occupants；　including　Bella　and　her　offspring。　When　Marty　arrived　at　the　kennels　Lillian　was　already　there。　She　looked　as　though　she'd　been　weeping　for　days。　In　her　hands　she　cradled　one　of　the　pups。　Its　head　had　been　crushed；　as　if　in　a　vise。
　　〃Look；〃　she　said；　proffering　the　corpse。
　　Marty　hadn't　managed　to　eat　anything　for　breakfast：　the　thought　of　the　job　ahead　had　taken　the　edge　off　his　appetite。　Now　he　wished　he'd　forced　something　down：　his　empty　belly　echoed　on　itself。　He　felt　almost　lightheaded。
　　〃If　only　I'd　been　here；〃　she　said。
　　〃You　probably　would　have　ended　up　dead　yourself；〃　he　told　her。　It　was　the　simple　truth。
　　She　laid　the　pup　back　on　the　straw；　and　stroked　the　matted　fur　of　Bella's　body。　Marty　was　more　fastidious　than　she。　Even　wearing　a　pair　of　thick　leather　gloves　he　didn't　want　to　touch　the　corpses。　But　whatever　he　lacked　in　respect　he　made　up　for　in　efficiency；　using　his　disgust　as　a　spur　to　hurry　the　work　along。　Lillian；　though　she　had　insisted　on　being　there　to　help；　was　useless　in　the　face　of　the　fact。　All　she　could　do　was　watch　while　Marty　wrapped　the　bodies　in　black　plastic　refuse　bags；　loaded　the　forlorn　parcels　into　the　back　of　the　jeep；　and　then　drove　this　makeshift　hearse　across　to　a　clearing　he'd　chosen　in　the　woods。　It　was　here　that　they　were　to　be　buried；　at　Whitehead's　request；　out　of　sight　of　the　house。　He'd　brought　two　spades；　hoping　that　Lillian　would　assist；　but　she　was　clearly　incapable。　He　was　left　to　do　it　single…handed；　while　she　stood；　hands　thrust　into　the　pockets　of　her　filthy　anorak；　staring　at　the　leaking　bundles。
　　It　was　difficult　work。　The　soil　was　a　network　of　roots；　crisscrossing　from　tree　to　tree；　and　Marty　soon　worked　up　a　sweat；　hacking　at　the　roots　with　the　blade　of　his　spade。　Once　he'd　dug　a　shallow　grave；　he　rolled　the　bodies　into　it　and　began　to　shovel　the　earth　back　on　top　of　them。　It　rattled　on　their　plastic　shrouds；　a　dry　rain。　When　the　filling　was　done　he　patted　the　soil　into　a　rough　mound。
　　〃I'm　going　back　to　the　house　for　a　beer；〃　he　told　Lillian。　〃You　ing？〃　She　shook　her　head。　〃Last　respects；〃　she　muttered。
　　He　left　her　among　the　trees　and　headed　back　across　the　lawn　to　the　house。　As　he　walked；　he　thought　of　Carys。　She　must　be　awake　by　now；　surely；　though　the　curtains　at　the　window　were　still　drawn。　How　fine　to　be　a　bird；　he　thought；　to　peer　through　the　gap　in　the　curtains　and　spy　on　her　stretching　naked　on　the　bed；　sloth　that　she　was；　her　arms　thrown　up　above　her　head；　fur　at　her　armpits；　fur　where　her　legs　met。　He　walked　into　the　house　wearing　a　smile　and　an　erection。
　　He　found　Pearl　in　the　kitchen；　told　her　he　was　hungry；　and　went　upstairs　to　shower。　When　he　came　down　again　she　had　a　cold　spread　laid　out　for　him：　beef；　bread；　tomatoes。　He　dug　in　with　a　will。
　　〃Seen　Carys　this　morning？〃　he　asked；　mouth　crammed。
　　〃No；〃　she　replied。　She　was　at　her　most　unmunicative　today；　her　face　pinched　up　with　some　fermenting　grievance。　He　wondered；　watching　her　move　around　the　kitchen；　what　she　was　like　in　bed：　for　some　reason　he　was　full　of　dirty　thoughts　today；　as　if　his　mind；　refusing　to　be　depressed　by　the　burial；　was　eager　for　uplifting　sport。　Chewing　on　a　mouthful　of　salted　beef　he　said：　〃Was　it　veal　you　fed　the　old　man　last　night？〃　Pearl　didn't　look　up　from　her　labors　as　she　said：　〃He　didn't　eat　last　night。　I　left　fish　for　him；　but　he　didn't　touch　it。〃　〃But　he　had　meat；〃　Marty　said。　〃I　finished　it　off　for　him。　And　strawberries。〃　〃He　must　have　e　down　and　got　those　for　himself。　Always　strawberries；〃　she　said。　〃He'll　choke　on　them　one　of　these　days。〃　Now　Marty　came　to　think　of　it；　Whitehead　had　said　something　about　his　guest　providing　the　meat。
　　〃It　was　good；　whatever　it　was；〃　he　said。
　　〃None　of　my　doing；〃　Pearl　said；　offended　as　a　wife　discovering　her　husband's　adultery。
　　Marty　put　the　conversation　to　rest；　it　was　no　use　trying　to　raise　her　spirits　when　she　was　in　this　kind　of　mood。
　　The　meal　finished；　he　went　up　to　Carys〃　room。　The　house　was　pin…drop　still：　after　the　lethal　farce　of　the　previous　night　it　had　regained　its　posure。　The　pictures　that　lined　the　staircase；　the　carpets　underfoot；　all　conspired　against　any　rumor　of　distress。　Chaos　here　was　as　unthinkable　as　a　riot　in　an　art　gallery：　all　precedent　forbade　it。
　　He　knocked　on　Carys〃　door；　lightly。　There　was　no　answer；　so　he　knocked　again；　more　loudly　this　time。
　　〃Carys？〃　Perhaps　she　didn't　want　to　speak　to　him。　He'd　never　been　able　to　predict　from　one　day　to　the　next　whether　they　were　lovers　or　enemies。　Her　ambiguities　no　longer　distressed　him；　however。　It　was　her　way　of　testing　him；　he　guessed；　and　it　was　fine　by　him　as　long　as　she　finally　admitted　that　she　loved　him　more　than　any　other　fucker　on　the　face　of　the　earth。
　　He　tried　the　handle；　the　door　wasn't　locked。　The　room　beyond　was　empty。　Not　only　did　it　not　contain　Carys；　it　contained　no　trace　of　her　existence　there。　Her　books；　her　toiletries；　her　clothes；　her　ornaments；　everything　that　marked　out　the　room　as　hers　had　been　removed。　The　sheets　had　been　stripped　from　the　bed；　the　pillowcases　from　the　pillow。　The　bare　mattress　looked　desolate。
　　Marty　closed　the　door　and　started　downstairs。　He'd　asked　for　explanations　more　than　once　and　he'd　been　granted　precious　few。　But　this　was　too　much。　He　wished　to　God　Toy　was　still　around：　at　least　he'd　treated　Marty　as　a　thinking　animal。
　　Luther　was　back　in　the　kitchen；　his　feet　up　on　the　table　among　a　clutter　of　unwashed　dishes。　Pearl　had　clearly　left　her　province　to　the　barbarians。
　　〃Where's　Carys？〃　was　Marty's　first　question。
　　〃You　never　quit；　do　you？〃　Luther　said。　He　stubbed　out　his　cigarette　on　Marty's　lunch　plate；　and　turned　a　page　of　his　magazine。
　　Marty　felt　detonation　approaching。　He'd　never　liked　Luther；　but　he'd　taken　months　of　sly　remarks　from　the　bastard　because　the　system　forbade　the　kind　of　response　he　really　wanted　to　give。　Now　that　system　was　crumbling；　rapidly。　Toy　gone；　dogs　dead；　heels　on　the　kitchen　table：　who　the　hell　cared　any　longer　if　he　beat　Luther　to　pulp？
　　〃I　want　to　know　where　Carys　is。〃　〃No　lady　by　that　name　here。〃　Marty　took　a　step　toward　the　table。　Luther　seemed　to　sense　that　his　repartee　had　gone　sour。　He　slung　down　the　magazine；　the　smile　disappeared。
　　〃Don't　get　edgy；　man。〃　〃Where　is　she？〃　He　smoothed　the　page　in　front　of　him；　palm　down　across　the　sleek　nude。　〃She's　gone；〃　he　said。
　　〃Where？〃　〃Gone；　man。　That's　all。　You　deaf；　stupid；　or　both？〃　Marty　crossed　the　kitchen　in　one　second　flat　and　hauled　Luther　out　of　his　chair。　Like　most　spontaneous　violence；　there　was　no　grace　in　it。　The　ragged　attack　threw　them　both　off…balance。　Luther　half…fell　back；　an　outflung　arm　catching　a　coffee　cup；　which　leaped　and　smashed　as　they　staggered　across　the　kitchen。　Finding　his　balance　first；　Luther　brought　his　knee　up　into　Marty's　groin。
　　〃Je…sus！〃　〃You　get　your　fucking　hands　off　me；　man！〃　Luther　yelled；　panicked　by　the　outburst。　〃I　don't　want　no　fight　with　you；　right？〃　The　demands　became　a　plea　for　sanity…〃e　on；　man。　Calm　down。〃　Marty　replied　by　launching　himself　at　the　other　man；　fists　flying。　A　blow；　more　chance　than　intention；　connected　with　Luther's　face；　and　Marty　followed　through　with　three　or　four　punches　to　stomach　and　chest。　Luther；　stepping　back　to　avoid　this　assault；…　slid　in　cold　coffee　and　fell。　Breathless　and　bloodied；　he　stayed　down　on　the　floor　where　he　was　safe；　while　Marty；　eyes　streaming　from　the　blow　to　his　balls；　rubbed　his　aching　hands。
　　〃Just　tell　me　where　she　is　。　。　。〃　he　gasped。
　　Luther　spat　out　a　wad　of　blood…tinted　phlegm　before　speaking。
　　〃You're　out　of　your　fucking　mind；　man；　you　know　that？　I　don't　know　where　she's　gone。　Ask　the　big　white　father。　He's　the　one　who　feeds　her　fucking　heroin。〃　Of　course；　in　that　revelation　lay　the　answer　to