cb.damnationgame-第39章

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him　to　it。　There　was　nothing　he　could　say　or　do；　he　knew　that　from　bitter　experience。
　　Out　in　the　foyer；　the　woman　on　the　desk　called　after　him。
　　〃Mr。　Strauss？〃　It　was　the　English　rose。　She　showed　no　sign　of　wilting；　despite　the　hour。　〃Did　you　find　Mr。　Toy？〃　〃No；　I　didn't。〃　〃Oh；　that's　odd。　He　was　here。〃　〃Are　you　sure？〃　〃Yes。　He　came　with　Mr。　Mamoulian。　I　told　him　you　were　here；　and　that　you'd　asked　after　him。〃　〃And　what　did　he　say？〃　〃Nothing；〃　the　girl　replied。　〃Not　a　word。〃　She　dropped　her　voice。　〃Is　he　well？　I　mean；　he　looked　really　terrible；　if　you　don't　mind　me　saying　so。　Awful　color。〃　Marty　glanced　up　the　stairs；　scanned　the　landing。
　　〃Is　he　still　here？〃　〃Well；　I　haven't　been　on　the　desk　all　evening；　but　I　didn't　see　him　leave。〃　Marty　took　the　stairs　two　at　a　time。　He　wanted　to　see　Toy　so　much。　There　were　questions　to　ask；　confidences　to　exchange。　He　scoured　the　rooms；　looking　for　that　worn…leather　face。　But　though　Mamoulian　was　still　there；　sipping　his　water；　Toy　was　not　with　him。　Nor　was　he　to　be　found　in　any　of　the　bars。　He　had　clearly　e　and　gone。　Disappointed；　Marty　went　back　downstairs；　thanked　the　girl　for　her　help；　tipped　her　well；　and　left。
　　It　was　only　when　he　had　put　a　good　distance　between　himself　and　the　Academy；　walking　in　the　middle　of　the　road　to　waylay　the　first　available　taxi；　that　he　remembered　the　sobbing　in　the　bathroom。　His　pace　slowed。　Eventually　he　stopped　in　the　street；　his　head　echoing　to　the　thump　of　his　heart。　Was　it　just　hindsight；　or　had　that　ragged　voice　sounded　familiar；　as　it　chewed　on　its　grief？　Had　it　been　Toy　sitting　there　in　the　questionable　privacy　of　a　toilet　stall；　crying　like　a　lost　child？
　　Dreamily；　Marty　glanced　back　the　way　he'd　e。　If　he　suspected　Toy　was　still　at　the　club；　shouldn't　he　go　back　and　find　out？　But　his　head　was　making　unpleasant　connections。　The　woman　at　the　Pimlico　number　whose　voice　was　too　horrid　to　listen　to；　the　desk…girl's　question：　〃Is　he　well？〃；　the　profundity　of　despair　he　had　heard　from　behind　the　locked　door。　No；　he　couldn't　go　back。　Nothing；　not　even　the　promise　of　a　faultless　system　to　beat　every　table　in　the　house；　would　induce　him　to　return。　There　was；　after　all；　such　a　thing　as　reasonable　doubt；　and　on　occasion　it　could　be　a　balm　without　equal。
　　
　　
　　VIII。
　　Raising　Cain
　　
　　45
　　The　day　of　the　Last　Supper；　as　he　was　to　e　to　think　of　it；　Marty　shaved　three　times；　once　in　the　morning　and　twice　in　the　afternoon。　The　initial　flattery　of　the　invitation　had　long　since　faded。　Now　all　he　prayed　for　was　some　convenient　get…out　clause；　a　means　by　which　he　could　politely　escape　what　he　was　certain　would　be　an　excruciating　evening。　He　had　no　place　in　Whitehead's　entourage。　Their　values　were　not　his；　their　world　was　one　in　which　he　was　no　more　than　a　functionary。　There　could　be　nothing　about　him　that　would　give　them　more　than　a　moment's　entertainment。
　　It　wasn't　until　he　put　on　the　evening　jacket　again　that　he　began　to　feel　more　courageous。　In　this　world　of　appearances；　why　shouldn't　he　carry　off　the　illusion　as　well　as　the　next　man？　After　all；　he'd　succeeded　at　the　Academy。　The　trick　was　to　get　the　superficies　right…the　proper　dress　code；　the　correct　direction　in　which　to　pass　the　port。　He　began　to　view　the　evening　ahead　as　a　test　of　his　wits；　and　his　petitive　spirit　began　to　rise　to　the　challenge。　He　would　play　them　at　their　own　game；　among　the　clinking　glasses　and　the　chatter　of　opera　and　high　finance。
　　Triply　shaved；　dressed　and　cologned；　he　went　down　to　the　kitchen。　Oddly；　Pearl　wasn't　in　the　house：　Luther　had　been　left　in　charge　of　the　night's　gourmandizing。　He　was　opening　bottles　of　wine：　the　room　was　fragrant　with　the　mingled　bouquets。　Though　Marty　had　understood　the　gathering　to　be　small；　several　dozen　bottles　were　assembled　on　the　table；　the　labels　on　many　were　dirtied　to　illegibility。　It　looked　as　though　the　cellar　were　being　stripped　of　its　finest　vintages。
　　Luther　looked　Marty　up　and　down。
　　〃Who'd　you　steal　the　suit　off？〃　Marty　picked　up　one　of　the　open　bottles　and　sniffed　it；　ignoring　the　remark。　Tonight　he　wasn't　going　to　be　needled：　tonight　he　had　things　figured　out；　and　he'd　let　no　one　burst　the　bubble。
　　〃I　said：　where'd　you…〃　〃I　heard　you　first　time。　I　bought　it。〃　〃What　with？〃　Marty　put　the　bottle　down　heavily。　Glasses　on　the　table　clinked　together。　〃Why　don't　you　shut　up？〃　Luther　shrugged。　〃Old　man　give　it　to　you？〃　〃I　told　you。　Shove　it。〃　〃Seems　to　me　you're　getting　in　deep；　man。　You　know　you're　guest　of　honor　at　this　shindig？〃　〃I'm　going　along　to　meet　some　of　the　old　man's　friends；　that's　all。〃　〃You　mean　Dwoskin　and　those　fuckheads？　Aren't　you　the　lucky　one？〃　〃And　what　are　you　tonight：　the　wine…boy？〃　Luther　grimaced　as　he　pulled　the　cork　on　another　bottle。　〃They　don't　have　no　waiters　at　their　special　parties。　They're　very　private。〃　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　〃What　do　I　know？〃　Luther　said；　shrugging。　〃I'm　a　monkey；　right？〃　Between　eight　and　eight…thirty；　the　cars　started　to　arrive　at　the　Sanctuary。　Marty　waited　in　his　room　for　a　summons　to　join　the　rest　of　the　guests。　He　heard　Curtsinger's　voice；　and　those　of　women；　there　was　laughter；　some　of　it　shrill。　He　wondered　if　it　was　just　the　wives　they'd　brought；　or　their　daughters　too。
　　The　phone　rang。
　　〃Marty。〃　It　was　Whitehead。
　　〃Sir？〃　〃Why　not　e　up　and　join　us？　We're　waiting　for　you。〃　〃Right。〃　〃We're　in　the　white　room。〃　Another　surprise。　That　bare　room；　with　its　ugly　altarpiece；　seemed　an　unlikely　venue　for　a　dinner　party。
　　Evening　was　drawing　on　outside；　and　before　going　on　up　to　the　room；　Marty　switched　the　lawn　floods　on。　They　blazed；　their　illumination　echoing　through　the　house。　His　earlier　trepidation　had　been　entirely　replaced　by　a　mixture　of　defiance　and　fatalism。　As　long　as　he　didn't　spit　in　the　soup；　he　told　himself；　he'd　get　through。
　　〃e　on　in；　Marty。〃　The　atmosphere　inside　the　white　room　was　already　chokingly　thick　with　cigar　and　cigarette　smoke。　No　attempt　had　been　made　to　prettify　the　place。　The　only　decoration　was　the　triptych：　its　crucifixion　as　vicious　as　Marty　remembered　it。　Whitehead　stood　as　Marty　entered；　and　extended　his　hand　in　wele；　an　almost　garish　smile　on　his　face。
　　〃Close　the　door；　will　you？　e　on　in　and　sit　down。〃　There　was　a　single　empty　place　at　the　table。　Marty　went　to　it。
　　〃You　know　Felix；　of　course。〃　Ottaway；　the　fan…dancing　lawyer；　nodded。　The　bare　bulb　threw　light　on　his　pate；　and　exposed　the　line　of　his　toupee。
　　〃And　Lawrence。〃　Dwoskin…the　lean　and　trollish…was　in　the　middle　of　a　sip　of　wine。　He　murmured　a　greeting。
　　〃And　James。〃　〃Hello；〃　said　Curtsinger。　〃How　nice　to　see　you　again。〃　The　cigar　he　held　was　just　about　the　largest　Marty　had　ever　set　eyes　on。
　　The　familiar　faces　accounted　for；　Whitehead　introduced　the　three　women　who　sat　between　the　men。
　　〃Our　guests　for　tonight；〃　he　said。
　　〃Hello。〃　〃This　is　my　sometime　bodyguard；　Martin　Strauss。〃　〃Martin。〃　Oriana；　a　woman　in　her　mid…thirties；　gave　him　a　slightly　crooked　smile。　〃Pleased　to　meet　you。〃　Whitehead　used　no　second　name；　which　left　Marty　wondering　if　this　was　the　wife　of　one　of　the　men；　or　just　a　friend。　She　was　a　good　deal　younger　than　either　Ottaway　or　Curtsinger；　between　whom　she　sat。　Perhaps　she　was　a　mistress。　The　thought　tantalized。
　　〃This　is　Stephanie。〃　Stephanie；　the　first　woman's　senior　by　a　good　ten　years；　graced　Marty　with　a　look　that　seemed　to　strip　him　naked　from　head　to　foot。　It　was　disconcertingly　plain；　and　he　wondered　if　anyone　else　around　the　table　had　caught　it。
　　〃We've　heard　so　much　about　you；〃　she　said；　laying　a　caressing　hand　on　Dwoskin's。　〃Haven't　we？〃　Dwoskin　smirked。　Marty's　distaste　for　the　man　was　as　thoroughgoing　as　ever。　It　was　difficult　to　imagine　how　or　why　any　human　would　want　to　touch　him。
　　〃…And；　finally；　Emily。〃　Marty　turned　to　greet　the　third　new　face　at　the　table。　As　he　did　so；　Emily　knocked　over　a　glass　of　red　wine。
　　〃Oh　Jesus！〃　she　said。
　　〃Doesn't　matter；〃　Curtsinger　said；　grinning。　He　was　already　drunk；　Marty　now　registered；　the　grin　was　too　lavish　for　sobriety。　〃Couldn't　matter　less；　sweet。　Really　it　couldn't。〃　Emily　looked　up　at　Marty。　She　too　had　already　drunk　too　much；　to　judge　by　her　flushed　plexion。　She　was　by　far　the　youngest　of　the　three　women；　and　almost　winsomely　pretty。
　　〃Sit　down。　Sit　down；〃　Whitehead　said。　〃Never　mind　the　wine；　for　God's　sake。〃　Marty　took　his　place　beside　Curtsinger。　The　wine　Emily　had　spilled　dribbled　off　the　edge　of　the　table；　unarrested。
　　〃We　were　just　saying…〃　Dwoskin　chimed　in；　〃what　a　pity　Willy　couldn't　have　been　here。〃　Marty　shot　a　glance　at　the　old　man　to　see　if　the　mention　of　Toy…the　sound　of　weeping　came　back　as　he　thought　of　him…had　brought　any　response。　There　was　none。　He　too；　Marty　now　saw；　was　the　worse　for　drink。　The　bottles　that　Luther　had　been　opening…the　clarets；　the　burgundies…forested　the　table；　the　atmosphere　was　more　that　of　an　ad　hoc　picnic　rather　than　a　dinner　party。　There　was　none　of　the　ceremony　he'd　anticipated：　no　meticulous　ordering　of　courses；　no　cutlery　in　regiments。　What　food　there　was…tins　of　caviar　with　spoons　thrust　into　them；　cheeses；　thin　biscuits…took　a　poor　second　place　to　the　wine。　Though　Marty　knew　little　about　wine　his　suspicions　about　the　old　man　emptying　his　cellar　were　confirmed　by　the　babble　around　the　table。　They　had　e　together　tonight　to　drink　the　Sanctuary　dry　of　its　finest；　its　most　celebrated；　vintages。
　　〃Drink！〃　Curtsinger　said。　〃It's　the　best　stuff　you'll　ever　swallow；　believe　me。〃　He　fumbled　for　a　specific　bottle　among　the　throng。　〃Where's　the〃　Latour？　We　haven't　finished　it；　have　we？　Stephanie；　are　you　hiding　it；　darling？〃　Stephanie　looked　up　from　her　cups。　Marty　doubted　if　she　even　knew　what　Curtsinger　was　talking　about。　These　women　weren't　wives；　he　was　certain　of　it。　He　doubted　if　they　were　even　mistresses。
　　〃Here！〃　Curtsinger　sloppily　filled　a　glass　for　Marty。　〃See　what　you　make　of　that。〃　Marty　had　never　much　liked　wine。　It　was　a　drink　to　be　sipped　and　swilled　around　the　mouth；　and　he　had　no　patience　with　it。　But　the　bouquet　off　the　glass　spoke　quality；　even　to　his　uneducated　nose。　It　had　a　richness　that　made　him　salivate　before　he'd　downed　a　mouthful；　and　the　taste　didn't　disappoint：　it　was　superb。
　　〃Good；　eh？〃　〃Tasty。〃　〃Tasty；〃　Curtsinger　bellowed　to　the　table　in　mock　outrage。　〃The　boy　pronounces　it　tasty。〃　〃Better　pass　it　back　over　before　he　downs　the　lot；〃　Ottaway　remarked。
　　〃It's　all　got　to　go；〃　Whitehead　said；　〃tonight。〃　〃All　of　it？〃　said　Emily；　glancing　over　at　the　two　dozen　other　bottles　that　stood　against　the　wall：　liqueurs　and　cognacs　among　the　wines。
　　〃Yes；　everything。　One　blowout；　to　finish　the　best　of　the　stuff。〃　What　was　this　about？　They　were　like　a　retreating　army　razing　a　place　rather　than　leaving　anything　for　those　who　followed　to　occupy。
　　〃What　are　you　going　to　drink　next　week？〃　Oriana　asked；　a　heaped　spoonful　of　caviar　hovering　above　her　cleavage。
　　〃Next　week？〃　Whitehead　said。　〃No　parties　next　week。　I'm　joining　a　monastery。〃　He　looked　across　at　Marty。　〃Marty　knows　what　a　troubled　man　I　am。〃　〃Troubled？〃　said　Dwoskin。
　　〃Concerned　for　my　immortal　soul；〃　said　Whitehead；　not　taking　his　eyes　off　Marty。　This　earned　a　spluttered　guffaw　from　Ottaway；　who　was　rapidly　losing　control　of　himself。
　　Dwoskin　leaned　across　and　re