gns.throwback-第38章

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a　trail　of　footprints　from　the　back　door。
　　
　　A　matchbox　rattled；　a　rasping　noise；　and　a　bright　flame　was　applied　to　the　paper；　hungrily　devouring　it；　the　sticks　crackling　and　hissing；　A　puff　of　smoke　billowed　back；　made　him　cough。　A　fit　of　coupling；　a　handkerchief　clutched　to　his　mouth。　A　sound　that　frightened　Jackie　because　it　was　reminiscent　of　that　woman's　coughing　earlier。
　　
　　Her　alarm　blended　into　disappointment　as　the　man。　turned　away　from　the　fire　and　she　saw　his　features　clearly　for　the　first　time。　It　was　not　him。　Too　old；　so　gaunt；　no　way　was　it　the　lover　who　haunted　her　dreams　and　fantasies。
　　
　　'Hallo；'　he　nodded；　not　in　the　least　surprised；　as　though　he　had　quite　expected　to　find　her　lying　there　on　the　sofa。　He　pushed　his　hood　back　and　she　noted　the　receding　hairline；　the　balding　crown。　'Now　that　I've　found　some　wood　we　can　have　a　fire。　We'll　soon　get　warm。'
　　
　　She　smiled；　hoped　her　anguish　didn't　show。　She　also　hoped　that　he　would　not　make　any　demands　on　her　although　she　would　have　traded　anything　and　everything　she　had　to　offer　for　food　and　shelter。
　　
　　'Rod。'　He　tapped　his　chest；　gave　another　deep　rumbling　cough。　'Rod　Savage。1
　　
　　'Jac。'　She　pointed　to　herself；　smiled　again。　They　would　have　to　overe　the　language　barrier。　She　had　coped　with　Phil　Winder。　Somehow　her　vocal　chords　were　incapable　of　producing　this　new　language　and　even　when　she　understood　certain　sounds　she　was　unable　to　repeat　them　except　in　a　barely　articulate　nasal　tone。
　　
　　'Pleased　to　meet　you；　Jac。'　Rod　Savage　obviously　weled　the　opportunity　to　talk　to　somebody　even　if　they　did　not　understand。　Talking　to　oneself　got　exceedingly　boring　after　several　weeks。　'I　expect　you'd　like　some　tea。'　He　took　off　his　anorak；　began　opening　some　cans；　sardines　and　spaghetti。　A　packet　of　Ryvita　that　was　no　longer　crisp；　spread　with　peanut　butter。　He　boiled　the　kettle；　made　some　tea。
　　
　　Jackie　ate　ravenously；　gave　up　trying　to　master　the　art　of　using　a　fork。　Her　panion　did　not　seem　to　notice。
　　
　　She　watched　him　carefully　as　she　ate。　Certainly　he　was　not　well；　his　features　shiny　with　sweat　even　though　the　blazing　fire　had　not　yet　had　a　chance　to　warm　the　room。　Periodically　his　eyes　seemed　to　film　over；　cleared　again。　And　always　that　hacking　cough。
　　
　　'Damned　typewriter's　broken。'　He　pushed　his　empty　plate　away。　'Carriage　spring；　I　think。　No　chance　of　getting　it　repaired　and　I'm　not　mechanically　minded　so　I'll　have　to　write　the　rest　of　my　〃History　of　the　New　Britain〃　in　longhand。　Don't　expect　it　will　ever　get　published　anyway　because　there's　nobody　left　to　publish　it。'　He　tried　to　laugh；　surrendered　to　another　fit　of　coughing。
　　
　　
　　Jackie　noticed　that　when　the　handkerchief　came　away　from　his　mouth　it　was　spottled　with　scarlet。
　　
　　'I'm　ill；　y'know。'　Clipped　hurried　speech　as　though　he　had　got　an　awful　lot　to　say　and　was　afraid　he　would　not　get　time　to　finish　speaking。　'Had　it　a　fortnight　now。　Some　days　it's　not　too　bad；　like　today；　other　days　it's　pretty　chronic。　Pneumonia　probably；　came　on　when　the　weather　changed。　Maybe　I'll　rest　up　for　a　few　days。'　He　spread　his　arms；　spoke　more　directly。　'You're　wele　to　stay　here　as　long　as　you　like。　Get　it？　You。。。　stay。。。　here　。。。'
　　
　　She　nodded。　Phil　Winder　had　taught　her　how　to　wash　dishes　and　she　would　repay　this　strange　man　for　his　hospitality。　He　wouldn't　expect　anything　else；　he　was　too　ill。
　　
　　'Say；　that's　cute；　real　cute。'　He　watched　her　at　the　sink　from　the　armchair。　'Never　thought　you　lot　would　be　able　to　master　household　chores。　Have　to　make　a　note　of　that。　I'll　sub…title　it　〃How　I　lived　with　a　trained　throwback〃。'　He　laughed　and　coughed　again。
　　
　　'Got　you　lot　all　worked　out。'　Rod　Savage　talked　incessantly　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　it　was　a　strain。　'For　weeks　now　you've　been　gathering　in　the　hills。　Couldn't　understand　it；　anybody　with　any　sense　would　stick　to　the　valleys　and　lowlands　with　winter　ing　on。　Then　I　hit　on　it。　The　old　Iron　Age　trade　route　starts　from　here；　I　found　an　old　book　about　it；　the　route　marked　on　a　map。　Through　these　hills；　heading　south。　Not　that　you've　got　anything　to　trade　or　anybody　to　trade　with　but　old　instincts　die　hard。　You're　massing　for　the　great　trek　south。　You　need　a　warmer　climate　and　that's　where　you're　going；　but　if　you　ask　me　you've　left　it　too　damned　late'
　　
　　Jackie　slept　on　the　sofa　that　night；　lay　and　listened　to　the　wind　howling；　buffeting　the　cottage；　driving　the　snow　against　the　walls；　building　up　deep　drifts。　And　hour　after　hour　Rod　Savage　lay　and　coughed。　She　heard　him　turning　restlessly　in　his　bed　directly　above　the　tiny　living…room；　remembered　that　woman　who　had　had　to　be　carried；　and　the　body　in　the　snow。
　　
　　She　dozed　uneasily。　Tonight　her　lover　did　not　e；　she　called　out　for　him；　willed　him　to　join　her；　but　he　never　came。　Strange　dreams　of　a　land　where　everybody　except　herself　was　dead；　the　hills　and　forests　littered　with　bodies　where　the　fevered　coughing　illness　had　taken　its　toll。
　　
　　Only　she　remained；　alone　in　a　dead　hell；　wanting　to　die　but　living；　forced　to　walk　the　silent　land　in　search　of　a　will…o'…the…wisp　that　no　longer　came　to　taunt　her。　A　land　of　cold　and　hunger　and　thirst。
　　
　　When　finally　she　awoke　she　was　not　sure　whether　it　was　light　or　not；　went　to　the　window　and　rubbed　a　patch　in　the　condensation。　A　virgin　white　curtain　of　snow　covered　the　outside　of　the　glass　pane。　She　turned　back　in　despair；　wondered　if　she　could　find　sticks　and　paper　with　which　to　light　a　fire。
　　
　　The　wind　had　dropped。　Suddenly　she　was　aware　of　the　total　stillness；　the　cloying　silence。　And　with　it　came　a　feeling　bordering　on　panic。　Rod　Savage　was　no　longer　turning　restlessly　in　his　bed　upstairs　and　coughing　incessantly。　No　sound　came　from　above。
　　
　　And　that　was　when　Jackie's　dream　came　back　to　her；　of　a　land　where　everybody　except　herself　was　dead。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWENTY…THREE
　　
　　SYLVIA　HAD　found　the　village　within　an　hour　or　so　of　leaving　the　cottage；　had　e　upon　it　suddenly　in　the　thick　hill…fog。　She　could　have　drawn　back；　fled　before　the　occupants　caught　sight　of　her。　But　she　didn't。
　　
　　She　walked　slowly；　dazedly　into　the　settlement。　The　snow　was　falling　steadily；　a　refreshing　wind　threatening　to　whip　it　into　a　blizzard。　A　strange　atmosphere　which　she　sensed　immediately；　a　kind　of　bustle　of　activity　which　had　suddenly　e　to　a　stop。　Loaded　litters；　the　snow　already　beginning　to　cover　them　with　a　white　film；　a　cluster　of　men　who　eyed　her　with　a　mixture　of　curiosity　and　apathy。　We　were　about　to　leave　but　we've　changed　our　minds。　Who　are　you　and　what　are　you　doing　here？
　　
　　They　were　all　packed　up　and　ready　to　go。　Where　to？　Sylvia　came　to　a　halt　before　the　group；　eyed　them　question…ingly；　felt　she　had　to　say　something。　They　would　not　understand；　but　it　didn't　matter。　Thinking；　talking；　was　being　increasingly　difficult；　her　brain　fogged　and　sluggish。
　　
　　'My　name's　Sylvia。　My　husband's　dead。'　Grief　that　had　been　threatening　like　thunderheads　on　the　horizon　suddenly　hit　her。　Unrestricted　sobs。　One　of　them　pointed　to　the　nearest　dwelling…place。　Go　in　there；　woman；　out　of　the　cold。
　　
　　She　walked　shakily　towards　it；　paused　in　the　entrance。　The　interior　was　dark；　had　a　sharp　unpleasant　odour　about　it。　She　waited　for　her　vision　to　adjust　to　the　gloom；　saw　through　a　liquid　misty　flood；　distorted　shapes；　somebody　lay　on　a　bed　in　the　corner；　not　moving。　A　woman　was　stretched　out　on　some　hides　by　the　wall；　and　it　was　quite　obvious　that　she　was　dead。　A　fit　of　uncontrollable　coughing　attracted　her　attention　and　she　turned　her　head　and　made　out　a　boy　of　perhaps　ten　years　of　age　squatting　beyond　the　dying　embers　of　the　fire。　Tiny　rivulets　of　blood　trickled　down　his　chin。　He　saw　her　but　his　expression　did　not　register　surprise；　just　acceptance。
　　
　　'You're　all　ill。'　She　spoke　aloud。　'You　need　help；　a　doctor。'　Now　that　was　a　silly　thing　to　say　because　there　weren't　any　doctors　left。　They　were　all　out　there；　any　one　of　these　menfolk　might　have　been　a　doctor　once。　Before　all　this。　What　was　a　doctor？　She　could　not　really　remember；　somebody　who　helped　you；　perhaps。
　　
　　She　stood　just　inside　the　open　doorway；　looked　back　outside。　Several　more　people　were　emerging　from　the　other　huts　bearing　litters　on　which　lay　prone　bodies　wrapped　in　animal　hides；　scarcely　seeming　able　to　lift　the　weight　of　them。　A　conference。　They　were　pointing；　arguing。　Sylvia　did　not　need　an　interpreter　to　understand　what　they　were　saying。
　　
　　We　must　go　even　though　we　are　ill　and　dying。　The　snow　is　here；　winter　is　upon　us。　If　we　stay　here　we　shall　starve。　Go　now　whilst　there　is　still　a　little　time　left。
　　
　　A　woman　appeared　from　somewhere；　came　into　the　hut　and　with　some　difficulty　lifted　up　the　sick　boy。　He　began　to　cry；　coughed　some　more　blood。　Sylvia　made　as　if　to　help　but　some　inhibition　checked　her。　She　was　a　stranger　here；　an　intruder　in…a　different　way　of　life；　they　might　resent　her　interference。　She　felt　self…conscious。
　　
　　The　child　was　taken　out；　room　made　for　him　on　one　of　the　stretchers　alongside　the　still　form　of　a　red…headed　man　who　might　already　have　been　dead。　They　were　hurrying　now；　seeming　to　have　to　force　their　limbs　into　jerky　movements。　Sylvia　was　ignored；　perhaps　they　had　forgotten　her。　Very　soon　they　would　all　be　gone　and　she　would　be　left　here　in　this　deserted　place　of　death。
　　
　　Panic；　almost　running　out　to　them；　the　snow　ing　faster　now。　For　God's　sake　don't　go　without　me；　don't　leave　me　here。　Please！　I'm　one　of　you　now…look　at　me！　
　　
　　The　litter　on　to　which　they　had　just　placed　the　boy　was　lowered　back　on　to　the　ground；　two　of　them　were　straining　to　lift　the　man　off。　He　was　dead；　there　was　no　point　in　taking　him　with　them。　They　dragged　him　free；　laid　him　down　in　the　snow。　You　did　not　bury　your　dead；　you　left　them　for　the　wild　dogs　and　foxes。
　　
　　'I　want　to　go　with　you；'　Sylvia　cried；　clutched　at　one　of　them。　Til　walk；　I　promise　I　won't　be　a　nuisance；　but　don't　leave　me　behind！'　A　flash　of　lucid　speech　and　then　it　was　gone　again　and　words　were　meaningless　to　her。
　　
　　They　looked　at　one　another；　grunted。　Arguing　again。　They　had　no　room　for　passengers；　anybody　who　went　on　the　trek　had　a　part　to　play。　You　must　help　to　carry　the　sick；　woman。　And　if　you　fail　then　you　will　be　abandoned。　Nobody　will　help　you。
　　
　　Sylvia　took　the　handles　of　the　stretcher；　the　boy's　mother　going　in　front。　Between　them　they　could　manage　now　that　the　weight　of　the　adult　corpse　had　been　removed。　A　slow　procession；　the　men　in　front；　the　women　bringing　up　the　rear。
　　
　　The　snow　eased　off　a　little　and　away　to　her　right　Sylvia　saw　and　recognised　the　outline　of　the　Quinn　smallholding；　like　a　miniature　toy　farm　set　out　on　an　uneven　white　sheet。　One　brief　wave　of　nostalgia　but　she　pushed　it　forcibly　away。　Jon　was　nothing　to　her；　never　had　been；　only　somebody　to　fill　a　gap　while　Eric　was　away。　A　lump　caught　in　her　throat。　Poor　Eric；　this　didn't　have　to　happen　to　him。　But　it　had。　If　only　she　hadn't　been　one　of　the　unlucky　survivors。　But　she　would　not　survive　long　now；　none　of　them　would。　Eric？　Who　was　Eric？　Her　mind　slipped　again；　became　a　vacuum。
　　
　　The　descent　was　ste