jamesclavell.noblehouse-第240章

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happened。　Was　it　an　earthquake？　What？〃
　Carefully　he　felt　his　limbs　and　face；　a　stab　of　pain　from　his　right　shoulder　every　time　he　moved。　〃Shit；〃　he　muttered；　knowing　it　was　dislocated。　His　face　and　nose　were　burning　and　bruised。　It　was　hard　to　breathe。　Everything　else　seemed　to　be　working；　though　every　joint　felt　as　though　he　had　been　racked　and　his　head　ached　terribly。　〃You're　okay；　you　can　breathe；　you　can　see；　you　can　。。。〃
　He　stopped；　then　groped　around　and　found　a　small　piece　of　rubble；　carefully　raised　his　hand；　then　dropped　it。　He　heard　the　sound　the　rubble　made　and　his　heart　picked　up。　〃And　you　can　hear。　Now；　what　the　hell　happened？　Jesus；　it's　like　that　time　on　Iwo　Jima。〃
　He　lay　back　to　conserve　his　strength。　〃That's　the　thing　to　do；〃　the　old　top　sergeant　had　told　them；　〃you　lay　back　and　use　your　goddamn　loaf　if　you're　caught　in　an　excavation　or　buried　by　a　bomb。　First　make　sure　you　can　breathe　safe。　Then　burrow　a　hole；　do　anything；　but　breathe　any　way　you　can；　that's　first；　then　test　your　limbs　and　hearing；　you'll　sure　as　hell　know　you　can　see　but　then　lay　back　and　get　your　goddamn　head　together　and　don't　panic。　Panic'll　kill　you。　I've　dug　out　guys　after　four　days'n　they've　been　like　a　pig　in　shit。　So　long's　you　can　breathe　and　see　and　hear；　you　can　live　a　week　easy。　Shit；　four　days's　a　piece　of　cake。　But　other　guys　we　got　to　within'n　hour'd　drowned　themselves　in　mud　or　crap　or　their　own　fear　vomit　or　beaten　their　goddamn　heads　unconscious　against　a　goddamn　piece　of　iron　when　we　was　within　a　few　feet　of　the　knuckle…heads　an'　if　they'd　just　been　lying　there　like　I　told　you；　nice'n　easy；　quiet　like；　they'd've　heard　us　and　they　could've　shouted。　Shit！　Any　you　bastards　panic　when　you're　buried　you'd　better　believe　you're　dead　men。　Sure。　Me　I　been　buried　fifty　times。　No　panic！〃
　〃No　panic。　No　sir；〃　Bartlett　said　aloud　and　felt　better；　blessing　that　man。　Once　during　the　bad　time　on　Iwo　Jima；　the　hangar　he　had　been　building　was　bombed　and　blown　up　and　he　had　been　buried。　When　he　had　dug　the　earth　out　of　his　eyes　and　mouth　and　ears；　panic　had　taken　him　and　he　had　hurled　himself　at　the　tomb　and　then　he　had　remembered；　Don't　panic；　and　forced　himself　to　stop。　He　had　discovered　himself　shivering　like　a　cowed　dog　under　the　threat　of　a　lash　but　he　had　dominated　the　terror。　Once　over　the　terror　and　whole；　he　had　looked　around　carefully。　The　bombing　had　been　during　the　day　so　he　could　see　well　enough　and　noticed　the　beginning　of　a　way　out。　But　he　had　waited；　cautiously；　remembering　instructions。　Very　soon　he　heard　voices。　He　called　out；　conserving　his　voice。
　〃That's　another　goddamn　obvious　thing；　conserve　your　voice；　huh？　You　don't　shout　yourself　hoarse　the　first　time　you　hear　help　near。　Be　patient。　Shit；　some　guys　I　know　shouted　themselves　so　goddamn　hoarse　they　was　goddamn　dumb　when　we　was　within　easy　distance　and　we　lost　'em。　Get　it　through　your　goddamn　heads；　we　gotta　have　help　to　find　you。　Don't　panic！　If　you　can't　shout；　tap；　use　anything；　make　a　noise　somehow；　but　give　us　a　sign　and　we'll　get　you　out；　so　long's　you　can　breathe　…　a　week's　easy；　no　sweat。　You　bastards　should　go　on　a　diet　anyways　。。。〃
　Now　Bartlett　was　using　all　his　faculties。　He　could　hear　the　wreckage　shifting。　Water　was　dripping　nearby　but　no　sounds　of　humans。　Then；　faintly；　a　police　siren　which　died　away。　Reassured　that　help　was　on　the　way；　he　waited。　His　heart　was　controlled。　He　lay　back　and　blessed　that　old　top　sergeant。　His　name　was　Spurgeon；　Spurgeon　Roach；　and　he　was　black。
　It　must've　been　an　earthquake；　he　thought。　Has　the　whole　building　collapsed　or　was　it　just　our　floor　and　the　next　above？　Maybe　an　airplane　crashed　into　。。。　Hell；　no；　I'd've　heard　the　ining　noise。　Impossible　for　a　building　to　collapse；　not　with　building　regs；　but　hey；　this's　Hong　Kong　and　we　heard　some　contractors　don't　always　obey　regulations；　cheat　a　little；　don't　use　first…grade　steel　or　concrete。　Jesus　if　I　get；　no；　when　I　get　out　。。。
　That　was　another　inviolate　rule　of　the　old　man。　〃Never　forget；　so　long's　you　can　breathe；　you　will　get　out；　you　will。　。。。〃
　Sure。　When　I　get　out　I'm　going　to　find　old　Spurgeon　and　thank　him　properly　and　I'm　going　to　sue　the　ass　out　of　someone。　Casey's　sure　to　。。。　ah　Casey；　I'm　sure　as　hell　glad　she's　not　in　this　shit；　nor　Orlanda。　They're　both　。。。　Jesus；　could　Orlanda　have　been　caught　wh…　
　The　wreckage　began　to　settle　again。　He　waited；　his　heart　pounding。　Now　he　could　see　just　a　little　better。　Above　him　was　a　twisted　mass　of　steel　beams；　and　pipes　half　imbedded　in　broken　jagged　concrete；　pots　and　pans　and　broken　furniture。　The　floor　he　was　lying　on　was　equally　broken。　His　tomb　was　small；　barely　enough　space　to　stand。　Reaching　up　above　with　his　good　arm　he　could　not　touch　the　makeshift　ceiling。　On　his　knees　now　he　reached　again；　then　stood；　feeling　his　way；　the　tiny　space　claustrophobic。　〃Don't　panic；〃　he　said　out　loud。　Groping　and　bumping　into　outcrops　he　circumnavigated　the　space　he　was　in。　〃About　six　feet　by　five　feet；〃　he　said　out　loud；　the　sound　of　his　voice　encouraging。　〃Don't　be　afraid　to　talk　out　loud；〃　Spurgeon　Roach　had　said。
　Again　the　light　glinting　off　the　oven　attracted　him。　If　I'm　near　that；　I'm　still　in　the　kitchen。　Now　where　was　the　oven　in　relation　to　anything　else？　He　sat　down　and　tried　to　reconstruct　the　apartment　in　his　mind。　The　oven　had　been　set　into　a　wall　opposite　the　big　cutting　table；　opposite　the　window；　near　the　door；　and　the　big　refrigerator　was　beside　the　door　and　across　the　w…　
　Shit；　if　I'm　in　the　kitchen　there's　food　and　beer　and　I　can　last　out　the　week　easy！　Jesus；　if　I　could　only　get　some　light。　Was　there　a　flash？　Matches？　Matches　and　a　candle？　Hey；　wait　a　minute；　sure；　there　was　a　flash　on　the　wall　near　the　refrigerator！　She　said　they　were　always　blowing　fuses　and　sometimes　the　power　failed　and　。。。　and　sure；　there　were　matches　in　the　kitchen　drawer；　lots　of　them；　when　she　lit　the　gas。　Gas。
　Bartlett　stopped　and　sniffed　the　air。　His　nose　was　bruised　and　stuffed　and　he　tried　to　clear　it。　Again　he　sniffed。　No　smell　of　gas。　Good；　good　he　thought；　reassured。　Getting　his　bearings　from　the　oven　he　groped　around；　inch　by　inch。　He　found　nothing。　After　another　half　an　hour　his　fingers　touched　some　cans　of　food；　then　some　beer。　Soon　he　had　four　cans。　They　were　still　chilled。　Opening　one；　he　felt　oh　so　much　better；　sipping　it；　conserving　it　…　knowing　that　he　might　have　to　wait　days；　finding　it　eerie　down　there　in　the　dark；　the　building　creaking；　not　knowing　exactly　where　he　was；　rubble　falling　from　time　to　time；　sirens　from　time　to　time；　water　dripping；　strange　chilling　sounds　everywhere。　Abruptly　a　nearby　tie…beam　shrieked；　tormented　by　the　thousands　of　tons　above。　It　settled　an　inch。　Bartlett　held　his　breath。　Movement　stopped。　He　sipped　his　beer　again。
　Now　do　I　wait　or　try　to　get　out？　he　asked　himself　uneasily。　Remember　how　old　Spurgeon'd　always　duck　that　one。　〃It　depends；　man。　It　depends；〃　he'd　always　say。
　More　creaking　above。　Panic　began　to　well　but　he　shoved　it　back。　〃Let's　recap；〃　he　said　aloud　to　reassure　himself。　〃I　got　provisions　now　for　two；　three　days　easy。　I'm　in　good　shape　an'　I　can　last　three；　four　days　easy　but　you；　you　bastard；〃　he　said　to　the　wreckage　above；　〃what're　you　going　to　do？〃
　The　tomb　did　not　answer　him。
　Another　spine…chilling　screech。　Then　a　faint　voice；　far　overhead　and　to　the　right。　He　lay　back　and　cupped　his　hands　around　his　mouth。　〃Helllp！〃　he　shouted　carefully　and　listened。　The　voices　were　still　there。　〃Helllp！〃
　He　waited　but　now　there　was　a　vast　emptiness。　He　waited。　Nothing。　His　disappointment　began　to　engulf　him。　〃Stop　it　and　wait！〃　The　minutes　dragged　heavily。　There　was　more　water　dripping；　much　more　than　before。　Must　be　raining　again；　he　thought。　Jesus！　I'll　bet　there　was　a　landslide。　Sure；　don't　you　remember　the　cracks　in　the　roads？　Goddamn　son　of　a　bitching　landslide！　Wonder　who　all　else　got　caught？　Jesus　what　a　goddamn　mess！
　He　tore　off　a　strip　of　his　shirt　and　tied　a　knot　in　it。　Now　he　could　tell；　the　days。　One　knot　for　each　day。　His　watch　had　read　10：16　when　his　head　had　first　cleared；　now　it　was　11：58。
　Again　all　his　attention　zeroed。　Faint　voices；　but　nearer　now。　Chinese　voices。
　〃Helllp！〃
　The　voices　stopped。　Then；　〃Where　you　arrrr；　heya？〃　came　back　faintly。
　〃Down　here！　Can　you　hear　meeeeee？〃
　Silence；　then　more　faintly；　〃Where　youuuuarrrrre？〃
　Bartlett　cursed　and　picked　up　the　empty　beer　can　and　began　to　bang　it　against　a　girder。　Again　he　stopped　and　listened。　Nothing。
　He　sat　back。　〃Maybe　they've　gone　for　help。〃　His　fingers　reached　out　and　touched　another　can　of　beer。　He　dominated　his　overpowering　urge　to　break　it　open。　〃Don't　panic　and　be　patient。　Help's　near。　The　best　I　can　do's　wait　an…　〃　At　that　moment　the　whole　earth　twisted　and　rose　up　under　the　strain　with　an　ear…dulling　cacophony　of　noise；　the　protective　girders　above　grinding　out　of　safety；　rubble　avalanching　down。　Protecting　his　head　with　his　arms；　he　cowered　back；　covering　himself　as　best　he　could。　The　shrieking　movement　seemed　to　go　on　for　an　eternity。　Then　it　ceased。　More　or　less。　His　heart　was　thumping　heavily　now；　his　chest　tight　and　dust　bile　in　his　mouth。　He　spat　it　out　and　sought　a　beer　can。　They　had　vanished。　And　all　the　other　cans。　He　cursed；　then；　cautiously；　raised　his　head　and　almost　banged　it　against　the　shifted　ceiling　of　the　tomb。　Now　he　could　touch　the　ceiling　and　the　walls　without　moving。　Easily。
　Then　he　heard　the　hissing　sound。　His　stomach　twisted。　His　hand　reached　out　and　he　felt　the　slight　draft。　Now　he　could　smell　the　gas。　〃You'd　better　get　the　hell　out　of　here；　old　buddy；〃　he　muttered；　aghast。
　Getting　his　bearings　as　best　he　could；　he　eased　out　of　the　space。　Now　that　he　was　on　the　move；　in　action；　he　felt　better。
　The　dark　was　oppressive　and　it　was　very　hard　to　make　progress　upward。　There　was　no　straight　line。　Sometimes　he　had　to　make　a　diversion　and　go　down　again；　left　then　right；　up　a　little；　down　again　under　the　remains　of　a　bathtub；　over　a　body　or　part　of　a　body；　moans　and　one　time　voices　far　away。　〃Whereareyouuuu？〃　he　shouted　and　waited　then　crawled　on；　inch　by　inch；　being　patient；　not　panicking。　After　a　while　he　came　into　a　space　where　he　could　stand。　But　he　did　not　stand；　just　lay　there　for　a　moment；　panting；　exhausted。　There　was　more　light　here。　When　his　breathing　had　slowed　he　looked　at　his　watch。　He　gathered　his　strength　and　continued　but　again　his　upward　path　was　blocked。　Another　way　but　still　blocked。　He　slid　under　a　broken　pier　and；　once　through；　began　to　squirm　onward。　Another　impasse。　With　difficulty　he　retreated　and　tried　another　way。　And　another；　never　enough　space　to　stand；　his　bearings　lost　now；　not　knowing　if　he　was　going　deeper　into　the　wreckage。　Then　he　stopped　to　rest　and　lay　in　the　wet　of　his　tomb；　his　chest　pounding；　head　pounding；　fingers　bleeding；　shins　bleeding；　elbows　bleeding。
　〃No　sweat；　old　buddy；〃　he　said　out　loud。　〃You　rest；　then　you　start　again　。。。〃
　
　
　MONDAY
　
　86
　
　12：45　A。M。：
　Gurkha　soldiers　with　flashlights　were　patiently　picking　their　way　over　this　part　of　the　dangerous；　sloping；　broken　surface　calling　out；　〃Anyone　there？〃　then　listening。　Beyond　and　all　around；　up　and　down　the　slope；　soldiers；　police；　firemen　and　distraught　people　were　doing　the　same。
　It　was　very　dark；　the　arcs　set