cb.imajica2-第25章

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　〃No；〃　she　said；　very　softly。　〃I'm　thinking；　Gentle　doesn't　know　how　lucky　he　is；　having　angels　like　you　two。〃
　〃Don't　humor　me。〃
　〃I'm　not；〃　she　said。　〃I　believe　everything　you've　just　told　me　happened。〃
　〃You　do？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　Again；　a　laugh。　〃Why？〃
　〃Because　Gentle　came　home　tonight；　Clem；　and　I　was　the　only　one　who　knew　it。〃
　He　left　ten　minutes　later；　apparently　content　to　know　that　even　if　he　was　crazy　there　was　another　lunatic　in　his　circle　he　could　turn　to　when　he　wanted　to　share　his　insanities。　Jude　told　him　as　much　as　she　felt　able　at　this　juncture；　which　was　very　little；　but　she　promised　to　contact　Gentle　on　Clem's　behalf　and　tell　him　about　Taylor's　visitation。　Clem　wasn't　so　grateful　that　he　was　blinded　to　her　discretion。
　〃You　know　a　lot　more　than　you're　telling　me；　don't　you？〃　he　said。
　〃Yes；〃　she　said。　〃But　maybe　in　a　little　while　I'll　be　able　to　tell　you　more。〃
　〃Is　Gentle　in　danger？〃　Clem　asked。　〃Can　you　tell　me　that　at　least？〃
　〃We　all　are；〃　she　said。　〃You。　Me。　Gentle。　Taylor。〃
　〃Taylor's　dead；〃　Clem　said。　〃He's　in　the　light。　Nothing　can　hurt　him。〃
　〃I　hope　you're　right；〃　she　said　grimly。　〃But　please；　Clem；　if　he　finds　you　again…〃
　〃He　will。〃
　〃…then　when　he　does；　tell　him　nobody's　safe。　Just　because　Gentle's　back　in　the…back　home　doesn't　mean　the　troubles　are　over。　In　fact；　they're　just　beginning。〃
　〃Tay　says　something　sublime's　going　to　happen。　That's　his　word：　sublime。〃
　〃And　maybe　it　will。　But　there's　a　lot　of　room　for　error。　And　if　anything　goes　wrong…〃　She　halted；　her　head　filled　with　memories　of　the　In　Ovo　and　the　ruins　of　Yzordderrex。
　〃Well；　whenever　you　feel　you　can　tell　me；〃　Clem　said；　〃we'll　be　ready　to　hear。　Both　of　us。〃　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　〃I　should　be　out　of　here。　I'm　late。〃
　〃Party？〃
　〃No；　I'm　working　with　a　hospice　for　the　homeless。　We're　out　most　nights；　trying　to　get　kids　off　the　streets。　The　city's　full　of　them。〃　She　took　him　to　the　door；　but　before　he　stepped　out　he　said；　〃You　remember　our　pagan　party　at　Christmas？〃
　She　grinned。　〃Of　course。　That　was　quite　a　shindig。〃
　〃Tay　got　stinking　drunk　after　everybody　had　gone。　He　knew　he　wasn't　going　to　be　seeing　most　of　them　again。　Then　of　course　he　got　sick　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　so　we　stayed　up　together　talking　about…oh；　I　don't　know；　everything　under　the　sun。　And　he　told　me　how　much　he'd　always　loved　Gentle。　How　Gentle　was　the　mystery　man　in　his　life。　He'd　been　dreaming　about　him；　he　said：　speaking　in　tongues。〃
　〃He　told　me　the　same　thing；〃　Jude　said。
　〃Then；　out　of　the　blue；　he　said　that　next　year　I　should　have　the　Nativity　back；　and　go　to　Midnight　Mass　the　way　we　used　to；　and　I　told　him　I　thought　we'd　decided　none　of　that　made　much　sense。　And　you　know　what　he　said　to　me？　He　said　light　was　light；　whatever　name　you　call　it；　and　it　was　better　to　think　of　it　ing　in　a　face　you　knew。〃　Clem　smiled。　〃I　thought　he　was　talking　about　Christ。　But　now　。。。　now　I'm　not　so　sure。〃
　She　hugged　him　hard；　pressing　her　lips　against　his　flushed　cheek。　Though　she　suspected　that　there　was　truth　in　what　he　said；　she　couldn't　bring　herself　to　voice　the　possibility。　Not　knowing　that　the　same　face　Tay　had　imagined　as　that　of　the　returning　sun　was　also　the　face　of　the　darkness　that　might　soon　eclipse　them　all。
　
　
　8
　
　Though　the　bed　Gentle　had　collapsed　into　the　night　before　had　been　stale；　and　the　pillow　beneath　his　head　damp；　he　couldn't　have　slept　more　soundly　had　he　been　rocked　in　the　arms　of　Mother　Earth　Herself。　When　he　woke；　fifteen　hours　later；　it　was　to　a　fine　June　morning；　and　the　dreamless　time　behind　him　had　put　new　strength　into　his　sinews。　There　was　no　gas；　electricity；　or　hot　water；　so　he　was　obliged　to　shower　and　shave　in　cold　water；　which　was　respectively　a　bracing　and　a　bloody　experience。　That　done；　he　took　some　time　to　assess　the　state　of　the　studio。　It　had　not　remained　entirely　untouched　in　his　absence。　At　some　juncture　either　an　old　girlfriend　or　a　very　particular　thief　had　e　in…he'd　left　two　of　the　windows　open；　so　gaining　access　had　presented　no　difficulty…and　the　interloper　had　stolen　both　clothes　and　more　private　bric…a…brac。　It　was　such　a　long　time　since　he'd　been　here；　however；　that　he　couldn't　remember　precisely　what　was　missing：　some　letters　and　postcards　from　the　mantelpiece；　a　few　photographs　（though　he'd　not　liked　to　be　recorded　this　way；　for　what　were　now　obvious　reasons）；　and　a　few　items　of　jewelry　（a　gold　chain；　two　rings；　a　crucifix）。　The　theft　didn't　much　bother　him。　He'd　never　been　a　sentimentalist　or　a　hoarder。　Objects　were　like　glossy　magazines：　fetching　for　a　day；　then　readily　discarded。
　There　were　other；　more　disgusting；　signs　of　his　absence　in　the　bathroom；　where　clothes　he'd　left　to　dry　before　his　departure　had　grown　green　fur；　and　in　the　refrigerator；　the　shelves　of　which　were　scattered　with　what　looked　like　pupating　zarzi；　stinking　of　putrefaction。　Before　he　could　really　begin　to　clean　up　he　had　to　have　some　power　in　the　house；　and　to　get　it　would　require　some　politicking。　He'd　had　the　gas；　telephone；　and　electricity　cut　off　in　the　past；　when；　in　the　lean　times　between　forgeries　and　sugar　mamas；　he'd　run　out　of　funds。　But　he　had　the　patter　to　get　them　turned　back　on　again　well　honed；　and　that　had　to　be　the　priority　of　the　hour。
　He　dressed　in　the　freshest　of　his　clothes　and　went　downstairs　to　present　himself　to　the　venerable　but　dotty　Mrs。　Erskine；　who　occupied　the　ground…floor　flat。　It　was　she　who'd　let　him　in　the　day　before；　remarking　with　her　characteristic　candor　that　he　looked　as　though　he'd　been　kicked　half　to　death；　to　which　he'd　replied　that　he　felt　the　same　way。　She　didn't　question　his　absence；　which　was　not　surprising　given　that　his　occupation　of　the　studio　had　always　been　sporadic；　but　she　did　ask　him　if　he　was　going　to　be　staying　awhile　this　time。　He　said　he　thought　so；　and　she　replied　that　she　was　pleased　at　this；　because　during　these　summer　days　people　always　got　crazy；　and　since　Mr。　Erskine's　death　she　was　sometimes　frightened。
　She　made　tea　while　he　availed　himself　of　her　telephone；　calling　around　the　services　he'd　lost。　It　turned　out　to　be　a　frustrating　business。　He'd　lost　the　knack　of　charming　the　women　he　spoke　to　into　some　action　on　his　behalf。　Instead　of　an　exchange　of　flatteries　he　was　served　a　chilly　salad　of　officiousness　and　condescension。　He　had　unpaid　bills；　he　was　told；　and　his　supplies　would　not　be　reconnected　until　payment　was　forthing。　He　ate　some　toast　Mrs。　Erskine　had　made；　drank　several　cups　of　tea；　then　went　down　into　the　basement　and　left　a　note　for　the　caretaker　that　he　was　now　back　in　residence　and　could　he　please　have　his　hot　water　turned　on。
　That　done；　he　ascended　to　the　studio　again　and　bolted　the　door　behind　him。　One　conversation　for　the　day　was　enough；　he'd　decided。　He　drew　the　blinds　at　the　windows　and　lit　two　candles。　They　smoked　as　their　dusty　wicks　first　burned；　but　their　light　was　kinder　than　the　glare　of　the　day；　and　by　it　he　started　to　go　through　the　snowdrift　of　mail　that　had　gathered　behind　the　door。　There　were　bills　in　abundance；　of　course；　printed　in　increasingly　irate　colors；　plus　the　inevitable　junk　mail。　There　were　very　few　personal　letters；　but　among　them　were　two　that　gave　him　pause。　Both　were　from　Vanessa；　whose　advice　that　he　should　slit　his　lying　throat　had　found　such　a　distressing　echo　in　Athanasius'　exhortation　at　the　Erasure。　Now　she　wrote　that　she　missed　him；　and　a　day　didn't　go　by　without　her　thinking　of　him。　The　second　missive　was　even　more　direct。　She　wanted　him　back　in　her　life。　If　he　wanted　to　play　around　with　other　women　she　would　learn　to　acmodate　that。　Would　he　not　at　least　make　contact　with　her？　Life　was　too　short　to　bear　grudges；　on　either　side。
　He　was　buoyed　up　somewhat　by　her　appeals；　and　even　more　so　by　a　letter　from　Klein；　scrawled　in　red　ink　on　pink；　paper。　Chester's　faintly　camp　tones　rose　from　the　page　as　Gentle　scanned　it。
　Dear　Bastard　…　Boy；　Klein　had　written。　Whose　heart　are　you　breaking；　and　where？　Scores　of　forlorn　women　are　presently　weeping　on　my　lap；　begging　me　to　forgive　you　your　trespasses　and　invite　you　back　into　the　bosom　of　the　family。　Among　them；　the　delectable　Vanessa。　For　God's　sake　e　home　and　save　me　from　seducing　her。　My　groin　is　wet　for　you；
　So　Vanessa　had　gone　to　Klein；　desperation　indeed。　Though　she'd　met　Chester　only　once　that　Gentle　could　recall；　she'd　subsequently　professed　to　loathing　him。　Gentle　kept　all　three　letters；　though　he　had　no　intention　of　acting　upon　their　appeals。　There　was　only　one　reunion　he　was　eager　for；　and　that　was　with　the　house　in　Clerkenwell。　He　couldn't　face　the　idea　of　venturing　out　in　daylight；　however。　The　streets　would　be　too　bright　and　too　busy。　He'd　wait　until　dark；　when　he　could　move　across　the　city　as　the　invisible　he　aspired　to　be。　He　set　a　match　to　the　rest　of　the　letters　and　watched　them　burn。　Then　he　went　back　to　bed　and　slept　through　the　afternoon　in　preparation　for　the　business　of　the　night。
　
　He　waited　until　the　first　stars　appeared　in　a　sky　of　elegiac　blue　before　he　raised　the　blinds。　The　street　outside　was　quiet；　but　given　that　he　lacked　the　cash　for　a　cab　he　knew　he'd　have　to　brush　shoulders　with　a　lot　of　people　before　he　reached　Clerkenwell。　On　a　fine　evening　like　this；　the　Edgware　Road　would　be　busy；　and　there'd　be　crowds　on　the　Underground。　His　best　hope　of　reaching　his　destination　unscrutinized　was　to　dress　as　blandly　as　possible；　and　he　took　some　time　hunting　through　his　depleted　wardrobe　for　those　clothes　that　would　render　him　most　invisible。　Once　dressed；　he　walked　down　to　Marble　Arch　and　boarded　the　Underground。　It　was　only　five　stations　to　Chancery　Lane；　which　would　put　him　on　the　borders　of　Clerkenwell；　but　after　two　he　had　to　get　off；　gasping　and　sweating　like　a　claustrophobic。　Cursing　this　new　weakness　in　himself；　he　sat　in　the　station　for　half　an　hour　while　more　trains　passed　through；　unable　to　bring　himself　to　board。　What　an　irony！　Here　he　was；　a　sometime　wanderer　in　the　wilds　of　the　Imajica；　incapable　of　traveling　a　couple　of　miles　by　tube　without　panicking。　He　waited　until　his　shaking　subsided　and　a　less　crowded　train　came　along。　Then　he　reboarded；　sitting　close　to　the　door　with　his　head　in　his　hands　until　the　journey　was　over。　By　the　time　he　emerged　at　Chancery　Lane　the　sky　had　darkened；　and　he　stood　for　several　minutes　on　High　Hoiborn；　his　head　thrown　back；　soaking　up　the　sky。　Only　when　the　tremors　had　left　his　legs　did　he　head　up　Gray's　Inn　Road　towards　the　environs　of　Gamut　Street。　Almost　all　the　property　on　the　main　thoroughfares　had　long　since　been　turned　to　mercial　use；　but　there　was　a　network　of　streets　and　squares　behind　the　barricade　of　darkened　office　buildings　which；　protected　perhaps　by　the　patronage　of　notoriety；　had　been　left　untouched　by　the　developers。　Many　of　these　streets　were　narrow　and　mazy；　their　lamps　unlit；　their　signs　missing；　as　though　blind　eyes　had　been　turned　to　them　over　the　generations。　But　he　didn't　need　signs　and　lamps；　his　feet　had　trodden　these　ways　countless　times。　Here　was　Shiverick　Square；　with　its　little　park　all　overgrown；　and　Flaxen　Street；　and　Almoth；　and　Sterne。　And　in　their　midst；　cocooned　by　anonymity；　his　destination。
　He　saw　the　corner　of　Gamut　Street　twenty　yards　ahead　and　slowed　his　pace　to　take　pleasure　in　the　moment　of　reunion。　There　were　i