cb.booksofblood2-第12章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　'We'll　have　you　right　in　two　shakes　of　a　lamb's　tail。'　I'm　a　lamb；　am　I？　Does　he　think　I'm　a　lamb？
　Musing；　he　glanced　up　at　his　framed　qualifications；　then　at　his　manicured　nails；　then　at　the　pens　on　his　desk　and　notepad。　But　he　didn't　look　at　Jacqueline。　Anywhere　but　at　Jacqueline。
　'I　know；'　he　was　saying　now；　'what　you've　been　through；　and　it's　been　traumatic。　Women　have　certain　needs。　If　they　go　unanswered　…'
　What　would　he　know　about　women's　needs？
　You're　not　a　woman；　she　thought。
　'What？'　he　said。
　Had　she　spoken？　She　shook　her　head：　denying　speech。　He　went　on；　finding　his　rhythm　once　more：　'I'm　not　going　to　put　you　through　interminable　therapy…sessions。　You　don't　want　that；　do　you？　You　want　a　little　reassurance；　and　you　want　something　to　help　you　sleep　at　nights。'
　He　was　irritating　her　badly　now。　His　condescension　was　so　profound　it　had　no　bottom。　All…knowing；　all…seeing　Father；　that　was　his　performance。　As　if　he　were　blessed　with　some　miraculous　insight　into　the　nature　of　a　woman's　soul。
　'Of　course；　I've　tried　therapy　courses　with　patients　in　the　past。　But　between　you　and　me　…'
　He　lightly　patted　her　hand。　Father's　palm　on　the　back　of　her　hand。　She　was　supposed　to　be　flattered；　reassured；　maybe　even　seduced。
　'…　between　you　and　me　it's　so　much　talk。　Endless　talk。　Frankly；　what　good　does　it　do？　We've　all　got　problems。　You　can't　talk　them　away；　can　you？'
　You're　not　a　woman。　You　don't　look　like　a　woman；　you　don't　feel　like　a　woman　…'Did　you　say　something？'　She　shook　her　head。
　'I　thought　you　said　something。　Please　feel　free　to　be　honest　with　me。'
　She　didn't　reply；　and　he　seemed　to　tire　of　pretending　intimacy。　He　stood　up　and　went　to　the　window。
　'I　think　the　best　thing　for　you　…'
　He　stood　against　the　light：　darkening　the　room；　obs…curing　the　view　of　the　cherry　trees　on　the　lawn　through　the　window。　She　stared　at　his　wide　shoulders；　at　his　narrow　hips。　A　fine　figure　of　a　man；　as　Ben　would　have　called　him。　No　child…bearer　he。　Made　to　remake　the　world；　a　body　like　that。　If　not　the　world；　remaking　minds　would　have　to　do。
　'I　think　the　best　thing　for　you　…'
　What　did　he　know；　with　his　hips；　with　his　shoulders？　He　was　too　much　a　man　to　understand　anything　of　her。
　'I　think　the　best　thing　for　you　would　be　a　course　of　sedatives　…'
　Now　her　eyes　were　on　his　waist。
　'…　and　a　holiday。'
　Her　mind　had　focused　now　on　the　body　beneath　the　veneer　of　his　clothes。　The　muscle；　bone　and　blood　beneath　the　elastic　skin。　She　pictured　it　from　all　sides；　sizing　it　up；　judging　its　powers　of　resistance；　then　closing　on　it。　She　thought：
　Be　a　woman。
　Simply；　as　she　thought　that　preposterous　idea；　it　began　to　take　shape。　Not　a　fairy…tale　transformation；　unfortunately；　his　flesh　resisted　such　magic。　She　willed　his　manly　chest　into　making　breasts　of　itself　and　it　began　to　swell　most　fetchingly；　until　the　skin　burst　and　his　sternum　flew　apart。
　
　His　pelvis；　teased　to　breaking　point；　fractured　at　its　centre；　unbalanced；　he　toppled　over　on　to　his　desk　and　from　there　stared　up　at　her；　his　face　yellow　with　shock。　He　licked　his　lips；　over　and　over　again；　to　find　some　wetness　to　talk　with。　His　mouth　was　dry：　his　words　were　still…born。　It　was　from　between　his　legs　that　all　the　noise　was　ing；　the　splashing　of　his　blood；　the　thud　of　his　bowel　on　the　carpet。
　She　screamed　at　the　absurd　monstrosity　she　had　made；　and　withdrew　to　the　far　corner　of　the　room；　where　she　was　sick　in　the　pot　of　the　rubber　plant。
　My　God；　she　thought；　this　can't　be　murder。　I　didn't　so　much　as　touch　him。
　
　What　Jacqueline　had　done　that　afternoon；　she　kept　to　herself。　No　sense　in　giving　people　sleepless　nights；　thinking　about　such　peculiar　talent。
　The　police　were　very　kind。　They　produced　any　number　of　explanations　for　the　sudden　departure　of　Dr　Blandish；　though　none　quite　described　how　his　chest　had　erupted　in　that　extraordinary　fashion；　making　two　handsome　（if　hairy）　domes　of　his　pectorals。
　It　was　assumed　that　some　unknown　psychotic；　strong　in　his　insanity；　had　broken　in；　done　the　deed　with　hands；　hammers　and　saws；　and　exited；　locking　the　innocent　Jacqueline　Ess　in　an　appalled　silence　no　interrogation　could　hope　to　penetrate。
　Person　or　persons　unknown　had　clearly　dispatched　the　doctor　to　where　neither　sedatives　nor　therapy　could　help　him。
　
　She　almost　forgot　for　a　while。　But　as　the　months　passed　it　came　back　to　her　by　degrees；　like　a　memory　of　a　secret　adultery。　It　teased　her　with　its　forbidden　delights。　She　forgot　the　nausea；　and　remembered　the　power。　She　forgot　sordidity；　and　remembered　strength。　She　forgot　the　guilt　that　had　seized　her　afterwards　and　longed；　longed　to　do　it　again。
　Only　better。
　
　'Jacqueline。'
　Is　this　my　husband；　she　thought；　actually　calling　me　by　my　name？　Usually　it　was　Jackie；　or　Jack；　or　nothing　at　all。
　'Jacqueline。'
　He　was　looking　at　her　with　those　big　baby　blues　of　his；　like　the　college…boy　she'd　loved　at　first　sight。　But　his　mouth　was　harder　now；　and　his　kisses　tasted　like　stale　bread。
　'Jacqueline。'
　'Yes。'
　'I've　got　something　I　want　to　speak　to　you　about。'
　A　conversation？　she　thought；　it　must　be　a　public　holiday。
　'I　don't　know　how　to　tell　you　this。'
　'Try　me；'　she　suggested。
　She　knew　that　she　could　think　his　tongue　into　speaking　if　it　pleased　her。　Make　him　tell　her　what　she　wanted　to　hear。　Words　of　love；　maybe；　if　she　could　remember　what　they　sounded　like。　But　what　was　the　use　of　that？　Better　the　truth。
　'Darling；　I've　gone　off　the　rails　a　bit。'
　'What　do　you　mean？'　she　said。
　Have　you；　you　bastard；　she　thought。
　'It　was　while　you　weren't　quite　yourself。　You　know；　when　things　had　more　or　less　stopped　between　us。　Separate　rooms。　。　。　you　wanted　separate　rooms。　。　。　and　I　just　went　bananas　with　frustration。　I　didn't　want　to　upset　you；　so　I　didn't　say　anything。　But　it's　no　use　me　trying　to　live　two　lives。'
　'You　can　have　an　affair　if　you　want　to；　Ben。'
　'It's　not　an　affair；　Jackie。　I　love　her　…'
　He　was　preparing　one　of　his　speeches；　she　could　see　it　gathering　momentum　behind　his　teeth。　The　justifications　that　became　accusations；　those　excuses　that　always　turned　into　assaults　on　her　character。　Once　he　got　into　full　flow　there'd　be　no　stopping　him。　She　didn't　want　to　hear。
　'…　she's　not　like　you　at　all；　Jackie。　She's　frivolous　in　her　way。　I　suppose　you'd　call　her　shallow。'
　It　might　be　worth　interrupting　here；　she　thought；　before　he　ties　himself　in　his　usual　knots。
　'She's　not　moody　like　you。　You　know；　she's　just　a　normal　woman。　I　don't　mean　to　say　you're　not　normal：　you　can't　help　having　depressions。　But　she's　not　so　sensitive。'
　'There's　no　need；　Ben　…'
　'No；　damn　it；　I　want　it　all　off　my　chest。'
　On　to　me；　she　thought。
　'You've　never　let　me　explain；'　he　was　saying。　'You've　always　given　me　one　of　those　damn　looks　of　yours；　as　if　you　wished　I'd　…'　
　Die。
　'…　wished　I'd　shut　up。'
　Shut　up。
　'You　don't　care　how　I　feel！'　He　was　shouting　now。　'Always　in　your　own　little　world。'
　Shut　up；　she　thought。
　His　mouth　was　open。　She　seemed　to　wish　it　closed；　and　with　the　thought　his　jaws　snapped　together；　severing　the　very　tip　of　his　pink　tongue。　It　fell　from　between　his　lips　and　lodged　in　a　fold　of　his　shirt。
　
　Shut　up；　she　thought　again。
　The　two　perfect　regiments　of　his　teeth　ground　down　into　each　other；　cracking　and　splitting；　nerve；　calcium　and　spit　making　a　pinkish　foam　on　his　chin　as　his　mouth　collapsed　inwards。
　Shut　up；　she　was　still　thinking　as　his　startled　baby　blues　sank　back　into　his　skull　and　his　nose　wormed　its　way　into　his　brain。
　He　was　not　Ben　any　longer；　he　was　a　man　with　a　red　lizard's　head；　flattening；　battening　down　upon　itself；　and；　thank　God；　he　was　past　speech…making　once　and　for　all。
　Now　she　had　the　knack　of　it；　she　began　to　take　pleasure　in　the　changes　she　was　willing　upon　him。
　She　flipped　him　head　over　heels　on　to　the　floor　and　began　to　press　his　arms　and　legs；　telescoping　flesh　and　resistant　bone　into　a　smaller　and　yet　smaller　space。　His　clothes　were　folded　inwards；　and　the　tissue　of　his　stomach　was　plucked　from　his　neatly　packaged　entrails　and　stretched　around　his　body　to　wrap　him　up。　His　fingers　were　poking　from　his　shoulder…blades　now；　and　his　feet；　still　thrashing　with　fury；　were　tripped　up　in　his　gut。　She　turned　him　over　one　final　time　to　pressure　his　spine　into　a　foot…long　column　of　muck；　and　that　was　about　the　end　of　it。
　As　she　came　out　of　her　ecstasy　she　saw　Ben　sitting　on　the　floor；　shut　up　into　a　space　about　the　size　of　one　of　his　fine　leather　suitcases；　while　blood；　bile　and　lymphatic　fluid　pulsed　weakly　from　his　hushed　body。
　My　God；　she　thought；　this　can't　be　my　husband。　He's　never　been　as　tidy　as　that。
　This　time　she　didn't　wait　for　help。　This　time　she　knew　what　she'd　done　（guessed；　even；　how　she'd　done　it）　and　she　accepted　her　crime　for　the　too…rough　justice　it　was。
　
　She　packed　her　bags　and　left　the　home。
　I'm　alive；　she　thought。　For　the　first　time　in　my　whole；　wretched　life；　I'm　alive。
　
　Vassi's　Testimony　（part　one）
　
　'To　you　who　dream　of　sweet；　strong　women　I　leave　this　story。　It　is　a　promise；　as　surely　as　it　is　a　confession；　as　surely　as　it's　the　last　words　of　a　lost　man　who　wanted　nothing　but　to　love　and　be　loved。　I　sit　here　trembling；　waiting　for　the　night；　waiting　for　that　whining　pimp　Koos　to　e　to　my　door　again；　and　take　everything　I　own　from　me　in　exchange　for　the　key　to　her　room。
　I　am　not　a　courageous　man；　and　I　never　have　been：
　so　I'm　afraid　of　what　may　happen　to　me　tonight。　But　I　cannot　go　through　life　dreaming　all　the　time；　existing　through　the　darkness　on　only　a　glimpse　of　heaven。　Sooner　or　later；　one　has　to　gird　one's　loins　（that's　appropriate）　and　get　up　and　find　it。　Even　if　it　means　giving　away　the　world　in　exchange。
　I　probably　make　no　sense。　You're　thinking；　you　who　chanced　on　this　testimony；　you're　thinking；　who　was　he；　this　imbecile？
　My　name　was　Oliver　Vassi。　I　am　now　thirty…eight　years　old。　I　was　a　lawyer；　until　a　year　or　more　ago；　when　I　began　the　search　that　ends　tonight　with　that　pimp　and　that　key　and　that　holy　of　holies。
　But　the　story　begins　more　than　a　year　ago。　It　is　many　years　since　Jacqueline　Ess　first　came　to　me。
　She　arrived　out　of　the　blue　at　my　offices；　claiming　to　be　the　widow　of　a　friend　of　mine　from　Law　School；　one　Benjamin　Ess；　and　when　I　thought　back；　I　remembered　the　face。　A　mutual　friend　who'd　been　at　the　wedding　had　shown　me　a　photograph　of　Ben　and　his　blushing　bride。　And　here　she　was；　every　bit　as　elusive　a　beauty　as　her　photograph　'promised。
　I　remember　being　acutely　embarrassed　at　that　first　interview。　She'd　arrived　at　a　busy　time；　and　I　was　up　to　my　neck　in　work。　But　I　was　so　enthralled　by　her；　I　let　all　the　day's　interviews　fall　by　the　wayside；　and　when　my　secretary　came　in　she　gave　me　one　of　her　steely　glances　as　if　to　throw　a　bucket　of　cold　water　over　me。　I　suppose　I　was　enamoured　from　the　start；　and　she　sensed　the　electric　atmosphere　in　my　office。　Me；　I　pretended　I　was　merely　being　polite　to　the　widow　of　an　old　friend。　I　didn't　like　to　think　about　passion：　it　wasn't　a　part　of　my　nature；　or　so　I　thought。　How　little　we　know　…　I　mean　really　know　…about　our　capabilities。
　Jacqueline　told　me　lies　at　that　first　meeting。　About　how　Ben　had　died　of　cancer；　of　how　often　he　had　spoken　of　me；　and　how　fond