cw.imarriedadeadman-第23章

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gh　she　had　experienced　a　violent　personality　split；　and　one　of　her　selves；　aghast　and　helpless；　watched　a　phantom　murderess　issue　from　the　cleavage　and　start　out　upon　her　deadly　quest。　She　could　only　pace　this　dark　thing；　this　other　self；　could　not　recapture　nor　reabsorb　it；　once　loosed。　Hence　（perhaps）　the　detached　objectivity　of　the　footsteps；　the　mirror…like　reproduction　of　her　own　movements。
　Reentering　the　car；　she　backed　it　into　the　street；　reversed　it；　and　let　it　flow　forward。　Not　violently；　but　with　the　suave　pick…up　of　a　perfectly　possessed　driver。　Some　other　hand；　not　hers…so　firm；　so　steady；　so　pure…remembered　to　reach　for　the　door…latch　and　draw　the　door　securely　closed　with　a　smart　little　clout。
　Outside；　the　street…lights　went　spinning　by　like　glowing　bowls　ing　toward　her　down　a　bowling…alley。　But　each　shot　was　a　miss；　they　went　alternately　too　far　out　to　this　side；　too　far　out　to　that　With　herself　and　the　car；　the　kingpin　in　the　middle　that　they　never　knocked　down。
　She　thought：　That　must　be　Fate；　bowling　against　me。　But　I　don't　care；　let　them　e。
　Then　the　car　had　stopped　again。　So　easy　it　was　to　go　forth　to　kill　a　man。
　She　didn't　study　it　closely；　to　see　what　it　was　like。　It　didn't　matter　what　it　was　like；　she　was　going　in　there；　it　was　going　to　happen　there。
　She　pedalled　the　accelerator　again；　went　on　past　the　door　and　around　the　corner。　There　she　made　a　turn；　for　the　right…of…way　was　against　her；　pointed　the　car　forward　to　the　way　from　which　she　had　just　e；　brought　it　over　against　the　sidewalk；　stopped　it　there；　just　out　of　sight。
　She　took　up　her　bag　from　beside　her　on　the　seat；　as　a　woman　does　who　is　about　to　leave　a　car；　secured　it　under　her　arm。
　She　shut　off　the　ignition　and　got　out。　She　walked　back　around　the　corner；　to　where　she'd　just　e　from；　with　the　quick；　preoccupied　gait　of　a　woman　returning　home　late　at　night；　who　hastens　to　get　off　the　street。　One　has　seen　them　that　way　many　times；　minding　their　own　business　with　an　added　intentness；　for　they　know　they　run　a　greater　risk　of　being　accosted　then　that　during　the　daylight　hours。
　She　found　herself　alone　on　a　gloomy　nocturnal　strip　of　sidewalk　in　front　of　a　long　rambling　two…story　structure；　hybrid；　half　mercial　and　half　living　quarters。　The　ground　floor　was　a　succession　of　unlighted　store…fronts；　the　upper　a　long　row　of　windows。　The　white　shape　of　a　milk　bottle　stood　on　the　sill　of　one　of　these。　One　was　lighted；　but　with　the　shade　drawn。　Not　the　one　with　the　milk　bottle。
　Between　two　of　the　store…fronts；　recessed；　almost　secretive　in　its　inconspicuousness；　there　was　a　single…panel　door；　with　a　wafflepattern　of　multiple　small　panes　set　into　it。　They　could　be　detected　because　there　was　a　dim　hall…light　somewhere　beyond　them；　doing　its　best　to　overe　the　darkness。
　She　went　over　to　it　and　tried　it；　and　it　swung　out　without　any　demur；　it　had　no　lock；　was　simply　a　closure　for　appearances'　sake。　Inside　there　was　a　rusted　radiator；　and　a　cement　stair　going　up；　and　at　the　side　of　this；　just　as　it　began；　a　row　of　letter　boxes　and　pushbuttons。　His　name　was　on　the　third　she　scanned；　but　not　in　its　own　right；　superimposed　on　the　card　of　the　previous　tenant；　left　behind。　He　had　pencil…scratched　the　name　off；　and　then　put　in　his　own　underneath。　〃S。　Georgesson。〃　He　didn't　print　very　well。
　He　didn't　do　anything　very　well；　except　smash　up　people's　lives。　He　did　that　very　well；　he　was　an　expert。
　She　went　on　up　the　stairs　and　followed　the　hall。　It　was　a　jerrybuilt；　makeshift　sort　of　a　place。　During　the　war　shortage　they　must　have　taken　the　attic　or　storage…space　part　of　the　stores　below　and　rigged　it　up　into　these　flats。
　What　a　place　to　live；　she　thought　dimly。
　What　a　place　to　die；　she　thought　remorselessly。
　She　could　see　the　thin　line　the　light　made　under　his　door。　She　knocked；　and　then　she　knocked　again；　softly　like　the　first　time。　He　had　his　radio　on　in　there。　She　could　hear　that　quite　distinctly　through　the　door。
　She　raised　her　hand　and　smoothed　back　her　hair；　while　waiting。　You　smoothed　your　hair…if　it　needed　it…just　before　you　were　going　to　see　anyone；　or　anyone　was　going　to　see　you。　That　was　why　she　did　it　now。
　They　said　you　were　frightened　at　a　time　like　this。　They　said　you　were　keyed…up　to　an　ungovernable　pitch。　They　said　you　were　blinded　by　fuming　emotion。
　They　said。　What　did　they　know？　She　felt　nothing。　Neither　fear　nor　excitement　nor　blind　anger。　Only　a　dull；　aching　determination　all　over。
　He　didn't　hear；　or　he　wasn't　ing　to　open。　She　tried　the　knob；　and　this　door　too；　like　the　one　below；　was　unlocked；　it　gave　inward。　Why　shouldn't　it　be；　she　reasoned；　what　did　he　have　to　fear　from　others？　They　didn't　take　from　him；　he　took　from　them。
　She　closed　it　behind　her；　to　keep　this　just　between　the　two　of　them。
　He　didn't　meet　her　eyes。　The　room　was　reeking　with　his　presence；　but　it　was　a　double　arrangement；　bed…　and　living…quarters；　and　he　must　be　in　the　one　just　beyond；　must　have　just　stepped　in　as　she　arrived　outside。　She　could　see　offside　light　ing　through　the　opening。
　The　coat　and　hat　he'd　worn　in　the　car　with　her　tonight　were　slung　over　a　chair；　the　coat　broadside　across　its　seat；　the　hat　atop　that。　A　cigarette　that　he'd　inpletely　extinguished　a　few　short　moments　ago　was　in　a　glass　tray；　stubbornly　smouldering　away。　The　drink　that　he'd　started；　then　left；　and　was　ing　back　to　finish　any　second　now…the　drink　with　which　he　was　celebrating　tonight's　successful　enterprise…stood　there　on　the　edge　of　the　table。　The　white　block　of　its　still…unmelted　ice　cube　peered　through　the　side　of　the　glass；　through　the　straw…colored　whiskey　it　floated　in。
　The　sight　of　it　brought　back　a　furnished　room　in　New　York。　He　took　his　drinks　weak；　he　liked　them　strong；　but　he　took　them　weak　when　it　was　his　own　whiskey　he　was　using。　〃There's　always　another　one　ing　up；〃　he　used　to　say　to　her。
　There　wasn't　now。　This　was　his　last　drink。　（You　should　have　made　it　stronger；　she　thought　to　herself　wryly。）
　Some　sort　of　gritty　noise　was　bothering　her。　A　pulsation；　a　discord　of　some　sort　It　was　meant　for　music；　but　no　music　could　have　reached　her　as　music；　as　she　was　now。　The　hypertension　of　her　senses　filtered　it　into　a　sound　somewhat　like　a　scrubbing…brush　being　passed　over　a　sheet　of　ribbed　tin。　Or　maybe；　it　occurred　to　her；　it　was　on　the　inside　of　her；　and　not　outside　anywhere。
　No；　there　it　was。　He　had　a　small　battery…portable　standing　against　the　side　wall。　She　went　over　to　it。
　〃Che　gelida　mannina…〃　some　far…off　voice　was　singing；　she　didn't　know　what　that　meant。　She　only　knew　that　this　was　no　love…scene；　this　was　a　death…scene。
　Her　hand　gave　a　brutal　little　wrench；　like　wringing　the　neck　of　a　chicken；　and　there　was　a　stupor　of　silence　in　his　two　shoddy　rooms。　This　one　out　here；　and　that　one　in　there。
　Now　he'd　step　out　to　see　who　had　done　that。
　She　turned　to　face　the　opening。　She　raised　her　handbag　frontally　to　her　chest。　She　undid　it；　and　took　out　the　gun；　and　fitted　her　hand　around　it；　the　way　her　hand　was　supposed　to　go。　Without　flurry；　without　a　tremor；　every　move　in　perfect　coordination。
　She　sighted　the　gun　toward　the　opening。
　〃Steve；〃　she　said　to　him；　at　no　more　than　room…to…room　conversational　pitch　in　the　utter　stillness。　〃e　out　here　a　second。　I　want　to　see　you。〃
　No　fear；　no　love；　no　hate；　no　anything　at　all。
　He　didn't　e。　Had　he　seen　her　in　a　mirror？　Had　he　guessed？　Was　he　that　much　of　a　coward；　cringing　away　even　from　a　woman？
　The　fractured　cigarette　continued　to　unravel　into　smoke…skeins。　The　ice　cube　continued　to　peer　through　the　highball　glass；　foursquare　and　uneroded。
　She　went　toward　the　opening。
　〃Steve；〃　she　rasped。　〃Your　wife　is　here。　Here　to　see　you。〃
　He　didn't　stir；　he　didn't　answer。
　She　made　the　turn　of　the　doorway；　gun　wheeling　before　her　like　some　sort　of　foreshortened　steering…gear。　The　second　room　was　not　parallel　to　the　first；　it　was　over　at　a　right　angle　to　it　It　was　very　small；　just　an　alcove　for　sleeping　in。　It　had　a　bulb　up　above；　as　though　a　luminous　blister　had　formed　on　the　calcimined　surface　of　the　ceiling。　There　was　also　a　lamp　beside　the　iron　cot；　and　that　was　lit　as　well；　but　it　was　upside…down。　It　was　standing　on　its　head　on　the　floor；　its　extension…wire　grotesquely　looped　in　air。
　She'd　caught　him　in　the　act　of　getting　ready　for　bed。　His　shirt　was　lying　over　the　foot　of　the　cot。　That　was　all　he'd　taken　off。　And　now　he　was　trying　to　hide　from　her；　down　on　the　floor　somewhere；　below　cot…level；　on　the　far　side　of　it。　His　hand　peered　over　it…he'd　forgotten　that　it　showed…clutching　at　the　bedding；　pulling　it　into　long；　puckered　lines。　And　the　top　of　his　head　showed；　burrowed　against　the　cot…just　a　glimpse　of　it…bowed　in　attempt　at　concealment；　but　not　inclined　deeply　enough。　And　then；　just　on　the　other　side　of　that；　though　his　second　hand　didn't　show；　more　of　those　puckered　wrinkles　ran　over　the　edge　of　the　bedding　at　one　place；　as　though　it　were　down　below　there　somewhere　out　of　sight；　but　hanging　on　for　dear　life。
　And　when　she　looked　at　the　floor；　out　beyond　the　far　side　of　the　cot；　she　could　glimpse　the　lower　part　of　one　leg；　extended　out　behind　him　in　a　long；　lazy　sprawl。　The　other　one　didn't　show；　must　have　been　drawn　up　closer　under　his　body。
　〃Get　up；〃　she　sneered。　〃At　least　I　thought　I　hated　a　man。　Now　I　don't　know　what　you　are。〃　She　passed　around　the　foot　of　the　cot；　and　his　back　came　into　view。　He　didn't　move；　but　every　line　of　his　body　expressed　the　arrested　impulse　to　get　away。
　Her　handbag　sprang　open　and　she　pulled　something　out；　pitched　it　at　him。　〃Here's　the　five　dollars　you　gave　me。　Remember？〃　It　fell　between　his　shoulderblades；　and　lay　there　lengthwise　across　his　spine；　caught　in　the　sharp　upcurve　his　back　made；　oddly　like　a　label　or　tag　loosely　pasted　across　him。
　〃You　love　money　so；〃　she　said　scathingly。　〃Now　here's　the　interest　Turn　around　and　get　it。〃
　She'd　fired　before　she'd　known　she　was　going　to。　As　though　there　were　some　cue　in　the　words　for　the　gun　to　take　of　its　own　accord；　without　waiting　for　her。　The　crash　surprised　her；　she　could　feel　it　go　up　her　whole　arm；　as　though　someone　had　stingingly　slapped　her　wristbone；　and　the　fiery　spittle　that　gleamed　for　a　moment　at　the　muzzle　made　her　blink　her　eyes　and　swerve　her　head　aside　involuntarily。
　He　didn't　move。　Even　the　five…dollar　bill　didn't　flutter　off　him。　There　was　a　curious　low　moaning　sound　from　the　tubular　rod　forming　the　head　of　the　cot；　as　when　a　vibration　is　slowly　dimming；　and　there　was　a　black　pockmark　in　the　plaster　of　the　wall；　sharply　offto　one　side　of　it；　that　seemed　to　leap　up　into　being　for　the　first　time　only　as　her　eyes　discovered　it。
　Her　hand　was　at　his　shoulder　now；　while　her　mind　was　trying　to　say　〃I　didn't…I　didn't…〃　He　turned　over　lazily；　and　ebbed　down　to　the　floor；　in　a　way　that　was　almost　playful；　as　if　she　had　been　threatening　to　tickle　him　and　he　was　trying　to　avoid　it。
　Indolent　dalliance；　his　attitude　seemed　to　express。　There　was　even　a　sort　of　gashed　grin　across　his　mouth。
　His　eyes　seemed　to　be　fixed　on　her；　watching　her；　with　that　same　detached　mockery　they'd　always　shown　toward　her。　As　if　to　say；　〃What　are　you　going　to　do　now？〃
　You　could　hardly　tell　anything　was　the　matter。　There　was　only　a　little　dark　streak　by　the　outside　corner　of　one　eye