cb.damnationgame-第14部分

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he　would…be　intruder。　These　were　in　turn　crowned　with　spirals　of　barbed　wire。　The　whole　construction　hummed；　almost　imperceptibly；　with　an　electric　charge。　Whitehead　regarded　it　with　evident　satisfaction。
　　〃Impressive；　eh？〃　Marty　nodded。　Again；　the　sight　woke　echoes。
　　〃It　offers　a　measure　of　security；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　He　turned　left　at　the　fence；　and　began　to　walk　its　length；　the　conversation…if　that　it　could　be　called…ing　from　him　in　the　form　of　a　series　of　non　sequiturs；　as　if　he　were　too　impatient　with　the　elliptical　structure　of　normal　exchanges　to　bear　with　it。　He　simply　threw　statements；　or　clusters　of　remarks；　down；　and　expected　Marty　to　make　whatever　sense　he　could　of　them。
　　〃It's　not　a　perfect　system：　fences；　dogs；　cameras。　You　saw　the　screens　in　the　kitchen？〃　〃Yes。
　　〃I've　got　the　same　upstairs。　The　cameras　offer　total　surveillance　day　and　night。〃　He　jerked　a　thumb　up　at　one　of　the　camera's　floodlights　mounted　beside　them。　There　was　one　set　on　every　tenth　upright。　They　swiveled　back　and　forth　slowly；　like　the　heads　of　mechanical　birds。
　　〃Luther'll　show　you　how　to　run　through　them　in　sequence。　Cost　a　small　fortune　to　install；　and　I'm　not　sure　it's　more　than　cosmetic。　These　people　aren't　fools。〃　〃You've　had　break…ins？〃　〃Not　here。　At　the　London　house　it　used　to　happen　all　the　time。　Of　course；　that　was　when　I　was　more　visible。　The　unrepentant　tycoon。　Evangeline　and　me　in　every　scandal　sheet。　The　open　sewer　of　Fleet　Street；　it　never　fails　to　appall　me。〃　〃I　thought　you　owned　a　newspaper？〃　〃Been　reading　up　on　me？〃　〃Not　exactly；　I…〃　〃Don't　believe　the　biographies；　or　the　gossip　columns；　or　even　Who's　Who。　They　lie。　I　lie〃…he　finished　the　declension；　entertained　by　his　own　cynicism…〃he；　she；　or　it　lies。　Scribblers。　Dirt　peddlers。　Contemptible；　the　lot　of　them。〃　Was　that　what　he　was　keeping　out　with　these　lethal　fences：　dirt　peddlers？　A　fortress　against　a　tide　of　scandal　and　shit？　If　so；　it　was　an　elaborate　lay　to　go　about　it。　Marty　wondered　if　this　wasn't　simply　monstrous　egotism。　Was　the　hemisphere　that　interested　in　the　private　life　of　Joseph　Whitehead？
　　〃What　are　you　thinking；　Mr。　Strauss？〃　〃About　the　fences；〃　Marty　lied；　proving　Whitehead's　earlier　point。
　　〃No；　Strauss；〃　Whitehead　corrected　him。　〃You're　thinking：　what　have　I　got　myself　into；　locked　up　with　a　lunatic？〃　Marty　sensed　any　further　denial　would　sound　like　guilt。　He　said　nothing。
　　〃Isn't　that　the　conventional　wisdom　where　I'm　concerned？　The　failing　plutocrat；　festering　in　solitude。　Don't　they　say　that　about　me？〃　〃Something　like　that；〃　Marty　finally　replied。
　　〃And　still　you　came。〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Of　course　you　came。　You　thought　that　however　offbeat　I　am；　nothing　could　be　as　bad　as　another　stretch　behind　locked　doors；　isn't　that　right？　And　you　wanted　out。　At　any　cost。　You　were　desperate。〃　〃Of　course　I　wanted　out。　Anybody　would。〃　〃I'm　glad　you　admit　to　that。　Because　your　wanting　gives　me　considerable　power　over　you；　don't　you　think？　You　daren't　cheat　me。　You　must　cleave　to　me　the　way　the　dogs　cleave　to　Lillian；　not　because　she　represents　their　next　meal　but　because　she's　their　world。　You　must　make　me　your　world；　Mr。　Strauss；　my　preservation；　my　sanity；　my　smallest　fort　must　be　uppermost　in　your　mind　every　waking　moment。　If　it　is；　I　promise　you　freedoms　you　never　dreamed　of　experiencing。　The　kind　of　freedoms　that　are　only　in　the　gift　of　very　wealthy　men。　If　not；　I　will　put　you　back　in　prison　with　your　record　book　irredeemably　spoiled。　Understand　me？〃　〃I　understand。〃　Whitehead　nodded。
　　〃e　then；〃　he　said。　〃Walk　beside　me。〃　He　turned　and　walked　on。　The　fence　swung　around　behind　the　back　of　the　woods　at　this　point；　and　rather　than　plunging　into　the　undergrowth　Whitehead　suggested　they　truncate　their　journey　by　heading　toward　the　pool。　〃One　tree　looks　much　like　the　next　to　me；〃　he　mented。　〃You　can　e　here　and　trudge　around　to　your　heart's　content　later　on。〃　They　skirted　the　edge　of　the　woods　long　enough　for　Marty　to　get　an　impression　of　their　density；　however。　The　trees　hadn't　been　systematically　planted；　this　was　no　regimented　Forestry　mission　reserve。　They　stood　close　to　each　other；　their　limbs　intertwined；　a　mixture　of　deciduous　varieties　and　pines　all　fighting　for　growing　space。　Only　occasionally；　where　an　oak　or　a　lime　stood　bare…branched　this　early　in　the　year；　did　light　bless　the　undergrowth。　He　promised　himself　a　return　here　before　spring　prettified　it。
　　Whitehead　summoned　Marty's　thoughts　back　into　focus。
　　〃From　now　on　I　expect　you　to　be　within　summoning　distance　most　of　the　time。　I　don't　want　you　with　me　every　moment　of　the　day　。　。　。　just　need　you　in　the　vicinity。　On　occasion；　and　only　with　my　permission；　you'll　be　permitted　to　leave　on　your　own。　You　can　drive？〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Well；　there's　no　shortage　of　cars；　so　we'll　sort　something　out　for　you。　This　isn't　strictly　within　the　guidelines　set　out　by　the　parole　board。　Their　remendation　was　that　you　remain；　as　it　were；　in　custody　here　for　six　probationary　months。　But　I　frankly　see　no　reason　to　prevent　you　visiting　your　loved　ones…at　least　when　there　are　other　people　around　to　look　after　my　welfare。〃　〃Thank　you。　I　appreciate　it。〃　〃I'm　afraid　I　can't　allow　you　any　time　just　at　the　moment。　Your　presence　here　is　vital。〃　〃Problems？〃　〃My　life　is　constantly　threatened；　Strauss。　I；　or　rather　my　offices；　receive　hate　mail　all　the　time。　The　difficulty　is　in　separating　the　crank　who　spends　his　time　writing　filth　to　public　figures　from　the　genuine　assassin。〃　〃Why　should　anyone　want　to　assassinate　you？〃　〃I'm　one　of　the　wealthiest　men　outside　America。　I　own　panies　that　employ　tens　of　thousands　of　people；　I　own　tracts　of　land　so　large　I　could　not　walk　them　in　the　years　remaining　to　me　if　I　began　now；　I　own　ships；　art；　horseflesh。　It's　easy　to　make　an　icon　of　me。　To　think　that　if　I　and　my　life　were　brought　down　there'd　be　peace　on　earth　and　goodwill　to　men。〃　〃I　see。〃　〃Sweet　dreams；〃　he　said　bitterly。
　　The　pace　of　their　march　had　begun　to　slow。　The　great　man's　breath　was　rather　shorter　now　than　it　had　been　half　an　hour　before。　Listening　to　him　talk　it　was　easy　to　forget　his　advanced　years。　His　opinions　had　all　the　absolutism　of　youth。　No　room　here　for　the　mellowness　of　advancing　years；　for　ambiguity　or　doubt。
　　〃I　think　it's　time　we　headed　back；〃　he　said。
　　The　monologue　had　finally　lapsed；　and　Marty　had　no　taste　for　further　talk。　No　energy　either。　Whitehead's　style…with　its　unsignaled　swerves　and　bends…had　exhausted　him。　He'd　have　to　get　used　to　the　pose　of　the　attentive　listener：　find　a　face　to　use　when　these　lectures　began；　and　put　it　on。　Learn　to　nod　knowingly　in　the　right　places；　to　murmur　platitudes　at　the　appropriate　breaks　in　the　flow。　It　would　take　a　while；　but　he'd　get　the　trick　of　handling　Whitehead　in　time。
　　〃This　is　my　fortress；　Mr。　Strauss；〃　the　old　man　announced　as　they　approached　the　house。　It　didn't　look　particularly　garrisoned：　the　brick　was　too　warm　to　be　stern。　〃Its　sole　function　is　to　keep　me　from　harm。〃　〃Like　me。〃　〃Like　you；　Mr。　Strauss。〃　Behind　the　house；　one　of　the　dogs　had　started　barking。　The　solo　rapidly　became　a　chorus。
　　〃Feeding　time；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　
　　15
　　It　took　several　weeks〃　living　on　the　estate　for　Marty　to　understand　fully　the　rhythm　of　the　Whitehead　household。　Like　the　benign　dictatorship　it　was；　the　shape　of　each　day　was　defined　absolutely　by　Whitehead's　plans　and　whims。　As　the　old　man　had　told　Marty　that　first　day；　the　house　was　a　shrine　to　him；　his　worshipers　came　daily　to　touch　the　hem　of　his　opinion。　Some　of　their　faces　he　recognized：　captains　of　industry；　two　or　three　government　ministers　（one　of　whom　had　recently　left　office　in　disgrace；　was　he　ing　here；　Marty　wondered；　asking　for　forgiveness　or　retribution？）；　pundits；　guardians　of　public　morality…many　people　Marty　knew　by　sight　but　couldn't　name；　even　more　he　didn't　know　at　all。　He　was　introduced　to　none　of　them。
　　Once　or　twice　a　week　he　might　be　asked　to　remain　in　the　room　while　the　meetings　were　held；　but　more　often　than　not　he　was　required　only　to　be　within　hailing　distance。　Wherever　he　was；　he　was　invisible　as　far　as　most　of　the　guests　were　concerned：　ignored；　treated　at　best　as　part　of　the　furniture。　At　first　it　was　irritating；　everyone　in　the　house　had　a　name　but　him；　it　seemed。　As　time　passed；　however；　he　grew　to　be　glad　of　his　anonymity。　He　wasn't　required　to　give　an　opinion　on　everything；　so　he　could　let　his　mind　drift　with　no　danger　of　being　called　into　the　conversation。　It　was　good　too　to　be　dislocated　from　the　concerns　of　these　almighty　people：　their　lies　seemed；　he　thought；　fraught　and　artificial。　He　saw　in　many　of　their　faces　looks　he　recognized　from　his　years　in　Wandsworth：　the　constant　fretting　over　minor　gibes；　over　their　place　in　the　hierarchy。　The　rules　might　be　more　civil　in　this　circle　than　in　Wandsworth；　but　the　struggles；　he　began　to　understand；　were　fundamentally　the　same。　All　power　games　of　one　kind　or　another。　He　was　pleased　to　have　no　part　in　them。
　　Besides；　his　mind　had　more　important　issues　to　mull　over。　For　one　thing；　there　was　Charmaine。　More　out　of　curiosity　than　passion；　perhaps；　he　had　begun　to　think　about　her　a　good　deal。　He　found　himself　wondering　how　her　body　looked　seven　years　on。　Did　she　still　shave　the　thin　line　of　hair　that　ran　down