cb.damnationgame-第38部分

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　I'm　not　to　be　paid　off　in　promises；　then　thrown　away　when　your　fortunes　change。　You　can't　treat　me　like　that。〃　〃I　didn't。〃　〃No　lies；　please。　Not　now。　Not　with　so　little　time　left　to　us。　This　time；　this　last　time；　let　us　be　honest　with　each　other。　Let　us　spill　our　hearts。　There　won't　be　any　more　opportunities。〃　〃Why　not？　Why　can't　we　start　again？〃　〃We're　old。　And　tired。〃　〃I'm　not。〃　〃Why　haven't　you　fought　for　your　Empire；　then；　if　not　because　of　fatigue？〃　〃That　was　your　doing？〃　Whitehead　asked；　already　certain　of　the　reply。
　　Mamoulian　nodded。　〃You're　not　the　only　man　I've　helped　to　fortune。　I've　got　friends　in　the　highest　circles；　all；　like　you；　students　of　Providence。　They　could　buy　and　sell　half　the　world　if　I　asked　them　to；　they　owe　me　that。　But　none　of　them　were　ever　quite　like　you；　Joseph。　You　were　the　hungriest；　and　the　ablest。　Only　with　you　did　I　see　a　chance　of…〃　〃Go　on；〃　Whitehead　prompted。　〃Chance　of　what？〃　〃Salvation；〃　Mamoulian　replied；　then　laughed　the　thought　off。　〃Of　all　things；〃　he　said　quietly。
　　Whitehead　had　never　imagined　it　would　be　like　this：　a　hushed　debate　in　a　white…tiled　room；　two　old　men　exchanging　hurts。　Turning　the　memories　over　like　stones；　and　watching　the　lice　scuttle　away。　It　was　so　much　more　gentle　and　so　much　more　painful。　Nothing　scourged　like　loss。
　　〃I　made　mistakes；〃　he　said；　〃and　I'm　genuinely　sorry　for　them。〃　〃Tell　me　the　truth；〃　Mamoulian　scolded。
　　〃That　is　the　truth；　damn　it。　I'm　sorry。　What　more　do　you　want？　Land？　panies？　What　do　you　want？〃　〃You　amaze　me；　Joseph。　Even　now；　in　extremis；　you　try　to　make　bargains。　What　a　loss　you　are。　What　a　terrible　loss。　I　could　have　made　you　great。〃　〃I　am　great。〃　〃You　know　better　than　that；　Pilgrim；〃　he　said　gently。　〃What　would　you　have　been；　without　me？　With　your　glib　tongue　and　your　fancy　suits。　An　actor？　A　car　salesman？　A　thief？〃　Whitehead　flinched；　not　just　at　the　taunts。　The　steam　had　bee　uneasy　behind　Mamoulian；　as　if　ghosts　had　begun　to　move　in　it。
　　〃You　were　nothing。　At　least　have　the　good　grace　to　admit　that。〃　〃I　took　you　on；〃　Whitehead　pointed　out。
　　〃Oh；　yes；〃　said　Mamoulian。　〃You　had　appetite；　I　grant　you。　You　had　that　in　abundance。〃　〃You　needed　me；〃　Whitehead　retorted。　The　European　had　wounded　him；　now；　despite　his　better　judgment；　he　wanted　to　wound　in　return。　This　was　his　world；　after　all。　The　European　was　a　trespasser　here：　unarmed；　unaided。　And　he　had　asked　for　the　truth　to　be　told。　Well；　he'd　hear　it；　ghosts　or　no　ghosts。
　　〃Why　would　I　need　you？〃　Mamoulian　asked。　There　was　sudden　contempt　in　his　tone。　〃What　are　you　worth？〃　Whitehead　held　off　answering　for　a　moment；　and　then　he　was　spilling　the　words；　careless　of　the　consequences。
　　〃To　live　for　you；　because　you　were　too　bloodless　to　do　it　for　yourself！　That　was　why　you　picked　me　up。　To　taste　it　all　through　me。　The　women；　the　power：　all　of　it。〃　〃No。。。〃　〃You're　looking　sick；　Mamoulian…〃　He　called　the　European　by　his　name。　See　that？　God；　the　ease　of　it。　He　called　the　bastard　by　his　name；　and　he　didn't　look　away　when　those　eyes　glinted；　because　he　was　telling　the　truth　here；　wasn't　he？　They　both　knew　it。　Mamoulian　was　pale；　almost　insipid。　Drained　of　the　will　to　live。　Suddenly；　Whitehead　began　to　know　he　could　win　this　confrontation；　if　he　was　clever。
　　〃Don't　try　to　fight；〃　Mamoulian　said。　〃I　will　have　my　due。〃　〃Which　is？〃　〃You。　Your　death。　Your　soul；　for　want　of　a　better　word。〃　〃You　had　all　I　owed　you　and　more；　years　ago。〃　〃That　wasn't　the　bargain；　Pilgrim。〃　〃We　all　make　deals　and　then　change　the　rules。〃　〃That's　not　playing　the　game。〃　〃There　is　only　one　game。　You　taught　me　that。　As　long　as　I　win　that　one　。　。　。　the　rest　don't　matter。〃　〃I　will　have　what's　mine；〃　Mamoulian　said　with　quiet　determination。　〃It's　a　foregone　conclusion。〃　〃Why　not　just　have　me　killed？〃　〃You　know　me；　Joseph。　I　want　this　to　finish　cleanly。　I'm　granting　you　time　to　organize　your　affairs。　To　close　the　books；　clean　the　slates；　give　the　land　back　to　those　you　stole　it　from。〃　〃I　didn't　take　you　for　a　munist。〃　〃I'm　not　here　to　debate　politics。　I　came　to　tell　you　my　terms。〃　So；　Whitehead　thought；　the　execution　date　is　a　while　away。　He　quickly　put　all　thoughts　of　escape　out　of　his　head；　for　fear　the　European　sniff　them　out。　Mamoulian　had　reached　into　his　jacket　pocket。　The　mutilated　hand　brought　out　a　large　envelope；　folded　on　itself。　〃You　will　dispose　of　your　assets　in　strict　accordance　with　these　directions。〃　〃All　to　friends　of　yours；　presumably。〃　〃I　have　no　friends。〃　〃It's　fine　by　me。〃　Whitehead　shrugged。　〃I'm　glad　to　be　rid　of　it。〃　〃Didn't　I　warn　you　it　would　bee　burdensome？〃　〃I'll　give　it　all　away。　Bee　a　saint；　if　you　like。　Will　you　be　satisfied　then？〃　〃As　long　as　you　die；　Pilgrim；〃　the　European　said。
　　〃No。〃　〃You　and　I　together。〃　〃I'll　die　in　my　time；〃　Whitehead　said；　〃not　in　yours。〃　〃You　won't　want　to　go　alone。〃　Behind　the　European　the　ghosts　were　getting　restless。　The　steam　simmered　with　them。
　　〃I'm　not　going　anywhere；〃　Whitehead　said。　He　thought　he　glimpsed　faces　in　the　billows。　Perhaps　defiance　wasn't　wise；　he　decided。　〃。　。　。　Where's　the　harm？〃　he　muttered；　half…standing　to　ward　off　whatever　the　steam　contained。　The　sauna　lights　were　dimming。　Mamoulian's　eyes　shone　in　the　deepening　murk；　and　there　was　illumination　spilling　up　from　his　throat　too；　staining　the　air。　The　ghosts　were　taking　substance　from　it；　growing　more　palpable　by　the　second。
　　〃Stop；〃　Whitehead　begged；　but　it　was　a　vain　hope。
　　The　sauna　had　vanished。　The　steam　was　discharging　its　passengers。　Whitehead　could　feel　their　prickling　gaze　on　him。　Only　now　did　he　feel　naked。　He　bent　for　the　towel；　and　when　he　stood　upright　again；　Mamoulian　had　gone。　He　clutched　the　towel　to　his　groin。　He　could　feel　how　the　ghosts　in　the　darkness　smirked　at　his　breasts；　at　his　shrunken　pudenda；　at　the　sheer　absurdity　of　his　old　flesh。　They　had　known　him　in　rarer　times；　when　the　chest　had　been　broad；　the　pudenda　arrogant；　the　flesh　impressive　whether　naked　or　dressed。
　　〃Mamoulian　。　。　。〃　he　murmured；　hoping　the　European　might　yet　undo　this　misery　before　it　got　out　of　control。　But　nobody　answered　his　appeal。
　　He　took　a　faltering　step　across　the　slippery　tiles　toward　the　door。　If　the　European　had　gone；　then　he　could　simply　walk　out　of　the　place；　find　Strauss　and　a　room　where　he　could　hide。　But　the　ghosts　weren't　finished　with　him　yet。　The　steam；　which　had　darkened　to　a　bruise；　lifted　a　little；　and　in　its　depths　something　shimmered。　He　couldn't　make　sense　of　it　at　first：　the　uncertain　whiteness；　the　fluttering；　as　of　snowflakes。
　　Then；　from　nowhere；　a　breeze。　It　belonged　to　the　past：　and　smelled　of　it。　Of　ash　and　brick　dust；　of　the　dirt　on　bodies　unwashed　for　decades；　of　burning　hair；　of　anger。　But　there　was　another　smell　that　wove　between　these；　and　when　he　breathed　it　the　significance　of　that　shimmering　air　came　clear；　and　he　forsook　the　towel　and　covered　his　eyes；　tears　and　pleas　ing　and　ing。
　　But　the　ghosts　pressed　in　nevertheless；　carrying　the　scent　of　petals　with　them。
　　
　　37
　　Carys　stood　on　the　small　landing　outside　Marty's　room；　and　listened。　From　inside；　there　came　the　sound　of　steady　sleep。　She　hesitated　a　moment…unsure　of　whether　or　not　to　go　in…then　slipped　down　the　stairs　again；　leaving　him　unwoken。　It　was　too　convenient　to　slide　into　bed　beside　him；　to　weep　into　the　crook　of　his　neck　where　his　pulse　ticked；　to　unburden　herself　of　all　her　fretting　and　beg　him　to　be　strong　for　her。　Convenient　and　dangerous。　It　wasn't　real　safety；　there　in　his　bed。　She'd　find　that　by　herself　and　in　herself；　nowhere　else。
　　Halfway　down　the　second　flight　of　stairs　she　stopped。　There　was　a　curious　tingle　in　the　darkened　hallway。　A　chill　of　night　air：　and　more。　She　waited；　shadow…thin；　on　the　stairs；　until　her　eyes　accustomed　themselves　to　the　dark。　Perhaps　she　should　just　go　back　upstairs；　lock　her　bedroom　door　behind　her；　and　find　a　few　pills　to　while　away　the　hours　until　the　sun　came　up。　It　would　be　so　much　easier　than　living　as　she　was；　with　every　nerve　electric。　Along　the　hall　toward　the　kitchen　she　caught　a　movement。　A　black　bulk　was　framed　against　the　doorway；　and　then　gone。
　　It's　just　the　dark；　she　told　herself；　playing　tricks。　She　smoothed　her　hand　over　the　wall；　feeling　the　design　of　the　wallpaper　ripple　under　her　fingertips　until　she　found　the　light　switch。　She　flipped　it　on。　The　corridor　was　empty。　The　stairway　at　her　back　was　empty。　The　landing　was　empty。　She　muttered　〃Stupid〃　to　herself；　and　padded　down　the　last　three　stairs　and　along　the　corridor　to　the　kitchen。
　　Before　she　got　there；　her　suspicions　about　the　chill　were　confirmed。　The　back　door　was　in　direct　line　with　the　kitchen　door；　and　both　were　open。　It　was　odd；　almost　shocking　in　fact；　to　see　the　house；　which　was　usually　hermetically　sealed；　exposed　to　the　night。　The　open　door　was　like　a　wound　in　its　flank。
　　She　stepped　through　from　the　carpeted　hallway　onto　the　cool　linoleum　of　the　kitchen　and　was　halfway　to　closing　the　door　when　she　caught　the　glass　glinting　on　the　floor。　The　door　had　not　been　left　open　accidentally；　somebody　had　forced　his　way　in。　A　smell…sandalwood…was　pricking　her　nostrils。　It　was　sickly；　but　what　it　covered　was　sicklier　still。
　　She　had　to　inform　Marty；　that　was　the　first　priority。　No　need　to　go　back　upstairs。　T