cb.damnationgame-第41部分

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　would　occupy　weeks；　by　which　time　the　Razor…Eater's　condition　would　be　poor　indeed。　The　European　felt　weary。　Finding　and　controlling　a　substitute　for　Breer　would　be　a　drain　on　his　already　depleted　energies。
　　Presently；　Carys　came　downstairs。
　　In　some　ways　he　regretted　losing　his　spy　in　the　enemy　camp；　but　there　were　too　many　variables　remaining　if　he　didn't　take　her。　For　one；　she　had　knowledge　of　him；　deeper　knowledge　than　she　was　perhaps　aware　of。　She　knew　instinctively　his　terrors　of　the　flesh；　witness　the　way　she　had　driven　him　out　when　she　and　Strauss　had　been　together。　She　knew　too　his　weariness；　his　dwindling　faith。　But　there　was　another　reason　to　take　her。　Whitehead　had　said　that　she　was　his　only　fort。　If　they　took　her　now　the　pilgrim　would　be　alone；　and　that　would　be　agony。　Mamoulian　trusted　it　would　prove　unendurable。
　　
　　39
　　After　searching　as　much　of　the　grounds　as　was　lit　by　the　floodlights；　and　finding　no　sign　of　Whitehead；　Marty　went　back　upstairs。　It　was　time　to　break　Whitehead's　mandment；　and　look　for　the　old　man　in　forbidden　territory。　The　door　to　the　room　at　the　end　of　the　top　corridor；　beyond　Carys〃　and　Whitehead's　bedrooms；　was　closed。　Heart　in　mouth；　Marty　approached；　and　tapped　on　it。
　　〃Sir？〃　At　first　there　was　no　sound　from　within。　Then　came　Whitehead's　voice；　vague；　as　if　woken　from　sleep：　〃Who　is　it？〃　〃Strauss；　sir。〃　〃e　in。〃　Marty　pushed　the　door　gently　and　it　swung　open。
　　When　he　had　imagined　the　interior　of　this　room　it　had　always　been　a　treasure　house。　But　the　truth　was　quite　the　reverse。　The　room　was　Spartan：　its　white　walls　and　its　spare　furnishings　a　chilly　spectacle。　It　did　boast　one　treasure。　An　altarpiece　stood　against　one　of　the　bare　walls；　its　richness　quite　out　of　place　in　such　an　austere　setting。　Its　central　panel　was　a　crucifixion　of　sublime　sadism；　all　gold　and　blood。
　　Its　owner　sat；　dressed　in　an　opulent　dressing　gown；　at　the　far　end　of　the　room；　behind　a　large　table。　He　looked　at　Marty　with　neither　wele　nor　accusation　on　his　face；　his　body　slumped　in　the　chair　like　a　sack。
　　〃Don't　stand　in　the　doorway；　man。　e　in。〃　Marty　closed　the　door　behind　him。
　　〃I　know　what　you　told　me；　sir；　about　never　ing　up　here。　But　I　was　afraid　something　had　happened　to　you。〃　〃I'm　alive；〃　Whitehead　said；　spreading　his　hands。　〃All's　well。〃　〃The　dogs…〃
　　〃…are　dead。　I　know。　Sit。〃　He　gestured　to　the　empty　chair　opposite　him　across　the　table。
　　〃Shouldn't　I　call　the　police？〃　〃There's　no　need。〃　〃They　could　still　be　on　the　premises。〃　Whitehead　shook　his　head。　〃They've　gone。　Sit　down；　Martin。　Pour　yourself　a　glass　of　wine。　You　look　as　if　you've　been　running　hard。〃　Marty　pulled　out　the　chair　that　had　been　neatly　placed　under　the　table　and　sat　down。　The　unadorned　bulb　that　burned　in　the　middle　of　the　room　threw　an　unflattering　light　on　everything。　Heavy　shadows；　ghastly　highlights：　a　ghost　show。
　　〃Put　down　the　gun。　You　won't　be　needing　it。〃　He　lay　the　weapon　down　on　the　table　beside　the　plate；　on　which　there　were　still　several　wafer…thin　slices　of　meat。　Beyond　the　plate；　a　bowl　of　strawberries；　partially　devoured；　and　a　glass　of　water。　The　frugality　of　the　meal　matched　the　environment：　the　meat；　sliced　to　the　point　of　transparency；　rare　and　moist；　the　casual　arrangement　of　cups　and　strawberry　bowl。　An　arbitrary　precision　invested　everything；　an　eerie　sense　of　chance　beauty。　Between　Marty　and　Whitehead　a　mote　of　dust　turned　in　the　air；　fluctuating　between　the　light　bulb　and　table；　its　…direction　influenced　by　the　merest　exhalation。
　　〃Try　the　meat；　Martin。〃　〃I'm　not　hungry。〃　〃It's　superb。　My　guest　brought　it。〃　〃You　know　who　they　are；　then。〃　〃Yes；　of　course。　Now　eat。〃　Reluctantly　Marty　cut　a　piece　of　the　slice　in　front　of　him；　and　tasted　it。　The　texture　dissolved　on　the　tongue；　delicate　and　appetizing。
　　〃Finish　it　off；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　Marty　did　as　the　old　man　had　invited：　the　night's　exertions　had　given　him　an　appetite。　A　glass　of　red　wine　was　poured　for　him；　he　drank　it　down。
　　〃Your　head's　full　of　questions；　no　doubt；〃　Whitehead　said。　〃Please　ask　away。　I'll　do　my　best　to　answer。〃　〃Who　are　they？〃　he　asked。
　　〃Friends。〃　〃They　broke　in　like　assassins。〃　〃Is　it　not　possible　that　friends；　with　time；　can　bee　assassins？〃　Marty　hadn't　been　prepared　for　that　particular　paradox。　〃One　of　them　sat　where　you're　sitting　now。〃　〃How　can　I　be；　your　bodyguard　if　I　don't　know　your　friends　from　your　enemies？〃　Whitehead　paused；　and　looked　hard　at　Marty。
　　〃Do　you　care？〃　he　asked　after　a　beat。
　　〃You've　been　good　to　me；〃　Marty　replied；　insulted　by　the　inquiry。　〃What　kind　of　coldhearted　bastard　do　you　take　me　for？〃　〃My　God　。　。　。〃　Whitehead　shook　his　head。　〃Marty　。　。　。〃　〃Explain　to　me。　I　want　to　help。〃　〃Explain　what？〃　〃How　you　can　invite　a　man　who　wants　to　kill　you　to　eat　dinner　with　you。
　　Whitehead　watched　the　dust　mote　turning　between　them。　He　either　thought　the　question　beneath　contempt；　or　had　no　answer　for　it。
　　〃You　want　to　help　me？〃　he　said　eventually。　〃Then　bury　the　dogs。〃　〃Is　that　all　I'm　good　for？〃　〃The　time　may　e…〃　〃So　you　keep　telling　me；〃　Marty　said；　standing　up。　He　wasn't　going　to　get　any　answers；　that　much　was　apparent。　Just　meat　and　good　wine。　Tonight；　that　wasn't　enough。
　　〃Can　I　go　now？〃　he　asked；　and　without　waiting　for　a　reply　turned　his　back　on　the　old　man　and　went　to　the　door。
　　As　he　opened　it；　Whitehead　said：　〃Forgive　me；〃　very　quietly。　So　quietly　in　fact　that　Marty　wasn't　sure　whether　the　words　were　intended　for　him　or　not。
　　He　closed　the　door　behind　him　and　went　back　through　the　house　to　check　that　the　intruders　had　indeed　gone；　they　had。　The　steam　room　was　empty。　Carys　had　obviously　returned　to　her　room。
　　Feeling　insolent；　he　slipped　into　the　study　and　poured　himself　a　treble　whisky　from　the　decanter；　and　then　sat　in　Whitehead's　chair　by　the　window；　sipping　and　thinking。　The　alcohol　did　nothing　for　the　clarity　of　his　mind：　it　simply　dulled　the　ache　of　frustration　he　felt。　He　slipped　away　to　bed　before　dawn　described　the　ragged　bundles　of　fur　on　the　lawn　too　distinctly。
　　
　　
　　VII。
　　No　Limits
　　
　　40
　　It　was　no　morning　for　burying　dead　dogs；　the　sky　was　too　high　and　promising。　Jets；　trailing　vapor；　crossed　to　America；　the　woods　budded　and　winged　with　life。　Still；　the　work　had　to　be　done；　however　inappropriate。
　　Only　by　the　unpromising　light　of　day　was　it　possible　to　see　the　full　extent　of　the　slaughter。　In　addition　to　killing　the　dogs　around　the　house；　the　intruders　had　broken　into　the　kennels　and　systematically　murdered　all　its　occupants；　including　Bella　and　her　offspring。　When　Marty　arrived　at　the　kennels　Lillian　was　already　there。　She　looked　as　though　she'd　been　weeping　for　days。　In　her　hands　she　cradled　one　of　the　pups。　Its　head　had　been　crushed；　as　if　in　a　vise。
　　〃Look；〃　she　said；　proffering　the　corpse。
　　Marty　hadn't　managed　to　eat　anything　for　breakfast：　the　thought　of　the　job　ahead　had　taken　the　edge　off　his　appetite。　Now　he　wished　he'd　forced　something　down：　his　empty　belly　echoed　on　itself。　He　felt　almost　lightheaded。
　　〃If　only　I'd　been　here；〃　she　said。
　　〃You　probably　would　have　ended　up　dead　yourself；〃　he　told　her。　It　was　the　simple　truth。
　　She　laid　the　pup　back　on　the　straw；　and　stroked　the　matted　fur　of　Bella's　body。　Marty　was　more　fastidious　than　she。　Even　wearing　a　pair　of　thick　leather　gloves　he　didn't　want　to　touch　the　corpses。　But　whatever　he　lacked　in　respect　he　made　up　for　in　efficiency；　using　his　disgust　as　a　spur　to　hurry　the　work　along。　Lillian；　though　she　had　insisted　on　being　there　to　help；　was　useless　in　the　face　of　the　fact。　All　she　could　do　was　watch　while　Marty　wrapped　the　bodies　in　black　plastic　refuse　bags；　loaded　the　forlorn　parcels　into　the　back　of　the　jeep；　and　then　drove　this　makeshift　hearse　across　to　a　clearing　he'd　chosen　in　the　woods。　It　was　here　that　they　were　to　be　buried；　at　Whitehead's　request；　out　of　sight　of　the　house。　He'd　brought　two　spades；　hoping　that　Lillian　would　assist；　but　she　was　clearly　incapable。　He　was　left　to　do　it　single…handed；　while　she　stood；　hands　thrust　into　the　pockets　of　her　filthy　anorak；　staring　at　the　leaking　bundles。
　　It　was　difficult　work。　The　soil　was　a　network　of　roots；　crisscrossing　from　tree　to　tree；　and　Marty　soon　worked　up　a　sweat；　hacking　at　the　roots　with　the　blade　of　his　spade。　Once　he'd　dug　a　shallow　grave；　he　rolled　the　bodies　into　it　and　began　to　shovel　the　earth　back　on　top　of　them。　It　rattled　on　their　plastic　shrouds；　a　dry　rain。　When　the　filling　was　done　he　patted　the　soil　into　a　rough　mound。
　　〃I'm　going　back　to　the　house　for　a　beer；〃　he　told　Lillian。　〃You　ing？〃　She　shook　her　head。　〃Last　respects；〃　she　muttered。
　　He　left　her　among　the　trees　and　headed　back　across　the　lawn　to　the　house。　As　he　walked；　he　thought　of　Carys。　She　must　be　awake　by　now；　surely；　though　the　curtains　at　the　window　were　still　drawn。　How　fine　to　be　a　bird；　he　thought；　to　peer　through　the　gap　in　the　curtains　and　spy　on　her　stretching　naked　on　the　bed；　sloth　that　she　was；　her　arms　thrown　up　above　her　head；　fur　at　her　armpits；　fur　where　her　legs　met。　He　walked　into　the　house　wearing　a　smile　and　an　erection。
　　He　found　Pearl　in　the　kitchen；　told　her　he　was　hungry；　and　went　upstairs　to　shower。　When　he　came　down　again　she　had