cb.damnationgame-第53部分

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　　〃I　see；〃　he　murmured。
　　Whitehead　looked　up　at　Marty。
　　〃Perhaps；〃　he　said。
　　〃I　was　a　gambling　man　in　those　days；　far　more　than　I　am　now。　War　brings　it　out　in　you；　I　think。　You　hear　stories　all　the　time；　about　how　some　lucky　man　escaped　death　because　he　sneezed；　or　died　for　the　same　reason。　Tales　of　benign　providence；　or　fatal　bad　fortune。　And　after　a　while　you　get　to　look　at　the　world　a　little　differently：　you　begin　to　see　chance　at　work　everywhere。　You　bee　alive　to　its　mysteries。　And　of　course　to　its　flip　side；　to　determinism。　Because　take　it　from　me　there　are　men　who　make　their　own　luck。　Men　who　can　mold　chance　like　putty。　You　talked　yourself　of　feeling　a　tingle　in　your　hands。　As　though　today；　whatever　you　did；　you　couldn't　lose。〃　〃Yes　。　。　。〃　That　conversation　seemed　an　age　away；　ancient　history。
　　〃Well；　while　I　was　in　Warsaw；　I　heard　about　a　man　who　never　once　lost　a　game。　A　card…player。〃　〃Never　lost？〃　Marty　was　incredulous。
　　〃Yes；　I　was　as　cynical　as　you。　I　treated　the　stories　I　heard　as　fable；　at　least　for　a　while。　But　wherever　I　went；　people　told　me　about　him。　I　got　to　be　curious。　In　fact　I　decided　to　stay　in　the　city；　though　God　knows　there　was　precious　little　to　keep　me　there；　and　find　this　miracle　worker　for　myself。〃　〃Who　did　he　play　against？〃　〃All　ers；　apparently。　Some　said　he'd　been　there　in　the　last　days　before　the　Russian　advance；　playing　against　Nazis；　and　then　when　the　Red　Army　entered　the　city　he　stayed　on。〃　〃Why　play　in　the　middle　of　nowhere？　There　can't　have　been　much　money　around。〃　〃Practically　none。　The　Russians　were　betting　their　rations；　their　boots。〃　〃So　again：　why？〃　〃That's　what　fascinated　me。　I　couldn't　understand　it　either。　Nor　did　I　believe　he　won　every　game；　however　good　a　player　he　was。〃　〃I　don't　see　how　he　kept　finding　people　to　play　him。〃　〃Because　there's　always　somebody　who　thinks　he　can　bring　the　champion　down。　I　was　one。　I　went　searching　for　him　to　prove　the　stories　wrong。　They　offended　my　sense　of　reality；　if　you　like。　I　spent　every　waking　hour　of　every　day　searching　the　city　for　him。　Eventually　I　found　a　soldier　who'd　played　against　him；　and　of　course　lost。　Lieutenant　Konstantin　Vasiliev。〃　〃And　the　card…player　。　。　。　what　was　his　name？〃　〃I　think　you　know　。　。　。〃　Whitehead　said。
　　〃Yes；〃　Marty　replied；　after　a　moment。　〃Yes；　you　know　I　saw　him。　At　Bill's　club？〃　〃When　was　this？〃　〃When　I　went　to　buy　my　suit。　You　told　me　to　gamble　what　was　left　of　the　money。〃　〃Mamoulian　was　at　the　Academy？　And　did　he　play？〃　〃No。　Apparently　he　never　does。〃　〃I　tried　to　get　him　to　play；　when　he　came　here　last；　but　he　wouldn't。〃　〃But　in　Warsaw？　You　played　him　there？〃　〃Oh；　Yes。　That's　what　he'd　been　waiting　for。　I　see　that　now。　All　these　years　I　pretended　I　was　in　charge；　you　know？　That　I'd　gone　to　him；　that　I'd　won　by　my　own　skills…〃　〃You　won？〃　Marty　exclaimed。
　　〃Certainly　I　won。　But　he　let　me。　It　was　his　way　of　seducing　me；　and　it　worked。　He　made　it　look　difficult；　of　course；　to　give　some　weight　to　the　illusion；　but　I　was　so　full　of　myself　I　never　once　contemplated　the　possibility　that　he'd　lost　the　game　deliberately。　I　mean；　there　was　no　reason　for　him　to　do　that；　was　there？　Not　that　I　could　see。　Not　at　the　time。〃　〃Why　did　he　let　you　win？〃　〃I　told　you：　seduction。〃　〃What；　do　you　mean　he　wanted　you　in　bed？〃　Whitehead　made　the　gentlest　of　shrugs。　〃It's　possible；　yes。〃　The　thought　seemed　to　amuse　him；　vanity　bloomed　on　his　face。　〃Yes；　I　think　I　probably　was　a　temptation。〃　Then　the　smile　faded。　〃But　sex　is　nothing；　is　it？　I　mean；　as　possessions　go；　to　fuck　somebody　is　trite　stuff。　What　he　wanted　me　for　went　far　deeper　and　was　far　more　permanent　than　any　physical　act。〃　〃Did　you　always　win　when　you　played　him？〃　〃I　never　played　against　him　again；　that　was　the　first　and　only　time。　I　know　it　sounds　unlikely。　He　was　a　gambler　and　so　was　I。　But　as　I　told　you；　he　wasn't　interested　in　cards　for　the　betting。〃　〃It　was　a　test。〃　〃Yes。　To　see　if　I　was　worthy　of　him。　Fit　to　build　an　Empire。　After　the　war；　when　they　started　rebuilding　Europe；　he　used　to　say　there　were　no　real　Europeans　left…they'd　all　been　wiped　out　by　one　holocaust　or　another…and　he　was　the　last　of　the　line。　I　believed　him。　All　the　talk　of　Empires　and　traditions。　I　was　flattered　to　be　lionized　by　him。　He　was　more　cultured；　more　persuasive；　more　penetrating　than　any　man　I　had　met　or　have　met　since。〃　Whitehead　was　lost　in　this　reverie；　hypnotized　by　the　memory。　〃All　that's　left　now　is　a　husk；　of　course。　You　can't　really　appreciate　what　an　impression　he　made。　There　was　nothing　he　couldn't　have　been　or　done　if　he'd　put　his　mind　to　it。　But　when　I　said　to　him：　why　do　you　bother　with　the　likes　of　me；　why　don't　you　go　into　politics；　some　sphere　where　you　can　wield　power　directly；　he'd　give　me　this　look；　and　say：　it's　all　been　done。　At　first　I　thought　he　meant　those　lives　were　predictable。　But　I　think　he　meant　something　else。　I　think　he　was　telling　me　that　he'd　been　these　people；　done　those　things。〃　〃How's　that　possible？　One　man。〃　〃I　don't　know。　It's　all　conjecture。　It　was　from　the　beginning。　And　here　I　am　forty　years　later；　still　juggling　rumors。〃　He　stood　up。　By　the　look　on　his　face　it　was　obvious　that　his　sitting　position　had　caused　some　stiffness　in　the　joints。　Once　he　was　upright；　he　leaned　against　the　wall；　and　put　his　head　back；　staring　up　at　the　blank　ceiling。
　　〃He　had　one　great　love。　One　all…consuming　passion。　Chance。　It　obsessed　him。　‘All　life　is　chance；〃　he　used　to　say。　‘The　trick　is　learning　how　to　use　it。
　　〃And　all　this　made　sense　to　you？〃　〃It　took　time；　but　I　came　to　share　his　fascination　over　a　period　of　years；　yes。　Not　out　of　intellectual　interest。　I've　never　had　much　of　that。　But　because　I　knew　it　could　bring　power。　If　you　can　make　Providence　work　for　you〃…he　glanced　down　at　Marty…〃work　out　its　system　if　you　like…the　world　succumbs　to　you。〃　The　voice　soured。　〃I　mean；　look　at　me。　See　how　well　I've　done　for　myself　。　。　。〃　He　let　out　a　short；　bitter　laugh。　〃。　。　。　He　cheated；〃　he　said；　returning　to　the　beginning　of　their　conversation。　〃He　didn't　obey　the　rules。〃　〃This　was　to　be　the　Last　Supper；〃　Marty　said。　〃Am　I　right？　You　were　going　to　escape　before　he　came　for　you。〃　〃In　a　way。〃　〃How？〃　Whitehead　didn't　reply。　Instead　he　began　the　story　again；　where　he'd　left　off。
　　〃He　taught　me　so　much。　After　the　war　we　traveled　around　for　a　while；　picking　up　a　small　fortune。　Me　with　my　skills；　him　with　his。　Then　we　came　to　England；　and　I　went　into　chemicals。〃　〃And　got　rich。〃　〃Beyond　the　dreams　of　Croesus。　It　took　a　few　years；　but　the　money　came；　the　power　came。〃　〃With　his　help。〃　Whitehead　frowned　at　this　unwele　observation。　〃I　applied　his　principles；　yes；〃　he　replied。　〃But　he　prospered　every　bit　as　much　as　I　did。　He　shared　my　houses；　my　friends。　Even　my　wife。〃　Marty　made　to　speak；　but　Whitehead　cut　him　off。
　　〃Did　I　tell　you　about　the　lieutenant？〃　he　said。
　　〃You　mentioned　him。　Vasiliev。〃　〃He　died；　did　I　tell　you　that？〃　〃He　didn't　pay　his　debts。　His　body　was　dragged　out　of　the　sewers　of　Warsaw。〃　〃Mamoulian　killed　him？〃　〃Not　personally。　But　yes；　I　think…〃　Whitehead　stopped　in　midflow；　almost　cocked　his　head；　listening。　〃Did　you　hear　something？〃　〃What？〃　〃No。　It's　all　right。　In　my　head。　What　was　I　saying？〃　〃The　lieutenant。〃　〃Oh；　yes。　This　piece　of　the　story　。　。　。　I　don't　know　if　it'll　mean　too　much　to　you　。　。　。　but　I　have　to　explain；　because　without　it　the　rest　doesn't　quite　make　sense。　You　see；　the　night　I　found　Mamoulian　was　an　incredible　evening。　Useless　to　try　to　describe　it　really；　but　you　know　the　way　the　sun　can　catch　the　tops　of　clouds；　they　were　blush…colored；　love…colored。　And　I　was　so　full　of　myself；　so　certain　that　nothing　could　ever　harm　me。〃　He　stopped　and　licked　his　lips　before　going　on。　〃I　was　an　imbecile。〃　Self…contempt　stung　the　words　from　him。　〃I　walked　through　the　ruins…smell　of　putrefaction　everywhere；　muck　under　my　feet…and　I　didn't　care；　because　it　wasn't　my　ruin；　my　putrefaction。　I　thought　I　was　above　all　that：　especially　that　night。　I　felt　like　the　victor；　because　I　was　alive　and　the　dead　were　dead。〃　The　words　stopped　pressing　forward　for　a　moment。　When　he　spoke　again；　it　was　so　quietly　it　hurt　the　ears　to　catch　the　words。　〃What　did　I　know？　Nothing　at　all。〃　He　covered　his　face　with　his　shaking　hand；　and　said；　〃Oh；　Jesus；〃　quietly　into　it。
　　In　the　silence　that　followed；　Marty　thought　he　heard　something　outside　the　door：　a　movement　in　the　hallway。　But　the　sound　was　too　soft　for　him　to　be　certain；　and　the　atmosphere　in　the　room　demanded　his　absolute　fixedness。　To　move　now；　to　speak；　would　ruin　the　confessional；　and　Marty；　like　a　child　hooked　by　a　master　storyteller；　wanted　to　hear　the　end　of　this　narrative。　At　that　moment　it　seemed　to　him　more　important　than　anything　else。
　　Whitehead's　face　was　concealed　behind　his　hand　as　he　attempted　to　stem　tears。　After　a　moment　he　took　up　the　tail　of　the　story　again…carefully；　as　if　it　might　strike　him　dead。
　　〃I've　never　told　anyone　this。　I　thought　if　I　kept　my　silence…if　I　let　it　bee　another　rumor…sooner　or　later　it　would　disappear。〃　There　was　another　noise　in　the　hall；　a　whine　like　wind　through　a　tiny　aperture。　And　then；　a　scratching　at　the　door。　Whitehead　didn't　hear　it。　He　was　in　Warsaw　again；　in　a　house　with　a　bonfire　and　a　flight　of　steps　and　a　room　with　a　table　and　a　gut