cb.damnationgame-第56部分

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ms。〃　The　self…pity　in　Whitehead's　pronouncement　was　too　much。　〃You　can't　tell　me　you're　a　victim；〃　Marty　said；　〃the　way　you've　lived。〃　〃What　do　you　know　about　my　feelings？〃　Whitehead　snapped　back。　〃Don't　presume；　you　hear　me？　Don't　think　you　understand；　because　you　don't！　He　took　everything　away　from　me；　everything！　First　Evangeline；　then　Toy；　now　Carys。　Don't　tell　me　whether　I've　suffered　or　not！〃　〃What　do　you　mean；　he　took　Evangeline？　I　thought　she　died　in　an　accident？〃　Whitehead　shook　his　head。　〃There's　a　limit　to　what　I　can　tell　you；〃　he　said。　〃Some　things　I　can't　express。　Never　will。〃　The　voice　was　ashen。　Marty　let　the　point　go；　and　moved　on。
　　〃You　said　he　came　back　twice。〃　〃That's　right。　He　came　again；　a　year　or　two　after　his　first　visit。　Evangeline　wasn't　at　home　that　night。　It　was　November。　Toy　answered　the　door；　I　remember；　and　though　I　hadn't　heard　Mamoulian's　voice　I　knew　it　was　him。　I　went　into　the　hallway。　He　was　standing　on　the　step；　in　the　porch　light。　It　was　drizzling。　I　can　see　him　now；　the　way　his　eyes　found　me。　‘Am　I　wele？〃　he　said。　Just　stood　there　and　said；　‘Am　I　wele？〃〃　〃I　don't　know　why；　but　I　let　him　in。　He　didn't　look　in　bad　shape。　Maybe　I　thought　he'd　e　to　apologize；　I　can't　remember。　Even　then　I　would　have　been　friends　with　him；　if　he'd　offered。　Not　on　the　old　basis。　As　business　acquaintances；　perhaps。　I　let　my　defenses　down。　We　started　talking　about　the　past　together〃…Whitehead　chewed　the　memory　over；　trying　to　get　a　better　taste　of　it…〃and　then　he　started　to　tell　me　how　lonely　he　was；　how　he　needed　my　panionship。　I　told　him　Warsaw　was　a　long　time　gone。　I　was　a　married　man；　a　pillar　of　the　munity；　and　I　had　no　intention　of　changing　my　ways。　He　started　to　get　abusive：　accused　me　of　ingratitude。　Said　I'd　cheated　him。　Broken　the　covenant　between　us。　I　told　him　there'd　never　been　a　covenant；　I'd　just　won　a　game　of　cards　once；　in　a　distant　city；　and　as　a　result；　he'd　chosen　to　help　me；　for　his　own　reasons。　I　said　I　felt　I'd　acceded　to　his　demands　sufficiently　to　feel　that　any　debt　to　him　had　been　paid。　He'd　shared　my　house；　my　friends；　my　life　for　a　decade：　everything　that　I　had；　had　been　his　to　share。　‘It's　not　enough；〃　he　said；　and　he　began　again：　the　same　pleas　as　before；　the　same　demands　that　I　give　up　this　pretense　to　respectability　and　go　off　somewhere　with　him；　be　a　wanderer；　be　his　pupil；　learn　new；　terrible　lessons　about　the　way　of　the　world。　And　I　have　to　say　he　made　it　sound　almost　attractive。　There　were　times　when　I　tired　of　the　masquerade；　when　I　smelled　war；　dirt；　when　I　saw　the　clouds　over　Warsaw；　and　I　was　homesick　for　the　thief　I　used　to　be。　But　I　wasn't　going　to　throw　everything　away　for　nostalgia's　sake。　I　told　him　so。　I　think　he　must　have　known　I　was　immovable；　because　he　became　desperate。　He　started　to　ramble；　started　to　tell　me　he　was　frightened　without　me；　lost。　I　was　the　one　he'd　given　years　of　his　life　and　his　energies　to；　and　how　could　I　be　so　callous　and　unloving？　He　laid　hands　on　me；　wept；　tried　to　paw　my　face。　I　was　horrified　by　the　whole　thing。　He　disgusted　me　with　his　melodrama；　I　wanted　no　part　of　it；　or　him。　But　he　wouldn't　leave。　His　demands　turned　into　threats；　and　I　suppose　I　lost　my　temper。　No　suppose　about　it。　I've　never　been　so　angry。　I　wanted　an　end　to　him　and　all　he　stood　for：　my　grubby　past。　I　hit　him。　Not　hard　at　first；　but　when　he　wouldn't　stop　staring　at　me　I　lost　control。　He　didn't　make　any　attempt　to　defend　himself；　and　his　passivity　only　inflamed　me　more。　I　hit　him　and　hit　him；　and　he　just　took　it。　Kept　offering　up　his　face　to　be　beaten…〃　He　took　a　trembling　breath。　〃…God　knows　I've　done　worse　things。　But　nothing　I　feel　so　ashamed　of。　I　didn't　stop　till　my　knuckles　began　to　split。　Then　I　gave　him　to　Toy；　who　really　worked　him　over。　And　all　the　time　not　a　peep　out　of　him。　I　go　cold　to　think　about　it。　I　can　still　see　him　against　the　wall；　with　Bill　at　his　throat　and　his　eyes　not　looking　at　where　the　next　blow　was　ing　from　but　at　me。　Just　at　me。
　　〃I　remember　he　said：　‘Do　you　know　what　you've　done？〃　Just　like　that。　Very　quietly；　blood　ing　out　with　the　words。
　　〃Then　something　happened。　The　air　got　thick。　The　blood　on　his　face　started　to　crawl　around　like　it　was　alive。　Toy　let　him　go。　He　slid　down　the　wall；　left　a　smear　down　it。　I　thought　we'd　killed　him。　It　was　the　worst　moment　of　my　life；　standing　here　with　Toy；　both　of　us　staring　down　at　this　bag　of　bones　we'd　beaten　up。　That　was　our　mistake；　of　course。　We　should　never　have　backed　down。　We　should　have　finished　it　then　and　there；　and　killed　him。〃　〃Jesus。〃　〃Yes！　Stupid；　not　to　have　finished　it。　Bill　was　loyal：　there　would　have　been　no　eback。　But　we　didn't　have　the　courage。　I　didn't　have　the　courage。　I　just　made　Toy　clean　Mamoulian　up；　then　drive　him　to　the　middle　of　the　city　and　dump　him。〃　〃You　wouldn't　have　killed　him；〃　Marty　said。
　　〃Still　you　insist　on　reading　my　mind；〃　Whitehead　replied；　wearily。　〃Don't　you　see　that's　what　he　wanted？　What　he'd　e　for？　He　would　have　let　me　be　his　executioner　then；　if　I'd　only　had　the　nerve　to　follow　through。　He　was　sick　of　life。　I　could　have　put　him　out　of　his　misery；　and　that　would　have　been　the　end　of　it。〃　〃You　think　he's　mortal？〃　〃Everything　has　its　season。　His　is　past。　He　knows　it。〃　〃So　all　you　need　do　is　wait；　right？　He'll　die；　given　time。〃　Marty　was　suddenly　sick　of　the　story　now；　of　thieves；　of　chance。　The　whole　sorry　tale；　true　or　untrue；　repulsed　him。　〃You　don't　need　me　anymore；〃　he　said。　He　stood　and　crossed　to　the　door。　The　sound　of　his　feet　in　the　glass　was　too　loud　in　the　small　room。
　　〃Where　are　you　going？〃　the　old　man　wanted　to　know。
　　〃Away。　As　far　as　I　can　get。〃　〃You　promised　to　stay。〃　〃I　promised　to　listen。　I　have　listened。　And　I　don't　want　any　of　this　bloody　place。〃　Marty　began　to　open　the　door。　Whitehead　addressed　his　back。
　　〃You　think　the　European'll　let　you　be？　You've　seen　him　in　the　flesh；　you've　seen　what　he　can　do。　He'll　have　to　silence　you　sooner　or　later。　Have　you　thought　of　that？〃　〃I'll　take　the　risk。〃　〃You're　safe　here。〃　〃Safe？〃　Marty　repeated　incredulously。　〃You　can't　be　serious。　Safe？　You　really　are　pathetic；　you　know　that？〃　〃If　you　go…〃　Whitehead　warned。
　　〃What？〃　Marty　turned　on　him；　spitting　contempt。　〃What　will　you　do；　old　man？〃　〃I'll　have　them　after　you　in　two　minutes　flat；　you're　skipping　parole。〃　〃And　if　they　find　me；　I'll　tell　them　everything。　About　the　heroin；　about　her　out　there　in　the　hall。　Every　dirty　thing　I　can　dig　up　to　tell　them。　I　don't　give　a　monkey's　toss　for　your　fucking　threats；　you　hear？〃　Whitehead　nodded。　〃So。　Stalemate。〃　〃Looks　like　it；〃　Marty　replied；　and　stepped　out　into　the　corridor　without　looking　back。
　　There　was　a　morbid　surprise　awaiting　him：　the　pups　had　found　Bella。　They　had　not　been　spared　Mamoulian's　resurrecting　hand；　though　they　could　not　have　served　any　practical　purpose。　Too　small；　too　blind。　They　lay　in　the　shadow　of　her　empty　belly；　their　mouths　seeking　teats　that　had　long　since　gone。　One　of　them　was　missing；　he　noted。　Had　it　been　the　sixth　child　he'd　seen　move　in　the　grave；　either　buried　too　deeply；　or　too　profoundly　degenerated；　to　follow　where　the　rest　went？
　　Bella　raised　her　neck　as　he　sidled　past。　What　was　left　of　her　head　swung　in　his　general　direction。　Marty　looked　away；　disgusted；　but　a　rhythmical　thumping　made　him　glance　back。
　　She　had　forgiven　him　his　previous　violence；　apparently。　Content　now；　with　her　adoring　litter　in　her　lap；　she　stared；　eyeless；　at　him；　while　her　wretched　tail　beat　gently　on　the　carpet。
　　
　　In　the　room　where　Marty　had　left　him　Whitehead　sat　slumped　with　exhaustion。
　　Though　it　had　been　difficult　to　tell　the　story　at　first；　it　had　bee　easier　with　the　telling；　and　he　was　glad　to　have　unburdened　it。　So　many　times　he'd　wanted　to　tell　Evangeline。　But　she　had　signaled；　in　her　elegant；　subtle　way；　that　if　there　were　indeed　secrets　he　had　from　her；　she　didn't　want　to　know　them。　All　those　years；　living　with　Mamoulian　in　the　home；　she　had　never　directly　asked　Whitehead　why；　as　though　she'd　known　the　answer　would　be　no　answer　at　all；　merely　another　question。
　　Thinking　about　her　brought　many　sorrows　to　his　throat；　they　brimmed　in　him。　The　European　had　killed　her；　he　had　no　doubt　of　that。　He　or　his　agents　had　been　on　the　road　with　her；　her　death　had　not　been　chance。　Had　it　been　chance　he　would　have　known。　His　unfailing　instinct　would　have　sensed　its　rightness；　however　terrible　his　grief。　But　there　had　been　no　such　sense；　only　the　recognition　of　his　oblique　plicity　in　her　death。　She　had　been　killed　as　revenge　upon　him。　One　of　many　such　acts；　but　easily　the　worst。
　　And　had　the　European　taken　her；　after　death？　Had　he　slipped　into　the　mausoleum　and　touched　her　into　life；　the　way　he　had　the　dogs？　The　thought　was　repugnant；　but　Whitehead　entertained　it　nevertheless；　determined　to　think　the　worst　for　fear　that　if　he　didn't　Mamoulian　might　still　find　terrors　to　shake　him　with。
　　〃You　won't；〃　he　said　aloud　to　the　room　of　glass。　Won't：　frighten　me；　intimidate　me；　destroy　me。　There　were　ways　and　means。　He　could　escape　still；　and　hide　at　the　ends　of　the　earth。　Find　a　place　where　he　could　forget　the　story　of　his　life。
　　There　was　something　he　hadn't　told；　a　fraction　of　the　Tale；　scarcely　pivotal　but　of　more　than　passing　interest；　that　he'd　withheld