cb.damnationgame-第85部分

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　　The　thief　shook　his　head。
　　〃No；〃　he　said。
　　He　would　not　give　up　his　breath。　Not　for　an　orchard　of　trees；　not　for　a　nation　of　despairing　faces。　He　turned　his　back　on　Muranowski　Square　and　its　plaintive　ghosts。　The　soldiers　were　shouting　nearby：　soon　they　would　arrive。　He　looked　back　toward　the　hotel。　The　penthouse　corridor　was　still　there；　across　the　doorstep　of　a　bombed　house：　a　surreal　juxtaposition　of　ruin　and　luxury。　He　crossed　the　rubble　toward　it；　ignoring　the　soldiers〃　orders　for　him　to　halt。　Vasiliev's　cries　were　loudest；　however。　〃Bastard！〃　he　screeched。　The　thief　blocked　his　curses　and　stepped　out　of　the　square　and　back　into　the　heat　of　the　hallway；　raising　his　gun　as　he　did　so。
　　〃Old　news；〃　he　said；　〃you　don't　scare　me　with　it。〃　Mamoulian　was　still　standing　at　the　other　end　of　the　corridor；　the　minutes　the　thief　had　spent　in　the　square　had　not　elapsed　here。　〃I'm　not　afraid！〃　Whitehead　shouted。　〃You　hear　me；　you　soulless　bastard？　I'm　not　afraid！〃　He　fired　again；　this　time　at　the　European's　head。　The　shot　hit　his　cheek。　Blood　came。　Before　Whitehead　could　fire　again；　Mamoulian　retaliated。
　　〃There　are　no　limits；〃　he　said；　his　voice　trembling；　〃to　what　I　shall　do！〃　His　thought　caught　the　thief　by　the　throat；　and　twisted。　The　old　man's　limbs　convulsed；　the　gun　flew　out　of　his　hand；　his　bladder　and　bowels　failed　him。　Behind　him；　in　the　square；　the　ghosts　began　to　applaud。　The　tree　shook　itself　with　such　vehemence　that　the　few　blossoms　it　still　carried　were　swept　into　the　air。　Some　of　them　flew　toward　the　door；　melting　on　the　threshold　of　past　and　present；　like　snowflakes。　Whitehead　fell　against　the　wall。　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　caught　sight　of　Evangeline；　spitting　blood　at　him。　He　began　to　slide　down　the　wall；　his　body　jangled　as　if　in　the　throes　of　a　grand　mal。　He　let　out　one　word　through　his　rattling　jaws。　He　said：　〃No！〃　On　the　bathroom　floor　Marty　heard　the　denial　howled　out。　He　tried　to　stir　himself；　but　his　consciousness　was　sluggish；　and　his　beaten　body　ached　from　scalp　to　skin。　Taking　hold　of　the　bath；　he　hoisted　himself　to　his　knees。　He'd　clearly　been　forgotten：　his　part　in　the　proceedings　was　purely　ic　relief。　He　tried　to　stand；　but　his　lower　limbs　were　traitorous；　they　buckled　beneath　him；　and　he　fell　again；　feeling　every　bruise　on　impact。
　　In　the　hallway　Whitehead　had　sunk　down　onto　his　haunches；　mouth　gaga。　The　European　moved　in　for　the　coup　de　grace；　but　Carys　interrupted。
　　〃Leave　him；〃　she　said。
　　Distracted；　Mamoulian　turned　toward　her。　The　blood　on　his　cheek　had　traced　a　single　line　to　his　jaw。　〃You　too；〃　he　murmured。　〃No　limits。〃　Carys　backed　off　into　the　gaming　room。　The　candle　on　the　table　had　begun　to　flare。　Energy　was　loose　in　the　suite；　and　the　spitting　flame　was　fat　and　white　on　it。　The　European　looked　at　Carys　with　hunger　in　his　eyes。　There　was　an　appetite　on　him…an　instinctive　response　to　his　blood　loss…and　all　he　could　see　in　her　was　nourishment。　Like　the　thief：　hungry　for　another　strawberry　though　his　belly　was　full　enough。
　　〃I　know　what　you　are；〃　Carys　said；　deflecting　his　gaze。
　　From　the　bathroom；　Marty　heard　her　ploy。　Stupid；　he　thought；　to　tell　him　that。
　　〃I　know　what　you　did。〃　The　European's　eyes　widened；　smoky。
　　〃You're　nobody；〃　the　girl　started　to　say。　〃You're　just　a　soldier　who　met　a　monk；　and　strangled　him　in　his　sleep。　What　have　you　got　to　be　so　proud　of？〃　Her　fury　beat　against　his　face。　〃You're　nobody！　Nobody　and　nothing！〃　He　reached　to　catch　hold　of　her。　She　dodged　him　around　the　cardtable　once；　but　he　threw　it　over；　the　pack　scattering；　and　caught　her。　His　hold　felt　like　a　vast　leech　on　her　arm；　taking　blood　from　her　and　giving　only　the　void；　only　purposeless　dark。　He　was　the　Architect　of　her　dreams　again。
　　〃God　help　me；〃　she　breathed。　Her　senses　crumbled　and　grayness　streamed　in　to　take　their　place。　He　pulled　her　out　of　her　body　with　one　insolent　wrench　and　took　her　into　him；　dropping　her　husk　to　the　floor　beside　the　overturned　table。　He　wiped　his　mouth　with　the　back　of　his　hand　and　looked　up　at　the　evangelists。　They　were　standing　in　the　doorway　staring　at　him。　He　felt　sick　with　his　greed。　She　was　in　him…all　of　her　at　once…and　it　was　too　much。　And　the　Saints　were　making　it　worse；　looking　at　him　as　though　he　were　something　loathsome；　the　dark　one　shaking　his　head。　〃You　killed　her；〃　he　said。　〃You　killed　her。〃　The　European　turned　away　from　the　accusations；　his　system　boiling　over；　and　leaned　elbow　and　forearm　on　the　wall　like　a　drunk　about　to　vomit。　Her　presence　in　him　was　a　torment。　It　wouldn't　be　still；　it　raged　and　raged。　And　her　turbulence　unlocked　so　much　more：　Strauss　piercing　his　bowels；　the　dogs　at　his　heels；　unleashing　blood　and　smoke；　and　then　back；　back　beyond　these　few　terrible　months　to　other　ordeals：　yards　and　snow　and　starlight　and　women　and　hunger；　always　hunger。　And　still　at　his　back　he　felt　the　stare　of　the　Christians。
　　One　of　them　spoke；　the　blond　boy　whom　once　he　might　have　lusted　after。　He；　and　she；　and　all。
　　〃Is　this　all　there　is？〃　he　demanded　to　know。　〃Is　this　all；　you　fucking　liar？　You　promised　us　the　Deluge。〃　The　European　pressed　his　hand　over　his　mouth　to　stem　the　escaping　smoke　and　pictured　a　wave　curling　over　the　hotel；　over　the　city；　descending　to　sweep　Europe　away。
　　〃Don't　tempt　me；〃　he　said。
　　
　　In　the　hallway　Whitehead；　his　neck　broken；　became　vaguely　aware　of　a　perfume　in　the　air。　He　could　see　the　landing　outside　the　suite　from　where　he　was　lying。　Muranowski　Square；　with　its　fatal　tree；　had　long　since　faded；　leaving　only　the　mirrors　and　the　carpets。　Now；　as　he　sprawled　beside　the　door；　he　heard　somebody　e　up　the　stairs。　He　glimpsed　a　figure　moving　in　the　shadows；　this　was　the　perfumed　one。　The　newer　approached　slowly；　but　doggedly；　hesitating　for　only　a　moment　at　the　threshold　before　stepping　over　Whitehead's　crumpled　form　and　making　his　way　toward　the　room　where　the　two　men　had　played　cards。　There　had　been　a　while；　as　they'd　chatted　over　the　game；　that　the　old　man　had　fancied　he　might　yet　make　a　fresh　covenant　with　the　European；　might　escape　for　a　few　more　years　the　inevitable　catastrophe。　But　it　had　all　gone　wrong。　They　had　rowed　over　some　trivia；　the　way　lovers　do；　and　by　some　inprehensible　mathematic　it　had　escalated　to　this：　death。
　　He　rolled　himself　over　so　that　he　could　look　the　other　way；　down　the　corridor　toward　the　gaming　room。　Carys　was　lying　on　the　floor　among　the　spilled　cards。　He　could　see　her　corpse　through　the　open　door。　The　European　had　devoured　her。
　　Now　the　newer　interrupted　his　view　as　he　lurched　to　the　door。　From　where　he　lay　Whitehead　hadn't　been　able　to　see　the　man's　face。　But　he　saw　the　shine　on　the　machete　at　his　side。
　　
　　Tom　caught　sight　of　the　Razor…Eater　before　Chad。　His　unruly　stomach　rebelled　at　the　mingled　stench　of　sandalwood　and　putrefaction；　and　he　threw　up　on　the　old　man's　bed　as　Breer　stepped　into　the　room。　He'd　e　a　long　way；　and　the　miles　had　not　been　kind；　but　he　was　here。
　　Mamoulian　stood　upright　from　the　wall　and　faced　Breer。
　　He　was　not　entirely　surprised　to　see　that　rotted　face；　though　he　wasn't　sure　why。　Was　it　that　his　mind　had　not　quite　relinquished　its　hold　on　the　Razor…Eater；　and　that　Breer　was　somehow　here　at　his　behest？　Breer　stared　at　Mamoulian　through　the　bright　air；　as　if　awaiting　a　new　instruction　before　he　acted　again。　The　muscles　of　his　face　were　so　deteriorated　that　each　flicker　of　his　eyeball　threatened　to　tear　the　skin　of　its　orbit。　He　looked；　thought　Chad…his　mind　high　on　cognac…like　a　man　full　to　bursting　with　butterflies。　Their　wings　beat　against　the　confines　of　his　anatomy；　they　powdered　his　bones　in　their　fervor。　Soon　their　relentless　motion　would　split　him　open　and　the　air　would　be　full　of　them。
　　The　European　looked　down　at　the　machete　Breer　was　carrying。
　　〃Why　did　you　e？〃　he　wanted　to　know。
　　The　Razor…Eater　tried　to　reply；　but　his　tongue　rebelled　against　the　duty。　There　was　just　a　soft　palate　word　that　could　have　been　〃good；〃　or　〃got〃　or　〃God；〃　but　was　none　of　them。
　　〃Have　you　e　to　be　killed？　Is　that　it？〃　Breer　shook　his　head。　He　had　no　such　intention；　and　Mamoulian　knew　it。　Death　was　the　least　of　his　problems。　He　raised　the　blade　at　his　side　to　signal　his　intentions。
　　〃I　can　wipe　you　out；〃　Mamoulian　said。
　　Again；　Breer　shook　his　head。　〃Egg；〃　he　said；　which　Mamoulian　interpreted；　and　repeated　as　〃Dead。〃　〃Dead　。　。　。〃　Chad　mused。　〃God　in　Heaven。　The　man's　dead。〃　The　European　murmured　the　affirmative。
　　Chad　smiled。　Maybe　they　were　going　to　be　cheated　of　the　destroying　wave。　Perhaps　the　Reverend's　calculations　had　been　wrong；　and　the　Deluge　wouldn't　be　on　them　for　a　few　more　months。　What　did　it　matter？　He　had　stories　to　tell…such　stories。　Even　Bliss；　with　all　his　talk　of　the　demons　in　the　soul　of　the　hemisphere；　hadn't　known　about　scenes　like　this。　The　Saint　watched；　licking　his　lips　with　anticipation。
　　In　the　hallway；　Whitehead　had　managed　to　drag　himself　three　or　four　yards　away　from　the　front　door；　and　he　could　see　Marty；　who　had　managed　to　stand。　Leaning　on　the　lintel　of　the　bathroom　door；　Marty　felt　the　old　man's　eyes　on　him。　Whitehead　raised　a　beckoning　hand。　Groggily；　Marty　lurched　into　the　hallway；　his　presence　ignored　by　the　actors　in　the　gaming　room。　It　was　dark　ou