cb.imajica1-第32部分

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s　no　poet's　conceit：　it　felt　as　though　the　pump　had　turned　to　lead　and　was　bruising　the　plush　meat　of　his　innards。
　As　he　wandered　back　to　his　car　he　heard　the　whistling　again；　the　same　tuneless　sound　floating　on　the　dirty　air。　He　stopped　walking　and　turned　to　all　pass　points；　looking　for　the　source；　but　the　whistler　was　already　out　of　sight；　and　Gentle　was　too　weary　to　give　chase。　Even　if　he　had；　he　thought；　even　if　he'd　caught　it　by　its　lapels　and　threatened　to　break　its　burned　bones；　what　purpose　would　that　have　served？　Assuming　it　had　been　moved　by　his　threat　（and　pain　was　probably　meat　and　drink　to　a　creature　that　whistled　as　it　burned）　he'd　be　no　more　able　to　prehend　its　reply　than　interpret　Chant's　letter：　and　for　similar　reasons。　They　were　both　escapees　from　the　same　unknown　land；　whose　borders　he'd　grazed　when　he'd　gone　to　New　York；　the　same　world　that　held　the　God　Hapexamendios　and　had　given　birth　to　Pie　'oh'　pah。　Sooner　or　later　he'd　find　a　way　to　gain　access　to　that　state；　and　when　he　did　all　the　mysteries　would　e　clear：　the　whistler；　the　letter；　the　lover。　He　might　even　solve　the　mystery　that　he　met　most　mornings　in　the　shaving　mirror：　the　face　he　thought　he'd　known　well　enough　until　recently；　but　whose　code　he　now　realized　he'd　forgotten　and　would　not　now　remember　without　the　help　of　the　undiscovered　God。
　Back　in　the　house　in　Primrose　Hill；　Godolphin　sat　up　through　the　night　and　listened　to　the　news　bulletins　reporting　the　tragedy。　The　number　of　dead　rose　every　hour；　two　more　victims　had　already　perished　in　the　hospital。　Theories　were　being　advanced　everywhere　as　to　the　cause　of　the　fire；　pundits　used　the　event　to　ment　on　the　lax　safety　standards　applied　to　sites　where　itinerants　camped　and　demanded　a　full　Parliamentary　inquiry　to　prevent　a　repeat　of　such　a　conflagration。
　The　reports　appalled　him。　Though　he'd　given　Dowd　leash　enough　to　dispatch　the　mystif…and　who　knew　what　hidden　agenda　lay　there？…the　creature　had　abused　the　freedom　he'd　been　granted。　There　would　have　to　be　punishment　meted　out　for　such　abuse；　though　Godolphin　was　in　no　mood　to　plot　that　now。　He'd　bide　his　time；　choose　his　moment。　It　would　e。　Meanwhile；　Dowd's　violence　seemed　to　him　further　evidence　of　a　disturbing　pattern。　Things　he'd　thought　immutable　were　changing。　Power　was　slipping　from　the　possession　of　those　who'd　traditionally　held　it　into　the　hands　of　underlings…fixers；　familiars；　and　functionaries…who　were　ill　equipped　to　use　it。　Tonight's　disaster　was　symptomatic　of　that。　But　the　disease　had　barely　begun　to　take　hold。　Once　it　spread　through　the　Dominions　there'd　be　no　stopping　it。　There　had　already　been　uprisings　in　Vanaeph　and　L'Himby；　there　were　mutterings　of　rebellion　in　Yzordderrex；　now　there　was　to　be　a　purge　here　in　the　Fifth　Dominion；　organized　by　the　Tabula　Rasa；　a　perfect　background　to　Dowd's　vendetta　and　its　bloody　consequences。　Everywhere；　signs　of　disintegration。
　Paradoxically　the　most　chilling　of　those　signs　was　superficially　an　image　of　reconstruction：　that　of　Dowd　re…creating　his　face　so　that　if　he　was　seen　by　any　member　of　the　Society　he'd　not　be　recognized。　It　was　a　process　he'd　undertaken　with　each　generation；　but　this　was　the　first　time　any　Godolphin　had　witnessed　said　process。　Now　Oscar　thought　back　on　it；　he　suspected　Dowd　had　deliberately　displayed　his　transformative　powers；　as　further　evidence　of　his　newfound　authority。　It　had　worked。　Seeing　the　face　he'd　grown　so　used　to　soften　and　shift　at　the　will　of　its　possessor　was　one　of　the　most　distressing　spectacles　Oscar　had　set　eyes　upon。　The　face　Dowd　had　finally　fixed　was　sans　mustache　and　eyebrows；　the　head　sleeker　than　his　other；　and　younger：　the　face　that　of　an　ideal　National　Socialist。　Dowd　must　also　have　caught　that　echo；　because　he　later　bleached　his　hair　and　bought　several　new　suits；　all　apricot　but　of　a　much　severer　cut　than　those　he'd　worn　in　his　earlier　incarnation。　He　sensed　the　instabilities　ahead　as　well　as　Oscar；　he　felt　the　rot　in　the　body　politic　and　was　readying　himself　for　a　New　Austerity。
　And　what　more　perfect　tool　than　fire；　the　book　burner's　joy；　the　soul　cleanser's　bliss？　Oscar　shuddered　to　contemplate　the　pleasure　Dowd　had　taken　from　his　night's　work；　callously　murdering　innocent　human　families　in　pursuit　of　the　mystif。　He　would　return　to　the　house；　no　doubt；　with　tears　on　his　face　and　say　he　regretted　the　hurt　he'd　done　to　the　children。　But　it　would　be　a　performance；　a　sham。　There　was　no　true　capacity　for　grief　or　regret　in　the　creature；　and　Oscar　knew　it。　Dowd　was　deceit　incarnate；　and　from　now　on　Oscar　knew　he　had　to　be　on　his　guard。　The　fortable　years　were　over；　Hereafter　he　would　sleep　with　his　bedroom　door　locked。
　
　
　15
　
　In　her　rage　at　his　conspiracies　Jude　had　contemplated　several　possible　ways　to　revenge　herself　upon　Estabrook；　ranging　from　the　bloodily　intimate　to　the　classically　detached。　But　her　nature　never　ceased　to　surprise　her。　All　thoughts　of　garden　shears　and　prosecutions　dimmed　in　a　short　time；　and　she　came　to　realize　that　the　worst　harm　she　could　do　him…given　that　the　harm　he'd　intended　to　do　her　had　been　stopped　in　its　tracks…was　to　ignore　him。　Why　give　him　the　satisfaction　of　her　least　interest　in　him？　From　now　on　he　would　be　so　far　beneath　her　contempt　as　to　be　invisible。　Having　unburdened　herself　of　her　story　to　Taylor　and　Clem；　she　sought　no　further　audience。　From　now　on　she　wouldn't　sully　her　lips　with　his　name　or　let　her　thoughts　dally　with　him　for　two　consecutive　seconds。　At　least；　that　was　the　pact　she　made　with　herself。　It　proved　difficult　to　keep。
　On　Boxing　Day　she　received　the　first　of　what　were　to　be　many　calls　from　him；　which　she　resolutely　cut　short　the　instant　she　recognized　his　voice。　It　wasn't　the　authoritative　Estabrook　she'd　been　used　to　hearing；　and　it　took　her　three　exchanges　before　she　realized　who　was　on　the　other　end　of　the　line；　at　which　point　she　put　down　the　receiver　and　let　it
　lie　uncradled　for　the　rest　of　the　day。　The　following　morning　he　called　again；　and　this　time；　just　in　case　he　was　in　any　doubt；　she　told　him；　〃I　don't　ever　want　to　hear　your　voice　again；〃　and　once　more　cut　him　off。
　When　she'd　done　so　she　realized　he'd　been　sobbing　as　he　spoke；　which　gave　her　no　little　satisfaction；　and　the　hope　that　he　wouldn't　try　again。　A　frail　hope；　he　called　twice　that　evening；　leaving　messages　on　her　answering　machine　while　she　was　out　at　a　party　flung　by　Chester　Klein。　There　she　heard　news　of　Gentle；　to　whom　she　hadn't　spoken　since　their　odd　parting　at　the　studio。　Chester；　who　was　much　the　worse　for　vodka；　told　her　plainly　he　expected　Gentle　to　have　a　full…blown　nervous　breakdown　in　a　short　time。　He'd　spoken　to　the　Bastard　Boy　twice　since　Christmas；　and　he　was　increasingly　incoherent。
　〃What　is　it　about　all　you　men？〃　she　found　herself　saying。　〃You　fall　apart　so　easily。〃
　〃That's　because　we're　the　more　tragic　of　the　sexes；〃　Chester　returned。　〃God；　woman；　can't　you　see　how　we　suffer？〃
　〃Frankly；　no。〃
　〃Well；　we　do。　Take　it　from　me。　We　do。〃
　〃Is　there　any　particular　reason；　or　is　it　just　free…form　suffering？〃
　〃We're　all　sealed　up；〃　Klein　said。　〃Nothing　can　get　in。〃
　〃So　are　women。　What's　the…〃
　〃Women　get　fucked；〃　Klein　interrupted；　pronouncing　the　word　with　a　drunken　ripeness。　〃Oh；　you　bitch　about　it；　but　you　love　it。　Go　on；　admit　it。　You　love　it。〃
　〃So　all　men　really　want　is　to　get　fucked；　is　that　it？〃　Jude　said。　〃Or　are　you　just　talking　personally？〃
　This　brought　a　ripple　of　laughter　from　those　who'd　given　up　their　chitchat　to　watch　the　fireworks。
　〃Not　literally；〃　Klein　spat　back。　〃You're　not　listening　to　me。〃
　〃I'm　listening。　You're　just　not　making　any　sense。〃
　〃Take　the　church…〃
　〃Fuck　the　church！〃
　〃No；　listen！〃　Klein　said；　teeth　clenched。　〃I'm　telling　God's　honest　fucking　truth　here。　Why　do　you　think　men　invented　the　church；　huh？　Huh？〃
　His　bombast　had　infuriated　Jude　to　the　point　where　she　refused　to　reply。　He　went　on；　unperturbed；　talking　pedantically；　as　if　to　a　slow　student。
　〃Men　invented　the　church　so　they　could　bleed　for　Christ。　So　they　could　be　entered　by　the　Holy　Spirit。　So　they　could　be　saved　from　being　sealed　up。〃　His　lesson　finished；　he　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　raising　his　glass。　〃In　vodka　veri…tas；〃　he　said。
　〃In　vodka　shit；〃　Jude　replied。
　〃Well；　that's　just　typical　of　you；　isn't　it？〃　Klein's　words　slurred。　〃As　soon　as　you're　fucking　beaten　you　start　the　insults。〃
　She　turned　from　him；　shaking　her　head　dismissively。　But　he　still　had　a　barb　in　his　armory。
　〃Is　that　how　you　drive　the　Bastard　Boy　crazy？〃　he　said。
　She　turned　back　on　him；　stung。　〃Keep　him　out　of　this；〃　she　snapped。
　〃You　want　to　see　sealed　up？〃　Klein　said。　〃There's　your　example。　He's　out　of　his　head；　you　know　that？〃
　〃Who　cares？〃　she　said。　〃If　he　wants　to　have　a　nervous　breakdown；　he　can　have　one。〃
　〃How　very　humanitarian　of　you。〃
　She　stood　up　at　this　juncture；　knowing　she　was　perilously　close　to　losing　her　temper　pletely。
　〃I　know　the　Bastard　Boy's　excuse；〃　Klein　went　on。　〃He's　anemic。　He's　only　got　enough　blood　for　his　brain　or　his　prick。　If　he　gets　a　hard…on；　he　can't　remember　his　own　name。〃
　〃I　wouldn't　know；〃　Jude　said；　swilling　the　ice　around　in　her　glass。
　〃Is　that　your　excuse　too？〃　Klein　went　on。　〃Have　you　got　something　down　the