alistairmaclean.bearisland-第28部分

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to　see　that　Mary　Stuart　was　absent。　So　were　Heissman　and　Sandy。　The　two　actors　with　whom　Conrad　claimed　to　have　so　little　in　mon；　Jungbeck　and　Heyter；　were　together　in　one　corner　and　for　the　first　time　I　looked　at　them　with　some　degree　of　real　interest。　They　looked　like　actors；　no　question　of　that；　or；　more　accurately；　they　looked　like　what　I　thought　actors　ought　to　look　like。　Heyter　was　tall；　fair；　good…looking；　young；　and　twenty　years　ago　would　have　been　referred　to　as　clean…cut：　he　had　a　mobile；　expressive；　animated　face。　Jungbeck　was　at　least　fifteen　years　his　senior；　a　thick…set　man　with　heavy　shoulders；　a　five　o'clock　shadow　and　dark；　curling　hair　just　beginning　to　grey：　he　had　a　ready　engaging　smile。　He　was　cast；　I　knew；　as　the　villain　in　the　forthing　production　and　despite　the　appropriate　build　and　blue　jowls　didn't　look　the　least　bit　like　one。　
　The　almost　plete　silence　in　the　saloon；　I　soon　realised；　didn't　stem　entirely　from　the　solemnity　of　the　occasion；　although　that　element　must　have　been　there：　Captain　Imrie　had　been　holding　the　floor　and　had　only　broken　off　to　acknowledge　our　entrance　and　to　take　the　opportunity　of　dispensing　some　more　liquor；　which　I　refused。　And　now；　it　was　clear；　Captain　Imrie　was　taking　up　where　he　had　left　off。
　〃Yes；〃　he　said　heavily；　‘fitting；　〃tis　fitting。　They　have　gone　today；　sadly；　tragically　gone；　three　of　Britain's　sons〃…I　was　almost　glad；　for　the　moment；　that　Antonio　was　no　longer　around…〃but　it　es　to　us　all；　sooner　or　later　the　hour　strikes；　and　if　they　must　rest　where　better　to　lie　than　in　those　honoured　waters　of　Bear　Island　where　ten　thousand　of　their　countrymen　sleep？〃　I　wondered；　uncharitably；　what　hour　struck　when　Captain　Imrie　poured　himself　his　first　restorative　of　the　morning　but　then　recalled　that　as　he　had　been　up　since　4　a。m。　he　was　no　doubt　now　rightly　regarding　the　day　as　being　pretty　far　advanced；　a　supposition　which　he　proceeded　to　prove　correct　by　replenishing　his　glass　without；　however；　interrupting　the　smooth　flow　of　his　monologue。　His　audience；　I　noted　with　regret；　had　about　them　the　look　of　men　and　women　who　wished　themselves　elsewhere。
　〃I　wonder　what　Bear　Island　means　to　you　people；〃　he　went　on。　
　〃Nothing；　I　suppose；　why　should　it？　It's　just　a　name；　Bear　Island；　just　a　name。　Like　the　Isle　of　Wight　or　what's　yon　place　in　America；　Coney　Island：　just　a　name。　But　for　people　like　Mr。　Stokes　here　and　myself　and　thousands　of　others　it's　a　wee　bit　more　than　that。　It　was　a　kind　of　turning　point；　a　dividing　point　in　our　lives；　what　those　geography　or　geology　fellows　would　call　a　watershed：　when　…；We　came　to　know　the　name　we　knew　that　no　name　had　ever　meant　so　much　to　us　before…and　no　name　would　ever　mean　so　much　again。　And　we　knew　that　nothing　would　ever　be　the　same　again。
　Bear　Island　was　the　place　where　boys　grew　up；　just　over　the　night；　as　it　were：　Bear　Island　was　the　place　where　middle…aged　men　like　myself　grew　old。〃　This　was　a　different　Captain　Imrie　speaking　now；　quietly　reminiscent；　sad　without　bitterness；　and　the　captive　audience　was　now　voluntarily　so；　no　longer　glancing　longingly　at　the　saloon　exits。
　'We　called　it　〃The　Gate；〃　he　went　on。　〃The　gate　to　the　Barents　Sea　and　the　White　Sea　and　those　places　in　Russia　where　we　took　those　convoys　through　all　the　long　years　of　the　war；　all　those　long　years　ago。　If　you　passed　the　gate　and　came　back　again；　you　were　a　lucky　man：　if　you　did　it　half…a…dozen　times　you'd　used　up　all　your　luck　for　a　lifetime。　How　many　times　did　we　pass　the　gate；　Mr。　Stokes？〃
　〃Twenty…two　times。〃　For　once；　Mr。　Stokes　had　no　need　for　deliberation。
　'Twenty…two　times。　I　am　not　saying　it　because　I　was　there　but　people　on　those　convoys　to　Murmansk　suffered　more　terribly　than　people　have　ever　suffered　in　war　before　or　will　ever　suffer　in　war　again；　and　it　was　here；　in　those　waters；　at　the　gate；　that　they　suffered　most　of　all　for　it　was　here　that　the　enemy　waited　by　night　and　by　day　and　it　was　here　that　the　enemy　struck　us　down。　The　fine　ships　and　the　fine　boys；　our　boys　and　the　German　boys；　more　of　them　lie　in　those　waters　than　anywhere　in　the　world；　but　the　waters　run　clean　now　and　the　blood　is　washed　away。　But　not　in　our　minds；　not　in　our　minds：　thirty　years　have　passed　now　and　I　cannot　hear　the　words　〃Bear　Island；〃　not　even　when　I　say　them　myself；　but　my　blood　runs　cold。　The　graveyard　of　the　Arctic　and　we　hope　they　are　at　peace　now；　but　still　my　blood　runs　cold。〃　He　shivered；　as　if　he　felt　a　physical　chill；　then　smiled　slightly。　〃The　old　talk　too　much；　a　blether　talks　too　much；　so　you　know　now　how　terrible　it　is　to　have　an　old　blether　stand　before　you。　All　I'd　really　meant　to　say　is　that　our　shipmates　are　in　good　pany。〃　He　raised　his　glass。　〃Bon　voyage。〃
　Bon　voyage。　But　not　the　last　goodbye；　not　the　last　time　we　would　be　saying　goodbye；　I　felt　it　deep　in　my　bones　and　I　knew　that　Captain　Imrie　felt　it　also。　I　knew　that　it　was　some　sort　of　foreknowledge　or　premonition　that　had　made　him　talk　as　he　had　done；　that　had　been　responsible　for　a　rambling　reminiscence　as　uncalled　for　as　it　was　irrelevant…or　appeared　to　be。　I　wondered　if　Captain　Imrie　was　even　dimly　aware　of　this　thought　transference　process；　of　the　substitution　of　the　fearful　things；　the　dreadful　things　of　long　ago　for　the　unrealised　awareness　that　such　things　were　not　confined　to　the　actions　of　overt　warfare；　that　violent　death　acknowledged　no　restrictions　in　time　and　space；　that　the　bleak　and　barren　waters　of　the　Barents　Sea　were　its　habitat　and　its　home。　I　wondered　how　many　others　of　those　present　felt　this　atavistic　fear；　this　oddly　nameless　dread　so　often　encountered　in　the　loneliest　and　most　desolate　places　on　earth；　a　dread　that　reaches　back　over　the　aeons　to　primitive　man　who　as　yet　knew　not　fire；　to　those　unthinkably　distant　ancestors　who　crouched　in　terror　in　their　lightless　caves　while　the　forces　of　evil　and　darkness　walked　abroad　in　the　night：　a　fear　that；　here　and　now；　was　all　too　readily　reinforced　and　pounded　by　the　sudden；　violent；　and　inexplicable　deaths　of　three　of　their　pany　the　previous　night。　It　was　hard　to　tell；　I　thought；　just　who　was　feeling　affected　by　such　primeval　stirrings　of　foreboding　for　mankind　does　not　readily　acknowledge　even　to　itself；　far　less　show　or　discuss；　the　existence　of　such　irrationally　childlike　superstitions。　Captain　Imrie　and　Mr。　Stokes；　without　a　doubt：　they　had　gone　into　a　corner　by　themselves　and　were　staring　down；　unseeingly；　I　was　sure；　and　certainly　without　speaking；　at　the　glasses　in　their　hands；　and　as　the　two　of　them　rarely　if　ever　sat　together　without　discussing；　at　great　length；　matters　of　the　gravest　import；　this　was　highly　significant　in　itself。　Neal　Divine；　more　hollow…checked　than　ever　but　apparently　slightly　recovered　from　his　very　low　state　of　the　previous　evening；　sat　by　himself；　continuously　twirling　the　empty　glass　in　his　hand；　his　usual　nervous　preoccupied　self；　but　whether　he　was　preoccupied　with　mal　de　nter；　the　thought　that　he　was　about　to　begin　his　directorial　duties　and　so　consequently　be　exposed　to　the　lash　of　Gerran's　tongue　or　whether　he；　too；　was　feeling　fingers　from　the　dead　past　reach　deep　into　him　was　impossible　to　say。
　in〃　and　Goin〃　was　seated　by　Otto　at　the　head　of　the　table　and　they；　too；　were　silent。　I　wondered　just　what　the　relationship　between　the　two　men　was。　They　seemed　to　he　on　cordial　enough　terms　but　they　only　sought　each　other　out；　I　had　observed；　when　questions　of　business　were　to　be　discussed。　It　could　well　have　been　that；　personally；　they　had　little　in　mon；　but　the　fact　that　in〃　and　Goin〃　had　recently　been　made　vice…president　and　heir…apparent　to　Olympus　Productions　seemed　to　speak　highly　enough　of　Otto's　regard　for　him。　And　as　they　were　together　now　and　not　talking　I　assumed　that　they　were　pondering　over　matters　similar　to　those　that　were　engaging　the　attention　of　Imrie　and　myself。
　The　Three　Apostles　weren't　talking；　but　that　meant　nothing；　when　they　were　deprived　of　their　instruments；　their　music　magazines　and　their　garishly　primary…coloured　ics；　the　presence　of　all　of　which　they　had　probably　deemed　as　being　inappropriate　in　the　present　circumstances；　they　were　habitually　bereft　of　speech。　Stryker；　still　in　solicitously　close　attendance　upon　his　wife；　was　talking　quietly　to　the　Count；　while　the　Duke　was　conspicuously　not　talking　to　his　cabin…mate　Eddie；　but　as　they　were　rarely　on　speaking　terms　anyway；　this　was　hardly　significant。　I　became　aware　that　Lonnie　Gilbert　was　at　my　elbow　and　I　wondered　what　degree；　if　any；　of　the　underlying　significance　of　Captain　Imrie's　words　had　penetrated　his　befuddled　mind。　Lonnie　was　clutching　a　glass　of　Scotch；　both　container　and　contents　of　genuine　family　size；　a　marked　contrast　to　the　relatively　small　portions　he'd　been　pouring　himself　in　the　lounge　bar　about　midnight：　I　could　only　assume　that　somewhere　in　the　remoter　recesses　of　Lonnie's　mind　there　lurked　some　vestigial　traces　of　conscience　which　permitted　him　only　modest　amounts　of　hooch　not　honestly　e　by。
　Trivy　and　calumny　and　hate　and　pain　and　that　unrest　which　men　miscall　delight　shall　touch　them　not　and　torture　not　again；〃　Lonnie　intoned。　He　tilted　his　glass；　lowered　the　liquid　level　by　two　fingers　and　smacked　his　lips。　Trom　the　contagion…〃
　〃Lonnie。〃　I　nodded　at　the　glass。　〃When　di