dclegg.purity-第3部分

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　When　I　felt　overwhelmed　by　it　all；　I　practiced　my　breathing　again。　Even　in　December；　when　the　island　was　desolate　and　the　water　was　cold　enough　to　drown；　I　would　leap　into　the　sea　and　stay　beneath　the　water　for　as　long　as　I　could；　I　would；　if　possible；　use　the　Montgomery's　indoor　swimming　pool　for　my　morning　workout　which　began　at　six　a。m。
　8
　That　was　the　wonderful　thing　about　the　Montgomery's　place：
　They　were　usually　gone　all　winter　unless　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Montgomery　were　fighting；　or　Mr。　Montgomery　had　gone　off　with　one　of　his　mistresses　and　Mrs。　M　was　so　angry　she　came　to　the　island　for　a　blisteringly　cold　February。　I　used　to　see　Mrs。　M　in　those　cold　Februarys；　and　I　ran　errands　in　town　for　her　because　she　spent　too　much　time　staring　at　the　walls　or　sitting　along　the　indoor　pool　while　I　did　laps。　She　enjoyed　letting　me　swim　there；　and　she　sometimes　even　got　in　and　did　laps；　too。　Once；　when　I　was　twelve；　Mrs。　M　told　me；　〃You're　turning　into　quite　the　handsome　boy；　Owen　Crites。〃　She　was　in　good　shape　for　a　woman　of　forty；　and　there　were　times　when　I　was　with　her　that　she　reminded　me　so　much　of　Jenna　it　was　almost　like　having　Jenna　there　with　me。
　When　I　watched　her　back；　as　she　got　out　of　the　pool；　bathing　cap　on；　her　narrow　waist；　the　way　the　water　beaded　upon　her　skin　…　it　was　like　seeing　Jenna　for　a　moment。　This　made　me　happy。　Jenna　meant　a　lot　to　me。
　But　the　pool　…　dare　I　describe　it　now；　how　I　remember　it？　It　was　vast。
　It　was　Olympic　size。　I　could　do　real　laps　there　as　opposed　to　laps　at　the　beach　which　ended　with　a　summer　lifeguard　blowing　a　whistle　for　me　to　e　to　shore　before　I'd　gone　out　twenty　yards。　It　was　off　the　northern　wing　of　their　estate；　and　was　constructed　so　that　it　was　as　if　you　were　swimming　outside；　as　if　on　the　bluffs　over　the　Sound；　you　owned　the　world　as　you　went　back　and　forth；　breathing；　carefully　breathing　so　as　not　to　wear　out　too　fast。
　Because；　during　those　winters　when　the　M's　stayed　down　in　Manhattan；　my　father　and　mother　and　I　had　the　run　of　the　house；　I　could　swim　naked　in　the　pool；　and　rise　to　see　the　reflection　of　my　body　in　the　long　mirrors　that　were　in　the　small　locker　room　off　the　pool。　By　my　sophomore　year　in　high　school；　I　had　created　…　and　mastered　…　a　beautiful；　strong　body；　and　what　average　looks　I　had　were　masked　by　health　and　physical　near…perfection。　I　didn't　admire　this　because　I　believed　in　beauty。
　Beauty　is　for　the　lazy。
　I　admired　it　because　I　knew　the　world　admired　it；　and　I　wanted　to　own　the　world。
　Wrestling　was　my　winter　sport　at　school；　and　I　did　not　excel　at　it；　but　I　held　my　own。　The　girls　loved　me　…　and　the　boys；　too。　I　never　got　too　close　to　them；　because　I　had　to　spend　all　my　concentration　on　creating　who　I　was。　But　the　girls　all　cheered　for　me　in　the　sweaty　matches　as　I　brought　some　great　bull　of　a　boy　from　a　peting　school　down　to　the　red　mat。　Because　the　psychological　aspect　to　sports　can't　be　emphasized　enough；　I　would　…　with　each　match　…　create　some　threat　to　my　opponent。　Something　I　could　whisper　in　his　ear。
　This　took　no　small　amount　of　planning；　as　it　meant　I　had　to　do　research　on　those　I　wrestled；　so　I　would　know　just　what　button　to　push　to　take　away　their　psychological　edge。　Dagon　helped　me；　my　god　took　me　to　books　and　ideas　and　notions；　if　you　will；　that　showed　me　just　what　other　boys　would　be　most　hurt　by。　Usually；　it　involved　their　sense　of　sexuality。　After　all；　even　I　knew　that　showering　with　other　boys　all　day；　wearing　jockstraps；　cracking　jokes　about　everything　from　dicks　to　pussies；　was　a　veil　across　homoeroticism　among　adolescents。　And　who　but　wrestlers　were　closest　to　puncturing　that　veil？　So；　I　would　whisper　to　my　opponent　something　about　him；　something　perhaps　his　closest　friend　had　told　me　…　his　closest　friend；　drunk；　being　taken　out　to　a　parking　lot　…　his　closest　friend　who；　with　six　beers　in　him；　would　finally　admit　to　something　that　my　opponent　would　be　happiest　to　hide　for　a　thousand　years。
　Sometimes；　it　was　less　interesting。　My　threat　might　be；　〃I　know　your　little　sister；　Trey。　I　know　all　about　her　leg。　I　would　hate　for　something　to　happen　to　her。　I　would　hate　for　someone　to　do　something　to　a　little　girl　so　sweet。〃
　You　may　judge　me　for　this　if　you　like。　It　was　a　petitive　edge；　and　this　is　what　we；　in　athletics；　were　taught：　to　find　our　edge。
　Skill　alone　never　wins。
　I　wish　it　did；　but　lazy　people　think　that　way。
　Faith　is　necessary；　too。　I　had　found　mine。　It　had　grown　within　me。
　Now；　this　began　rumors　about　me；　but　I　had　built　up　a　loyal　following　of　other　boys　and　girls　in　school。　I　became　head　of　the　pep　squad　for　the　football　team　…　team　sports　were　never　my　thing；　but　I　knew　that　I　had　to　somehow　attach　myself　to　them。　So；　when　kids　from　other　schools　began　talking　about　me　saying　〃crazy；　psycho〃　things；　I　had　friends　who　were　willing　to　lay　down　and　die　for　me　rather　than　accept　those　lies。　I　really　liked　the　kids　I　went　to　high　school　with；　I　liked　the　teachers。　It　was　easy　for　me　to　like　them。
　I　think　even　being　poor　helped　…　teachers　saw　me　as　an　underdog　rising。　I　would　tutor　children　in　the　local　elementary　school　some　afternoons；　I　took　the　coach's　daughter　to　the　junior　prom；　just　because　I　was　a　nice　guy　and　I　felt　bad　that　she　wasn't　pretty　enough　to　get　asked　by　any　of　the　other　guys。　I　was　wellliked；　and　sometimes；　that　carries　you。
　But　I　haven't　mentioned　much　about　Jenna　yet；　have　I？　In　all　this　talk　of　I；　she　has　not　yet　entered　not　in　the　way　she　should've。　She　was　not　at　my　school。　She　was　not　within　my　sphere。　She　was　outer；　she　was　beyond　beyond。
　How　could　I　take　her　to　the　prom　when　she　only　arrived　at　Outerbridge　Island　in　the　summers？
　I　would　count　the　days　until　Memorial　Day　weekend；　when　the　Outerbridge　Majesty　would　arrive　in　Quonnoquet　Haven；　heavy　with　tourists　and　summer　people；　and　there；　on　the　highest　deck；　I'd　see　her　with　my　binos　and　I　would　lay　back　in　the　muddy　grass　and　look　up　at　the　paling　sky　and　think：　please　remember　what　we　promised。　Remember　everything　and　don't　leave　anything　out。
　Remember　why　I　came　to　you　and　why　you　let　me　and　why　it　would　make　everything　be　the　way　it　was　supposed　to；　and　why　you're　the　reason　for　my　every　breath。
　That's　what　had　happened　when　I　was　twelve　and　dedicated　my　soul　to　the　god　of　dark　places。　By　the　time　I　was　seventeen；　I　was　a　dedicated　servant　to　the　one　I　worshipped。
　And　the　only　thing　I　asked　of　this　divinity　was：
　Give　me　Jenna。
　I　found　a　cat　over　in　town；　and　with　just　a　pen　knife；　offered　its　soul　to　my　god。
　9
　I'll　tell　you　now；　that　it's　safe；　what　really　happened　the　summer　that　I　discovered　purity　…　genuine　purity　…　in　the　shit　of　human　existence。　I　can　see　myself　as　I　was　then；　handsome；　young；　even　pretty　in　a　way　with　my　thick　hair　falling　to　either　side　of　my　face；　my　blue　eyes　sharp；　yes；　but　expectant。　My　shirt　is　an　Izod；　a　preppie　affectation　…　my　mother　never　wanted　me　to　look　like　the　other　islanders；　she　wanted　something　better　for　me；　as　did　I。　Khakis；　no　socks；　Topsiders　or　sandals　…　my　face　burning　from　the　beginnings　of　summer　sun；　my　heart　racing。　It's　no　longer　me　as　I　am；　it's　that　boy；　that　boy　who　is　almost　eighteen；　a　man　at　this　point；　a　man　who　has　nearly　won　in　life。
　I；　he；　you；　it　doesn't　matter　what　I　call　that　boy…man；　he　just　is；　I　can　feel　his　breath；　I　can　smell　the　Old　Spice　on　him；　I　can　practically　see　the　cap　on　his　front　tooth　that　cost　his　father　a　pretty　penny　after　he　fell　and　chipped　it　in　sixth　grade　while　he　was　running　…　I　can　practically　see　the　fog　lift　between　this　day　and　that　one。
　He　watches　for　her。
　
　
　Chapter　Two
　Memorial　Day；　restless　nights；　and　an　open　window　
　1
　Let　me　take　you　there。
　Fly　like　a　bird　over　the　crotch　of　New　England　…　that　place　where　Rhode　Island　clutches　at　its　small　corner　between　Massachusetts　and　Connecticut；　and　out　to　the　Sound；　across　the　scattering　of　islands　and　islets　and　outlands　until　you　see　the　One　Man　Rocks；　the　places　where　misanthropists　going　by　the　name　of　New　Englanders　lived　two　to　three　per　islet　…　and　then；　beyond　the　beyond；　as　my　mother　would　say；　thar　she　blows　…　Outerbridge；　Outerbridge；　Outerbridge。　The　name　conjures　up　older　names；　and　for　me　…　or　for　him；　for　the　me　who　was；　Owen　Crites；　the　Dutch　fighting　the　Indians；　the　pirates　burying　treasure　beneath　the　land；　and　the　people　who　built　the　walls。　It　even　conjures　all　the　names　it　must　have　had　before；　when　the　gods　themselves　had　granted　it　some　secret　name。　If　Owen　had　known　the　secret　name；　he　might　have　had　power　over　it；　but　as　it　was；　the　island　was　master；　and　all　who　occupied　its　ground；　servants。
　The　island's　history　began　eons　ago　when　some　glacial　giant　swept　the　rocks　and　earth　into　the　Atlantic　and　the　world　grew　up　around　it。　The　Pequot　and　Narragansett　Indians　held　it　against　the　Dutch　for　as　long　as　they　could；　and　then　the　Brits　wrested　it　for　themselves。　The　island　never　provided　much　in　the　way　of　existence　for　any　of　its　inhabitants；　all　that's　left　of　the　early　English　settlers　were　walls　made　of　stone　and　foundations　of　cottages　that　speckle　the　northern　end　of　Outerbridge　（originally　called　a　Dutch　name　that　had　sounded　to　the　English　like　Outerbridge　although　there　was　a　movement　afoot　a