p&c.thunderhead-第19部分

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　As　Nora　returned　to　the　ramp　to　help　guide　the　trailers；　a　great　barge　hove　into　view；　davits　streaked　with　dirt；　aluminum　pontoons　stoved　and　dented　in　countless　places。　LANDLOCKED　LAURA　was　stenciled　across　the　tiny　pilothouse　in　rough　black　letters。　The　barge　eased　around　a　bend　in　the　harbor；　its　engines　churning　in　reverse　as　it　approached　the　cement　apron。　
　*　*　*
　It　took　a　half　hour　to　load　the　trailers。　Roscoe　Swire　had　handled　the　horses　with　great　skill；　keeping　them　calm　in　spite　of　the　chaos　and　noise。　Bonarotti；　the　cook；　was　loading　the　last　of　his　equipment；　refusing　to　let　anyone　else　lend　a　hand。　Holroyd　was　checking　the　seals　on　the　drysacks　that　held　the　electronics　gear。　Black　was　leaning　against　a　davit；　tugging　at　his　collar　and　looking　overheated。　
　Nora　looked　down　at　her　watch。　Sloane　Goddard　had　still　not　shown　up。　They　had　to　make　the　sixty…mile　trip　to　the　trailhead　by　nightfall：　offloading　the　horses　after　dark　would　be　too　plicated　and　dangerous。　
　She　jumped　aboard　and　entered　the　tiny　pilothouse。　The　barge's　captain　was　fiddling　with　a　sonar　array。　He　looked　like　he　might　have　just　stepped　off　a　porch　in　Appalachia：　long　white　beard；　dirty　porkpie　hat；　and　farmer's　overalls。　WILLARD　HICKS　was　sewn　in　white　letters　on　his　vest　pocket。　
　The　man　looked　over　at　her　and　removed　a　corncob　pipe　from　his　mouth。　〃We　need　to　shake　a　leg；〃　he　said。　〃We　don't　want　to　piss　him　off　any　more　than　he　is　already。〃　He　grinned　and　nodded　out　the　window　toward　Briggs；　who　was　already　bawling　to　them；　Move　out；　for　chrissakes；　move　out！　
　Nora　looked　up　the　ramp　toward　the　parking　lot；　shimmering　in　the　heat。　〃Get　ready　to　shove　off；　then；〃　she　said。　〃I'll　give　the　word。〃　
　The　expedition　was　gathering　forward　of　the　pilothouse；　where　some　grimy　lawn　chairs　had　been　arranged　around　an　aluminum　coffee　table。　A　dilapidated　gas　grill　stood　nearby；　coated　in　elderly　grease。　
　She　looked　around　at　the　people　she　would　be　spending　the　next　several　weeks　with：　the　expedition　to　discover　Quivira。　Despite　impressive　credentials；　they　were　a　pretty　diverse　bunch。　Enrique　Aragon；　his　dark　face　lowering　with　some　emotion　he　seemed　unwilling　to　share；　Peter　Holroyd；　with　his　Roman　nose；　small　eyes；　and　oversized　mouth；　smudges　of　dirt　decorating　his　workshirt；　Smithback；　good　humor　now　fully　recovered；　showing　a　copy　of　his　book　to　Black；　who　was　listening　dutifully；　Luigi　Bonarotti；　perched　on　his　gear；　smoking　a　Dunhill；　as　relaxed　as　if　he　were　sitting　in　a　café　on　the　Boulevard　St。　Michel；　Roscoe　Swire；　standing　by　the　horse　trailers；　murmuring　soothing　words　to　the　nervous　horses。　And　what　about　me？　she　thought：　a　bronze…haired　woman　in　ancient　jeans　and　torn　shirt。　Not　exactly　a　figure　of　mand。　What　have　I　gotten　myself　into？　She　had　another　momentary　stab　of　uncertainty。　
　Aaron　Black　left　Smithback　and　came　over；　scowling　as　he　looked　around。　〃This　tub　is　god…awful；〃　he　winced。　
　〃What　were　you　expecting？〃　Aragon　asked　in　a　dry；　uninflected　voice。　〃The　Ile　de　France？〃　
　Bonarotti　removed　a　small　flask　from　his　carefully　pressed　khaki　jacket；　unscrewed　the　glass　top；　and　poured　two　fingers　into　it。　Then　he　added　water　from　a　canteen　and　swirled　the　yellowish　mixture。　He　rehung　the　canteen　on　a　davit　bolt　and　offered　the　glass　around。　
　〃What　is　that？〃　Black　asked。　
　〃Pernod；〃　came　the　reply。　〃Lovely　for　a　hot　day。〃　
　〃I　don't　drink；〃　said　Black。　
　〃I　do；〃　Smithback　said。　〃Hand　it　on　over。〃　
　Nora　glanced　back　at　Willard　Hicks；　who　tapped　an　imaginary　watch　on　his　wrist。　She　nodded　in　understanding　and　slipped　the　mooring　lines　from　the　dock。　There　was　an　answering　roar　from　the　diesels；　and　the　boat　began　backing　away　from　the　ramp　with　a　hideous　scraping　sound。　
　Holroyd　glanced　around。　〃What　about　Dr。　Goddard？〃　
　〃We　can't　wait　around　here　any　longer；〃　Nora　said。　She　felt　a　strange　sense　of　relief：　maybe　she　wasn't　going　to　have　to　deal　with　this　mysterious　daughter；　after　all。　Let　Sloane　Goddard　e　after　them；　if　she　wanted。　
　The　team　looked　at　one　another　in　surprise　as　the　barge　began　a　slow　turn；　the　water　boiling　out　from　the　stern。　Hicks　gave　a　short　blast　on　the　airhorn。　
　〃You've　got　to　be　kidding！〃　Black　cried。　〃You　aren't　really　leaving　without　her？〃　
　Nora　looked　steadily　back　at　the　sweaty；　incredulous　face。　〃Oh；　yes；〃　she　said。　〃I'm　really　leaving　without　her。〃　
　
　
14
　
　THREE　HOURS　LATER；　THE　LANDLOCKED　Laura　had　left　the　chaos　of　Wahweap　Marina　fifty　miles　behind。　The　wide　prow　of　the　barge　cut　easily　through　the　turquoise　surface　of　Lake　Powell；　engines　throbbing　slightly；　the　water　hissing　along　the　pontoons。　Gradually；　the　powerboats；　the　shrieking　jetskis；　the　garish　houseboats　had　all　dropped　away。　The　expedition　had　entered　into　a　great　mystical　world　of　stone；　and　a　cathedral　silence　closed　around　them。　Now　they　were　alone　on　the　green　expanse　of　lake；　walled　in　by　thousand…foot　bluffs　and　slickrock　desert。　The　sun　hung　low　over　the　Grand　Bench；　with　Neanderthal　Cove　appearing　on　the　right；　and　the　distant　opening　of　Last　Chance　Bay　to　the　left。　
　Thirty　minutes　before；　Luigi　Bonarotti　had　served　a　meal　of　cognac…braised；　applewood…smoked　quail　with　grapefruit　and　wilted　arugula　leaves。　This　remarkable　acplishment；　achieved　somehow　on　the　shabby　gas　grill；　had　silenced　even　Black's　undertone　of　plaints。　They　had　dined　around　the　aluminum　table；　toasting　the　meal　with　a　crisp　Orvieto。　Now　the　group　was　arranged　around　the　barge　in　lethargic　contemplation　of　the　meal；　awaiting　landfall　at　the　trailhead。　
　Smithback；　who　had　dined　very　well　and　consumed　an　alarming　quantity　of　wine；　was　sitting　with　Black。　Before　dinner；　the　writer　had　made　some　cracks　about　camp　cooking　and　varmint　stew；　but　the　arrival　of　the　meal　changed　his　tone　to　one　approaching　veneration。　
　〃Didn't　you　also　write　that　book　on　the　museum　murders　in　New　York　City？〃　Black　was　asking。　Smithback's　face　broke　into　an　immensely　gratified　smile。　
　〃And　that　subway　massacre　a　few　years　back？〃　
　Smithback　reached　for　an　imaginary　hat　and　doffed　it　with　a　grandiose　flourish。　
　Black　scratched　his　chin。　〃Don't　get　me　wrong；　I　think　it's　great；〃　he　said。　〃It's　just　that　。　。　。　well；　I've　always　understood　that　the　Institute　was　a　low…profile　entity。〃　
　〃Well；　the　fact　is　I'm　no　longer　Bill　Smithback；　terror　of　the　tabloids；〃　Smithback　replied。　〃I　work　for　the　buttoned…down；　respectable　New　York　Times　now；　occupying　the　position　formerly　held　by　a　certain　Bryce　Harriman。　Poor　Bryce。　He　covered　the　subway　massacre；　too。　Such　a　pity　that　my　masterpiece　of　investigative　reportage　was　his　lost　opportunity。〃　He　turned　and　grinned　at　Nora。　〃You　see；　I'm　a　paragon　of　journalistic　respectability　that　even　a　place　as　stuffy　as　your　Institute　can't　object　to。〃　
　Nora　caught　herself　as　she　was　about　to　smile。　There　was　nothing　amusing　in　the　journalist's　braggadocio；　even　if　it　was　tempered　with　a　touch　of　self…deprecation。　She　looked　away　with　a　stab　of　irritation；　wondering　again　at　Goddard's　idea　of　bringing　a　journalist　along。　She　looked　toward　Holroyd；　who　was　sitting　on　the　metal　floor　of　the　barge；　elbows　on　his　knees；　reading　what　to　Nora's　mind　was　a　real　book：　a　battered　paperback　copy　of　Coronado　and　the　City　of　Gold。　As　she　watched　him；　Holroyd　looked　up　and　smiled。　
　Aragon　was　standing　at　the　bowrail；　and　Roscoe　Swire　was　again　by　the　horses；　wad　of　tobacco　fingered　into　his　cheek；　jotting　in　a　battered　journal　and　occasionally　murmuring　to　the　animals。　Bonarotti　was　quietly　smoking　a　postprandial　cigarette；　one　leg　thrown　over　the　other；　head　tilted　back；　enjoying　the　air。　Nora　was　surprised　and　grateful　for　the　cook's　efforts　on　this　first　day　of　the　journey。　Nothing　like　a　good　meal　to　bring　people　together；　she　thought；　replaying　in　her　mind　the　lively　meal；　the　friendly　arguments　about　the　origins　of　the　Clovis　hunters；　and　the　proper　way　to　excavate　a　cave　sequence。　Even　Black　had　relaxed　and　told　an　exceedingly　foul　joke　involving　a　proctologist；　a　giant　sequoia；　and　tree…ring　dating。　Only　Aragon　had　remained　silent…not　aloof；　exactly；　just　remote。　
　She　glanced　over　at　him；　standing　motionless　at　the　rail；　gazing　out　into　the　fading　light；　his　eyes　hard。　Three　months　on　the　Gallegos　Divide；　excavating　the　burned　jacal　site；　had　taught　her　that　the　human　dynamic　in　an　expedition　of　this　sort　was　of　crucial　importance；　and　she　didn't　like　his　resolute　silence。　Something　was　not　right　with　him。　Casually；　she　strolled　forward　until　she　was　standing　at　the　rail　beside　him。　He　looked　over；　then　nodded　politely。　
　〃Quite　a　dinner；〃　she　said。　
　〃Astonishing；〃　said　Aragon；　folding　his　brown　hands　over　the　railing。　〃Signore　Bonarotti　is　to　be　plimented。　What　do　you　suppose　is　in　that　curio　box　of　his？〃　
　He　was　referring　to　an　antique　wooden　chuckbox　with　innumerable　tiny　partments　the　cook　kept　locked　and　under　jealous　guard。　
　〃No　idea；〃　Nora　said。　
　〃I　can't　imagine　how　he　managed　it。〃　
　〃You　watch。　It'll　be　salt　pork　and　hardtack　tomorrow。〃　
　They　laughed　together；　an　easy　laugh；　and　once　again　Aragon　gazed　forward；　toward　the　lake　and　its　vast　ramparts　of　stone。　
　〃You've　been　here　before？〃　Nora　asked。　
　Something　flitted　across　the　hollow　eyes：　the　shad