cb.damnationgame-第68部分

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　her　of　how　they　had　won　the　skirmish。　She　waved　the　thought　away　before　it　was　finished。　The　strain　on　her　face　was　unbearable；　her　need　was　flaying　her。
　　〃Marty　。　。　。〃　He　looked　across　at　her。
　　〃。　。　。　you　promised；〃　she　said　accusingly。
　　〃I　haven't　forgotten。〃　He'd　done　the　mental　arithmetic　in　his　head：　not　the　cost　of　the　drug　itself；　but　of　lost　pride。　He　would　have　to　go　to　Flynn　for　the　heroin；　he　knew　no　one　else　he　could　trust。　They　were　both　fugitives　now；　from　Mamoulian　and　from　the　law。
　　〃I'll　have　to　make　a　phone　call；〃　he　said。
　　〃Make　it；〃　she　replied。
　　She　seemed　to　have　physically　altered　in　the　last　half…hour。　Her　skin　was　waxy；　her　eyes　had　a　desperate　gleam　in　them；　the　shaking　was　worsening　by　the　minute。
　　〃Don't　make　it　easy　for　him；〃　she　said。
　　He　frowned：　〃Easy？〃　〃He　can　make　me　do　things　I　don't　want　to；〃　she　said。　Tears　had　started　to　run。　There　was　no　acpanying　sob；　just　a　free…fall　from　the　eyes。　〃Maybe　make　me　hurt　you。〃　〃It's　all　right。　I'll　go　now。　There's　a　guy　lives　with　Charmaine；　he'll　be　able　to　get　me　stuff；　don't　worry。　You　want　to　e？〃　She　hugged　herself。　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃I'll　slow　you　down。　Just　go。〃　He　pulled　on　his　jacket；　trying　not　to　look　at　her；　the　mixture　of　frailty　and　appetite　scared　him。　The　sweat　on　her　body　was　fresh；　it　gathered　in　the　soft　passage　behind　her　clavicles；　it　streamed　on　her　face。
　　〃Don't　let　anybody　in；　OK？〃　She　nodded；　her　eyes　searing　him。
　　When　he'd　gone　she　locked　the　door　behind　him　and　went　back　to　sit　on　the　bed。　The　tears　started　to　e　again；　freely。　Not　grief　tears；　just　salt　water。　Well；　perhaps　there　was　some　grief　in　them：　for　this　rediscovered　fragility；　and　for　the　mats　who　had　gone　down　the　stairs。
　　He　was　responsible　for　her　present　disfort；　she　thought。　He'd　been　the　one　to　seduce　her　into　thinking　she　could　stand　on　her　own　two　feet。　And　where　had　it　brought　her；　brought　them　both？　To　this　hothouse　cell　in　the　middle　of　a　July　afternoon　with　so　much　malice　ready　to　close　in　on　them。
　　It　wasn't　love　she　felt　for　him。　That　was　too　big　a　burden　of　feeling　to　carry。　It　was　at　best　infatuation；　mingled　with　that　sense　of　impending　loss　she　always　tasted　when　close　to　somebody；　as　though　every　moment　in　his　presence　she　was　internally　mourning　the　time　when　he　would　no　longer　be　there。
　　Below；　the　door　slammed　as　he　stepped　into　the　street。　She　lay　back　on　the　bed；　thinking　of　the　first　time　they'd　made　love　together。　Of　how　even　that　most　private　act　had　been　overlooked　by　the　European。　The　thought　of　Mamoulian；　once　begun；　was　like　a　snowball　on　a　steep　hill。　It　rolled；　gathering　speed　and　size　as　it　went；　until　it　was　monstrous。　An　avalanche；　a　whiteout。
　　For　an　instant　she　doubted　that　she　was　simply　remembering：　the　feeling　was　so　clear；　so　real。　Then　she　had　no　doubts。
　　She　stood　up；　the　bedsprings　creaking。　It　wasn't　memory　at　all。
　　He　was　here。
　　
　　58
　　〃Flynn？〃　〃Hello。〃　The　voice　at　the　other　end　of　the　line　was　gruff　with　sleep。　〃Who　is　this？〃　〃It's　Marty。　Have　I　woken　you　up？〃　〃What　the　hell　do　you　want？〃　〃I　need　some　help。〃　There　was　a　long　silence　at　the　other　end　of　the　phone。
　　〃Are　you　still　there？〃　〃Yeah。　Yeah。〃　〃I　need　heroin。〃　The　gruffness　left　the　voice；　incredulity　replaced。　it。
　　〃You　on　it？〃　〃I　need　it　for　a　friend。〃　Marty　could　sense　the　smile　spreading　on　Flynn's　face。　〃Can　you　get　me　something？　Quickly。〃　〃How　much？〃　〃I've　got　a　hundred　quid。〃　〃It's　not　impossible。〃　〃Soon？〃　〃Yeah。　If　you　like。　What　time　is　it　now？〃　The　thought　of　easy　money　had　got　Flynn's　mind　oiled　and　ready　to　go。　〃One…fifteen？　OK。〃　He　paused　for　calculations。　〃You　e　around　in　about　three…quarters　of　an　hour。〃　That　was　efficient；　unless；　as　Marty　suspected；　Flynn　was　involved　with　the　market　so　deeply　he　had　easy　access　to　the　stuff：　his　jacket　pocket；　for　instance。
　　〃I　can't　guarantee；　of　course；〃　he　said　just　to　keep　the　desperation　simmering。　〃But　I'll　do　my　best。　Can't　say　fairer　than　that；　can　I？〃　〃Thanks；〃　Marty　replied。　〃I　appreciate　this。〃　〃Just　bring　the　cash；　Marty。　That's　all　the　appreciation　I　need。〃　The　phone　went　dead。　Flynn　had　a　knack　of　getting　the　last　word　in。　〃Bastard；〃　Marty　said　to　the　receiver；　and　slammed　it　down。　He　was　shaking　slightly；　his　nerves　were　frayed。　He　slipped　into　a　newsstand；　picked　up　a　packet　of　cigarettes；　and　then　got　back　into　the　car。　It　was　lunchtime；　the　traffic　in　the　middle　of　London　would　be　thick；　and　it　would　take　the　best　part　of　forty…five　minutes　to　get　to　the　old　stamping　ground。　There　was　no　time　to　go　back　and　check　on　Carys。　Besides；　he　guessed　she　wouldn't　have　thanked　him　for　delaying　his　purchase。　She　needed　dope　more　than　she　needed　him。
　　
　　The　European　appeared　too　suddenly　for　Carys　to　hold　his　insinuating　presence　at　bay。　But　weak　as　she　felt；　she　had　to　fight。　And　there　was　something　about　this　assault　that　was　different　from　others。　Was　it　that　he　was　more　desperate　in　his　approach　this　time？　The　back　of　her　neck　felt　physically　bruised　by　his　entrance。　She　rubbed　it　with　a　sweating　palm。
　　I　found　you；　he　said　in　her　head。
　　She　looked　around　the　room　for　a　way　to　drive　him　out。
　　No　use；　he　told　her。
　　〃Leave　us　alone。〃　You've　treated　me　badly；　Carys。　I　should　punish　you。　But　I　won't；　not　if　you　give　me　your　father。　Is　that　so　much　to　ask？　I　have　a　right　to　him。　You　know　that　in　your　heart　of　hearts。　He　belongs　to　me。
　　She　knew　better　than　to　trust　his　coaxing　tones。　If　she　found　Papa；　what　would　he　do　then？　Leave　her　to　live　her　life？　No；　he　would　take　her　too；　the　way　he'd　taken　Evangeline　and　Toy　and　only　he　knew　how　many　others；　to　that　tree；　to　that　Nowhere。
　　Her　eyes　came　to　rest　on　the　small　electric　cooker　in　the　corner　of　the　room。　She　got　up；　her　limbs　jangling；　and　walked　unsteadily　across　to　it。　If　the　European　had　caught　wind　of　her　plan；　then　all　the　better。　He　was　weak；　she　could　sense　it。　Tired　and　sad；　one　eye　on　the　sky　for　kites；　his　concentration　faltering。　But　his　presence　was　still　distressing　enough　to　muddy　her　thought　processes。　Once　she　reached　the　cooker　she　could　hardly　think　of　why　she　was　there。　She　pressed　her　mind　into　higher　gear。　Refusal！　That　was　it。　The　cooker　was　refusal！　She　reached　out　and　turned　on　one　of　the　two　electric　rings。
　　No；　Carys；　he　told　her。　This　isn't　wise。
　　His　face　appeared　in　her　mind's　eye。　It　was　vast；　and　it　blotted　out　the　room　around　her。　She　shook　her　head　to　rid　herself　of　him；　but　he　wouldn't　be　dislodged。　There　was　a　second　illusion　too；　besides　his　face。　She　felt　arms　around　her：　not　a　stranglehold；　but　a　sheltering　embrace。　They　rocked　her；　those　arms。
　　〃I　don't　belong　to　you；〃　she　said；　fighting　off　the　urge　to　succumb　to　his　cradling。　In　the　back　of　her　head　she　could　hear　a　song　being　sung；　its　rhythm　matched　the　soporific　rhythm　of　the　rocking。　The　words　weren't　English；　but　Russian。　It　was　a　lullaby；　she　knew　that　without　understanding　the　words；　and　as　it　ran；　and　she　listened；　it　seemed　all　the　hurts　she'd　felt　disappeared。　She　was　a　babe…in…arms　again；　in　his　arms。　He　was　rocking　her　to　sleep　to　this　murmured　song。
　　Through　the　lace　of　approaching　sleep　she　caught　sight　of　a　bright　pattern。　Though　she　couldn't　fix　its　significance；　she　remembered　that　it　had　been　important；　this　orange　spiral　that　glowed　not　far　from　her。　But　what　did　it　mean？　The　problem　vexed　her；　and　kept　the　sleep　she　wanted　at　bay。　So　she　opened　her　eyes　a　little　wider　to　work　out　what　the　pattern　was；　once　and　for　all；　and　so　be　done　with　it。
　　The　cooker　came　into　focus　in　front　of　her；　the　ring　glowing。　The　air　above　it　shimmered。　Now　she　remembered；　and　the　memory　thrust　sleepiness　away。　She　stretched　out　her　arm　toward　the　heat。
　　Don't　do　this；　the　voice　in　her　head　advised。　You'll　only　hurt　yourself。
　　But　she　knew　better。　Slumber　in　his　arms　was　more　dangerous　than　any　pain　the　next　few　moments　would　bring。　The　heat　was　unfortable；　though　her　skin　was　still　inches　from　its　source；　and　for　a　desperate　moment　her　willpower　faltered。
　　You'll　be　scarred　for　life；　the　European　said；　sensing　her　equivocation。
　　〃Let　me　alone。〃　I　just　don't　want　to　see　you　hurt；　child。　I　love　you　too　much。　The　lie　was　a　spur。　She　found　the　vital　ounce　of　courage；　raised　her　hand　and　pressed　it；　palm　down；　onto　the　electric　ring。
　　The　European　screamed　first；　she　heard　his　voice　begin　to　rise　in　the　instant　before　her　own　cry　began。　She　pulled　her　hand　off　the　cooker　as　the　smell　of　burning　hit　her。　Mamoulian　withdrew　from　her；　she　felt　his　retreat。　Relief　flooded　her　system。　Then　the　pain　overwhelmed　her；　and　a　quick　dark　came　down。　She　didn't　fear　it；　though。　It　was　quite　safe；　that　dark。　He　wasn't　in　it。
　　〃Gone；〃　she　said；　and　collapsed。
　　
　　When　she　came　to；　less　than　five　minutes　later；　her　first　thought　was　that　she　was　holding　a　fistful　of　razors。
　　She　edged　her　way　across　to　the　bed　and　put　her　head　on　it　until　she'd　fully　regained　her　consciousness。　When　she　had　courage　enough；　she　looked　at　her　hand。　The　design　of　the　rings　was　burned　quite　clearly　onto　her　palm；　a　spiral　tattoo。　She　stood　up　and　went　to　the　sink　to　run　the　wound　under　cold　water。　The　process　calmed　the　pain　somewhat；　the　damage　was