cb.damnationgame-第74部分

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What　hope　of　sanity　in　such　a　place？　Except　to　find　a　soul　to　share　the　torment；　a　lover　to　hate　the　world　with。　Whitehead　had　been　such　a　partner。　And　now　Mamoulian　was　being　true　to　his　lover's　soul：　wanting；　at　the　end；　to　g0　into　death　with　the　only　other　creature　he　had　ever　trusted。　〃We'll　go　to　nothing　。　。　。〃　he　breathed；　and　the　breath　was　a　promise。　〃All　of　us；　go　to　nothing。　Down！　Down！〃　He　was　waking。　There　was　no　time　left　for　further　questions；　however　curious　Marty　was。
　　〃Carys。〃　〃Down！　Down！〃　〃Carys！　Can　you　hear　me？　e　out　of　him！　Quickly！〃　Her　head　rolled　on　her　neck。
　　〃Carys！〃　She　grunted。
　　〃Quickly！〃　In　Mamoulian's　head　the　patterns　had　begun　again；　as　enchanting　as　ever。　Spurts　of　light　that　would　bee　pictures　in　a　while；　she　knew。　What　would　they　be　this　time？　Birds；　flowers；　trees　in　blossom。　What　a　wonderland　it　was。
　　〃Carys。〃　The　voice　of　someone　she　had　once　known　was　calling　her　from　some　very　distant　place。　But　so　were　the　lights。　They　were　resolving　themselves　even　now。　She　waited；　expectantly；　but　this　time　they　weren't　memories　that　burst　into　view…〃Carys！　Quickly！〃　…they　were　the　real　world；　appearing　as　the　European　opened　his　lids。　Her　body　tensed。　Marty　reached　for　her　hand；　and　seized　it。　She　exhaled；　slowly；　the　breath　ing　out　as　a　thin　whine　between　her　teeth；　and　suddenly　she　was　awake　to　her　imminent　danger。　She　flung　her　thought　out　of　the　European's　head　and　back　across　the　miles　to　Kilburn。　For　an　agonized　instant　she　felt　her　will　falter；　and　she　was　falling　backward；　back　into　his　waiting　head。　Terrified；　she　gasped　like　a　stranded　fish　while　her　mind　fought　for　propulsion。
　　Marty　dragged　her　to　a　standing　position；　but　her　legs　buckled。　He　held　her　up　with　his　arms　wrapped　around　her。
　　〃Don't　leave　me；〃　he　whispered　into　her　hair。　〃Gentle　God；　don't　leave　me。〃　Suddenly；　her　eyes　flickered　open。
　　〃Marty；〃　she　mumbled。　〃Marty。〃　It　was　her：　he　knew　her　look　too　well　for　the　European　to　deceive　him。
　　〃You　came　back；〃　he　said。
　　
　　They　didn't　speak　for　several　minutes；　simply　held　on　to　each　other。　When　they　did　talk；　she　had　no　taste　for　retelling　what　she'd　experienced。　Marty　held　his　curiosity　in　check。　It　was　enough　to　know　they　had　no　Devil　on　their　backs。
　　Just　old　humanity；　cheated　of　love；　and　ready　to　pull　down　the　world　on　its　head。
　　
　　63
　　So　perhaps　they　had　a　chance　of　life　after　all。　Mamoulian　was　a　man；　for　all　his　unnatural　faculties。　He　was　two　hundred　years　old；　perhaps；　but　what　were　a　few　years　between　friends？
　　The　priority　now　was　to　find　Papa　and　warn　him　of　what　Mamoulian　intended；　then　plan　as　best　they　could　against　the　European's　offensive。　If　Whitehead　wouldn't　help；　that　was　his　prerogative。　At　least　Marty　would　have　tried；　for　old　times〃　sake。　And　in　the　light　of　the　murder　of　Charmaine　and　Flynn；　Whitehead's　crimes　against　Marty　diminished　to　sins　of　discourtesy。　He　was　easily　the　lesser　of　two　evils。
　　As　to　the　how　of　finding　Whitehead；　the　only　lead　Marty　had　was　the　strawberries。　It　had　been　Pearl　who'd　told　him　that　Old　Man　Whitehead　had　never　let　a　day　go　by　without　strawberries。　Not　in　twenty　years；　she'd　claimed。　Wasn't　it　possible；　then；　that　he'd　continued　to　indulge　himself；　even　in　hiding？　It　was　a　slender　line　of　inquiry。　But　appetite；　as　Marty　had　so　recently　learned；　was　at　the　crux　of　this　conundrum。
　　He　tried　to　persuade　Carys　to　e　with　him；　but　she　was　wrung　out　to　the　point　of　collapse。　Her　journeys；　she　said；　were　over；　she'd　seen　too　much　for　one　day。　All　she　wanted　now　was　the　sunshine　island；　and　on　that　point　she　would　not　be　moved。　Reluctantly；　Marty　left　her　to　her　fix；　and　went　off　to　discuss　strawberries　with　Mr。　Halifax　of　Holborn。
　　Left　alone；　Carys　found　forgetfulness　very　quickly。　The　sights　she　had　witnessed　in　Mamoulian's　head　were　dismissed　to　the　dim　past　from　which　they'd　e。　The　future；　if　there　was　to　be　one；　was　ignored　here；　where　there　was　only　tranquility。　She　bathed　under　a　sun　of　nonsenses；　while　outside　a　soft　rain　began。
　　
　　
　　
　　XII　The　Fat　Man　Dances
　　
　　64
　　Breer　didn't　mind　the　change　in　the　weather。　It　was　altogether　too　sultry　on　the　street；　and　the　rain；　with　its　symbolic　cleansing；　made　him　feel　more　fortable。　Though　it　was　many　weeks　since　he'd　felt　the　least　spasm　of　pain；　he　did　itch　in　the　heat。　Not　even　an　itch　really。　It　was　a　more　fundamental　irritation：　a　crawling　sensation　on　or　beneath　his　skin　that　no　ointment　allayed。　The　drizzle　seemed　to　subdue　it　a　measure；　however；　for　which　he　was　grateful。　Either　the　rain；　or　the　fact　that　he　was　going　to　see　the　woman　he　loved。　Though　Carys　had　attacked　him　several　times　（he　wore　the　wounds　like　trophies）　he　forgave　her　her　trespasses。　She　understood　him　better　than　anyone　else。　She　was　unique…a　goddess；　despite　her　body　hair…and　he　knew　that　if　he　could　only　see　her　again；　display　himself　for　her；　touch　her；　all　would　be　well。
　　But　first　he　had　to　get　to　the　house。　It　had　taken　him　a　while　to　find　a　taxi　that　would　stop　for　him；　and　when　one　obliged　the　driver　only　took　him　part　of　the　way　before　telling　him　to　get　out　because；　he　claimed；　the　smell　was　so　repulsive　he　wouldn't　be　able　to　get　another　fare　all　day。　Shamed　by　this　all…too…public　rejection…the　taxi　driver　harangued　him　from　his　cab　as　he　drove　away…Breer　took　to　the　back　streets；　where　he　hoped　he　wouldn't　be　sneered　and　sniggered　at。
　　It　was　in　one　such　backwater；　just　a　few　minutes〃　walk　from　where　Carys　was　waiting　for　him；　that　a　young　man　with　blue　swallows　tattooed　on　his　neck　stepped　out　of　a　doorway　to　offer　the　Razor…Eater　some　assistance。
　　〃Hey；　man。　You　look　sick；　you　know　that？　Let　me　lend　you　a　hand。〃　〃No；　no；〃　Breer　grunted；　hoping　the　Good　Samaritan　would　leave　him　alone。　〃I'm　fine；　really。〃　〃But　I　insist；〃　Swallows　said；　picking　up　his　pace　to　overtake　Breer；　then　standing　in　the　Razor…Eater's　way。　He　glanced　up　and　down　the　road　to　check　for　witnesses　before　pushing　Breer　into　the　doorway　of　a　bricked…up　house。
　　〃You　keep　your　mouth　shut；　man；〃　he　said；　whipping　out　a　knife　and　pressing　it　to　Breer's　bandaged　throat；　〃and　you'll　be　OK。　Just　empty　your　pockets。　Quick！　Quick！〃　Breer　made　no　move　to　ply。　The　suddenness　of　the　attack　had　disoriented　him；　and　the　way　the　youth　had　seized　his　splinted　neck　had　made　him　giddy。　Swallows　pushed　the　knife　a　little　way　into　the　bandaging　to　make　his　point　clear。　The　victim　smelled　bad；　and　the　thief　wanted　the　job　over　and　done　with　as　soon　as　possible。
　　〃Pockets；　man！　You　deaf？〃　He　pushed　the　knife　deeper。　The　man　didn't　flinch。　〃I'll　do　it；　man；〃　the　thief　warned；　〃I'll　slit　your　fucking　throat。〃　〃Oh；〃　said　Breer；　unimpressed。　More　to　quiet　the　tick　than　out　of　fear；　he　rummaged　in　the　pocket　of　his　coat　and　found　a　handful　of　possessions。　Some　coins；　a　few　peppermints　that　he'd　continued　to　suck　until　his　saliva　supply　dried　up；　and　a　bottle　of　aftershave。　He　proffered　them　with　faint　apology　on　his　rouged　face。
　　〃That　all　you've　got？〃　Swallows　was　outraged。　He　tore　open　Breer's　coat。
　　〃Don't；〃　the　Razor…Eater　suggested。
　　〃Bit　hot　to　be　wearing　a　coat；　isn't　it？〃　said　the　thief。　〃What　are　you　hiding？〃　The　buttons　gave　as　he　tore　at　the　jacket　Breer　was　wearing　beneath　his　coat；　and　now　the　thief　was　staring；　open…mouthed；　at　the　handles　of　the　knife　and　fork　that　were　still　buried　in　the　Razor…Eater's　abdomen。　The　stains　of　dried　fluids　that　ran　from　the　wounds　were　only　marginally　less　disgusting　than　the　brown　rot　that　was　spreading　down　from　his　armpits　and　up　from　his　groin。　In　his　panic；　the　thief　pressed　the　knife　more　deeply　into　Breer's　throat。
　　〃Christ；　man…〃　Anthony；　having　lost　his　dignity；　his　self…esteem；　and；　did　he　but　know　it；　his　life…had　only　his　temper　left　to　lose。　He　reached　up　and　took　hold　of　the　inquiring　knife　in　a　greasy　palm。　The　thief　relinquished　it　a　moment　too　late。　Breer；　swifter　than　his　bulk　suggested；　twisted　blade　and　hand　back；　and　broke　his　assailant's　wrist。
　　Swallows　was　seventeen。　He　had　lived；　he　thought；　a　full　life　for　a　seventeen…year…old。　He'd　seen　two　violent　deaths；　he'd　lost　his　virginity　to　his　half…sister…at　fourteen；　he'd　raised　whippets；　he'd　watched　snuff　movies；　he'd　taken　every　kind　of　pill　he　could　get　his　trembling　hands　on：　it　had　been；　he　thought；　a　busy　existence；　full　of　acquired　wisdom。　But　this　was　new。　Nothing　like　this；　ever。　It　made　his　bladder　ache。
　　Breer　still　had　hold　of　the　thief's　useless　arm。
　　〃Let　me　go　。　。　。　please。〃　Breer　just　looked　at　him；　his　jacket　still　swinging　open；　those　bizarre　wounds　displayed。
　　〃What　do　you　want；　man？　You're　hurting　me。〃　Swallows〃　jacket　was　also　open。　Inside　was　another　weapon；　thrust　into　a　deep　pocket。
　　〃Knife？〃　Breer　said；　looking　at　the　handle。
　　〃No；　man。〃　Breer　reached　for　it。　The　youth；　eager　to　oblige；　pulled　the　weapon　out　and　dropped　it　at　Breer's　feet。　It　was　a　machete。　Its　blade　was　stained；　but　its　edge　keen。
　　〃It's　yours；　man。　Go　on；　take　it。　Only　let　go　of　my　arm；　man。〃　〃Pick　it　up。　Get　down　and　pick　it　up；〃　Breer　said；　releasing　the　injured　wrist。　The　youth　went　down　onto　his　haunches　and　picked　the　machete　up；　then　handed　it　to　Breer。　The　Razor…Eater　took　it。　The　tab