rr.eastofealing-第31部分

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a　cement　sack　and　clenched　and　unclenched　the　fingers。　The　sap　was　beginning　to　rise　and　a　great　inner　strength　was　rising　with　it。　The　power　was　surging；　driving　through　his　veins；　unstoppable　and　titanic。
　At　last　he　realized　the　truth：　his　consuming　disability　had　been　nothing　more　than　the　painful　and　grotesque　prelude　to　what　was　to　e。　The　time　for　the　settling　of　scores　was　fast　approaching。　The　power　of　the　great　Old　Ones。　The　gods　of　his　pagan　ancestry　born　in　the　dawn　of　the　light　when　the　world　was　full　of　wonder。　The　power　had　returned　and　it　had　returned　to　him。　The　last　of　the　line。
　A　broad　tight…lipped　smile　arced　up　upon　the　barman's　face。　His　fingers　flexed；　and　beneath　the　surgical　gown　huge　muscles　rolled　about　his　body；　porpoises　swimming　in　a　sack。　The　Herculean　barman　pressed　his　hands　to　the　ceiling　of　his　most　private　ward。　With　a　splinter　of　plastic…cladding；　his　hands　rose；　tightening　to　fists　and　forcing　upwards；　unstoppably。　Neville　rose　with　them；　pouring　forth　from　his　prison；　rising　upon　a　floodtide　of　superhuman　energy。　The　barman's　head　and　shoulders　passed　through　the　ceiling　and　a　low　choked　cry　rose　from　his　throat。
　He　was　ill…prepared　for　the　sight　which　met　his　gaze。　He　had　supposed　himself　to　be　in　the　private　wing　of　the　Cottage　Hospital。　The　view　from　the　window　tending　to　support　this　well　enough。　But　not　a　bit　of　it。　The　hospital　room　and　its　window　view　were　nothing　but　a　sham；　hiding　a　grim　reality。　The　tiny　room　was　little　more　than　a　box；　set　in　some　great　empty　warehouse　of　a　place。　It　spread　away；　dimly…lit；　acre　upon　acre　of　concrete　flooring　and　absolutely　nothing。　The　window　view；　now　seen　from　above；　was　a　mish…mash　of　laser　lines　projected　on　to　a　screen。　It　was　a　hologram。
　'Fe。。。　fi。。。　fo；'　said　Neville；　as　he　perused　his　stark　surroundings。　Where　was　he？　He　felt　like　a　jack…in…the…box　in　an　empty　toy　factory。　'Curiouser　and　curiouser！'　Standing　erect　and　kicking　aside　the　make…believe　walls　of　the　movie…set　hospital　room；　he　stood　upon　a　soundstage　vaster　by　far　than　any　ever　envisaged　by　the　now　legendary　Cecil　B　himself。
　Neville　drew　in　his　breath　and　watched　in　pride　as　his　great　chest　rose　beneath　the　gown。　This　was　the　dream　e　true；　surely？　The　impossible　dream　realized。　His　gods　had　at　long　last　decided　to　smile　upon　him。　He　must　have　performed　for　them　some　great　service　without　even　realizing　it。　A　million　glorious　thoughts　poured　into　the　barman's　head。　He　would　seek　out　that　Trevor　Alvy　who　had　bullied　him　at　school；　and　parade　up　and　down　the　beach　e　summer　with　his　shirt　actually　off。　No　more　heavy　sweaters　to　disguise　his　bony　physique；　no　more　cutting　jibes　about　his　round　shoulders。　He　would　get　a　tan。　And　kick　sand　in　people's　faces。　Yes；　he　would　definitely　do　that。　He　would　eject　drunks　from　the　bar　without　having　to　resort　to　the　sneaky　knobkerry　from　behind。　Neville　threw　himself　into　a　pose；　displaying　muscles　in　places　where　Arnold　Schwarzenegger　didn't　even　have　places。　Conan　who？　He　was　quids　in　here　and　no　mistake。　'Oh　joy；　oh　bliss。'　Things　were　happening　about　Neville's　groin　regions　which；　out　of　mon　decency；　he　did　not　even　dare　to　dwell　upon。　The　bulging　barman　paused　for　a　moment　or　two's　reflection。　For　one　thing；　it　was　impossible　for　him　to　gauge　exactly　how　high　he　might　be。　If　the　hospital　room　was　life…size；　he　must　surely　top　the　twenty…foot　mark。　That　was　no　laughing　matter。　Giants；　no　matter　how　well　hung　they　might　be；　were　never　exactly　the　most　popular　fellows　in　town。　In　fact；　the　more　well　hung　they　were；　the　worse　their　lot。　There　was　always　some　would　be　'David'　about；　with　a　catapult　and　poor　eyesight。
　Neville　erased　such　thoughts　from　his　brain　with　difficulty。　If　this　thing　had　been　done　to　him；　then　it　had　been　done　with　a　purpose。　There　was　no　accident　or　casual　element　of　chance　evident　here。　This　was　something　else；　something　very　very　special。　And　he　would　have　to　find　out　the　purpose。　And　to　do　that；　he　would　first　have　to　make　his　escape　from　this　great　cold　dark　room　at　the　very　hurry…up。　Before　the　chill　began　to　shrink　anything。　Upon　those　tireless；　finely…muscled　legs　that　Charles　Atlas　had　promised　to　a　dozen　generations　of　sickly　youth；　Neville　took　flight　and　sped　away　with　great　leaps　and　bounds；　seeking　the　exit。
　
　29
　A　good　half…mile　beneath　the　barbarian　barman's　thundering　feet；　John　Omally　opened　another　bottle　of　carrot　claret　and　poured　himself　a　large　glass。　'Soap；'　said　he　to　his　host；　'this　is　good　stuff　you　have　here。'
　'Nectar；'　Jim　Pooley　agreed。　'Write　me　down　the　recipe　and　I　will　provide　for　your　old　age。'
　Soap　grinned　stupidly。　'You　must　try　the　cigars；'　he　said；　rising　unsteadily　from　his　horrendous　armchair　and　tottering　over　to　the　box。
　'Home…grown？'
　Soap　made　a　crooked　'O'　out　of　his　thumb　and　forefinger。　'I　have　a　five　spot　says　you　cannot　identify　the　blend。'
　'Take　it　out　of　the　money　you　still　owe　us；'　said　Jim。
　Soap　handed　out　a　brace　of　lime…green　coronas。　Omally　took　his　dubiously　and　rolled　it　against　his　ear。　'Not　a　sprout？'　he　asked　in　a　fearful　voice。
　'Heavens　no。'　Soap　crossed　his　heart。　'Would　I　do　that　to　you？'
　Pooley　sniffed　his　along　its　length。　'Not　spud？'
　'Absolutely　not。　I　know　Omally　stuffs　his　peelings　into　his　pipe；　but　even　he　would　draw　the　line　at　manufacturing　cigars　from　them。'
　'They　don't　roll；'　said　John；　making　the　motions。
　The　two　men　lit　up；　and　collapsed　simultaneously　into　fits　of　violent　coughing。
　'Whatever　it　is；'　wheezed　John；　tears　streaming　from　his　eyes；　'it's　good　stuff。'
　'Perhaps　a　little　sharp。'　Jim's　face　now　matched　the　colour　of　his　cigar。
　'Do　you　give　up？'
　'Indubitably。'
　'Well　I　shan't　tell　you　anyway。'　Soap　slumped　back　into　his　chair；　hands　clasped　behind　his　head。
　The　ruddy　hue　slowly　returned　to　Jim's　face　as　he　got　the　measure　of　his　smoke。　'How　long　do　you　think　we　are　going　to　have　to　fiddle　about　down　here？'　he　asked。
　Soap　shrugged。
　Omally　tapped　a　quarter…inch　of　snow…white　ash　into　a　glass　cache　pot　of　the　Boda　persuasion。　'We　can't　stay　down　here　indefinitely；　Soap；'　he　said。　'Although　your　hospitality　is　greatly　appreciated；　you　must　surely　realize　that　we　must　make　some　attempts　at　salvaging　something　of　our　former　lives。　We　were　quite　fond　of　them。'
　Soap　waved　his　hands　at　the　Irishman。　'All　in　good　time；　John。　The　Prof　will　tip　us　the　wink。　For　now；　have　a　drink　and　a　smoke　and　a　pleasant　chat。'
　'I　fear　we　will　shortly　exhaust　all　topics　of　conversation。'
　'Not　a　bit　of　it；　I　am　a　fascinating　conversationalist。　On　most　matters　I　am　eloquence　personified。　My　range　is　almost　inexhaustible。'
　'And　your　modesty　legend。　I　know。'
　'All　right　then；　what　is　your　opinion　of　evolution？'
　'A　nine…aeon　wonder。'　Omally　awaited　the　applause。
　'I　have　a　somewhat　revolutionary　theory　of　my　own。'
　'I　do　not　wish　to　hear　it。'
　'I　subscribe　to　the　view　that　the　world　was　created　five　minutes　ago；　plete　with　all　records　and　memories。　Although　an　improbable　hypothesis；　I　think　you　will　find　it　logically　irrefutable。'
　'And　how　long　have　you　held　this　belief？'
　'Hard　to　say；　possibly　four　and　a　half　minutes。'
　'Fol…de…rol。'
　'Well；　what　about　politics；　then？　As　an　Irishman；　you　must　have　some　definite　views。'
　'As　an　Irishman；　I　never　trouble　to　give　the　matter　a　moment's　thought。'
　'Religion；　then？'
　'I　subscribe　to　the　view　that　the　world　was　created　five　minutes　ago。　Are　you　looking　for　a　grazed　chin；　Soap？'
　'Only　trying　to　pass　the　time　with　a　little　pleasant　intercourse。'
　'Careful；'　said　Jim。
　'Well；　I　get　few　callers。'
　'Hardly　surprising；　your　address　is　somewhat　obscure　even　for　the　A　to　Z。'
　'Would　you　care　to　see　my　mushroom　beds？'
　'Frankly；　no。'
　'I　spy　with　my　little　eye？'
　'Stick　it　in　your　ear；　Soap。'
　The　three　men　sat　awhile　in　silence。　Jim　picked　a　bit　of　chive　out　of　his　teeth　and　won　five　quid　from　Soap。　But　other　than　that　there　was　frankly　no　excitement　to　be　had　whatsoever；　which　might　in　its　way　have　been　a　good　thing；　for　there　was　a　great　deal　of　it　in　the　offing。　A　sudden　bout　of　urgent　knocking　rattled　Soap　Distant's　front　door。
　'Expecting　guests？'　Omally　asked。　'Ladies；　I　trust。　Current　affairs　have　played　havoc　with　my　social　calendar。'
　Soap's　face　had；　within　the　twinkling　of　an　eye；　transformed　itself　from　an　amiable　countenance　into　the　all…too…familiar　mask　of　cold　fear。　'Are　either　of　you　tooled　up？'　he　asked　inanely。
　'I　have　my　barlow　knife；'　said　Omally；　rapidly　finishing　his　drink。
　'And　me　my　running　shoes；'　said　Jim。　'Where's　the　back　door；　Soap？'
　Mr　Distant　dithered　in　his　armchair。　'No…one　knows　of　this　place；'　he　whispered　hoarsely。　The　pounding　on　the　door　informed　him　that　that　statement　was　patently　incorrect。
　Omally　rose　hurriedly　from　his　seat。　'Lead　us　to　the　priesthole；　Soap；　and　make　it　snappy。'
　'I'm　for　that。'　Jim　leapt　up　and　began　smacking　at　the　walls。　'Where's　the　secret　panel；　Soap？'
　Soap　chewed　upon　his　knuckles。　'It's　the　other　me；'　he　whimpered。　'I　knew　it　had　to　happen；　even　here。'
　'The　odds　are　in　its　favour。　Kindly　show　us　the　way　out。'
　'There's　no　other　exit。'
　'Then　find　us　a　place　to　hide；　someone　must　continue　to　serve　the　cause；　eve