if.thespywholovedme-第26部分

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　I　stopped。　〃You'll　have　to　do　the　rest。〃
　〃Certainly　not。　And　do　it　properly。　You　never　know。　There　might　be　a　world　war　and　you'd　have　to　be　a　nurse。　You　might　as　well　learn　how　to　wash　a　man。　And　anyway；　what　the　hell's　this　soap？　I　smell　like　Cleopatra。〃
　〃It's　very　good。　It's　got　costly　French　perfume　in　it。　It　says　so　on　the　package。　And　you　smell　delicious。　Much　better　than　your　gunpowder　smell。〃
　He　laughed。　〃Well；　get　on。　But　hurry。〃
　So　I　bent　down　and　began　and　of　course　in　a　minute　we　were　in　each　other's　arms　again　under　the　shower　and　our　bodies　were　slithery　with　water　and　soap　and　he　turned　the　shower　off　and　lifted　me　out　of　the　shower　cabinet　and　began　to　dry　me　lingeringly　with　the　bath　towel　while　I　leaned　back　within　his　free　arm　and　just　let　it　happen。　Then　I　took　the　towel　and　dried　him；　and　then　it　was　silly　to　wait　any　longer　and　he　picked　me　up　in　his　arms　and　carried　me　through　into　the　bedroom　and　laid　me　down　on　the　bed　and　I　watched　through　half…closed　lashes　his　pale　shape　as　he　went　around　drawing　the　curtains　and　locking　up。
　And　then　he　was　lying　beside　me。
　His　hands　and　his　mouth　were　slow　and　electric；　and　his　body　in　my　arms　was　tenderly　fierce。
　Afterward　he　told　me　that　when　the　moment　came　I　screamed。　I　didn't　know　I　had。　I　only　know　that　a　chasm　of　piercing　sweetness　suddenly　opened　and　drowned　me　and　that　I　dug　my　nails　into　his　hips　to　make　sure　of　taking　him　with　me。　Then　he　sleepily　said　some　sweet　things　and　kissed　me　once　and　his　body　slithered　away　and　lay　still　and　I　stayed　on　my　back　and　gazed　up　into　the　red　darkness　and　listened　to　his　breathing。
　
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　I　had　never　before　made　love；　full　love；　with　my　heart　as　well　as　my　body。　It　had　been　sweet　with　Derek；　cold　and　satisfying　with　Kurt。　But　this　was　something　different。　At　last　I　realized　what　this　thing　could　be　in　one's　life。
　I　think　I　know　why　I　gave　myself　so　pletely　to　this　man；　how　I　was　capable　of　it　with　someone　I　had　met　only　six　hours　before。　Apart　from　the　excitement　of　his　looks；　his　authority；　his　maleness；　he　had　e　from　nowhere；　like　the　prince　in　the　fairy　tales；　and　he　had　saved　me　from　the　dragon。　But　for　him；　I　would　now　be　dead；　after　suffering　God　knows　what　before。　He　could　have　changed　the　wheel　on　his　car　and　gone　off；　or；　when　danger　came；　he　could　have　saved　his　own　skin。　But　he　had　fought　for　my　life　as　if　it　had　been　his　own。　And　then；　when　the　dragon　was　dead；　he　had　taken　me　as　his　reward。　In　a　few　hours；　I　knew；　he　would　be　gone…without　protestations　of　love；　without　apologies　or　excuses。　And　that　would　be　the　end　of　that…gone；　finished。
　All　women　love　semi…rape。　They　love　to　be　taken。　It　was　his　sweet　brutality　against　my　bruised　body　that　had　made　his　act　of　love　so　piercingly　wonderful。　That　and　the　coinciding　of　nerves　pletely　relaxed　after　the　removal　of　tension　and　danger；　the　warmth　of　gratitude；　and　a　woman's　natural　feeling　for　her　hero。　I　had　no　regrets　and　no　shame。　There　might　be　many　consequences　for　me…　not　the　least　that　I　might　now　be　dissatisfied　with　other　men。　But　whatever　my　troubles　were；　he　would　never　hear　of　them。　I　would　not　pursue　him　and　try　to　repeat　what　there　had　been　between　us。　I　would　stay　away　from　him　and　leave　him　to　go　his　own　road；　where　there　would　be　other　women；　countless　other　women；　who　would　probably　give　him　as　much　physical　pleasure　as　he　had　had　with　me。　I　wouldn't　care；　or　at　least　I　told　myself　that　I　wouldn't　care；　because　none　of　them　would　ever　own　him…own　any　larger　piece　of　him　than　I　now　did。　And　for　all　my　life　I　would　be　grateful　to　him；　for　everything。　And　I　would　remember　him　forever　as　my　image　of　a　man。
　How　silly　could　one　be？　What　was　there　to　dramatize　about　this　naked　male　person　lying　beside　me？　He　was　just　a　professional　agent　who　had　done　his　job。　He　was　trained　to　fire　guns；　to　kill　people。　What　was　so　wonderful　about　that？　Brave；　strong；　ruthless　with　women…these　were　the　qualities　that　went　with　his　calling；　what　he　was　paid　to　be。　He　was　only　some　kind　of　spy；　a　spy　who　had　loved　me。　Not　even　loved；　slept　with。　Why　should　I　make　him　my　hero；　swear　never　to　forget　him？　I　suddenly　had　an　impulse　to　wake　him　up　and　ask　him：　〃Can　you　be　nice？　Can　you　be　kind？〃
　I　turned　over　on　my　side。　He　was　asleep；　breathing　quietly；　his　head　resting　on　his　outflung　left　forearm；　his　right　arm　tucked　under　the　pillow。　Again　the　moon　outside　was　bright。　Red　light　filtered　through　the　curtains；　mixing　the　black　shadows　of　his　body　with　shining　crimson　highlights。　I　bent　closely　over　him；　breathing　in　his　male…ness；　longing　to　touch　him；　to　run　my　hand　down　his　sunburned　back　to　where　the　brown　became　abruptly　white　where　his　summer　bathing…trunks　had　been。
　After　looking　long　at　him；　I　lay　back。　No；　he　was　as　I　had　thought　him　to　be。　Yes；　this　was　a　man　to　love。
　
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　The　red　curtains　at　the　other　end　of　the　room　were　moving。　Through　half…sleeping　eyes　I　wondered　why。　Outside；　the　wind　had　dropped　and　there　was　no　sound。　Lazily　I　raised　my　eyes　to　look　above　me。　The　curtains　at　this　end　of　the　room；　above　our　bed；　were　motionless。　There　must　be　a　small　breeze　ing　off　the　lake。　e　on！　For　heaven's　sake　go　to　sleep！
　And　then；　with　a　sudden　ripping　noise　high　up　on　the　opposite　wall；　the　bits　of　curtain　hung　sideways。　And　a　big；　glittering　turnip…face；　pale　and　shiny　under　the　moon；　was　looking　through　the　glass　slats！
　I　never　knew　that　hair　could　stand　up　on　end。　I　thought　it　was　invented　by　writers。　But　I　heard　a　scratching　on　the　pillow　round　my　ears　and　I　felt　the　fresh　night　air　on　my　scalp。　〃I　wanted　to　scream；　but　I　couldn't。〃　〃My　limbs　were　frozen。〃　〃I　couldn't　move　hand　or　foot。〃　I　thought　these　too　were　fictions。　They　aren't。　I　simply　lay　and　stared；　noting　my　physical　sensations…even　to　the　symptom　that　my　eyes　were　so　wide　open　that　they　ached。　But　I　couldn't　move　a　finger。　I　was…another　phrase　from　books…frightened　stiff；　stiff　as　a　board。
　The　face　behind　the　glass　window　slats　was　grinning。　Perhaps　the　teeth　were　bared；　like　an　animal's；　with　effort。　The　moon　glistened　off　the　teeth　and　off　the　eyes　and　off　the　top　of　the　hairless　head　to　make　a　kind　of　child's　sketch　of　a　face。
　The　ghost　face　jerked　slowly　round　the　room；　looking。　It　saw　the　white　bed　with　the　twin　smudges　of　the　heads　on　the　pillow。　It　stopped　looking　and　slowly；　painfully；　a　hand；　with　shiny　metal　in　it；　came　up　beside　the　head　and　smashed　clumsily　downward　through　the　panes　of　glass。
　The　noise　was　a　trigger　that　released　me。　I　screamed　and　hit　sideways　with　my　hand。　It　probably　didn't　help。　The　crash　of　glass　had　wakened　him。　I　might　even　have　spoiled　his　aim。　But　then　came　the　double　roar　of　guns；　the　solid　slap　of　bullets　into　the　wall　above　my　head；　another　great　splintering　of　glass；　and　the　turnip　face　had　gone。
　〃Are　you　all　right；　Viv？〃　His　voice　was　urgent；　desperate。
　He　saw　that　I　was　and　didn't　wait　for　an　answer。　The　bed　heaved　and　suddenly　the　moonlight　threw　a　great　block　of　light　through　the　door。　He　ran　so　quietly　that　I　didn't　hear　his　feet　on　the　concrete　floor　of　the　carport；　but　I　could　visualize　him　flattening　himself　against　its　wall　and　edging　round。　I　just　lay　and　stared；　aghast…another　literary　word；　but　an　accurate　one…at　the　jagged　remains　of　the　window　and　remembered　the　glistening；　horrible　turnip　head　that　must　have　been　a　ghost。
　James　Bond　came　back。　He　didn't　say　a　word。　The　first　thing　he　did　was　to　get　me　a　glass　of　water。　The　prosaic　action；　the　first　thing　a　parent　does　when　the　child　has　nightmares；　brought　back　the　room　and　its　familiar　shapes　from　the　black　and　red　cave　of　the　ghosts　and　the　guns。　Then　he　fetched　a　bath　towel　and　put　a　chair　under　the　smashed　window　and　climbed　on　it　and　draped　the　towel　over　the　window。
　I　was　suddenly　conscious　of　the　muscles　that　bunched　and　relaxed　in　his　naked　body　and　I　was　amused　at　how　odd　a　man　looks　without　any　clothes　on　when　he　is　not　making　love　but　just　moving　about　a　room　doing　kind　of　household　chores。　I　thought　that　perhaps　one　ought　to　be　a　nudist。　But　perhaps　only　under　forty。　I　said；　〃James；　don't　ever　get　fat。〃
　He　had　fixed　the　towel　as　a　curtain。　He　got　down　off　the　chair　and　said　absent…mindedly；　〃No。　That's　right。　One　shouldn't　get　fat。〃
　He　put　the　chair　tidily　back　beside　the　desk　where　it　belonged　and　picked　up　his　gun　that　he　had　put　down　on　the　desk。　He　examined　the　gun。　He　went　to　his　small　pile　of　clothes　and　took　out　a　new　clip　and　substituted　it　for　the　old　one　and　came　over　to　the　bed　and　slipped　the　gun　under　his　pillow。
　Now　I　realized　why　he　had　lain　like　that；　with　his　right　hand　doubled　under　the　pillow。　I　guessed　that　he　always　slept　like　that。　I　thought　his　must　be　rather　like　a　fireman's　life；　always　waiting　for　a　call。　I　thought　how　extraordinary　it　must　be　to　have　danger　as　your　business。
　He　came　and　sat　down　on　the　edge　of　my　side　of　the　bed。　In　the　filtering　scraps　of　light　his　face　looked　drawn　and　sort　of　blasted；　as　if　by　shock。　He　tried　to　smile；　but　the　tense　muscles　wouldn't　let　him　and　it　was　only　a　crooked　sketch　of　a　smile。　He　said；　〃I　nearly　got　us　both　killed　again。　I'm　sorry；　Viv。　I　must　be　losing　my　touch。　If　I　go　on　like　this　I'm　going　to　catch　trouble。　When