iam fleming.for your eyes only-第30部分

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　down。　There　was　a　tiny　movement　in　the　sand。　Two　minute　fountains　of　sand　were　dancing　above　the　nostril…like　holes　of　the　spiracles。　Behind　the　holes　was　the　slight　swelling　of　the　thing's　body。　That　was　the　target。　An　inch　behind　the　holes。　Bond　estimated　the　possible　upward　lash　of　the　tail　and　slowly　reached　his　gun　down　and　pulled　the　trigger。
　Below　him　the　sand　erupted　and　for　an　anxious　moment　Bond　could　see　nothing。　Then　the　harpoon　line　came　taut　and　the　ray　showed；　pulling　away　from　him　while　its　tail；　in　reflex　aggression；　lashed　again　and　again　over　the　body。　At　the　base　of　the　tail　Bond　could　see　the　jagged　poison…spines　standing　up　from　the　trunk。　These　were　the　spines　that　were　supposed　to　have　killed　Ulysses；　that　Pliny　said　would　destroy　a　tree。　In　the　Indian　Ocean；　where　the　sea　poisons　are　at　their　most　virulent；　one　scratch　from　the　ray's　sting　would　mean　certain　death。　Cautiously；　keeping　the　ray　on　a　taut　line；　Bond　trudged　after　the　furiously　wrestling　fish。　He　swam　to　one　side　to　keep　the　line　away　from　the　lashing　tail　which　could　easily　sever　it。　This　tail　was　the　old　slave…drivers'　whip　of　the　Indian　Ocean。　Today　it　is　illegal　even　to　possess　one　in　the　Seychelles；　but　they　are　handed　down　in　the　families　for　use　on　faithless　wives；　and　if　the　word　goes　round　that　this　or　that　woman　a　eu　la　crapule；　the　Proven？al　name　for　the　sting　ray；　it　is　as　good　as　saying　that　that　woman　will　not　be　about　again　for　at　least　a　week。　Now　the　lashes　of　the　tall　were　getting　weaker　and　Bond　swam　round　and　ahead　of　the　ray；　pulling　it　after　him　towards　the　shore。　In　the　shallows　the　ray　went　limp　and　Bond　pulled　it　out　of　the　water　and　well　up　on　the　beach。　But　he　still　kept　away　from　it。　It　was　as　well　he　did　so。　Suddenly；　at　some　move　from　Bond　and　perhaps　in　the　hope　of　catching　its　enemy　unawares；　the　giant　ray　leapt　clean　into　the　air。　Bond　sprang　aside　and　the　ray　fell　on　its　back　and　lay　with　its　white　underbelly　to　the　sun　and　the　great　ugly　sickle　of　the　mouth　sucking　and　panting。
　Bond　stood　and　looked　at　the　sting…ray　and　wondered　what　to　do　next。
　A　short；　fat　white　man　in　khaki；　shirt　and　trousers　came　out　from　under　the　palm　trees　and　walked　towards　Bond　through　the　scattering　of　sea…grape　and　sun…dried　wrack　above　highwater　mark。　When　he　was　near　enough　he　called　out　in　a　laughing　voice：　〃The　Old　Man　and　the　Sea！　Who　caught　who？〃
　Bond　turned。　〃It　would　be　the　only　man　on　the　island　who　doesn't　carry　a　machete。　Fidele；　be　a　good　chap　and　call　one　of　your　men。　This　animal　won't　die；　and　he's　got　my　spear　stuck　in　him。〃
　Fidele　Barbey；　the　youngest　of　the　innumerable　Barbeys　who　own　nearly　everything　in　the　Seychelles；　came　up　and　stood　looking　down　at　the　ray。　〃That's　a　good　one。　Lucky　you　hit　the　right　spot　or　he'd　have　towed　you　over　the　reef　and　you'd　have　had　to　let　go　your　gun。　They　take　the　hell　of　a　time　to　die。　But　e　on。　I've　got　to　get　you　back　to　Victoria。　Something's　e　up。　Something　good。　I'll　send　one　of　my　men　for　the　gun。　Do　you　want　the　tail？〃
　Bond　smiled。　〃I　haven't　got　a　wife。　But　what　about　some　raie　au　beurre　noir　tonight？〃
　〃Not　tonight；　my　friend。　e。　Where　are　your　clothes？〃
　On　their　way　down　the　coast　road　in　the　station　wagon　Fidele　said：　〃Ever　hear　of　an　American　called　Milton　Krest？　Well；　apparently　he　owns　the　Krest　hotels　and　a　thing　called　the　Krest　Foundation。　One　thing　I　can　tell　you　for　sure。　He　owns　the　finest　damned　yacht　in　the　Indian　Ocean。　Put　in　yesterday。　The　Wawekrest。　Nearly　two　hundred　tons。　Hundred　feet　long。　Everything　in　her　from　a　beautiful　wife　down　to　a　big　transistor　gramophone　on　gimbals　so　the　waves　won't　jerk　the　needle。　Wall…to…wall　carpeting　an　inch　deep。　Air…conditioned　throughout。　The　only　dry　cigarettes　this　side　of　the　African　continent；　and　the　best　after…breakfast　bottle　of　champagne；　since　the　last　time　I　saw　Paris。〃　Fidele　Barbey　laughed　delightedly。　〃My　friend；　that　is　one　hell　of　a　bloody　fine　ship；　and　if　Mr　Krest　is　a　grand　slam　redoubled　in　bastards；　who　the　hell　cares？〃
　〃Who　cares　anyway？　What's　it　got　to　do　with　you　…　or　me　for　the　matter　of　that？〃
　〃Just　this；　my　friend。　We　are　going　to　spend　a　few　days　sailing　with　Mr　Krest　…　and　Mrs　Krest；　the　beautiful　Mrs　Krest。　I　have　agreed　to　take　the　ship　to　Chagrin　…　the　island　I　have　spoken　to　you　about。　It　is　bloody　miles　from　here　…　off　the　African　Banks；　and　my　family　have　never　found　any　use　for　it　except　for　collecting　boobies'　eggs。　It's　only　about　three　feet　above　sea…level。　I　haven't　been　to　the　damned　place　for　five　years。　Any　way；　this　man　Krest　wants　to　go　there。　He　s　collecting　marine　specimens；　something　to　do　with　his　Foundation；　and　there's　some　blasted　little　fish　that's　supposed　to　exist　only　around　Chagrin　Island。　At　least　Krest　says　the　only　specimen　in　the　world　came　from　there。〃
　〃Sounds　rather　fun。　Where　do　I　e　in？〃
　〃I　knew　you　were　bored　and　that　you'd　got　a　week　before　you　sail；　so　I　said　that　you　were　the　local　under　water　ace　and　that　you'd　soon　find　the　fish　if　it　was　there；　and　anyway　that　I　wouldn't　go　without　you。　Mr　Krest　was　willing。　And　that's　that。　I　knew；　you'd　be　fooling　around　somewhere　down　the　coast；　so　I　just　drove　along　until　one　of　the　fishermen　told　me　there　was　a　crazy　white　man　trying　to　mit　suicide　alone　at　Belle　Anse　and　I　knew　that　would　be　you。〃
　Bond　laughed。　〃Extraordinary　the　way　these　island　people　are　afraid　of　the　sea。　You'd　think　they'd　have　got　on　terms　with　it　by　now。　Damned　few　of　the　Seychellois　can　even　swim。〃
　〃Roman　Catholic　Church。　Doesn't　like　them　taking　their　clothes　off。　Bloody　nonsense；　but　there　it　is。　And　as　for　being　afraid；　don't　forget　you've　only　been　here　for　a　month。　Shark；　barracuda　…　you　just　haven't　met　a　hungry　one。　And　stone…fish。　Ever　seen　a　man　that's　stepped　on　a　stone…fish？　His　body　bends　backwards　like　a　bow　with　the　pain。　Sometimes　it's　so　frightful　his　eyes　literally　fall　out　of　their　sockets。　They　very　seldom　live。〃
　Bond　said　unsympathetically：　〃They　ought　to　wear　shoes　or　bind　their　feet　up　when　they　go　on　the　reef。　They've　got　these　fish　in　the　Pacific　and　the　giant　clam　into　the　bargain。　It's　damned　silly。　Everybody　moans　about　how　poor　they　are　here；　although　the　sea's　absolutely　paved　with　fish。　And　there　are　fifty　varieties　of　cowrie　under　those　rocks。　They　could　make　another　good　living　selling　those　round　the　world。〃
　Fidele　Barbey　laughed　boisterously。　〃Bond　for　Governor！　That's　the　ticket。　Next　meeting　of　LegCo　I'll　put　the　idea　up。　You're　just　the　man　for　the　job　far…sighted；　full　of　ideas；　plenty　of　drive。　Cowries！　That's　splendid。　They'll　balance　the　budget　for　the　first　time　since　the　patchouli　boom　after　the　War。　'We　sell　sea…shells　from　the　Seychelles。'　That'll　be　our　slogan。　I'll　see　you　get　the　credit。　You'll　be　Sir　James　in　no　time。〃
　〃Make　more　money　that　way　than　trying　to　grow　vanilla　at　a　loss。〃　They　continued　to　wrangle　with　light…hearted　violence　until　the　palm　groves　gave　way　to　the　giant　sangdragon　trees　on　the　outskirts　of　the　ramshackle　capital　of　Mahe。
　It　had　been　nearly　a　month　before　when　M　had　told　Bond　he　was　sending　him　to　the　Seychelles。　Admiralty　are　having　trouble　with　their　new　fleet　base　in　the　Maldives。　munists　creeping　in　from　Ceylon。　Strikes；　sabotage　…　the　usual　picture。　May　have　to　cut　their　losses　and　fall　back　on　the　Seychelles。　A　thousand　miles　farther　south；　but　at　least　they　look　pretty　secure。　But　they　don't　want　to　be　caught　again。　Colonial　Office　say　it's　safe　as　houses。　All　the　same　I've　agreed　to　send　someone　to　give　an　independent　view。　When　Makarios　was　locked　up　there　a　few　years　ago　there　were　quite　a　few　Security　scares。　Japanese　fishing…boats　hanging　about；　one　or　two　refugee　crooks　from　England；　strong　ties　with　France。　Just　go　and　have　a　good　look。〃　M　glanced　out　of　the　window　at　the　driving　March　sleet。　〃Don't　get　sunstroke。〃
　Bond's　report；　which　concluded　that　the　only　conceivable　security　hazard　in　the　Seychelles　lay　in　the　beauty　and　ready　availability　of　the　Seychelloises；　had　been　finished　a　week　before　and　then　he　had　nothing　to　do　but　wait　for　the　ss　Kampala　to　take　him　to　Mombasa。　He　was　thoroughly　sick　of　the　heat　and　the　drooping　palm　trees　and　the　plaintive　cry　of　the　terns　and　the　interminable　conversations　about　copra。　The　prospect　of　a　change　delighted　him。
　Bond　was　spending　his　last　week　in　the　Barbey　house；　and　after　calling　there　to　pick　up　their　bags；　they　drove　out　to　the　end　of　Long　Pier　and　left　the　car　in　the　Customs　shed。　The　gleaming　white　yacht　lay　half　a　mile　out　in　the　roadstead。　They　took　a　pirogue　with　an　outboard　motor　across　the　glassy　bay　and　through　the　opening　in　the　reef。　The　Wawekrest　was　not　beautiful　…　the　breadth　of　beam　and　cluttered　superstructure　stunted　her　lines　…　but　Bond　could　see　at　once　that　she　was　a　real　ship；　built　to　cruise　the　world　and　not　just　the　Florida　Keys。　She　seemed　deserted；　but　as　they　came　alongside　two　smart…looking　sailors　in　white　shorts　and　singlets　appeared　and　stood　by　the　ladder　with　boat…hooks　ready　to　fend　the　shabby　pirogue　off　the　yacht's　gleaming　paint。　They　took　the　two　bags　and　one　of　them　slid　back　an　aluminium　hatch　and　gestured　for　them　to　go　down。　A　breath　of　what　seemed　to　Bond　to　be　almost　freezing　air　struck　him　as　he　we