dk.nightchills-第17部分
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At 11：45 Paul Annendale stepped into Sam Edison's study on the second floor of the house； just above the general store。 〃Squire Edison； I wish to arrange to take your daughter to lunch。〃
Sam was standing in front of a bookcase。 A large volume lay open in his left hand； and he was paging through it with his right。 〃Sit down； vassal；〃 he said without looking up。 〃The squire will be with you in just a minute。〃
If Sam had chosen to refer to this place as his library rather than his study； he would have been justified。 Two lushly cushioned； somewhat tattered armchairs and two matching footstools stood in the center of the room； facing the only window。 Two yellow…shaded floor lamps； one behind each chair； provided adequate but restful light； and a small rectangular table lay between the chairs。 A pipe was turned upside down in a large ash tray on the table； and the air was redolent with the cherry scent of Sam's tobacco。 The room was only twelve feet by fifteen feet； but two entire walls； from floor to ceiling； were lined with thousands of books and hundreds of issues of various psychology journals。
Paul sat down and put his feet up on a stool。
He didn't know the title of the volume that the other man was looking through； but he did know that ninety percent of these books dealt with Hitler； Nazism； and anything else that was even remotely related to that philosophical…political night…
mare。 Sam's interest in the subject had been unwavering for thirty…two years。
In April of 1945； as a member of an American intelligence unit； Sam went into Berlin less than twenty…four hours behind the first Allied troops。 He was shocked by the extent of the destruction。 In addition to the ruin caused by Allied bombers； mortars； and tank fire； there was damage directly attributable to the Führer's scorch…the…earth policy。 In the final days of the war； the madman had decreed that the victors must be allowed to seize nothing of value； that Germany must be transformed into a barren plain of rubble； that not even one house could be left standing to e under foreign domination。 Of course； most Germans were not prepared to take this final step into oblivion…although many of them were。 It seemed to Sam that the Germans he saw in the devastated streets were survivors not merely of the war but also of the frenzied suicide of an entire nation。
On May 8； 1945； he was transferred to an intelligence unit that was collecting data on the Nazi death camps。 As the full story of the holocaust became known； as it was discovered that millions of men and women and children had passed through the gas chambers and that hundreds of thousands of others had been shot in the back and buried in trenches； Sam Edison； a young man from the backwoods of Maine； found nothing within his experience to explain such mind…numbing horror。 Why had so many once…rational； basically good people mitted themselves to fulfilling the evil fantasies of an obvious lunatic and a handful of subordinate madmen？ Why had one of the most professional armies in the world disgraced itself by fighting to protect the SS murderers？ Why had millions of people gone with so little protest to the concentration camps and gas chambers？ What did Adolf Hitler know about the psychology of the masses that had helped him to achieve such absolute power？ The ruin of the German cities and the death camp data raised all of these questions but provided answers to none of them。
He was sent back to the States and mustered out of the ser
vice in October of 1945； and as soon as he was home he began to buy books about Hitler； the Nazis； and the war。 He read everything of value that he could find。 Bits and pieces of explanations； theories and arguments seemed valid to him。 But the plete answer that he sought eluded him； therefore； he extended his area of study and began collecting books on totalitarianism； militarism； war games； battle strategy； German history； German philosophy； bigotry； racism； paranoia； mob psychology； behavior modification； and mind control。 His undiminishable fascination with Hitler did not have its roots in morbid curiosity； but came instead from a fearful certainty that the German people were not at all unique and that his own neighbors in Maine； given the right set of circumstances； would be capable of the same atrocities。
Sam suddenly closed the book through which he'd been paging for the past few minutes and returned it to the shelf。 〃Dam…mit； I know they're here somewhere。〃
From his armchair Paul said； 〃What are you looking for？〃
His head tilted slightly to the right； Sam continued to read the titles on the bindings。 〃We've got a sociologist doing research in town。 I know I've got several of his articles in my collection； but I'll be damned if I can find them。〃
〃Sociologist？ What sort of research？〃
〃I don't know exactly。 He came into the store early this morning。 Had dozens of questions to ask。 Said he was a sociologist； e all the way up from Washington； and was making a study of Black River。 Said he'd rented a room at Pauline Vicker's place and would be here for three weeks or so。 According to him； Black River's pretty special。〃
〃In what way？〃
〃For one thing； it's a prosperous pany town in an age when pany towns have supposedly fallen into decay or vanished altogether。 And because we're geographically isolated； it'll be easier for him to analyze the effects of television on our social patterns。 Oh； he had at least half a dozen good reasons why we're ripe material for sociological research； but I don't think he got around to explaining his main thesis； whatever it
is he's trying to prove or disprove。〃 He took another book from the shelf； opened it to the table of contents； closed it almost at once； and put it back where he'd gotten it。
〃Do you know his name？〃
〃Introduced himself as Albert Deighton；〃 Sam said。 〃The name didn't ring a bell。 But the face did。 Meek…looking man。 Thin lips。 Receding hairline。 Glasses as thick as the lenses on a telescope。 Those glasses make his eyes look like they're popping right out of his head。 I know I've seen his picture several times in books or magazines； alongside articles he's written。〃 He sighed and turned away from the bookshelves for the first time since Paul came into the room。 With one hand he smoothed his white beard。 〃I can spend all evening up here picking through these books。 Right now you want me to take over the counter downstairs so you can escort my daughter to the elegant； inparable Ultman's Cafe for lunch。〃
Paul laughed。 〃Jenny tells me there's no more flu in town。 So the worst we can get at Ultman's is food poisoning。〃
〃What about the kids？〃
〃Mark's spending the afternoon with Bob Thorp's boy。 He's been invited to lunch； and he'll spend it mooning over Emma。〃
〃Still has a crush on her； does he？〃
〃He thinks he's in love； but he'd never admit it。〃
Sam's craggy face was softened by a smile。 〃And Rya？〃
〃Emma asked her to e along with Mark。 But if you don't mind looking after her； she'd rather stay here with you。〃
〃Mind？ Don't be ridiculous。〃
As he got up from the armchair； Paul said； 〃Why don't you put her to work after lunch？ She could e up here and pore through these books until she found Deighton's name on a table of contents。〃
〃What a dull bit of work for a peppy girl like her！〃
〃Rya wouldn't be bored；〃 Paul said。 〃It's right down her alley。 She likes working with books…and she'd enjoy doing you a favor。〃
Sam hesitated； then shrugged and said； 〃Maybe I'll ask her。 When I've read what Deighton's written； I'll know where his
interests lie； and I'll have a better idea of what he's up to now。 You know me…as curious as the day is long。 Once I've got a bee in my bonnet； I've just got to take it out and see whether it's a worker； drone； queen； or maybe even a wasp。〃
Ultman's Cafe stood on the southwest corner of the town square； shaded by a pair of enormous black oak trees。 The restaurant was eighty feet long； an aluminum and glass structure meant to look like an old…fashioned railroad passenger car。 It bad one narrow window row that ran around three sides； and tacked on the front was an entrance foyer that spoiled the railroad…car effect。
Inside； booths upholstered in blue plastic stood beside the windows。 The table at each booth held an ash tray； a cylindrical glass sugar dispenser； salt and pepper shakers； a napkin dispenser； and a selector for the jukebox。 An aisle separated the booths from the counter that ran the length of the restaurant。
Ogden Salsbury was in the corner booth at the north end of the cafe。 He was drinking a second cup of coffee and watching the other customers。
At 1：50 in the afternoon； most of the lunch…hour rush had passed。 Ultman's was nearly deserted。 In a booth near the door； an elderly couple was reading the weekly newspaper； eating roast beef and French fries； and quietly arguing politics。 The chief of police； Bob Thorp； was on a stool at the counter； finishing his lunch and joking with the gray…haired waitress named Bess。 At the far end of the room； Jenny Edison was in the other corner booth with a good…looking man in his late thirties； Salsbury didn't know him but assumed he worked at the mill or in the logging camp。
Of the five
