alistairmaclean.nightwithoutend-第31部分

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the　ignition　and　pressed　the　horn…the　faint　mournful　beep　could　hardly　have　been　heard　twenty　yards　away。　The　batteries　were　so　gummed　up　by　the　cold　that　they　couldn't　even　have　turned　over　a　hot　engine；　far　less　one　in　which　the　crankcase；　transmission　and　differential　were　all　but　locked　solid　in　lubricating　oil　that　had　lost　all　power　to　lubricate　anything　and　had　been　turned　into　a　super　viscous　liquid　with　the　consistency　and　intractability　of　some　heavy　animal　glue。　Even　with　two　of　us　bringing　all　our　weight　to　bear　on　the　starting　handle　it　was　impossible　to　turn　even　one　cylinder　over　the　top。
　
　We　made　to　light　the　paraffin　blow…torches　but　they；　too；　were　frozen　solid：　paraffin　freezes　at　just　over　…50°；　and　even　at　…40°　it　still　flows　like　heavy　gear…case　oil。　We　had　to　thaw　them　out　with　a　petrol　blow…torch；　then　place　all　five　of　them　on　wooden　boxes　and　behind　canvas　aprons　to　retain　the　heat；　two　to　thaw　out　the　crankcase；　two　for　the　gear…box　and　transmission　and　the　last　for　the　differential。　After　an　hour　or　so；　when　the　engine　had　begun　to　turn　fairly　easily　and　we　had　brought　out　the　heavy　battery　which　had　been　thawing　out　by　the　stove；　we　tried　again。　But　it　gave　no　sign　of　life　at　all。
　
　None　of　us；　not　even　Corazzini　whose　Global　tractors　were　all　diesel…powered；　was　an　expert　in　engine　maintenance；　and　this　was　when　we　came　very　close　to　despair。　But　despair　was　the　one　emotion　we　couldn't　afford；　and　we　knew　it。　We　kept　the　blow…torches　burning；　returned　the　battery　to　the　stove；　removed　and　cleaned　the　plugs；　eased　the　frozen　brushes　in　the　generator；　stripped　and　removed　the　petrol　lines；　thawed　them　and　sucked　out　the　frozen　condensation　by　mouth；　scraped　away　the　ice　from　the　carburettor　intake　and　returned　everything　in　place。　We　had　to　remove　our　gloves　for　most　of　this　delicate　work；　the　flesh　stuck　to　metal　and　pulled　off　like　the　skin　of　an　orange　when　we　removed　our　hands；　even　the　backs　of　our　fingers　became　burnt　and　blistered　from　casual　knocks　on　metal；　blood　oozed　out　from　under　our　fingernails　only　to　coagulate　in　the　freezing　air；　and　our　lips；　where　they　had　touched　the　copper　petrol　feeds；　were　swollen　and　puffed　and　blistered。　It　was　brutal；　killing　work；　and　in　addition　to　the　work　our　arms　and　legs　and　faces　were　almost　constantly　frozen；　despite　frequent　visits　to　the　stove　to　thaw　ourselves　out。　It　was　murderous…but　it　was　worth　it。　At　six…fifteen；　two　and　a　quarter　hours　after　we　had　begun；　the　big　engine　coughed　and　spluttered　into　life；　missed；　coughed　again；　caught　and　settled　down　into　a　steady　even　roar。　I　felt　my　split　lips　cracking　into　a　painful　grin　under　my　mask；　thumped　Jackstraw　and　Corazzini…for　the　moment　quite　forgetting　that　the　latter　might　be　one　of　the　killers…on　the　back；　turned　and　went　in　for　breakfast。
　
　Or　what　passed　for　breakfast。　It　was　little　enough；　heaven　knew…coffee；　crackers　and　the　contents　of　a　couple　of　corned　beef　tins　shared　among　the　twelve　of　us；　the　lion's　share　going　to　Theodore　Mahler。　That　left　us　with　only　four　more　tins　of　beef；　four　cans　of　vegetables；　about　ten　pounds　of　dried　fruit；　a　little　frozen　fish；　a　small　tin　of　biscuits；　three　packets　of　cereal　and…it　was　the　only　thing　apart　from　coffee　of　which　we　had　an　adequate　supply…over　twenty　tins　of　Nestle's　unsweetened　milk。　We　had；　of　course；　seal　meat　for　the　dogs…Jackstraw　thawed　some　out　for　them　over　the　stove　while　we　had　breakfast…and　the　fried　meat　of　young　seal　is　palatable　to　a　degree。　But　the　dogs　had　first　claim　on　that。　It　was　more　important　to　preserve　their　strength　than　our　own：　should　the　engine　of　the　Citroen　break　down　pletely；　our　last　hope　lay　with　the　dogs。
　
　Breakfast　over　and　the　dogs　fed；　we　started　off　just　before　moonset；　Corazzini　driving；　with　the　long　trailing　plume　of　our　exhaust　vapour；　milk…white　but　thick　as　smoke　in　that　bitter　air；　stretching　out　far　behind　us；　bar…straight；　almost　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see　in　the　waning　light　of　the　moon。　I　had　arranged　that　the　drivers　should　change　over　every　fifteen　minutes…as　long　a　period　as　any　person　could　stand　in　that　unheated　and　largely　unprotected　cabin。　I　had　heard　of　a　case　in　the　Antarctic　where　a　driver　had　sat　so　long　in　an　exposed　tractor　that　his　numbed　and　frozen　fingers　had　locked　so　immovably　that　the　steering…wheel　had　had　to　be　unbolted　and　brought　inside　still　clutched　in　the　driver's　grasp　before　the　hands　could　be　thawed　sufficiently　to　release　the　wheel：　I　didn't　want　anything　of　that　kind　happening　to　us。
　
　As　soon　as　we　were　under　way　I　had　a　look　at　Mahler；　and　his　appearance　certainly　did　nothing　to　inspire　any　great　confidence　in　his　chances。　Even　although　he　was　fully　dressed；　lying　in　an　eiderdown　sleeping…bag　that　was　zipped　all　the　way　to　his　chin；　and　covered　in　blankets；　his　pinched　face　was　a　mottled　blue…white　and　he　was　shaking　continuously　with　the　cold；　a　handkerchief　between　his　teeth　to　prevent　their　chattering。　I　reached　for　his　wrist。　The　pulse　was　very　fast；　though　it　seemed　strong　enough：　but　I　couldn't　be　sure；　so　much　skin　had　been　sloughed　or　burnt　off　in　the　past　two　or　three　hours　that　I'd　lost　all　sensitivity　in　my　fingertips。　I　gave　him　what　I　hoped　was　an　encouraging　smile。
　
　〃Well；　how　do　you　feel；　Mr　Mahler？〃
　
　〃No　worse　than　anyone　else；　I'm　sure；　Dr　Mason。〃
　
　〃That　could　still　be　bad　enough。　Hungry？〃
　
　〃Hungry！〃　he　exclaimed。　〃Thanks　to　the　generosity　of　these　good　people　here；　I　couldn't　eat　another　crumb。〃
　
　It　was　typical　of　what　I　had　e　to　expect　of　this　gentle　Jew　in　the　past　few　hours。　Despite　the　relatively　generous　amount　of　food　he'd　had　for　his　breakfast；　he'd　wolfed　it　all　down　like　a　famished　man。　He　was　hungry；　all　right：　his　body；　lacking　the　insulin　to　break　down　the　mounting　sugar　in　his　blood；　was　crying　out　for　nourishment　yet　unable　to　find　it　no　matter　what　his　food　intake　was。
　
　〃Thirsty？〃
　
　He　nodded。　Perhaps　he　thought　he　was　on　safe　ground　there；　but　it　was　another　and　invariable　symptom；　of　the　developing　acuteness　of　his　trouble。　I　was　pretty　certain；　too；　that　he　had　already　begun　to　weaken；　and　I　knew　it　wouldn't　be　long　before　he　began　to　lose　weight　rapidly。　Indeed；　he　already　looked　thinner；　the　cheekbones　were　more　prominent；　than　even　thirty…six　hours　ago。　But　then　that　was　true　of　all　the　others　also；　especially　Marie　LeGarde：　for　all　her　unplaining　courage；　her　determined　cheerfulness；　she　now　looked　more　than　old：　she　looked　sick；　and　very　tired。　But　there　was　nothing　I　could　do　for　her。
　
　〃Your　feet？〃　I　asked　Mahler。　〃How　are　they？〃
　
　〃I　don't　think　they're　there　any　longer；〃　he　smiled。
　
　〃Let　me　see　them；〃　I　asked　sharply。　He　protested；　but　I　overruled　him。　One　look　at　that　dead…white　ice…cold　flesh　was　enough。
　
　〃Miss　Ross；〃　I　said。　〃From　now　on　you　are　Mr　Mahler's　personal　Gunga　Din。　We　have　a　couple　of　rubber　bags　in　the　sled。　I　want　you　to　keep　these　alternately　filled　just　as　soon　as　you　can　get　water　heated…unfortunately；　it　takes　a　long　time　to　melt　that　damned　snow。　They're　for　Mr　Mahler's　feet。〃　Again　Mahler　protested；　objecting　to　what　he　called　'This　babying'；　but　I　ignored　him。　I　didn't　want　to　tell　him；　not　yet；　that　frostbite　in　the　feet　of　an　untreated　diabetic　could　mean　only　one　thing：　gangrene　and　amputation；　at　the　least。　Slowly　I　looked　round　the　occupants　of　the　tractor　cabin　and　I　think　that　had　I　known　for　certain　who　the　person　responsible　for　all　this　was；　I　would　have　killed　him　without　punction。
　
　Just　then　Corazzini　came　in。　After　only　fifteen　minutes　at　the　wheel　of　the　tractor　he　had　just　yielded　to　Jackstraw　he　was　in　a　pretty　bad　way。　The　bluish…white　bloodless　face　was　mottled　with　yellow　frostbite　blisters；　his　lips　were　cracked；　the　fingernails　were　beginning　to　discolour　and　his　hands　were　in　a　shocking　mess。　True；　Jackstraw；　Zagero　and　I　were　little　better；　but　Corazzini　was　the　only　one　who　had　driven　in　that　intense　cold：　he　was　shaking　like　a　man　with　malarial　fever；　and　from　the　way　he　stumbled　up　the　steps　I　could　see　that　his　legs　were　gone。　I　helped　him　to　a　vacant　seat　by　the　stove。
　
　〃Feel　anything　below　the　knees？〃　I　asked　quickly。
　
　〃Not　a　damned　thing。〃　He　tried　to　smile；　but　the　effort　was　too　painful；　the　blood　started　to　well　again　from　the　open　cuts　on　his　lips。　〃It's　pretty　vicious　out　there；　Doc。　Better　rub　the　old　feet　with　some　snow；　huh？〃　He　stooped　and　rumbled　uselessly　at　laces　with　his　numbed　and　bleeding　fingers；　but　before　he　could　move　Margaret　Ross　was　on　her　knees；　easing　off　his　boots　with　gentle　fingers。　Looking　down　at　that　slight　figure　lost　beneath　the　bulky　layers　of　clothing；　I　wondered　for　the　hundredth　time　how　I　could　ever　have　been　crazy　enough　to　believe　about　her　all　the　things　I　had　done。
　
　〃In　your　own　idiom；　Mr　Corazzini；〃　I　said；　〃snow　is　strictly　for　the　birds。　Just　an　old　wives'　tale　as　far　as　these　temperatures　are　concerned。　You'd　be　better　rubbing　your　skin　off　with　emery…paper。〃　At　70°　below；　snow　had　the　hard　crystalline　structure　of　sandstone；　and；　when　rubbed；　granulated　into　a　gritty　white　powdery　sand。　I　nodded　to　one　of　the　snow…buckets　on　the　stove。　〃When　the　temperature　there　reaches　85°；　stick　your　feet　in　it。　Wait　till