ib.thewaspfactory-第12部分

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ishers　now　and　again　and　which　they　of　course　send　back　by　return。　He　has　variously　claimed　that　from　farts　he　can　tell　not　only　what　people　have　eaten　or　drunk；　but　also　the　sort　of　person　they　are；　what　they　ought　to　eat；　whether　they　are　emotionally　unstable　or　upset；　whether　they　are　keeping　secrets；　laughing　at　you　behind　your　back　or　trying　to　ingratiate　themselves　with　you；　and　even　what　they　are　thinking　about　at　the　precise　moment　they　issue　the　fart　（this　largely　from　the　sound）。　All　total　nonsense。
　　
　　'H'm；'　I　said；　non…mittal　to　a　fault。
　　
　　'Oh；　I　can；'　he　said　as　I　finished　my　meal　and　leaned　back；　wiping　my　mouth　on　the　back　of　my　hand；　more　to　annoy　him　that　anything　else。　He　kept　nodding。　'I　know　when　you've　had　Heavy；　or　Lager。　And　I've　smelt　Guinness　off　you；　too。'
　　
　　'I　don't　drink　Guinness；'　I　lied；　secretly　impressed。　'I'm　afraid　of　getting　athlete's　throat。'
　　
　　This　witticism　was　lost　on　him　apparently；　for　without　a　pause　he　continued：　'It's　just　money　down　the　drain；　you　know。　Don't　expect　me　to　finance　your　alcoholism。'
　　
　　'Oh；　you're　being　silly；'　I　said；　and　stood　up。
　　
　　'I　know　what　I'm　talking　about。　I've　seen　better　men　than　you　think　they　could　handle　the　drink　and　end　up　in　the　gutter　with　a　bottle　of　the　fortified　wine。'　If　that　last　sally　was　intended　to　go　below　the　belt；　it　failed；　the　'better　men　than　you'　line　was　worked　out　long　ago。
　　
　　'Well；　it's　my　life；　isn't　it？'　I　said　and；　putting　my　plate　in　the　sink；　left　the　kitchen。　My　father　said　nothing。
　　
　　That　night　I　watched　television　and　did　some　paperwork；　amending　the　maps　to　include　the　newly　named　Black　Destroyer　Hill；　writing　a　brief　description　of　what　I'd　done　to　the　rabbits　and　logging　both　the　effects　of　the　bombs　that　I'd　used　and　the　manufacture　of　the　latest　batch。　I　determined　to　keep　the　Polaroid　with　the　War　Bag　in　future；　for　low…risk　punitive　expeditions　like　that　against　the　rabbits　it　would　more　than　repay　the　extra　weight　and　the　amount　of　time　consumed　using　it。　Of　course；　for　serious　devilry　the　War　Bag　has　to　go　by　itself；　and　a　camera　would　just　be　a　liability；　but　I　haven't　had　a　real　threat　for　a　couple　of　years；　since　the　time　some　big　boys　in　the　town　took　to　bullying　me　in　Porteneil　and　ambushing　me　on　the　path。
　　
　　I　thought　things　were　going　to　get　pretty　heavy　for　a　while；　but　they　never　did　escalate　the　way　I　thought　they　might。　I　threatened　them　with　my　knife　once；　after　they　stopped　me　on　my　bike　and　started　pushing　me　around　and　demanding　money。　They　backed　off　that　time；　but　a　few　days　later　they　tried　to　invade　the　island。　I　held　them　off　with　steelies　and　stones；　and　they　fired　back　with　air…guns；　and　for　a　while　it　was　quite　exciting；　but　then　Mrs　Clamp　came　with　the　weekly　messages　and　threatened　to　call　the　police；　and　after　calling　her　a　few　nasty　names　they　left。
　　
　　I　started　the　cache　system　then；　building　up　supplies　of　steelies；　stones；　bolts　and　lead　fishing…weights　buried　in　plastic　bags　and　boxes　at　strategic　points　around　the　island。　I　also　set　up　snares　and　trip…wires　linked　to　glass　bottles　in　the　grass　on　the　dunes　over　the　creek；　so　that　if　anybody　tried　to　sneak　up　they　would　either　catch　themselves　or　snag　the　wire；　pulling　the　bottle　out　of　its　hole　in　the　sand　and　down　on　to　a　stone。　I　sat　up　for　the　next　few　nights；　my　head　poking　out　of　the　back　skylight　of　the　loft；　my　ears　straining　for　the　tinkle　of　glass　breaking　or　muffled　curses；　or　the　more　usual　signal　of　the　birds　being　disturbed　and　taking　flight；　but　nothing　more　happened。　I　just　avoided　the　boys　in　the　town　for　a　while；　only　going　in　with　my　father　or　at　times　when　I　knew　they　would　be　in　school。
　　
　　The　cache　system　survives；　and　I've　even　added　a　couple　of　petrol　bombs　to　one　or　two　of　the　secret　stores；　where　a　likely　avenue　of　attack　es　in　over　terrain　the　bottles　would　smash　on；　but　the　trip…wires　I've　dismantled　and　left　in　the　shed。　My　Defence　Manual；　which　contains　things　like　maps　of　the　island　with　the　caches　marked；　likely　attack　routes；　a　summary　of　tactics；　a　list　of　weapons　I　have　or　might　make；　includes　within　this　last　category　quite　a　few　unpleasant　things　like　trip…wires　and　snares　set　a　body…length　away　from　a　concealed　broken　bottle　sticking　up　in　the　grass；　electrically　detonated　mines　made　from　pipe…bombs　and　small　nails；　all　buried　in　the　sand；　and　a　few　interesting；　if　unlikely；　secret　weapons；　like　frisbees　with　razors　embedded　in　the　edge。
　　
　　Not　that　I　want　to　kill　anybody　now；　but　it　is　all　for　defence　rather　than　offence；　and　it　does　make　me　feel　a　lot　more　secure。　Soon　I'll　have　enough　money　for　a　really　powerful　crossbow；　and　that　I'm　certainly　looking　forward　to；　it'll　help　make　up　for　the　fact　that　I've　never　been　able　to　persuade　my　father　to　buy　a　rifle　or　a　shotgun　that　I　could　use　sometimes。　I　have　my　catapults　and　slings　and　air…rifle；　and　they　could　all　be　lethal　in　the　right　circumstances；　but　they　just　don't　have　the　long…range　hitting　power　I　really　hanker　after。　The　pipebombs　are　the　same。　They　have　to　be　placed；　or　at　best　thrown；　at　the　target；　and　even　slinging　some　of　the　purpose…built　smaller　ones　is　inaccurate　and　slow。　I　can　imagine　some　unpleasant　things　happening　with　the　sling；　too；　the　sling…bombs　have　to　be　on　a　pretty　short　fuse　if　they're　to　detonate　soon　enough　after　they　land　not　to　be　throw…backable；　and　I've　had　a　couple　of　close　calls　already　when　they've　gone　off　just　after　they　left　the　sling。
　　
　　I've　experimented　with　guns；　of　course；　both　mere　projectile　weapons　and　mortars　which　would　lob　the　sling…bombs；　but　they　have　all　been　clumsy；　dangerous；　slow　and　rather　prone　to　blowing　up。
　　
　　A　shotgun　would　be　ideal；　though　I'd　settle　for　a　。22　rifle；　but　a　crossbow　will　just　have　to　do。　Perhaps　sometime　I'll　be　able　to　devise　a　way　round　my　official　non…existence　and　apply　for　a　gun　myself；　though　even　then；　all　things　considered；　I　might　not　be　granted　a　licence。　Oh；　to　be　in　America；　I　occasionally　think。
　　
　　I　was　logging　the　cache　petrol　bombs　which　hadn't　been　inspected　for　evaporation　recently　when　the　phone　went。　I　looked　at　my　watch；　surprised　at　the　lateness　of　the　hour：　nearly　eleven。　I　ran　downstairs　to　the　phone；　hearing　my　father　ing　to　the　door　of　his　room　as　I　passed　it。
　　
　　'Porteneil　531。'　Pips　sounded。
　　
　　'Fuck　it；　Frank；　I've　got　luna　maria　callouses　on　me　feet。　How　the　hell　are　ye；　me　young　bucko？'
　　
　　I　looked　at　the　handset；　then　up　at　my　father；　who　was　leaning　over　the　rail　from　the　floor　above；　tucking　his　pyjama　top　into　his　trousers。　I　spoke　into　the　phone：　'Hello　there；　Jamie；　what　are　you　doing　calling　me　this　late？'
　　
　　'Wha…？　Oh；　the　old　man's　there；　is　he？'　Eric　said。　'T…ell　him　he's　a　bag　of　effervescent　pus；　from　me。'
　　
　　'Jamie　sends　his　regards；'　I　called　up　to　my　father；　who　turned　without　a　word　and　went　back　to　his　room。　I　heard　the　door　close。　I　turned　back　to　the　phone。　'Eric；　where　are　you　this　time　？'
　　
　　'Ah；　shit；　I'm　not　telling　you。　Guess。'
　　
　　'Well；　I　don't　know。。。。　Glasgow？'
　　
　　'Ah　ha　ha　ha　ha　ha！'　Eric　cackled。　I　clenched　plastic。
　　
　　'How　are　you？　Are　you　all　right？'
　　
　　'I'm　fine。　How　are　you？'
　　
　　'Great。　Look；　how　are　you　eating？　Have　you　got　any　money？　Are　you　hitching　lifts　or　what？　They're　looking　for　you；　you　know；　but　there　hasn't　been　anything　on　the　news　yet。　You　haven't…'　I　stopped　before　I　said　something　he　might　take　exception　to。
　　
　　'I'm　doing　fine。　I　eat　dogs！　Heh　heh　heh！'
　　
　　I　groaned。　'Oh；　God；　you're　not　really；　are　you？'
　　
　　'What　else　can　I　eat？　It's　great；　Frankie　boy；　I'm　keeping　to　the　fields　and　the　woods　and　walking　a　lot　and　getting　lifts　and　when　I　get　near　a　town　I　look　for　a　good　fat　juicy　dog　and　I　make　friends　with　it　and　take　it　out　to　the　woods　and　then　I　kill　it　and　eat　it。　What　could　be　simpler？　I　do　love　the　outdoor　life。'
　　
　　'You　are　cooking　them；　aren't　you？'
　　
　　'Of　course　I'm　fucking　cooking　them；'　Eric　said　indignantly。　'What　do　you　think　I　am？'
　　
　　'Is　that　all　you're　eating？'
　　
　　'No。　I　steal　things。　Shoplift。　It's　so　easy。　I　steal　things　I　can't　eat；　just　for　the　hell　of　it。　Like　tampons　and　plastic　dustbin…liners　and　party…size　packets　of　crisps　and　one　hundred　cocktail　sticks　and　twelve　cake…candles　in　various　colours　and　photograph　frames　and　steering…wheel　covers　in　simulated　leather　and　towel…holders　and　fabric…softeners　and　double…action　air…fresheners　to　waft　away　those　lingering　kitchen　smells　and　cute　little　boxes　for　awkward　odds　and　ends　and　packs　of　cassettes　and　lockable　petrol…caps　and　recordcleaners　and　telephone　indexes　slimming　magazines　potholders　packs　of　name…labels　artificial　eyelashes　make…up　boxes　anti…smoking　mixture　toy　watches…'
　　
　　'Don't　you　like　crisps？'　I　broke　in　quickly。
　　
　　'Eh？'　He　sounded　confused。
　　
　　'You　mentioned　party…size　packets　of　crisps　as　being　something　you　couldn't　eat。'
　　
　　'For　Christ's　sake；　Frank；　could　you　eat　a　party…size　packet　of　crisps？'
　　
　　'And　how　are　you　keeping？'　I　said　quickly。　'I　mean；　you　must　be　sleeping　rough。　Aren't　you　catching