ib.thewaspfactory-第4部分

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　　I　got　up　and　went　back　down　to　the　kitchen　to　lock　up　and　get　my　gear；　then　I　went　to　the　bathroom。　I　decided　to　watch　the　television　in　my　room；　or　listen　to　the　radio；　and　get　to　sleep　early　so　I　could　be　up　just　after　dawn　to　catch　a　wasp　for　the　Factory。
　　
　　I　lay　on　my　bed　listening　to　John　Peel　on　the　radio　and　the　noise　of　the　wind　round　the　house　and　the　surf　on　the　beach。　Beneath　my　bed　my　home…brew　gave　off　a　yeasty　smell。
　　
　　I　thought　again　of　the　Sacrifice　Poles；　more　deliberately　this　time；　picturing　each　one　in　turn；　remembering　their　positions　and　their　ponents；　seeing　in　my　mind　what　those　sightless　eyes　looked　out　to；　and　flicking　through　each　view　like　a　security　guard　changing　cameras　on　a　monitor　screen。　I　felt　nothing　amiss；　all　seemed　well。　My　dead　sentries；　those　extensions　of　me　which　came　under　my　power　through　the　simple　but　ultimate　surrender　of　death；　sensed　nothing　to　harm　me　or　the　island。
　　
　　I　opened　my　eyes　and　put　the　bedside　light　back　on。　I　looked　at　myself　in　the　mirror　on　the　dressing…table　over　on　the　other　side　of　the　room。　I　was　lying　on　top　of　the　bed…covers；　naked　apart　from　my　underpants。
　　
　　I'm　too　fat。　It　isn't　that　bad；　and　it　isn't　my　fault…but；　all　the　same；　I　don't　look　the　way　I'd　like　to　look。　Chubby；　that's　me。　Strong　and　fit；　but　still　too　plump。　I　want　to　look　dark　and　menacing；　the　way　I　ought　to　look；　the　way　I　should　look；　the　way　I　might　have　looked　if　I　hadn't　had　my　little　accident。　Looking　at　me；　you'd　never　guess　I'd　killed　three　people。　It　isn't　fair。
　　
　　I　switched　the　light　out　again。　The　room　was　totally　dark；　not　even　the　starlight　showing　while　my　eyes　adjusted。　Perhaps　I　would　ask　for　one　of　those　LED　alarm　radios；　though　I'm　very　fond　of　my　old　brass　alarm　clock。　Once　I　tied　a　wasp　to　the　striking…surface　of　each　of　the　copper…coloured　bells　on　the　top；　where　the　little　hammer　would　hit　them　in　the　morning　when　the　alarm　went　off。
　　
　　I　always　wake　up　before　the　alarm　goes；　so　I　got　to　watch。
　　
　　　
　　　2：　The　Snake　Park
　　
　　
　　I　TOOK　the　little　cinder　that　was　the　remains　of　the　wasp　and　put　it　into　a　matchbox；　wrapped　in　an　old　photograph　of　Eric　with　my　father。　In　the　picture　my　father　was　holding　a　portrait…sized　photograph　of　his　first　wife；　Eric's　mother；　and　she　was　the　only　one　who　was　smiling。　My　father　was　staring　at　the　camera　looking　morose。　The　young　Eric　was　looking　away　and　picking　his　nose；　looking　bored。
　　
　　The　morning　was　fresh　and　cold。　I　could　see　mist　over　the　forests　below　the　mountains；　and　fog　out　over　the　North　Sea。　I　ran　hard　and　fast　along　the　wet　sand　where　it　was　good　and　firm；　making　a　jet　noise　with　my　mouth　and　holding　my　binoculars　and　bag　down　tight　to　my　sides。　When　I　got　level　with　the　Bunker　I　banked　inland；　slowing　as　I　hit　the　soft　white　sand　further　up　the　beach。　I　checked　the　flotsam　and　jetsam　as　I　swept　over　it；　but　there　was　nothing　interesting…looking；　nothing　worth　salvaging；　just　an　old　jellyfish；　a　purple　mass　with　four　pale　rings　inside。　I　altered　course　slightly　to　overfly　it；　going　'Trrrrrfffaow！　Trrrrrrrrrrrrrfffaow！'　and　kicking　it　on　the　run；　blasting　a　dirty　fountain　of　sand　and　jelly　up　and　around　me。　'Puchrrt！'　went　the　noise　of　the　explosion。　I　banked　again　and　headed　for　the　Bunker。
　　
　　The　Poles　were　in　good　repair。　I　didn't　need　the　bag　of　heads　and　bodies。　I　visited　them　all；　working　through　the　morning；　planting　the　dead　wasp　in　its　paper　coffin　not　between　two　of　the　more　important　Poles；　as　I　had　intended　originally；　but　under　the　path；　just　on　the　island　side　of　the　bridge。　While　I　was　there　I　climbed　up　the　suspension　cables　to　the　top　of　the　mainland　tower　and　looked　around。　I　could　see　the　top　of　the　house　and　one　of　the　skylights　over　the　loft。　I　could　also　see　the　spire　of　the　Church　of　Scotland　in　Porteneil；　and　some　smoke　ing　up　from　the　town　chimneys。　I　took　the　small　knife　from　my　left　breast　pocket　and　nicked　my　left　thumb　carefully。　I　smeared　the　red　stuff　over　the　top　of　the　main　beam　which　crosses　from　one　I…girder　to　the　other　on　the　tower；　then　wiped　my　small　wound　with　an　antiseptic　tissue　from　one　of　my　bags。　I　scrambled　back　down　after　that　and　retrieved　the　ball…bearing　I　had　hit　the　sign　with　the　day　before。
　　
　　The　first　Mrs　Cauldhame；　Mary；　who　was　Eric's　mother；　died　in　childbirth　in　the　house。　Eric's　head　was　too　big　for　her；　she　haemorrhaged　and　bled　to　death　on　the　marital　bed　back　in　I960。　Eric　has　suffered　from　quite　severe　migraine　all　his　life；　and　I　am　very　much　inclined　to　attribute　the　ailment　to　his　manner　of　entry　into　the　world。　The　whole　thing　about　his　　migraine　and　his　dead　mother　had；　I　think；　a　lot　to　do　with　What　Happened　To　Eric。　Poor　unlucky　soul；　he　was　just　in　the　wrong　place　at　the　wrong　time；　and　something　very　unlikely　happened　which　by　sheer　chance　mattered　more　to　him　than　anybody　else　it　could　have　happened　to。　But　that's　what　you　risk　when　you　leave　here。
　　
　　Thinking　about　it；　that　means　that　Eric　has　killed　somebody；　too。　I　had　thought　that　I　was　the　only　murderer　in　the　family；　but　old　Eric　beat　me　to　it；　killing　his　mum　before　he　had　even　drawn　breath。　Unintentional；　admittedly；　but　it　isn't　always　the　thought　that　counts。
　　
　　The　Factory　said　something　about　fire。
　　
　　I　was　still　thinking　about　that；　wondering　what　it　really　meant。　The　obvious　interpretation　was　that　Eric　was　going　to　set　fire　to　some　dogs；　but　I　was　too　wise　in　the　ways　of　the　Factory　to　treat　that　as　definite；　I　suspected　there　was　more　to　it。
　　
　　
　　
　　In　a　way；　I　was　sorry　Eric　was　ing　back。　I　had　been　thinking　of　having　a　War　shortly；　maybe　in　the　next　week　or　so；　but　with　Eric　probably　going　to　make　an　appearance　I　had　decided　against　it。　I　hadn't　had　a　good　War　for　months；　the　last　one　had　been　the　Ordinary　Soldiers　versus　the　Aerosols。　In　that　scenario；　all　the　72nd…scale　armies；　plete　with　their　tanks　and　guns　and　trucks　and　stores　and　helicopters　and　boats；　had　to　unite　against　the　Aerosol　Invasion。　The　Aerosols　were　almost　impossible　to　stop；　and　the　soldiers　and　their　weapons　and　equipment　were　getting　burned　and　melted　all　over　the　place　until　one　brave　soldier　who　had　clung　on　to　one　of　the　Aerosols　as　it　flew　back　to　its　base　came　back　（after　many　adventures）　with　the　news　that　their　base　was　a　breadboard　moored　under　an　overhang　on　an　inland　creek。　A　bined　force　of　mandos　got　there　just　in　time　and　blew　the　base　to　smithereens；　finally　blowing　up　the　overhang　on　top　of　the　smoking　remains。　A　good　War；　with　all　the　right　ingredients　and　a　more　spectacular　ending　than　most　（I　even　had　my　father　asking　me　what　all　the　explosions　and　the　fire　had　been　about；　when　I　got　back　to　the　house　that　evening）；　but　too　long　ago。
　　
　　Anyway；　with　Eric　on　his　way；　I　didn't　think　it　would　be　a　good　idea　to　start　another　War　only　to　have　to　abandon　it　in　the　middle　of　things　and　start　dealing　with　the　real　world。　I　decided　I　would　postpone　hostilities　for　a　while。　Instead；　after　I　had　anointed　a　few　of　the　more　important　Poles　with　precious　substances；　I　built　a　dam　system。
　　
　　When　I　was　younger　I　used　to　have　fantasies　about　saving　the　house　by　building　a　dam。　There　would　be　a　fire　in　the　grass　on　the　dunes；　or　a　plane　would　have　crashed；　and　all　that　stopped　the　cordite　in　the　cellar　from　going　up　would　be　me　diverting　some　of　the　water　from　a　dam　system　down　a　channel　and　into　the　house。　At　one　time　my　major　ambition　was　to　have　my　father　buy　me　an　excavator　so　that　I　could　make　really　big　dams。　But　I　have　a　far　more　sophisticated；　even　metaphysical；　approach　to　dam…building　now。　I　realise　that　you　can　never　really　win　against　the　water；　it　will　always　triumph　in　the　end；　seeping　and　soaking　and　building　up　and　undermining　and　overflowing。　All　you　can　really　do　is　construct　something　that　will　divert　it　or　block　its　way　for　a　while；　persuade　it　to　do　something　it　doesn't　really　want　to　do。　The　pleasure　es　from　the　elegance　of　the　promise　you　strike　between　where　the　water　wants　to　go　（guided　by　gravity　and　the　medium　it's　moving　over）　and　what　you　want　to　do　with　it。
　　
　　Actually；　I　think　that　life　has　few　pleasures　to　pare　with　dam…building。　Give　me　a　good　broad　beach　with　a　reasonable　slope　and　not　too　much　seaweed；　and　a　fair…sized　stream；　and　I'll　be　happy　all　day；　any　day。
　　
　　By　that　time　the　sun　was　well　up；　and　I　took　off　my　jacket　to　lay　it　with　my　bags　and　binoculars。　Stoutstroke　dipped　and　bit　and　sliced　and　dug；　building　a　huge　triple…deck　dam；　the　main　section　of　which　backed　up　the　water　in　the　North　Burn　for　eighty　paces；　not　far　off　the　record　for　the　position　I　had　chosen。　I　used　my　usual　metal　overflow　piece；　which　I　keep　hidden　in　the　dunes　near　the　best　dam…building　site；　and　the　piece　de　resistance　was　an　aqueduct　bottomed　with　an　old　black　plastic　rubbish…bag　I'd　found　in　the　driftwood。　The　aqueduct　carried　the　overflow　stream　over　three　sections　of　a　by…pass　channel　I'd　cut　from　further　up　the　dam。　I　built　a　little　village　downstream　from　the　dam；　plete　with　roads　and　a　bridge　over　the　remnant　of　the　burn；　and　a　church。
　　
　　Bursting　a　good　big　dam；　or　even　just　letting　it　overflow；　is　almost　as　sati