ib.thewaspfactory-第5部分

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nd　a　church。
　　
　　Bursting　a　good　big　dam；　or　even　just　letting　it　overflow；　is　almost　as　satisfying　as　planning　and　building　it　in　the　first　place。　I　used　little　shells　to　represent　the　people　in　the　town；　as　usual。　Also　as　usual；　none　of　the　shells　survived　the　flood　when　the　dam　burst；　they　all　sank；　which　meant　that　everybody　died。
　　
　　By　that　time　I　was　very　hungry；　my　arms　were　getting　sore　and　my　hands　were　red　with　gripping　the　spade　and　digging　into　the　sand　by　themselves。　I　watched　the　first　flood　of　water　race　down　to　the　sea；　muddy　and　littered；　then　turned　to　head　for　home。
　　
　　'Did　I　hear　you　talking　on　the　phone　last　night？'　my　father　said。
　　
　　I　shook　my　head。　'Nope。'
　　
　　We　were　finishing　our　lunch；　sitting　in　the　kitchen；　me　with　my　stew；　my　father　with　brown　rice　and　seaweed　salad。　He　had　his　Town　Gear　on；　brown　brogues；　brown　tweed　three…piece　suit；　and　on　the　table　sat　his　brown　cap。　I　checked　my　watch　and　saw　that　it　was　Thursday。　It　was　very　unusual　for　him　to　go　anywhere　on　a　Thursday；　whether　Porteneil　or　any　further　afield。　I　wasn't　going　to　ask　him　where　he　was　going　because　he'd　only　lie。　When　I　used　to　ask　him　where　he　was　going　he　would　tell　me　'To　Phucke'；　which　he　claimed　was　a　small　town　to　the　north　of　Inverness。　It　was　years　and　a　lot　of　funny　looks　in　the　town　before　I　learned　the　truth。
　　
　　'I'm　going　out　today；'　he　told　me　between　mouthfuls　of　rice　and　salad。　I　nodded；　and　he　continued：　'I'll　be　back　late。'　Perhaps　he　was　going　to　Porteneil　to　get　drunk　in　the　Rock　Hotel；　or　perhaps　he　was　off　to　Inverness；　where　he　often　goes　on　business　he　prefers　to　keep　mysterious；　but　I　suspected　that　it　was　really　something　to　do　with　Eric。
　　
　　'Right；'　I　said。
　　
　　'I'll　take　a　key；　so　you　can　lock　up　when　you　want　to。'　He　clattered　his　knife　and　fork　down　on　the　empty　plate　and　wiped　his　mouth　on　a　brown　napkin　made　from　recycled　paper。　'Just　don't　put　all　the　bolts　on；　all　right？'
　　
　　'Right。'
　　
　　'You'll　make　yourself　something　to　eat　this　evening；　h'm？'
　　
　　I　nodded　again；　not　looking　up　as　I　ate。
　　
　　'And　you'll　do　the　washing…up？'
　　
　　I　nodded　again。
　　
　　'I　don't　think　Diggs'll　e　round　again；　but；　if　he　does；　I　want　you　to　stay　out　of　his　way。'
　　
　　'Don't　worry；'　I　told　him；　and　sighed。
　　
　　'You'll　be　all　right；　then？'　he　said；　standing。
　　
　　'M'm…h'm；'　I　said；　cleaning　up　the　last　of　the　stew。
　　
　　'I'll　be　off；　then。'
　　
　　I　looked　up　in　time　to　see　him　place　his　cap　on　his　head　and　look　round　the　kitchen；　patting　his　pockets　as　he　did　so。　He　looked　at　me　again　and　nodded。
　　
　　I　said：　'Goodbye。'
　　
　　'Yes；'　he　said。　'Right　you　are。'
　　
　　'I'll　see　you　later。'
　　
　　'Yes。'　He　turned　round；　then　turned　back；　looked　once　more　round　the　room；　then　shook　his　head　quickly　and　went　to　the　door；　taking　his　stick　from　the　corner　by　the　washing　machine　on　his　way　out。　I　heard　the　outer　door　slam；　then　silence。　I　sighed。
　　
　　I　waited　a　minute　or　so　then　got　up；　leaving　my　almost　clean　plate；　and　went　through　the　house　to　the　lounge；　where　I　could　see　the　path　leading　away　through　the　dunes　towards　the　bridge。　My　father　was　walking　along　it；　head　bowed；　going　quickly　with　a　sort　of　anxious　swagger　as　he　swung　the　stick。　As　I　watched；　he　struck　out　with　it　at　some　wild　flowers　growing　by　the　path…side。
　　
　　I　ran　upstairs；　pausing　by　the　back　stairwell　window　to　watch　my　father　disappear　round　the　dune　before　the　bridge；　ran　up　the　stairs；　got　to　the　door　to　the　study　and　twisted　the　handle　briskly。　The　door　was　firm；　it　didn't　shift　a　millimetre。　One　day　he'd　forget；　I　was　sure；　but　not　today。
　　
　　
　　After　I　had　finished　my　meal　and　done　the　washing…up；　I　went　to　my　room；　checked　the　home…brew　and　got　my　air…rifle。　I　made　sure　I　had　sufficient　pellets　in　my　jacket　pockets；　then　headed　out　of　the　house　for　the　Rabbit　Grounds　on　the　mainland；　between　the　large　branch　of　the　creek　and　the　town　dump。
　　
　　I　don't　like　using　the　gun；　it's　almost　too　accurate　for　me。　The　catapult　is　an　Inside　thing；　requiring　that　you　and　it　are　one。　If　you're　feeling　bad；　you'll　miss；　or；　if　you　know　you're　doing　something　wrong；　you'll　miss；　too。　Unless　you　fire　a　gun　from　the　hip　it's　all　Outside；　you　point　and　aim　and　that's　it；　unless　the　sights　are　out　or　there's　a　really　high　wind。　Once　you've　cocked　the　gun　the　power's　all　there；　just　waiting　to　be　released　by　the　squeeze　of　a　finger。　A　catapult　lives　with　you　until　the　last　moment；　it　stays　tensed　in　your　hands；　breathing　with　you；　moving　with　you；　ready　to　leap；　ready　to　sing　and　jerk；　and　leaving　you　in　that　dramatic　pose；　arms　and　hands　outstretched　while　you　wait　for　the　dark　curve　of　the　ball　in　its　flight　to　find　its　target；　that　delicious　thud。
　　
　　But　going　after　rabbits；　especially　the　cunning　little　bastards　out　on　the　Grounds；　you　need　all　the　help　you　can　get。　One　shot　and　they're　scurrying　for　their　holes。　The　gun　is　loud　enough　to　frighten　them　just　as　much；　but；　calm；　surgical　thing　that　it　is；　it　improves　your　chance　of　a　first…time　kill。
　　
　　As　far　as　I　know；　none　of　my　ill…starred　relations　has　ever　died　by　the　gun。　They've　gone　a　lot　of　funny　ways；　the　Cauldhames　and　their　associates　by　marriage；　but　to　the　best　of　my　knowledge　a　gun　has　never　crossed　one　off。
　　
　　I　came　to　the　end　of　the　bridge；　where　technically　my　territory　stops；　and　stood　still　for　a　while；　thinking；　feeling；　listening　and　looking　and　smelling。　Everything　seemed　to　be　all　right。
　　
　　Quite　apart　from　the　ones　I　killed　（and　they　were　all　about　the　same　age　I　was　when　I　murdered　them）　I　can　think　of　at　least　three　of　our　family　who　went　to　whatever　they　imagined　their　Maker　was　like　in　unusual　ways。　Leviticus　Cauldhame；　my　father's　eldest　brother；　emigrated　to　South　Africa　and　bought　a　farm　there　in　I954。　Leviticus；　a　person　of　such　weapon…grade　stupidity　his　mental　faculties　would　probably　have　improved　with　the　onset　of　senile　dementia；　left　Scotland　because　the　Conservatives　had　failed　to　reverse　the　Socialist　reforms　of　the　previous　Labour　government：　railways　still　nationalised　；　working　class　breeding　like　flies　now　the　welfare　state　existed　to　prevent　the　natural　culling　by　disease；　state…owned　mines。。。　intolerable。　I　have　read　some　of　the　letters　he　wrote　to　my　father。　Leviticus　was　happy　with　the　country；　though　there　were　rather　a　lot　of　blacks　around。　He　referred　to　the　policy　of　separate　development　as　'apart…hate'　in　his　first　few　letters；　until　somebody　must　have　clued　him　in　on　the　correct　spelling。　Not　my　father；　I'm　sure。
　　
　　Leviticus　was　passing　police　headquarters　in　Johannesburg　one　day；　walking　along　the　pavement　after　a　shopping　expedition；　when　a　crazed；　homicidal　black　threw　himself；　unconscious；　from　the　top　storey　and　apparently　ripped　all　his　fingernails　out　on　the　way　down。　He　hit　and　fatally　injured　my　innocent　and　unfortunate　uncle　whose　muttered　last　words　in　hospital；　before　his　a　became　a　full　stop；　were：　'My　God；　the　buggers've　learned　to　fly。。。'
　　
　　A　faint　wisp　of　smoke　rose　ahead　of　me　from　the　town　dump。　I　wasn't　going　that　far　today；　but　I　could　hear　the　bulldozer　they　used　sometimes　to　spread　the　garbage　around　as　it　revved　and　pushed。
　　
　　I　hadn't　been　to　the　dump　for　a　while；　and　it　was　about　time　I　went　to　see　what　the　good　folk　of　Porteneil　had　thrown　out。　That　was　where　I　got　all　the　old　aerosols　for　the　last　War；　not　to　mention　several　important　parts　of　the　Wasp　Factory；　including　the　Face　itself。
　　
　　My　uncle　Athelwald　Trapley；　from　my　mother's　side　of　the　family；　emigrated　to　America　at　the　end　of　the　Second　World　War。　He　threw　in　a　good　job　with　an　insurance　pany　to　go　off　with　a　woman　and　ended　up；　broke　and　heartbroke；　in　a　cheap　caravan　site　outside　Fort　Worth；　where　he　decided　to　put　an　end　to　himself。
　　
　　He　turned　on　his　Calor…gas　stove　and　heater　but　didn't　light　them　and　sat　down　to　await　the　end。　Understandably　nervous；　and　no　doubt　a　little　distracted　and　distraught　both　with　his　loved　one's　untimely　departure　and　that　which　he　was　planning　for　himself；　he　resorted　without　a　thought　to　his　habitual　method　of　calming　himself　down；　and　lit　a　Marlboro。
　　
　　Out　of　the　blazing　wreck　he　leaped；　stumbling　around　on　fire　from　head　to　toe　and　screaming。　He　had　intended　a　painless　death；　not　being　burned　alive。　So　he　jumped　head　first　into　the　forty…gallon　oil…drum　full　of　rainwater　which　stood　at　the　rear　of　the　caravan。　Wedged　inside　that　drum　he　drowned；　his　little　legs　waggling　pathetically　as　he　gulped　and　squirmed　and　tried　to　get　his　arms　into　a　position　from　which　he　could　lever　himself　out。
　　
　　Twenty　metres　or　so　from　the　grass…packed　hill　which　looks　over　the　Rabbit　Grounds　I　switched　to　Silent　Running；　pacing　stealthily　through　the　long　weeds　and　reeds；　careful　not　to　let　anything　I　was　carrying　make　a　noise。　I　was　hoping　to　catch　some　of　the　little　pests　out　early　but；　if　I　had　to；　I　was　prepared　to　wait　until　the　sun　went　down。
　　
　　I　crawled　quietly　up　the　slope；　the　grass　sliding　under　my　chest　and　belly；　my　legs　straining　to　propel　my　bulk　up　and　forward。　I　was　down