pdouglas.thecodex-第43部分

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　As　he　smoked；　he　looked　at　the　ruins　of　a　pyramid　directly　in　front　of　him。　It　was　nothing　like　Chichén　Itzá　or　Copán；　but　as　Mayan　pyramids　went　it　was　impressive　enough。　Important　burials　were　often　found　in　pyramids。　Hauser　was　convinced　old　Max　had　reburied　himself　in　a　tomb　he　once　robbed。　If　so；　it　had　to　be　an　important　tomb；　to　hold　all　of　Max's　stuff。
　The　stairway　going　up　the　pyramid　had　been　heaved　apart　by　tree　roots；　which　had　levered　out　many　blocks　and　sent　them　tumbling　to　the　bottom。　At　the　top　was　the　small　room　held　up　by　four　square　pillars；　with　four　doors　and　a　shallow　stone　altar　where　the　Maya　sacrificed　their　victims。　Hauser　inhaled。　That　would　have　been　something　to　see；　the　priest　splitting　the　victim　at　the　breastbone；　wrenching　apart　the　rib　cage；　cutting　out　the　beating　heart　and　holding　it　up　with　a　shriek　of　triumph　while　the　body　was　tumbled　down　the　stairs；　to　be　hacked　up　by　waiting　nobles　and　made　into　corn　stew。
　What　barbarians。
　Hauser　smoked　with　pleasure。　The　White　City　was　fairly　impressive　even　covered　as　it　was　by　vegetation。　Max　had　hardly　scratched　the　surface。　There　was　a　great　deal　more　worth　taking　here。　Even　a　simple　block　with；　say；　a　jaguar　head　carved　on　it　could　fetch　a　hundred　grand。　He'd　have　to　be　careful　to　keep　the　location　secret。
　In　its　heyday　the　White　City　would　have　been　amazing…Hauser　could　almost　see　it　in　his　mind's　eye：　the　temples　new　and　gleaming　white；　the　ball　games　（where　the　losers　lost　their　heads）；　the　roaring　crowds　of　spectators；　the　processions　of　the　priests　decked　out　in　gold；　feathers；　and　jade。　And　what　had　happened？　Now　their　descendants　lived　in　bark　huts　and　their　head　priest　was　a　man　in　rags。　Funny　how　things　change。
　He　drew　in　another　lungful　of　smoke。　It　was　true　that　not　all　had　gone　according　to　plan。　No　matter。　Long　experience　had　taught　him　that　any　op　was　an　exercise　in　improvisation。　Those　who　thought　they　could　plan　an　op　and　execute　it　flawlessly　always　died　following　the　book。　That　was　his　great　strength：　improvisation。　Human　beings　were　inherently　unpredictable。
　Take　Philip。　In　that　first　meeting　he　had　seemed　all　show　in　his　expensive　suit；　with　his　affected　mannerisms　and　phony　upper…class　accent。　He　could　still　scarcely　believe　the　man　had　managed　to　escape。　He　would　probably　expire　in　the　jungle…he　was　already　on　his　last　legs　when　he　made　off…but　still；　Hauser　was　concerned。　And　impressed。　Perhaps　a　little　of　Max　had　rubbed　off　on　the　effete　little　bastard　after　all。　Max。　What　a　crazy　old　shit　he'd　turned　out　to　be。
　The　main　thing　was　to　keep　his　priorities　straight。　The　Codex；　first；　and　then　the　rest　of　the　stuff；　later。　And　then　third；　the　White　City　itself。　Over　the　past　few　years　Hauser　had　followed　with　interest　the　looting　of　Site　Q。　The　White　City　was　going　to　be　his　Site　Q。
　He　examined　the　end　of　his　cigar；　holding　it　up　so　the　curl　of　smoke　tickled　his　nostrils。　The　cigars　had　weathered　the　journey　through　the　rainforest　well…you　might　even　say　they'd　improved。
　The　teniente　came　out　and　saluted。　〃Ready；　sir。〃
　Hauser　followed　him　into　the　ruined　temple。　The　soldiers　were　fixing　up　the　outer　part；　raking　up　the　animal　crap；　burning　out　the　cobwebs；　sprinkling　water　to　keep　down　the　dust；　and　carpeting　the　ground　with　cut　ferns。　He　ducked　through　the　low　stone　doorway　into　the　inner　courtyard；　passed　by　the　tumbled　statues；　and　went　into　the　room　in　the　back。　The　wizened　old　Indian　was　chained　up　to　one　of　the　stone　pillars。　Hauser　shined　the　light　on　him。　He　was　an　old　bugger；　but　he　returned　the　gaze；　and　there　wasn't　even　a　trace　of　fear　on　his　face。　Hauser　didn't　like　that。　It　reminded　him　of　the　face　of　Ocotal。　These　damn　Indians　were　like　the　Viet　Cong。
　〃Thank　you；　Teniente；〃　he　said　to　the　soldier。
　〃Who　will　translate？　He　speaks　no　Spanish。〃
　〃I'll　make　myself　understood。〃
　The　teniente　withdrew。　Hauser　looked　at　the　Indian；　and　once　again　the　Indian　returned　the　look。　Not　defiant；　not　angry；　not　fearful…just　observing。
　Hauser　seated　himself　on　the　corner　of　the　stone　altar；　carefully　rubbed　the　ash　off　his　cigar；　which　had　gone　out；　and　relit　it。
　〃My　name's　Marcus；〃　he　said　with　a　smile。　He　could　already　feel　this　was　going　to　be　a　hard　case。　〃Here's　the　situation；　chief。　I　want　you　to　tell　me　where　you　and　your　people　buried　Maxwell　Broadbent。　If　you　do；　no　problem；　we'll　just　go　in　there；　take　what　we　want；　and　leave　you　in　peace。　If　you　don't；　bad　things　will　happen　to　you　and　your　people。　I'll　discover　the　location　of　the　tomb　and　rob　it　anyway。　So　which　way　do　you　want　to　go？〃
　He　looked　up　at　the　man；　puffing　vigorously　on　the　cigar；　getting　a　good　red　tip　going。　The　man　hadn't　understood　a　word。　No　matter。　He　was　no　fool：　He　knew　what　Hauser　wanted。
　〃Maxwell　Broadbent？〃　Hauser　repeated　slowly；　enunciating　every　syllable。　He　made　a　universal　gesture　indicating　a　question；　a　shrug　with　hands　turned　up。
　The　Indian　said　nothing。　Hauser　rose　and　walked　toward　the　old　man；　puffing　vigorously　on　the　cigar；　getting　a　good　long　glow　to　the　tip。　Then　he　stopped；　removed　the　cigar　from　his　mouth；　and　held　it　up　in　front　of　the　man's　face。　〃Care　for　a　cigar？〃
　
　44
　
　Philip's　story　was　over。　The　sun　had　set　long　ago；　and　the　fire　had　fallen　to　a　vermilion　heap　of　coals。　Tom　could　hardly　believe　what　his　brother　had　endured。
　Sally　spoke　first。　〃Hauser's　mitting　genocide　up　there。〃
　There　was　an　uneasy　silence。
　〃We've　got　to　do　something。〃
　〃Like　what？〃　Vernon　asked。　His　voice　sounded　tired。
　〃We　go　to　the　mountain　Indians；　offer　our　services。　In　partnership　with　them；　we　can　defeat　Hauser。〃
　Don　Alfonso　spread　his　hands。　〃Curandera；　they　will　kill　us　before　we　can　speak。〃
　〃I'll　go　into　the　village；　unarmed。　They　won't　kill　an　unarmed　woman。〃
　〃Yes　they　will。　And　what　can　we　do？　We　have　one　rifle　against　professional　soldiers　with　automatic　weapons。　We　are　weak。　We　are　hungry。　We　do　not　even　have　a　change　of　clothes　among　us…and　we　have　a　man　who　cannot　walk。〃
　〃So　what　are　you　suggesting？〃
　〃It　is　over。　We　must　go　back。〃
　〃You　said　we'd　never　get　across　the　swamp。〃
　〃Now　we　know　they　left　their　boats　at　the　Macaturi　Falls。　We　go　and　steal　them。〃
　〃And　then？〃　Sally　asked。
　〃I　go　back　to　Pito　Solo　and　you　go　home。〃
　〃And　just　leave　Hauser　up　here；　killing　everyone？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　Sally　was　furious。　〃I　don't　accept　that。　He's　got　to　be　stopped。　We'll　contact　the　government；　have　them　send　in　troops　to　arrest　him。〃
　Don　Alfonso　looked　very　tired。　〃Curandera；　the　government　will　do　nothing。〃
　〃How　do　you　know？〃
　〃This　man　has　already　made　arrangements　with　the　government。　We　can　do　nothing　except　accept　our　powerlessness。〃
　〃I　don't　accept　it！〃
　Don　Alfonso　gazed　at　her　with　old；　sad　eyes。　He　carefully　scraped　out　his　pipe；　knocked　the　crumbs　out；　filled　it；　and　relit　it　with　a　stick　from　the　fire。　〃Many　years　ago；〃　he　said；　〃when　I　was　a　boy；　I　remember　when　the　first　white　man　came　to　our　village。　He　was　a　small　man　with　a　big　hat　and　a　pointed　beard。　We　thought　he　might　be　a　ghost。　He　took　out　these　turdlike　yellow　lumps　of　metal　and　asked　if　we　had　seen　anything　like　it。　His　hands　were　shaking；　and　there　was　a　crazy　light　in　his　eyes。　We　were　frightened　and　said　no。　A　month　later　in　the　annual　flood　his　rotting　boat　floated　back　down　the　river；　and　there　was　nothing　in　it　but　his　skull　and　his　hair。　We　burned　the　boat　and　pretended　it　had　never　happened。
　〃The　next　year　a　man　in　a　black　dress　and　hat　came　up　the　river。　He　was　a　kind　man；　and　he　gave　us　food　and　crosses　and　dunked　us　all　in　the　river　and　said　he　had　saved　us。　He　stayed　with　us　for　a　few　months　and　got　a　woman　with　child；　and　then　he　tried　to　cross　the　swamp。　We　never　saw　him　again。
　〃After　that　came　more　of　the　men　looking　for　the　yellow　shit；　which　they　called　oro。　They　were　even　crazier　than　the　first；　and　they　molested　our　daughters　and　stole　our　boats　and　food　and　went　upriver。　One　came　back；　but　he　had　no　tongue；　so　we　never　knew　what　happened　to　him。　Then　came　new　men　with　crosses；　and　each　one　said　the　other　men's　crosses　were　not　the　good　kind；　that　theirs　was　the　only　good　one；　the　rest　were　junk。　They　dunked　us　in　the　river　again；　then　the　others　redunked　us　saying　the　first　ones　had　done　it　wrong；　then　others　came　and　dunked　us　again；　until　we　were　thoroughly　wet　and　confused。　Later；　a　white　man　came　all　by　himself；　lived　with　us；　learned　our　language；　and　told　us　that　all　the　men　with　crosses　were　deficients。　He　called　himself　an　anthropologist。　He　spent　a　year　prying　into　all　our　private　business；　asking　us　a　lot　of　stupid　questions　about　things　like　sex　and　who　was　related　to　who；　what　happened　to　us　after　we　died；　what　we　ate　and　drank；　how　we　made　war；　how　we　cooked　a　pig。　As　we　talked　he　wrote　it　all　down。　The　wicked　young　men　of　the　tribe；　of　which　I　was　one；　told　him　many　outrageous　falsehoods；　and　he　wrote　them　all　down　with　a　serious　face　and　said　he　was　going　to　put　them　into　a　book　that　everyone　in　America　would　read　and　that　would　make　us　famous。　We　thought　that　was　hilarious。
　〃Then　men　came　upriver　with　soldiers；　and　they　had　guns　and　papers；　and　we　all　signed　the　papers；　and　then　they　said　we　had　agreed　to　have　a　new　chief；