pdouglas.thecodex-第5部分

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　〃It　was　some　kind　of　drop…shipping　place；　like　Mail　Boxes　Etc。；〃　said　Tom。
　Barnaby　thought　for　a　moment。　〃I　have　to　tell　you；〃　he　said；　〃that　this　so…called　robbery　has　insurance　fraud　written　all　over　it。〃
　〃I　already　explained　to　you　the　collection　wasn't　insured；〃　said　Philip。
　〃You　explained　it；　but　I　don't　believe　it。〃
　〃I　know　the　art　insurance　market；　Lieutenant…I'm　an　art　historian。　This　collection　was　worth　about　half　a　billion　dollars；　and　it　was　just　sitting　in　a　house　in　the　country　protected　by　an　off…the…shelf　security　system。　Father　didn't　even　have　a　dog。　I'm　telling　you；　the　collection　wasn't　insurable。〃
　Barnaby　looked　at　Philip　for　a　long　time；　and　then　he　looked　at　the　other　two　brothers。
　Philip　let　out　a　hiss　of　air　and　looked　at　his　watch。　〃Lieutenant；　don't　you　think　this　case　is　a　little　big　for　the　Santa　Fe　Police　Department？〃
　If　it　wasn't　insurance　fraud；　then　what　was　it？　This　was　no　damn　robbery。　A　crazy　idea　began　to　form；　still　vague。　A　truly　nutty　idea。　But　it　was　starting　to　take　shape　almost　against　his　will；　assembling　itself　into　something　like　a　theory。　He　glanced　at　Fenton。　Fenton　didn't　see　it。　For　all　his　gifts；　Fenton　lacked　a　sense　of　humor。
　Barnaby　then　remembered　the　big…screen　television；　the　VCR；　and　the　videotape　lying　on　the　floor。　No；　not　lying：　placed　on　the　floor；　next　to　the　remote。　What　was　the　hand…lettered　title？　WATCH　ME。
　That　was　it。　Like　water　freezing；　it　all　locked　into　place。　He　knew　exactly　what　had　happened。　Barnaby　cleared　his　throat。　〃e　with　me。　The　three　sons　followed　him　back　into　the　house；　into　the　living　room。
　〃Have　a　seat。〃
　〃What's　this　all　about？〃　Philip　was　getting　agitated。　Even　Fenton　was　looking　at　Barnaby　quizzically。
　Barnaby　picked　up　the　tape　and　the　remote。　〃We're　going　to　watch　a　video。〃　He　flicked　on　the　television　set　and　slid　the　tape　into　the　VCR。
　〃Is　this　some　kind　of　joke？〃　Philip　asked；　refusing　to　sit；　his　face　flushed。　The　other　two　stood　nearby；　confused。
　〃You're　blocking　the　screen；〃　said　Barnaby；　settling　himself　on　the　sofa。　〃Have　a　seat。〃
　〃This　is　outrageous…〃
　A　sudden　burst　of　sound　from　the　video　silenced　Philip；　and　then　the　face　of　Maxwell　Broadbent；　larger　than　life；　materialized　on　the　screen。　All　three　sat　down。
　His　voice；　deep　and　booming；　reverberated　in　the　empty　room。
　〃Greetings　from　the　dead。〃
　
　4
　
　Tom　Broadbent　stared　at　the　life…size　image　of　his　father　slowly　ing　into　focus　on　the　screen。　The　camera　gradually　panned　back；　revealing　Maxwell　Broadbent　seated　at　the　giant　desk　in　his　study；　holding　a　few　sheets　of　paper　in　his　large　hands。　The　room　had　not　yet　been　stripped；　the　Lippi　painting　of　the　Madonna　was　still　on　the　wall　behind　him；　the　bookshelves　were　still　filled　with　books；　and　the　other　paintings　and　statues　were　all　in　their　places。　Tom　shivered：　Even　his　father's　electronic　image　intimidated　him。
　After　the　greeting　his　father　paused；　cleared　his　throat；　and　focused　his　intense　blue　eyes　on　the　camera。　The　sheets　shook　slightly　in　his　hands。　He　seemed　to　be　laboring　under　a　strong　emotion。
　Maxwell　Broadbent's　eyes　dropped　back　to　the　papers；　and　he　began　to　read：
　
　Dear　Philip；　Vernon；　and　Tom；
　The　long　and　short　of　it　is　this：　I've　taken　my　wealth　with　me　to　the　grave。　I've　sealed　myself　and　my　collection　in　a　tomb。　This　tomb　is　hidden　somewhere　in　the　world；　in　a　place　that　only　I　know　of。
　
　He　paused；　cleared　his　throat　again；　looked　up　briefly　with　a　flash　of　blue；　looked　down；　and　continued　reading。　His　voice　took　on　that　slightly　pedantic　tone　that　Tom　remembered　so　well　from　the　dinner　table。
　
　For　more　than　a　hundred　thousand　years；　human　beings　have　buried　themselves　with　their　most　valuable　possessions。　Burying　the　dead　with　treasure　has　a　venerable　history；　starting　with　the　Neanderthals　and　running　through　the　ancient　Egyptians　and　on　down　almost　to　the　present　day。　People　buried　themselves　with　their　gold；　silver；　art；　books；　medicine；　furniture；　food；　slaves；　horses；　and　sometimes　even　their　concubines　and　wives…anything　they　thought　might　he　useful　in　the　afterlife。　It's　only　in　the　last　century　or　two　that　human　beings　stopped　interring　their　remains　with　grave　goods；　thus　breaking　a　long　tradition。
　It　is　a　tradition　I　am　glad　to　revive。
　The　fact　is；　almost　everything　we　know　of　the　past　es　to　us　through　grave　goods。　Some　have　called　me　a　tomb　robber。　Not　so。　I'm　not　a　robber；　I'm　a　recycler。　I　made　my　fortune　on　the　wealth　that　foolish　people　thought　they　were　taking　with　them　to　the　afterworld。　I've　decided　to　do　just　what　they　did　and　bury　myself　with　all　my　worldly　goods。　The　only　difference　between　me　and　them　is　that　I'm　no　fool。　I　know　there's　no　afterworld　where　I　can　enjoy　my　wealth。　Unlike　them；　I　die　with　no　illusions。　When　you're　dead　you're　dead。　When　you　die　you're　just　a　duffel　bag　of　rotting　meat；　grease；　brains；　and　bones…nothing　more。
　I'm　taking　my　wealth　to　the　grave　for　another　reason　entirely。　A　very　important　reason。　A　reason　that　concerns　the　three　of　you。
　
　He　paused；　looked　up。　His　hands　were　still　shaking　slightly；　and　the　muscles　in　his　jaw　were　flexing。
　〃Jesus　Christ；〃　Philip　whispered；　half　rising　from　his　seat；　his　hands　clenched。　〃I　don't　believe　this。〃
　Maxwell　Broadbent　raised　the　papers　to　read　some　more；　stumbled　over　the　words；　hesitated；　and　then　abruptly　stood　and　tossed　the　papers　onto　the　desk。　Screw　this；　he　said；　shoving　back　the　chair　with　a　violent　motion。　What　I've　got　to　say　to　you　is　too　important　for　a　damn　speech。　He　came　around　the　desk　with　several　great　strides；　his　enormous　presence　filling　the　screen　and；　by　extension；　the　room　where　they　were　sitting。　He　paced　in　front　of　the　camera；　agitated；　stroking　his　close…cropped　beard。
　This　isn't　easy。　I　don't　quite　know　how　to　explain　this　to　you　three。
　He　turned；　strode　back。
　When　I　was　your　age；　I　had　nothing。　Nothing。　I　came　to　New　York　from　Erie；　Pennsylvania；　with　just　thirty…five　dollars　and　my　father's　old　suit。　No　family。；　no　friends；　no　college　degree。　Nothing。　Dad　was　a　good　man；　but　he　was　a　bricklayer。　Mom　was　dead。　I　was　pretty　much　alone　in　the　world。
　〃Not　this　story　again；〃　moaned　Philip。
　It　was　the　fall　of　1963。　I　pounded　the　pavement　until　I　found　a　job；　a　shitty　job；　washing　dishes　at　Mama　Gina's　on　East　88th　and　Lex。　A　dollar　and　twenty…five　cents　an　hour。
　Philip　was　shaking　his　head。　Tom　felt　numb。
　Broadbent　stopped　pacing；　planted　himself　in　front　of　the　desk；　and　faced　the　camera；　slightly　hunched；　glowering　at　them。　I　can　just　see　you　three　now。　Philip；　you're　no　doubt　shaking　your　head　sadly；　Tom；　you're　probably　up　and　swearing。　And　Vernon；　you　think　I'm　just　plain　nuts。　God；　I　can　just　see　the　three　of　you。　I　feel　sorry　for　you；　I　really　do。　This　isn't　easy。
　He　resumed　his　pacing。　Gina's　wasn't　far　from　the　Metropolitan　Museum　of　Art。　I　went　in　there　one　day　on　a　whim；　and　it　changed　my　life。　I　spent　my　last　dollar　on　a　membership；　and　I　began　going　to　that　museum　every　day。　I　fell　in　love　with　the　place。　What　a　revelation！　I'd　never　seen　such　beauty；　such…He　waved　his　large　hand。　Christ；　but　you　know　all　this。
　〃We　certainly　do；〃　said　Philip　dryly。
　The　point　is；　I　started　with　nothing。　Nada。　I　worked　hard。　I　had　a　vision　for　my　life；　a　goal　I　read　everything　I　could　get　my　hands　on。　Schliemann　and　the　discovery　of　Troy；　Howard　Carter　and　King　Tut's　tomb；　John　Lloyd　Stephens　and　the　city　of　Copán；　the　excavation　of　the　Villa　of　the　Mysteries　at　Pompeii。　I　dreamed　of　finding　treasures　like　these；　digging　them　up；　owning　them。　I　cast　around：　Where　in　the　world　were　there　lost　tombs　and　temples　still　to　be　found？　The　answer　was　Central　America。　There　you　could　still　find　a　lost　city。　There　was　still　a　chance　for　me。
　Now　he　paused　to　open　a　box　on　his　desk。　He　withdrew　a　cigar；　trimmed　and　lit　it。
　〃Jesus　Christ；〃　said　Philip。　〃The　old　man's　incorrigible。〃
　Broadbent　waved　out　the　match；　tossed　it　onto　the　desk；　and　grinned。　He　had　beautiful　teeth；　and　they　glinted　white。　I'm　going　to　die　anyway；　why　not　enjoy　my　last　few　months。　Right；　Philip？　Still　smoking　that　pipe？　I'd　give　it　up　if　I　were　you。
　He　turned　and　paced；　trailing　little　puffs　of　blue。　Anyway；　I　saved　my　money　until　I　had　enough　to　go　to　Central　America。　I　went　there　not　because　I　wanted　to　make　money…although　that　was　part　of　it；　I'll　admit…but　because　I　had　a　passion。　And　I　found　it。　I　found　my　lost　city。
　He　spun；　turned；　paced。
　That　was　the　beginning。　That　got　me　started。　I　dealt　in　art　and　antiquities　only　as　a　way　to　finance　my　collecting。　And　look：
　He　paused；　gesturing　open…palmed　to　the　unseen　collection　in　the　house　around　him。
　Look。　Here's　the　result。　One　of　the　greatest　private　collections　of　art　and　antiquities　in　the　world。　These　aren't　just　things。　Every　piece　in　here　has　a　story；　a　memory　for　me。　How　I　first　saw　it；　how　I　fell　in　love　with　it；　how　I　acquired　it。　Each　piece　is　part　of　me。
　He　seized　a　jade　object　on　his　desk　and　held　it　toward　the　camera。
　Like　this　Olmec　head；　which　I　found　in　a　tomb　in　Piedra　Lumbre。　I　remember　the　day　。。。　the　heat；　the　snakes　。。。　and　I　remember　seeing　it　for　the　first　time；　lying　there　in　the　dust　of　the　tomb；　wher