if.thunderball-第1部分

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　The　story　is　based　on　a　screen　treatment　by　K。　McClory；　J。　Whittingham；　and　the　author。
　
　1。　〃Take　It　Easy；　Mr。　Bond〃
　
　It　was　one　of　those　days　when　it　seemed　to　James　Bond　that　all　life；　as　someone　put　it；　was　nothing　but　a　heap　of　six　to　four　against。
　
　To　begin　with　he　was　ashamed　of　himself…a　rare　state　of　mind。　He　had　a　hangover；　a　bad　one；　with　an　aching　head　and　stiff　joints。　When　he　coughed…smoking　too　much　goes　with　drinking　too　much　and　doubles　the　hangover…a　cloud　of　small　luminous　black　spots　swam　across　his　vision　like　amoebae　in　pond　water。　The　one　drink　too　many　signals　itself　unmistakably。　His　final　whisky　and　soda　in　the　luxurious　flat　in　Park　Lane　had　been　no　different　from　the　ten　preceding　ones；　but　it　had　gone　down　reluctantly　and　had　left　a　bitter　taste　and　an　ugly　sensation　of　surfeit。　And；　although　he　had　taken　in　the　message；　he　had　agreed　to　play　just　one　more　rubber。　Five　pounds　a　hundred　as　it's　the　last　one？　He　had　agreed。　And　he　had　played　the　rubber　like　a　fool。　Even　now　he　could　see　the　queen　of　spades；　with　that　stupid　Mona　Lisa　smile　on　her　fat　face；　slapping　triumphantly　down　on　his　knave…the　queen；　as　his　partner　had　so　sharply　reminded　him；　that　had　been　so　infallibly　marked　with　South；　and　that　had　made　the　difference　between　a　grand　slam　redoubled　（drunkenly）　for　him；　and　four　hundred　points　above　the　line　for　the　opposition。　In　the　end　it　had　been　a　twenty…point　rubber；　￡100　against　him…important　money。
　
　Again　Bond　dabbed　with　the　bloodstained　styptic　pencil　at　the　cut　on　his　chin　and　despised　the　face　that　stared　sullenly　back　at　him　from　the　mirror　above　the　wash　basin。　Stupid；　ignorant　bastard！　It　all　came　from　having　nothing　to　do。　More　than　a　month　of　paper　work…ticking　off　his　number　on　stupid　dockets；　scribbling　minutes　that　got　spikier　as　the　weeks　passed；　and　snapping　back　down　the　telephone　when　some　harmless　section　officer　tried　to　argue　with　him。　And　then　his　secretary　had　gone　down　with　the　flu　and　he　had　been　given　a　silly；　and；　worse；　ugly　bitch　from　the　pool　who　called　him　〃sir〃　and　spoke　to　him　primly　through　a　mouth　full　of　fruit　stones。　And　now　it　was　another　Monday　morning。　Another　week　was　beginning。　The　May　rain　thrashed　at　the　windows。　Bond　swallowed　down　two　Phensics　and　reached　for　the　Eno's。　The　telephone　in　his　bedroom　rang。　It　was　the　loud　ring　of　the　direct　line　with　Headquarters。
　
　James　Bond；　his　heart　thumping　faster　than　it　should　have　done；　despite　the　race　across　London　and　a　fretful　wait　for　the　lift　to　the　eighth　floor；　pulled　out　the　chair　and　sat　down　and　looked　across　into　the　calm；　gray；　damnably　clear　eyes　he　knew　so　well。　What　could　he　read　in　them？
　
　〃Good　morning；　James。　Sorry　to　pull　you　along　a　bit　early　in　the　morning。　Got　a　very　full　day　ahead。　Wanted　to　fit　you　in　before　the　rush。〃
　
　Bond's　excitement　waned　minutely。　It　was　never　a　good　sign　when　M　addressed　him　by　his　Christian　name　instead　of　by　his　number。　This　didn't　look　like　a　job…more　like　something　personal。　There　was　none　of　the　tension　in　M's　voice　that　heralded　big；　exciting　news。　M's　expression　was　interested；　friendly；　almost　benign。　Bond　said　something　nonmittal。
　
　〃Haven't　seen　much　of　you　lately；　James。　How　have　you　been？　Your　health；　I　mean。〃　M　picked　up　a　sheet　of　paper；　a　form　of　some　kind；　from　his　desk；　and　held　it　as　if　preparing　to　read。
　
　Suspiciously；　trying　to　guess　what　the　paper　said；　what　all　this　was　about；　Bond　said；　〃I'm　all　right；　sir。〃
　
　M　said　mildly；　〃That's　not　what　the　M。O。　thinks；　James。　Just　had　your　last　Medical。　I　think　you　ought　to　hear　what　he　has　to　say。〃
　
　Bond　looked　angrily　at　the　back　of　the　paper。　Now　what　the　hell！　He　said　with　control；　〃Just　as　you　say；　sir。〃
　
　M　gave　Bond　a　careful；　appraising　glance。　He　held　the　paper　closer　to　his　eyes。　〃　‘This　officer；'　〃　he　read；　〃　‘remains　basically　physically　sound。　Unfortunately　his　mode　of　life　is　not　such　as　is　likely　to　allow　him　to　remain　in　this　happy　state。　Despite　many　previous　warnings；　he　admits　to　smoking　sixty　cigarettes　a　day。　These　are　of　a　Balkan　mixture　with　a　higher　nicotine　content　than　the　cheaper　varieties。　When　not　engaged　upon　strenuous　duty；　the　officer's　average　daily　consumption　of　alcohol　is　in　the　region　of　half　a　bottle　of　spirits　of　between　sixty　and　seventy　proof。　On　examination；　there　continues　to　be　little　definite　sign　of　deterioration。　The　tongue　is　furred。　The　blood　pressure　a　little　raised　at　160/90。　The　liver　is　not　palpable。　On　the　other　hand；　when　pressed；　the　officer　admits　to　frequent　occipital　headaches　and　there　is　spasm　in　the　trapezius　muscles　and　so…called　‘fibrositis'　nodules　can　be　felt。　I　believe　these　symptoms　to　be　due　to　this　officer's　mode　of　life。　He　is　not　responsive　to　the　suggestion　that　over…indulgence　is　no　remedy　for　the　tensions　inherent　in　his　professional　calling　and　can　only　result　in　the　creation　of　a　toxic　state　which　could　finally　have　the　effect　of　reducing　his　fitness　as　an　officer。　I　remend　that　No。　007　should　take　it　easy　for　two　to　three　weeks　on　a　more　abstemious　regime；　when　I　believe　he　would　make　a　plete　return　to　his　previous　exceptionally　high　state　of　physical　fitness。'　〃
　
　M　reached　over　and　slid　the　report　into　his　OUT　tray。　He　put　his　hands　flat　down　on　the　desk　in　front　of　him　and　looked　sternly　across　at　Bond。　He　said；　〃Not　very　satisfactory；　is　it；　James？〃
　
　Bond　tried　to　keep　impatience　out　of　his　voice。　He　said；　〃I'm　perfectly　fit；　sir。　Everyone　has　occasional　headaches。　Most　week…end　golfers　have　fibrositis。　You　get　it　from　sweating　and　then　sitting　in　a　draft。　Aspirin　and　embrocation　get　rid　of　them。　Nothing　to　it；　really；　sir。〃
　
　M　said　severely；　〃That's　just　where　you're　making　a　big　mistake；　James。　Taking　medicine　only　suppresses　these　symptoms　of　yours。　Medicine　doesn't　get　to　the　root　of　the　trouble。　It　only　conceals　it。　The　result　is　a　more　highly　poisoned　condition　which　may　bee　chronic　disease。　All　drugs　are　harmful　to　the　system。　They　are　contrary　to　nature。　The　same　applies　to　most　of　the　food　we　eat…white　bread　with　all　the　roughage　removed；　refined　sugar　with　all　the　goodness　machined　out　of　it；　pasteurized　milk　which　has　had　most　of　the　vitamins　boiled　away；　everything　overcooked　and　denaturized。　Why〃…　M　reached　into　his　pocket　for　his　notebook　and　consulted　it…〃do　you　know　what　our　bread　contains　apart　from　a　bit　of　overground　flour？〃　M　looked　accusingly　at　Bond。　〃It　contains　large　quantities　of　chalk；　also　benzol　peroxide　powder；　chlorine　gas；　sal　ammoniac；　and　alum。〃　M　put　the　notebook　back　in　his　pocket。　〃What　do　you　think　of　that？〃
　
　Bond；　mystified　by　all　this；　said　defensively；　〃I　don't　eat　all　that　much　bread；　sir。〃
　
　〃Maybe　not；〃　said　M　impatiently。　〃But　how　much　stoneground　whole　wheat　do　you　eat？　How　much　yoghurt？　Uncooked　vegetables；　nuts；　fresh　fruit？〃
　
　Bond　smiled。　〃Practically　none　at　all；　sir。〃
　
　〃It's　no　laughing　matter。〃　M　tapped　his　forefinger　on　the　desk　for　emphasis。　〃Mark　my　words。　There　is　no　way　to　health　except　the　natural　way。　All　your　troubles〃…Bond　opened　his　mouth　to　protest；　but　M　held　up　his　hand…〃the　deep…seated　toxemia　revealed　by　your　Medical；　are　the　result　of　a　basically　unnatural　way　of　life。　Ever　heard　of　Bircher…Brenner；　for　instance？　Or　Kneipp；　Preissnitz；　Rikli；　Schroth；　Gossman；　Bilz？〃
　
　〃No；　sir。〃
　
　〃Just　so。　Well；　those　are　the　men　you　would　be　wise　to　study。　Those　are　the　great　naturopaths…the　men　whose　teaching　we　have　foolishly　ignored。　Fortunately〃…M's　eyes　gleamed　enthusiastically…〃there　are　a　number　of　disciples　of　these　men　practicing　in　England。　Nature　cure　is　not　beyond　our　reach。〃
　
　James　Bond　looked　curiously　at　M。　What　the　hell　had　got　into　the　old　man？　Was　all　this　the　first　sign　of　senile　decay？　But　M　looked　fitter　than　Bond　had　ever　seen　him。　The　cold　gray　eyes　were　clear　as　crystal　and　the　skin　of　the　hard；　lined　face　was　luminous　with　health。　Even　the　iron…gray　hair　seemed　to　have　new　life。　Then　what　was　all　this　lunacy？
　
　M　reached　for　his　IN　tray　and　placed　it　in　front　of　him　in　a　preliminary　gesture　of　dismissal。　He　said　cheerfully；　〃Well；　that's　all；　James。　Miss　Moneypenny　has　made　the　reservation。　Two　weeks　will　be　quite　enough　to　put　you　right。　You　won't　know　yourself　when　you　e　out。　New　man。〃
　
　Bond　looked　across　at　M；　aghast。　He　said　in　a　strangled　voice；　〃Out　of　where；　sir？〃
　
　〃Place　called　Shrublands。　Run　by　quite　a　famous　man　in　his　line…Wain；　Joshua　Wain。　Remarkable　chap。　Sixty…five。　Doesn't　look　a　day　over　forty。　He'll　take　good　care　of　you。　Very　up…to…date　equipment；　and　he's　even　got　his　own　herb　garden。　Nice　stretch　of　country。　Near　Washington　in　Sussex。　And　don't　worry　about　your　work　here。　Put　it　right　out　of　your　mind　for　a　couple　of　weeks。　I'll　tell　009　to　take　care　of　the　Section。〃
　
　Bond　couldn't　believe　his　ears。　He　said；　〃But；　sir。　I　mean；　I'm　perfectly　all　right。　Are　you　sure？　I　mean；　is　this　really　necessary？〃
　
　〃No。〃　M　smiled　frostily。　〃Not　necessary。　Essential。　If　you　want　to　stay　in　the　double…O　Section；　that　is。　I　can't　afford　to　have　an　officer　in　that　section　who　isn't　one…hundred…per…cent　fit。〃　M　lowered　his　eyes　to　the　basket　in　front　of　him　and　took　out　a　signal　file。　〃Th