gns.batsoutofhell-第11节

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　　'They're　。　。　。　well；　I　thought　it　was　the　beginning　of　a　summer　flu　epidemic；　but　three　of　them　appear　to　be　paralysed；　and　。。。　oh；　I'd　be　glad　if　you'd　e　across；　headmaster！'
　　
　　'I'll　be　with　you　as　soon　as　I　can。'　Jackson　sensed　a　constriction　of　his　vocal　cords；　a　tightening　in　his　throat。　He　replaced　the　receiver；　but　in　so　doing　misjudged　the　cradle　and　the　instrument　fell　on　to　the　desk　with　a　clatter；　slid　over　the　edge　and　hung　suspended　by　the　coil。　There　was　a　pain　in　his　back；　travelling　upwards　to　the　base　of　his　neck。　That　part　of　his　anatomy　had　ached　throughout　the　night；　but　now；　suddenly；　it　was　bordering　on　agony。　He　could　not　move　his　head。　He　tried　to　lift　himself　up　out　of　the　chair　but　it　was　impossible。　The　muscles　would　not　respond　to　the　urgent　calls　from　his　brain。
　　
　　The　Reverend　Francis　Jackson　was　very　frightened　indeed。　What　on　earth　had　happened　to　him？　The　curtains　were　still　drawn；　and　he　had　not　bothered　to　switch　on　the　light　as　he　stumbled　through　the　doorway。　Now　he　sat　in　the　gloom。　The　dawn　was　ing　fast；　its　grey　light　filtering　into　the　study　through　the　chinks　in　the　curtains；　but　everything　was　obscured　by　a　red　film；　a　haze　that　hovered　in　front　of　his　eyes。
　　
　　He　tried　to　flop　back　in　the　chair；　but　even　relaxation　was　denied　him。　His　eyelids　were　heavy；　but　they　would　not　close。　It　was　as　though　they　had　been　fixed　in　position　by　some　kind　of　quick…drying　glue。　They　were　smarting；　burning。　Agony。
　　
　　He　could　sense　spittle　in　his　mouth；　welling　out　of　the　saliva　glands；　slipping　back　down　his　throat　and　threatening　to　choke　him。　Some　of　it　trickled　out　between　his　lips　and　down　his　chin；　falling　in　sticky　strings　down　the　front　of　his　pyjama　jacket　and　on　to　his　lap。
　　
　　The　room　was　being　darker。　Not　black；　but　filled　with　a　claret　mistiness。　He　could　still　see；　but　his　vision　was　restricted　to　that　area　immediately　in　front　of　him。　And　the　bats　were　back。　The　tiny　ones　first；　crawling　all　over　the　walls　like　thunder…bugs　at　harvest　time；　millions　of　them。　They　were　on　his　face　and　neck；　inside　his　pyjamas　causing　him　to　itch　from　head　to　foot；　a　sensation　that　was　driving　him　insane。　He　wanted　to　scratch　himself　but　couldn't。
　　
　　Then　came　the　big　ones；　appearing　silently　from　nowhere　on　slow；　flapping　wings　that　folded　as　they　landed。　They　jostled　for　position　on　the　desk；　a　mass　of　horrible　faces；　unblinking　eyes。　Gloating。　He　couldn't　shut　them　out。　He　tried　to　pray；　but　the　cohesion　of　thought　was　slipping　from　him。　He　was　the　living　dead。　A　zombie。　His　body　was　dead；　and　only　a　tiny　spark　of　life　remained　somewhere　in　his　brain；　just　enough　to　kindle　the　terror。
　　
　　Now　he　wanted　to　die；　just　so　that　he　could　shut　out　these　ghoulish　creatures。　After　that　they　could　do　what　they　liked　with　his　body。　Feed　on　it。　Drink　his　blood。　He　didn't　care。　His　mind　burned　with　a　craving　for　death　that　wouldn't　e。
　　
　　It　took　the　Reverend　Jackson　almost　an　hour　to　die。　And　when　his　release　finally　came　there　was　no　outward　sign　of　change。　He　sat　rigid；　eyes　wide　and　staring　sightlessly。　Not　a　single　muscle　had　relaxed；　even　his　bowels　remained　taut　against　all　the　laws　of　Nature。
　　
　　The　Sanatorium　consisted　of　a　separate　block　at　the　rear　of　the　Palace　which　housed　the　school。　There　were　two　wards　for　segregating　different　ailments；　and　small；　self…contained　flat　in　which　Miss　Boston；　the　plump；　kindly　matron；　lived。
　　
　　Miss　Boston　had　returned　to　her　quarters　to　make　herself　a　cup　of　tea　and　prepare　for　an　early　call　from　on&　of　the　local　doctors。　She　was　concerned　about　the　six　boys　who　had　been　admitted　at　intervals　since　midnight；　but　there　was　nothing　she　could　do　until　the　doctor　arrived。　She　wondered　how　much　longer　the　headmaster　was　going　to　be。　It　was　an　hour　since　she　had　telephoned　him。　He　had　sounded　strange；　she　recalled。　His　speech　had　been　slurred。　Perhaps　he　was　a　secret　drinker？　She　smiled　at　the　thought。　He　was　constantly　preaching　teetotalism。　He　even　refused　to　have　a　glass　of　sherry　at　the　Old　Boys'　Reunion。　She　sighed；　shook　her　head　in　bewilderment；　yawned；　and　poured　herself　a　cup　of　tea。
　　
　　The　small　ward　stank　of　vomit　and　diarrhoea。　The　curtains　were　still　closed；　and　the　six　boys　aged　from　nine　to　fourteen；　lay　in　various　postures　on　the　beds；　their　pyjamas　undone；　their　bodies　glistening　with　sweat。
　　
　　Montgomery；　the　youngest；　was　crying　softly　to　himself。'　He　didn't　like　boarding　schools　anyway；　and　they　were　a　thousand　times　worse　when　one　was　ill。　This　last　half…hour　his　body　had　been　stiffening　from　the　base　of　the　spine　upwards；　a　creeping　numbness　that　alleviated　his　earlier　agony。　He　stared　up　at　the　ceiling；　mentally　tracing　the　cracks　in　the　plaster；　going　all　round　them　and　back　again；　just　for　something　to　do。　He　hoped　that　the　doctor　might　send　him　home。　That　would　have　made　the　suffering　worthwhile。
　　
　　Ursin…Davies　sweated　profusely。　He　always　sweated　anyway；　on　account　of　his　size。　Rolls　of　fat　were　visible　to　the　others　through　his　open　pyjama　jacket。　He　hated　this　school；　but　most　of　all　he　loathed　sport。　What　use　were　football　and　cricket　to　a　fellow　with　brains？　Yet　they　did　not　seem　to　appreciate　his　academic　qualities。　The　fact　that　he　came　top　of　5B　in　almost　every　subject　did　not　appear　to　pensate　for　his　failure　at　everything　physical。　Master；　prefects　and　fellow　pupils　ridiculed　him；　went　out　of　their　way　to　make　his　life　a　misery。　He　hated　every　one　of　them；　and　particularly　Bryce…Janson。
　　
　　Ursin…Davies　turned　his　head　and　looked　across　at　the　head　boy。　BJ　was　groaning　in　agony；　grinding　his　teeth。
　　
　　Good！　If　his　own　pain　was　anything　to　go　by；　Ursin…Davies　decided；　then　BJ　was　going　through　hell。　It　was　almost　worth　putting　up　with　to　watch　the　swine　suffer。
　　
　　Ursin…Davies　draped　an　arm　over　the　side　of　the　bed。　His　fingers　brushed　against　something　metallic；　and　with　some　difficulty　he　managed　to　grasp　it　and　slowly　draw　it　upwards。　It　was　a　knife；　an　ordinary　item　of　cutlery；　the　blade　matted　with　congealed　gravy。　It　smelled　bad；　and　he　wrinkled　his　nose。　Some　earlier　patient　had　obviously　dropped　it；　and　it　had　never　been　recovered。　He　grinned　to　himself。　That　just　went　to　prove　that　old　'Bossy'　wasn't　as　thorough　as　she　made　out。　She　kidded　'em　all；　the　idle　old　bitch。　Even　Jackson；　Christ；　how　he　hated　Jackson。　But　not　as　much　as　he　despised　Bryce…Janson。　The　head…boy　was　a　legal　bully。　He　could　take　it　out　of　you；　and　justify　his　actions。　He　could　think　up　all　sorts　of　sadistic　punishments　and　get　away　with　them。　His　word　always　counted　with　the　Head　against　anybody　else's。
　　
　　This　sudden　new　surge　of　hatred　was　easing　the　fat　boy's　pain。　He　remembered　his　recent　clash　with　BJ。　Dirty　shoes　and　a　crumpled　tie　at　the　Saint's　Day　service　the　other　day　had　earned　him　a　session　of　detention。　Not　just　ordinary　detention　like　others　got；　though。　Oh；　no。　BJ　knew　that　that　would　be　no　real　punishment　for　him。　He'd　taken　him　down　to　the　gym　and　put　him　through　the　lot；　the　vaulting　horse；　the　horizontal　bar；　the　climbing　ropes；　ending　up　with　twenty　minutes'　physical　jerks　whilst　the　head　boy　sat　on　his　arse　and　smirked。
　　
　　Ursin…Davies　had　thought　that　he　might　have　suffered　a　heart…attack　after　that　lot。　He　had　coughed　and　wheezed　all　night；　and　then　he'd　been　selected　to　represent　his　house　on　a　cross…country　run　the　next　day。　They　knew　he　couldn't　bloody　well　run。　It　was　all　BJ's　doing。　He　had　engineered　it。　The　bastard　had　been　waiting　at　the　finishing…point　when　Ursin　had　staggered　in；　a　full　twenty　minutes　after　everybody　else。
　　
　　'I'll　make　an　athlete　of　you　if　it　kills　you。'　the　head　boy　had　announced　in　a　loud　voice；　and　all　the　spectators　had　broken　into　peals　of　laughter。　You　were　expected　to　laugh　like　hell　at　any　of　BJ's　sick　jokes。　'Better　a　dead　athlete　than　a　fat　scholar。'
　　
　　'If　it　kills　you'。　Ursin…Davies　winced　at　the　memory　of　that　jibe；　and　felt　the　cold　steel　of　the　knife　in　his　sweaty　palm。
　　
　　'I　say；　Bryce…Janson；'　a　thirteen…year…old　boy　called　out；　shaking　a　younger　colleague　in　the　next　bed；　'I　think　。。。　I　can't　make　Burlington　hear。　He's　gone　all　stiff　like　。　。　。　like　he's　got　polio　or　something。'
　　
　　Bryce…Janson　sat　up　hurriedly。　He　grunted；　but　somehow　managed　to　slide　off　the　bed　and　pad　across　to　the　boy　who　had　attracted　his　attention。
　　
　　'Let　me　see。'　He　pulled　the　other　aside。　'Hey；　Burlington。　Listen　to　me。'　He　shook　the　inert　form　roughly。　'This　is　Bryce…Janson。　Answer　me！　D'you　hear　me？　If　you're　fooling；　I'll　report　you　to　the　Head。'
　　
　　Ursin…Davies　eased　himself　up　on　one　elbow　with　difficulty。　The　nine…year…old　was　wailing；　and　those　clustered　around　the　silent　boy's　bed　were　beginning　to　panic。　Bryce…Janson　was　trying　to　cover　up　his　own　fear　by　using　his　authority。
　　
　　The　bitterness　which　had　been　building　up　inside　Ursin…Davies　came　to　the　boil。　He　gripped　the　handle　of　the　knife。　The　back　of　his　most　hated；　enemy　was　towards　him；　and　he　wondered　why　he　hadn't　thought　of　this　before。　It　was　all　too　easy；　and　no　more　than　the　bastard　deserved。
　　
　　A　cauldron　of　hatred　seethed　inside　Ursin…Davies。