gns.theplutopact-第13节

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　　The　face。　Oh　God；　that　face！
　　
　　Shrill　screams；　the　onlookers　falling　back；　closing　their　ranks　as　though　to　seek　protection　from　the　glowering　countenance。　The　eyes　bulged；'and　narrowed　again。　The　nose　was　gone；　burned　to　a　black　hole　by　a　floating　spark。　The　mouth　was　open；　lips　moving。　Definitely　moving；　trying　to　speak！
　　
　　Words。　The　children　heard　them；　reverberating　inside　their　heads。　Inprehensible　mutterings　as　the　eyes　glowed　fiercely；　singling　out　each　and　every　one　of　them。
　　
　　Fools；　you　would　burn　me　yet　again；　even　when　your　own　hour　of　fiery　destruction　is　nigh。　I　shall　be　consumed　by　the　fire　which　belongs　to　my　master；　but　it　will　not　destroy　me。　I　shall　e　again；　more　terrible　than　before！　And　then　you　will　scream　as　you　burn。
　　
　　Another　shifting　of　the　pyre　broke　the　hypnotic　spell　which　held　the　terrified　audience；　a　column　of　black　smoke　gushing　up　from　an　old　motor　tyre　and　temporarily　hiding　the　awfulness　of　it　all。　Nobody　wanted　to　stay　there　any　longer。
　　
　　They　ran　with　breathless　cries　of　terror；　scattering　in　all　directions；　leaving　the　bonfire　to　burn　itself　out。　All　through　that　windless　night　it　glowed；　a　heap　of　smouldering　ashes　that　still　billowed　its　own　warning　when　the　demolition　workers　returned　the　following　morning。　But　they　scarcely　noticed　it。
　　
　　The　winter　came　and　went。　Coyle　had　hoped　for　severe　weather；　heavy　snowfalls　which　would　drift　in　the　north　end　of　the　valley　and　prevent　work　from　going　ahead　on　the　new　'harvest　process'　plant。　Instead；　the　atmosphere　remained　mild　and　dry；　with　not　even　heavy　rains　to　impede　the　labour…force。　Still　more　houses　were　being　added　to　the　untidy　sprawling　suburbs。
　　
　　Nothing　had　changed　within　the　Coyle　household。　Coyle　still　found　ample　excuses　to　be　absent　from　home　in　the　evenings　without　arousing　Jane's　suspicions。　Sarah's　wardrobe　was　now　filled　to　overflowing；　and　she　had　taken　to　wearing　expensive　jewellery　well　beyond　the　means　of　her　modest　ine。　Richard　still　went　out　every　night；　and　Coyle　was　aware　that　his　son　had　been　involved　in　that　massive　and　brutal　brawl　at　the　lorry…park　of　the　transport　cafe　by　the　motorway。　The　ugly　wound　across　the　boy's　cheek　had　healed；　but　the　scar　would　remain　forever。　One　youth　had　died　as　a　result　of　the　affray；　but　fortunately　the　police　had　never　visited　the　Coyle　household。　A　clash　of　hooligans…and　one　less　to　terrorise　society。
　　
　　Yet　there　was　a　deadly　calm　in　the　valley　that　spring；　a　slow…climbing　tension。　There　was　something　different　about　the　townspeople；　even　those　employed　at　the　plutonium　plant。　Possibly　a　stranger　visiting　the　town　would　not　have　noticed　it。　It　was　only　evident　amongst　those　who　lived　and　worked　together；　a　lack　of　small　talk；　tempers　flaring　at　the　slightest　provocation；　and　people　hurrying　about　their　shopping　chores　with　scarcely　a　word　of　greeting　to　each　other。
　　
　　A　cloud　hung　over　the　valley。　It　was　a　time　of　waiting。　For　what？　Coyle's　petition　forms　had　been　filled　with　signatures；　and　only　the　union's　ruling　prevented　the　printing　of　a　further　supply。　This　problem　was　overe　by　attaching　additional　sheets　of　plain　paper。
　　
　　The　signatures　were　delivered　to　the　Secretary　of　State　for　Energy；　and　a　covering　letter　sent　to　the　Prime　Minister。　Both　were　acknowledged；　but　by　this　time　the　work　was　already　in　progress。　On　3　August　the　new　oxide　plant　was　fully　operative。　People's　uncertainty　was　turning　to　something　else；　although　none　would　have　openly　admitted　it。　It　was　fear…fear　of　the　unknown；　all　the　more　diabolical　in　its　inexplicableness。
　　
　　Little　did　Coyle　realise　that　the　first　hint　of　portending　doom　would　be　conveyed　to　him　within　his　own　household；　and　that　he　would　have　foreknowledge　of　the　catastrophe　he　had　predicted；　of　the　disaster　he　was　unable　to　convey　to　the　people　through　the　pages　of　the　Herald。
　　
　　September　13th。　Richard　had　not　been　to　work　for　three　days。　Actually　there　was　nothing　remarkable　in　that。　Five　jobs　since　leaving　school…and　every　one　lost　because　of　absenteeism。　It　was　a　foregone　conclusion　for　his　parents　that　he　would　not　remain　much　longer　at　the　reprocessing　plant。
　　
　　Jane　knocked　loudly　on　his　bedroom　door　at　7。30　a。m。　She　was　answered　by　an　unintelligible　grunt；　and　returned　downstairs。　Sarah　left　at　8。15。　Bob　at　8。30。　At　8。45　she　went　back　upstairs；　and　knocked　again　on　her　son's　door；　this　time　somewhat　timidly。　On　more　than　one　occasion　previously　she　had　been　the　subject　of　verbal　abuse。
　　
　　'Are　you　ill；　Richard？'　There　was　a　tremor　in　her　voice。
　　
　　'No；　I'm　fucking　well　not。'
　　
　　The　reply　brought　tears　to　her　eyes；　and　she　hurried　back　downstairs。　In　dealing　with　her　son　it　was　best　to　ride　out　the　storm　until　they　entered　calmer　waters。
　　
　　At　ten　o'clock　Richard　came　downstairs。　He　was　wearing　his　polo…necked　sweater　and　a　pair　of　Wrangler　jeans。　Without　even　a　glance　in　her　direction；　he　went　straight　outside　to　the　Norton　standing　alongside　the　garage。　She　heard　the　clink　of　spanners；　more　cursing。　It　always　amazed　her　that　anyone　could　swear　so　profusely　whilst　pursuing　a　hobby。
　　
　　Twice　during　the　morning　she　glanced　outside。　He　appeared　to　have　stripped　down　the　whole　machine　pletely；　though；　as　far　as　she　was　aware；　there　was　nothing　mechanically　wrong　with　it。　For　him；　this　operation　had　the　fascination　of　a　jigsaw　puzzle。　He　took　it　apart；　put　it　together；　then　started　all　over　again。
　　
　　She　sighed　in　resignation　as　she　washed　and　vacuumed。
　　
　　Midday。　She　usually　prepared　herself　a　snack　of　some　sort；　and　wondered　if　Richard　wanted　anything　to　eat…but　fearing　further　abuse　she　declined　to　ask　him。
　　
　　The　afternoon　wore　on；　and　she　began　to　prepare　the　evening　meal。　At　5。30　p。m。　Richard　came　back　inside；　and　marched　straight　upstairs　in　his　oily　boots。　Soon　she　heard　the　bath　running。　Well；　that　was　something　anyway。　Cleanliness　was　not　one　of　his　regular　concerns。
　　
　　Shortly　after　six　o'clock；　Sarah　and　Bob　arrived　home　within　a　few　minutes　of　each　other。　The　meal　was　served；　but　still　no　sign　of　Richard。　Jane　decided　to　remark　upon　it。
　　
　　'Richard　hasn't　been　to　work　today。'
　　
　　'Oh！'　Bob　Coyle　looked　up；　surprise　and　concern　on　his　face。　'I　wondered　how　long　he　would　stick　it　up　there。'
　　
　　'It's　not　his　fault。'　Sarah　leaped　to　her　brother's　defence；　with　the　kind　of　natural　support　that　children　give　each　other　against　parental　disapproval。　'They've　laid　some　of　them　off。'
　　
　　'Laid　them　off！'　Coyle　dropped　his　knife　on　to　his　plate。　'That's　nonsense。　There's　a　half…page　advert　in　my　newspaper　seeking　to　recruit　more　labour　for　this　new　〃harvest　process〃；　as　they　call　it。　They've　sunk　thousand…foot　shafts　into　the　granite　below　the　valley；　and　now　they're　working　like　hell　to　make　this　diabolical　stuff　into　blocks　of　solid　waste　to　store　down　there　for　evermore。　They　can't　get　enough　men　to　work　fast　enough。　The　boy's　lying。'

　　
　　'No；　he　isn't；'　Sarah　retorted　hotly。　'They've　laid　thirty　men　off　on　Richard's　section。　I　should　know。　I　had　to　deal　with　all　the　paperwork。'
　　
　　Coyle　did　not　reply。　He　continued　chewing　thoughtfully　for　some　moments　before　he　spoke　again。
　　
　　'Why　have　they　laid　them　off？'
　　
　　'I　don't　know。　I'm　only　a　clerk　in　the　office。'
　　
　　'Haven't　you　asked？　I　mean；　aren't　you　interested　in　your　job？'
　　
　　'No。　It's　just　boring　clerical　work；　and　if　you　want　to　know　why　the　men　have　been　laid　off；　you'd　better　ask　Richard　himself。'
　　
　　That；　of　course；　was　the　logical　solution；　but　a　task　he　did　not　relish。　He　finished　the　meal　in　silence。　Sarah　went　upstairs　to　change。
　　
　　Bob　and　Jane　looked　at　each　other　across　the　table。
　　
　　There　was　a　half…taunting　smile　at　the　corners　of　her　lips。
　　
　　He　rose　to　his　feet；　and　mounted　the　stairs　thoughtfully；　slowly。　Hell；　of　all　the　people　to　have　to　ask。
　　
　　Coyle　realised　his　first　mistake　the　moment　he　entered　his　son's　room。　He　should　have　knocked。　This　sanctum；　adorned　with　posters　of　rock　groups；　speedway　stars；　and　a　host　of　other　paraphernalia　which　he　did　not　understand；　was　no　longer　the　kid's　bedroom　to　which　he　had　right　of　entry　at　any　time。　It　was　a　temple　of　teenage　worship　where　homage　was　paid　to　cardboard　idols。
　　
　　Richard　was　lying　on　the　bed；　fully　clothed；　arms　folded　behind　his　head。　He　sat　up　as　the　door　opened；　his　features　twisting　in　fury　and　indignation。
　　
　　'What　the　hell　d'you　mean　by　barging　in　here　like　this？'　Wisely　the　youth　had　declined　to　use　a　four…lettered　word。
　　
　　Coyle　closed　the　door　quietly　behind　him。　He　stood　with　his　back　to　it；　regarding　his　son　with　an　expression　as　hard　as　the　granite　below　'Holocaust'。
　　
　　'You　haven't　been　to　work　today。'
　　
　　'No；　I　bloody　well　haven't。　That's　my　business。'
　　
　　'Not　whilst　you　live　under　this　roof。'
　　
　　'I　pay　my　keep。　You　even　make　a　bloody　profit　out　of　me；　like　you　do　out　of　everything　else。'
　　
　　'That's　because　you're　never　here。　Maybe　that　Lakin　girl　charges　you　board；　too。'
　　
　　Richard　leapt　to　his　feet；　fists　clenched　and　ra