cb.damnationgame-第25节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　As　he　opened　the　third　beer　he　found　his　hands　were　sweating；　a　clammy　sweat　he　associated　with　sickness；　like　the　first　signs　of　flu。　He　wiped　his　palms　on　his　jeans　and　put　the　beer　down。　There　was　more　than　infatuation　fueling　his　nervousness。　Something　was　wrong。　He　got　up　and　went　to　the　lounge　window。　He　was　staring　into　the　pitch　darkness　beyond　the　glass；　when　it　struck　him　what　the　wrongness　might　be。　The　lights　on　the　lawn　and　perimeter　fence　had　not　been　put　on　tonight。　He　would　have　to　do　it。　For　the　first　time　since　he'd　arrived　at　the　house　it　was　real　night　outside；　a　night　more　black　than　any　he'd　experienced　in　many　years。　In　Wandsworth　there　was　always　light；　floods　on　the　walls　burned　from　twilight　to　dawn。　But　here；　without　streetlamps；　there　was　just　night　outside。
　　Night；　and　white　noise。
　　
　　26
　　Though　Marty　had　imagined　otherwise；　Carys　wasn't　at　the　dinner　party。　There　were　very　few　freedoms　left　to　her；　refusing　her　father's　invitations　to　dinner　was　one　of　them。　She　had　endured　an　afternoon　of　his　sudden　tears；　his　just　as　sudden　accusations。　She　was　weary　of　his　kisses　and　his　doubts。　So　tonight　she'd　given　herself　a　larger　fix　than　usual；　greedy　for　forgetfulness。　Now　all　she　wanted　to　do　was　lie　down　and　bask　in　not　being。
　　Even　as　she　lay　her　head　on　the　pillow；　something；　or　someone；　touched　her。　She　came　around　again；　startled。　The　bedroom　was　empty。　The　lamps　were　on　and　the　curtains　drawn。　There　was　nobody　there：　it　was　a　trick　of　the　senses；　no　more。　Yet　she　could　still　feel　the　nerve　endings　at　the　nape　of　her　neck　tingle　where　the　touch　had　seemed　to　e；　responding；　anemone…like；　to　the　intrusion。　She　put　her　fingers　there　and　massaged　the　place。　The　jolt　had　snatched　lethargy　away　for　a　while。　There　was　no　chance　of　putting　her　head　back　down　until　her　heart　had　stopped　hammering。
　　Sitting　up；　she　wondered　where　her　runner　was。　Probably　at　the　dinner　party　with　the　rest　of　Papa's　court。　They'd　like　that：　to　have　him　among　them　to　condescend　to。　She　didn't　think　of　him　as　an　angel　any　longer。　After　all　he　had　a　name　now；　and　a　history　（Toy　had　told　her　everything　he　knew）。　He'd　long　lost　his　divinity。　He　was　who　he　was…Martin　Francis　Strauss…a　man　with　green…gray　eyes；　with　a　scar　on　his　cheek　and　hands　that　were　eloquent；　like　an　actor's　hands；　except　that　she　didn't　think　he'd　be　very　good　at　professional　deceit：　his　eyes　betrayed　him　too　easily。
　　Then　the　touch　came　again；　and　this　time　she　distinctly　felt　fingers　catching　her　nape；　as　though　the　bone　of　her　spine　had　been　pinched；　so；　so　lightly；　between　somebody's　forefinger　and　thumb。　It　was　absurd　illusion；　but　too　persuasive　to　be　dismissed。
　　She　sat　down　at　her　dressing　table　and　felt　tremors　moving　out　through　her　body　from　her　jittering　stomach。　Was　this　just　the　result　of　a　bad　fix？　She'd　never　had　any　problems　before：　the　H　that　Luther　bought　from　his　Stratford　suppliers　was　always　of　the　highest　quality：　Papa　could　afford　it。
　　Go　back　and　lie　down；　she　told　herself。　Even　if　you　can't　sleep；　lie　down。　But　the　bed；　as　she　stood　and　turned　to　walk　back　to　it；　receded　from　her；　all　the　contents　of　the　room　withdrawing　into　a　corner　as　though　they　were　painted　on　linen　and　had　been　plucked　away　from　her　by　some　hidden　hand。
　　Then　the　fingers　seemed　to　be　back　on　her　neck　again；　more　insistent　this　time；　as　if　working　their　way　into　her。　She　reached　around　and　rubbed　the　back　of　her　neck　vigorously；　cursing　Luther　loudly　for　bringing　her　bad　stuff。　He　was　probably　buying　cut　heroin　instead　of　the　pure；　and　pocketing　the　difference。　Her　anger　cleansed　her　head　for　a　few　moments；　or　so　it　seemed；　for　nothing　else　happened。　She　walked　steadily　across　to　the　bed；　orientating　herself　by　putting　her　hand　on　the　flower…patterned　wall　as　she　went。　Things　began　to　right　themselves；　the　room　found　its　proper　perspective　again。　Sighing　with　relief　she　lay　down　without　pulling　back　the　covers；　and　closed　her　eyes。　Something　danced　on　the　inside　of　her　lids。　Shapes　formed；　dispersed　and　reformed。　None　of　them　made　the　least　sense：　they　were　splashes　and　sprawls；　a　lunatic's　graffiti。　She　watched　them　with　her　mind's　eye；　mesmerized　by　their　fluent　transformations；　scarcely　aware　in　her　fascination　that　the　invisible　fingers　had　found　her　neck　again　and　were　insinuating　themselves　into　her　substance　with　all　the　subtle　efficiency　of　a　good　masseur。
　　And　then　sleep。
　　
　　She　didn't　hear　the　dogs　begin　to　bark：　Marty　did。　At　first　just　a　solitary　barking；　somewhere　off　to　the　southeast　of　the　house；　but　the　alarm　call　was　almost　immediately　taken　up　by　a　volley　of　other　voices。
　　He　got　up　boozily　from　in　front　of　the　dead　television　and　went　back　to　the　window。
　　A　wind　had　got　up。　It　had　probably　blown　some　dead　branch　down；　which　had　disturbed　the　dogs。　He'd　noticed　several　dead　elms　that　needed　felling　in　the　corner　of　the　estate；　probably　one　of　those　was　the　culprit。　Still；　he'd　better　look。　He　went　through　to　the　kitchen；　and　turned　on　the　video　screens；　flicking　from　camera　to　camera　along　the　perimeter　fence。　There　was　nothing　to　see。　As　he　flipped　to　the　cameras　just　east　of　the　woods；　however；　the　pictures　disappeared。　White　noise　replaced　the　sight　of　floodlit　grass。　Three　cameras　were　out　of　action　in　all。
　　〃Shit；〃　he　said。　If　a　tree　were　down；　and　that　became　a　likelier　option　than　ever　if　the　cameras　weren't　working；　he'd　have　a　clearing…up　job　on　his　hands。　It　was　odd　that　the　alarms　hadn't　started；　though。　Any　fall　that　had　incapacitated　three　cameras　must　have　breached　the　fence's　systems：　yet　no　bells　rang；　no　sirens　wailed。　He　took　his　anorak　off　the　hook　beside　the　back　door；　picked　up　a　flashlight；　and　went　outside。
　　The　fence　lights　glimmered　at　the　periphery　of　his　vision；　scanning　them　quickly　he　could　see　none　that　were　out。　He　set　off　toward　the　racket　of　dogs。　It　was　a　balmy　night；　despite　the　wind：　the　first　confident　warmth　of　spring。　He　was　glad　to　be　going　on　a　walkabout；　even　if　it　was　a　fool's　errand。　It　might　not　even　be　a　tree　at　all；　simply　an　electrical　fault。　Nothing　was　infallible。　The　house　fell　away　behind　him；　the　lit　windows　diminished。　Now；　all　around　him；　darkness。　He　was　isolated　for　two　hundred　yards　between　the　lights　of　the　fence　and　those　of　the　house；　a　strip　of　no…man's…land　over　which　he　stumbled；　flashlight　inefficiently　lighting　the　turf　a　few　strides　ahead　of　him。　In　the　woods；　the　wind　found　an　occasional　voice；　otherwise　there　was　silence。
　　Eventually　he　reached　the　fence　where　he　approximated　the　noise　of　the　dogs　to　have　e　from。　All　the　lights　in　either　direction　were　working：　there　was　no　visible　sign　of　disturbance。　Despite　the　reassuring　correctness　of　the　scene；　something　about　it；　about　the　night　and　the　balmy　wind；　felt　odd。　Maybe　the　dark　wasn't　so　benign　after　all；　the　warmth　in　the　air　not　entirely　natural　for　the　season。　A　tick　had　begun　in　his　stomach；　and　his　bladder　was　heavy　with　beer。　It　was　vexing　that　there　were　no　dogs　to　be　seen　or　heard。　Either　he'd　made　an　error　of　judgment　in　approximating　their　position　or　they'd　moved　from　the　spot；　pursuing。　Or；　the　absurd　thought　came；　pursued。
　　The　lamps　in　the　uprights　of　the　fence　rocked　their　hooded　heads　in　a　fresh　gust　of　wind；　the　scene　danced　giddily　in　the　pitching　light。　He　decided　he　could　go　no　further　without　relieving　his　aching　bladder。　He　turned　off　the　flashlight；　pocketed　it；　and　unzipped；　back　to　the　fence　and　the　light。　It　was　a　great　relief　to　piss　into　the　grass；　the　physical　satisfaction　made　him　whoop。
　　Halfway　through；　the　lights　behind　him　flickered。　At　first　he　thought　it　was　simply　a　trick　of　the　wind。　But　no；　they　were　actually　dimming。　Even　as　they　faded；　along　the　perimeter　to　his　right　the　dogs　began　again；　anger　and　panic　in　their　voices。
　　He　couldn't　stop　pissing　once　he'd　started；　and　for　valuable　seconds　he　cursed　his　lack　of　bladder　control。　When　he　was　done　he　zipped　up　and　started　to　run　in　the　direction　of　the　din。　As　he　went；　the　lights　came　back　on　again；　falteringly；　their　circuits　buzzing　as　they　did　so。　But　they　were　set　too　infrequently　along　the　line　of　the　fence　to　offer　much　reassurance。　Between　them；　patches　of　darkness　sprawled；　so　that　for　one　pace　out　of　every　ten　all　was　clarity；　for　the　other　nine；　night。　Despite　the　fear　clutching　at　his　gut　he　ran　all…out；　the　fence　flickering　past　him。　Light；　darkness；　light；　darknessAhead；　a　tableau　resolved　itself。　An　intruder　was　standing　on　the　far　side　of　a　light　pool　thrown　down　by　one　of　the　lamps。　The　dogs　were　everywhere；　at　his　heels；　at　his　chest；　snapping　and　tearing　at　him。　The　man　was　still　standing　upright；　legs　apart；　while　they　milled　around　him。
　　Marty　now　realized　how　close　he　was　to　witnessing　a　massacre。　The　dogs　were　berserk；　tearing　at　the　intruder　with　all　the　fury　they　could　muster。　Curiously；　despite　the　venom　in　their　attack；　their　tails　were　between　their　legs；　and　their　low　growls；　as　they　circled　looking　for　another　opening；　were　unmistakably　fearful。　Job；　he　saw；　was　not　even　attempting　to　pounce：　he　slunk　around；　his　eyes　closed　to　slits；　watching　the　heroics　of　the　rest。
　　Marty　started　calling　them　off　by　name；　using　the　strong；