cb.damnationgame-第45节

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s　reserves。　Then；　three…quarters　of　an　hour　into　the　session　things　took　a　turn　for　the　better；　horses　he　plucked　from　thin　air　romped　home　at　ridiculous　odds；　one　after　the　other。　In　one　race　he　made　back　what　he'd　lost　in　the　previous　two；　and　more。　The　enthusiasm　turned　to　euphoria。　This　was　the　very　feeling　he'd　tried　so　hard　to　describe　to　Whitehead…of　being　in　charge　of　chance。
　　Finally；　the　wins　began　to　bore　him。　Pocketing　his　winnings　without　taking　any　proper　account　of　them；　he　left。　The　money　in　his　jacket　was　a　thick　wedge；　it　ached　to　be　spent。　On　instinct；　he　sauntered　through　the　crowds　to　Oxford　Street；　selected　an　expensive　shop；　and　bought　a　nine…hundred…pound　fur　coat　for　Charmaine；　then　hailed　a　cab　to　take　it　to　her。　It　was　a　slow　journey；　the　wage…slaves　were　beginning　to　make　their　escape；　and　the　roads　were　snarled。　But　his　mood　forbade　irritation。
　　He　had　the　taxi　drop　him　off　at　the　corner　of　the　street；　because　he　wanted　to　walk　the　length　of　it。　Things　had　changed　since　he'd　last　been　here；　two　and　a　half　months　before。　Early　spring　was　now　early　summer。　Now；　at　almost　six　in　the　evening；　the　warmth　of　the　day　hadn't　dissipated；　there　was　growing　time　in　it　still。　Nor；　he　thought；　was　it　just　the　season　that　had　advanced；　bee　riper；　he　had　too。
　　He　felt　real。　God　in　Heaven；　that　was　it。　At　last　he　was　able　to　operate　in　the　world　again；　affect　it；　shape　it。
　　Charmaine　came　to　the　door　looking　flustered。　She　looked　more　flustered　still　when　Marty　stepped　in；　kissed　her；　and　put　the　coat　box　in　her　arms。
　　〃Here。　I　bought　you　something。〃　She　frowned。　〃What　is　it；　Marty？〃　〃Take　a　look。　It's　for　you。〃　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃I　can't。〃　The　front　door　was　still　open。　She　was　ushering　him　back　toward　it；　or　at　least　attempting　to。　But　he　wouldn't　go。　There　was　something　beneath　the　look　of　embarrassment　on　her　face：　anger；　panic　even。　She　pressed　the　box　back　at　him；　unopened。
　　〃Please　go；〃　she　said。
　　〃It's　a　surprise；〃　he　told　her；　determined　not　to　be　repelled。
　　〃I　don't　want　any　surprises。　Just　go。　Ring　me　tomorrow。〃　He　wouldn't　take　the　proffered　box；　and　it　fell　between　them；　breaking　open。　The　sumptuous　gleam　of　the　coat　spilled　out；　she　couldn't　help　but　stoop　to　pick　it　up。
　　〃Oh；　Marty　。　。　。〃　she　whispered。
　　As　he　looked　down　at　her　gleaming　hair　someone　appeared　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。
　　〃What's　the　problem？〃　Marty　looked　up。　Flynn　was　standing　on　the　half…landing；　dressed　only　in　underwear　and　socks。　He　was　unshaven。　For　a　few　seconds　he　said　nothing；　juggling　the　options。　Then　the　smile；　his　panacea；　swarmed　across　his　face。
　　〃Marty；〃　he　exclaimed；　〃what's　buzzing？〃　Marty　looked　at　Charmaine；　who　was　looking　at　the　floor。　She…　had　the　coat　in　her　arms；　bundled　up　like　a　dead　animal。
　　〃I　see；〃　Marty　said。
　　Flynn　descended　a　few　stairs。　His　eyes　were　bloodshot。
　　〃It's　not　what　you　think。　Really　it　isn't；〃　he　said；　stopping　halfway　down；　waiting　to　see　which　way　Marty　would　jump。
　　〃It's　exactly　what　you　think；　Marty；〃　Charmaine　said　quietly。　〃I'm　sorry　you　had　to　find　out　like　this；　but　you　never　rang。　I　said　ring　before　you　e　round。〃　〃How　long？〃　Marty　murmured。
　　〃Two　years；　more　or　less。〃　Marty　glanced　up　at　Flynn。　They'd　played　together　with　that　black　girl…Ursula；　was　it？…only　a　few　weeks　past；　and　when　the　milk　was　spilt　Flynn　had　slid　away。　He'd　e　back　here；　to　Charmaine。　Had　he　washed；　Marty　wondered；　before　he'd　joined　Charmaine　in　their　double　bed？　Probably　not。
　　〃Why　him？〃　he　found　himself　asking。　〃Why　him；　for　Christ's　sake？　Couldn't　you　have　improved　on　that？〃　Flynn　said　nothing　in　his　own　defense。
　　〃I　think　you　should　leave；　Marty；〃　Charmaine　said；　clumsily　attempting　to　rebox　the　coat。
　　〃He's　such　a　shit；〃　Marty　said。　〃Can't　you　see　what　a　shit　he　is？〃　〃He　was　there；〃　she　retorted　bitterly。　〃You　weren't。〃　〃He's　a　fucking　pimp；　for　Christ's　sake！〃　〃Yes；〃　she　said；　letting　the　box　lie；　and　standing　up　at　last；　eyes　furious；　to　spit　all　the　truth　out。　〃Yes；　that's　right。　Why　do　you　think　I　took　up　with　him？〃　〃No；　Char…〃　〃Hard　times；　Marty。　Nothing　to　live　on　but　fresh　air　and　love　letters。〃　She'd　whored　for　him；　the　fucker　had　made　her　whore。　On　the　stairs；　Flynn　had　gone　a　sickly　color。　〃Hold　up；　Marty；〃　he　said。　〃No　way　did　I　make　her　do　a　damn　thing　she　didn't　want　to　do。〃　Marty　moved　to　the　bottom　of　the　stairs。
　　〃Isn't　that　right？〃　Flynn　appealed　to　Charmaine。　〃Tell　him；　woman！　Did　I　make　you　do　a　thing　you　didn't　want　to　do？〃　〃Don't；〃　Charmaine　said；　but　Marty　was　already　starting　up　the　stairs。　Flynn　stood　his　ground　for　two　steps　only；　then　retreated　backward。　〃Hey；　e　on　。　。　。〃　Palms　up；　to　keep　the　blows　at　bay。
　　〃You　made　my　wife　a　whore？〃　〃Would　I　do　that？〃　〃You　made　my　wife　a　fucking　whore？〃　Flynn　turned　and　made　a　bid　for　the　landing。　Marty　stumbled　up　the　stairs　after　him。
　　〃Bastard！〃　The　escape　ploy　worked：　Flynn　was　safely　behind　the　door　and　wedging　a　chair　against　it　before　Marty　could　get　to　the　landing。　All　he　could　do　was　beat　on　the　panels；　demanding；　uselessly；　that　Flynn　let　him　in。　But　it　took　only　a　small　interruption　to　spoil　his　anger。　By　the　time　Charmaine　got　to　the　top　of　the　stairs　he'd　left　off　haranguing　the　door；　and　was　leaning　back　on　the　wall；　eyes　stinging。　She　said　nothing；　she　had　neither　the　means　nor　the　desire　to　cross　the　chasm　between　them。
　　〃Him；〃　was　all　he　could　say。　〃Of　all　people。〃　〃He's　been　very　good　to　me；〃　she　replied。　She　had　no　intention　of　pleading　their　case；　Marty　was　the　intruder　here。　She　owed　him　no　apology。
　　〃It　wasn't　as　if　I　walked　out。〃　〃It　was　your　doing；　Marty。　You　lost　for　both　of　us。　I　never　got　a　say　in　the　matter。〃　She　was　trembling；　he　saw；　with　fury；　not　with　sorrow。　〃You　gambled　everything　we　had。　Every　damn　thing。　And　lost　it　for　us　both。〃　〃We're　not　dead。〃　〃I'm　thirty…two。　I　feel　twice　that。〃　〃He　makes　you　tired。〃　〃You're　so　stupid；〃　she　said；　without　feeling；　her　cool　contempt　withered　him。　〃You　never　saw　how　fragile　everything　was：　you　just　went　on　being　the　way　it　suited　you　to　be。　Stupid　and　selfish。〃　Marty　bit　at　his　upper　lip；　watching　her　mouth　as　it　spoke　the　truth　at　him。　He　wanted　to　hit　her；　but　that　wouldn't　make　her　any　less　right；　just　bruised　and　right。　Shaking　his　head；　he　stepped　past　her　and　thundered　down　the　stairs。　She　was　silent　above。
　　He　passed　the　box；　the　discarded　fur。　They　could　fuck　on　it；　he　thought：　Flynn　would　like　that。　He　picked　up　the　bag　containing　his　suit；　and　left。　The　glass　in　the　window　rattled　he　slammed　the　door　so　hard。
　　〃You　can　e　out　now；〃　Charmaine　said　to　the　closed　bedroom　door。　〃The　shooting's　over。〃
　　
　　44
　　Marty　couldn't　get　one　particular　thought　out　of　his　head：　that　she'd　told　Flynn　all　about　him：　spilling　the　secrets　of　their　life　together。　He　pictured　Flynn　lying　on　the　bed　with　his　socks　on；　stroking　her；　and　laughing；　as　she　poured　out　all　the　dirt。　How　Marty'd　spent　all　the　money　on　horses　or　poker；　how　he'd　never　had　a　winning　streak　in　his　life　that　lasted　more　than　five　minutes　（you　should　have　seen　me　today；　he　wanted　to　tell　her；　things　are　different　now；　I'm　shit…hot　now）；　how　he　was　only　good　in　bed　on　the　infrequent　occasions　that　he'd　won　and　uninterested　the　rest　of　the　time；　how　he'd　first　lost　the　car　to　Macnamara；　then　the　television；　then　the　best　of　the　furniture；　and　still　owed　a　small　fortune。　How　he'd　then　gone　out　and　tried　to　steal　his　way　out　of　debt。　Even　that　had　failed　miserably。
　　He　lived　the　pursuit　again；　sharp　as　ever。　The　car　smelling　of　the　shotgun　Nygaard　was　nursing；　the　sweat　on　Marty's　face　pricking　in　his　pores　as　it　cooled　in　the　draft　from　the　open　window；　fluttering　up　into　his　face　like　petals。　It　was　all　so　clear；　it　might　have　happened　yesterday。　Everything　since　then；　almost　a　decade　of　his　life；　pivoted　on　those　few　minutes。　It　made　him　almost　physically　sick　to　think　of　it。　Waste。　All　waste。
　　It　was　time　to　get　drunk。　The　money　he　had　left　in　his　pocket…still　well　into　four　figures…was　burning　a　hole；　demanding　to　be　spent　or　gambled。　He　wandered　down　to　the　mercial　Road；　and　hailed　another　cab；　not　entirely　certain　of　what　to　do　next。　It　was　barely　seven；　the　night　ahead　needed　careful　planning。　What　would　Papa　do？　he　thought。　Betrayed　and　shat　on；　what　would　the　great　man　do？
　　Whatever　his　heart　desired；　came　the　answer；　whatever　his　fucking　heart　desired。
　　He　went　to　Euston　Station　and　spent　half　an　hour　in　the　bathroom　there；　washing　and　changing　into　the　new　shirt　and　new　suit；　emerging　transformed。　The　clothes　he'd　been　wearing　he　gave　to　the　attendant；　along　with　a　ten…pound　note。
　　Some　of　the　old　mellowness　had　crept　back　into　his　system　by　the　time　he'd　changed。　He　liked　what　the　mirror　told　him：　the　evening　might　turn　out　to　be　a　winner　yet；　as　long　as　he　didn't　whip　it　too　hard。　He　drank　in　Covent　Garden；　enough　to　lace　his　blood　and　breath　with　spirits；　then　had　a　meal　in　an　Italian　restaurant。　When　he　came　out　the　theaters　were　emptying；　he　garnered　a　clutch　of　appreciative　glances；　mostly　from　middle…aged　women　and　well…coiffured　young　men。　I　probably　look　like　a　gigolo；　he　thought；　there　was　a　disparity　between　his　dress　and　his　face　that　signaled　a　man　playing　a　role。　The　tho