cb.damnationgame-第82节

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　　〃The　world's　ing　to　an　end；〃　Chad　said；　bing　his　hair　with　obsessive　care　and　staring　out　at　the　highway；　his　back　to　the　two　old　men。　〃Didn't　you　know？〃　〃Is　that　so？〃　said　Whitehead。
　　〃The　unrighteous　will　be　swept　away。〃　The　old　man　put　down　his　bowl　of　strawberries。　〃And　who　will　judge？〃　he　asked。
　　Chad　let　his　coiffure　be。　〃God　in　heaven；〃　he　said。
　　〃Can't　we　play　for　it？〃　Whitehead　responded。　Chad　turned　to　look　at　the　questioner；　puzzled；　but　the　inquiry　was　not　for　him；　but　for　the　European。
　　〃No；〃　Mamoulian　replied。
　　〃For　old　times〃　sake；〃　Whitehead　pressed。　〃Just　a　game。〃　〃Your　gamesmanship　would　impress　me；　Pilgrim；　if　it　weren't　so　obviously　a　delaying　tactic。〃　〃You　won't　play；　then？〃　Mamoulian's　eyes　flickered。　He　almost　smiled　as　he　said：　〃Yes。　Of　course　I'll　play。〃　〃There's　a　table　next　door；　in　the　bedroom。　Do　you　want　to　send　one　of　your　bum…boys　through　to　fetch　it？〃　〃Not　bum…boys。〃　〃Too　old　for　that；　are　you？〃　〃God…fearing　men；　both　of　them。　Which　is　more　than　can　be　said　of　you。〃　〃That　was　always　my　problem；〃　Whitehead　said；　conceding　the　barb　with　a　grin。　This　was　like　the　old　days：　the　exchange　of　ironies；　the　sweet…sour　repartee；　the　knowledge；　shared　every　moment　they　were　together；　that　the　words　disguised　a　depth　of　feeling　that　would　shame　a　poet。
　　〃Would　you　fetch　the　table？〃　Mamoulian　asked　Chad。　He　didn't　move。　He　had　bee　too　interested　in　the　struggle　of　wills　between　these　two　men。　Much　of　its　significance　was　lost　on　him；　but　the　tension　in　the　room　was　unmistakable。　Something　awesome　was　on　the　horizon。　Maybe　a　wave；　maybe　not。
　　〃You　go；〃　he　told　Tom；　he　was　unwilling　to　take　his　eyes　off　the　batants　for　a　single　instant。　Tom；　happy　to　have　something　to　take　his　mind　off　his　doubts；　obliged。
　　Chad　loosened　the　knot　of　his　tie；　which　was　for　him　tantamount　to　nakedness。　He　grinned　flawlessly　at　Mamoulian。
　　〃You're　going　to　kill　him；　right？〃　he　said。
　　〃What　do　you　think？〃　the　European　replied。
　　〃What　is　he？　The　Antichrist？〃　Whitehead　gurgled　with　pleasure　at　the　absurdity　of　this　idea。　〃You've　been　telling　。　。　。〃　he　chided　the　European。
　　〃Is　that　what　he　is？〃　Chad　urged；　〃Tell　me。　I　can　take　the　truth。〃　〃I'm　worse　than　that；　boy；〃　Whitehead　said。
　　〃Worse？〃　〃Want　a　strawberry？〃　Whitehead　picked　up　the　bowl　and　proffered　the　fruit。　Chad　cast　a　sideways　glance　at　Mamoulian。
　　〃He　hasn't　poisoned　them；〃　the　European　reassured　him。
　　〃They're　fresh。　Take　them。　Go　next　door　and　leave　us　in　peace。〃　Tom　had　returned　with　a　small　bedside　table。　He　set　it　down　in　the　middle　of　the　room。
　　〃If　you　go　into　the　bathroom；〃　Whitehead　said；　〃you'll　find　a　plentiful　supply　of　spirits。　Mostly　vodka。　A　little　cognac　too；　I　think。〃　〃We　don't　drink；〃　Tom　said。
　　〃Make　an　exception；〃　Whitehead　replied。
　　〃Why　not？〃　said　Chad；　his　mouth　bulging　with　strawberries；　there　was　juice　on　his　chin。　〃Why　the　fuck　not？　It's　the　end　of　the　world；　right？〃　〃Right；〃　said　Whitehead；　nodding。　〃Now　you　go　away　and　eat　and　drink　and　play　with　each　other。〃　Tom　stared　at　Whitehead；　who　returned　a　mock…contrite　look。　〃I'm　sorry；　aren't　you　allowed　to　masturbate　either？〃　Tom　made　a　noise　of　disgust　and　left　the　room。
　　〃Your　colleague's　unhappy；〃　Whitehead　said　to　Chad。　〃Go　on；　take　the　rest　of　the　fruit。　Tempt　him。〃　Chad　wasn't　certain　if　he　was　being　mocked　or　not；　but　he　took　the　bowl　and　followed　Tom　to　the　door。　〃You're　going　to　die；〃　he　said　to　Whitehead　as　a　parting　shot。　Then　he　closed　the　door　on　the　two　men。
　　Mamoulian　had　laid　a　pack　of　cards　on　the　table。　This　wasn't　the　pornographic　pack：　he'd　had　that　destroyed　at　Caliban　Street；　along　with　his　few　books。　The　cards　on　the　table　were　older　than　the　other　pack　by　many　centuries。　Their　faces　were　hand…colored；　the　illustrations　for　the　court　cards　crudely　rendered。
　　〃Must　I？〃　Whitehead　asked；　picking　up　on　Chad's　closing　remark。
　　〃Must　you　what？〃　〃Die。〃　〃Please；　Pilgrim…〃　〃Joseph。　Call　me　Joseph；　the　way　you　used　to。〃
　　〃…spare　us　both。〃　〃I　want　to　live。〃　〃Of　course　you　do。〃　〃What　happened　between　us…it　didn't　harm　you；　did　it？〃　Mamoulian　offered　the　cards　for　Whitehead　to　shuffle　and　cut：　when　the　offer　was　ignored　he　did　the　job　himself；　manipulating　the　cards　with　his　one　good　hand。
　　〃Well。　Did　it？〃　〃No；〃　the　European　replied。　〃No；　not　really。〃　〃Well　then。　Why　harm　me？〃　〃You　misunderstand　my　motives；　Pilgrim。　I　haven't　e　here　for　revenge。〃　〃Why　then？〃　Mamoulian　started　to　deal　the　cards　for　chemin　de　fer。
　　〃To　finish　our　bargain；　of　course。　Is　that　so　difficult　to　grasp？〃　〃I　made　no　bargain。〃　〃You　cheated　me；　Joseph；　of　a　lot　of　living。　You　threw　me　away　when　I　was　no　longer　of　any　use　to　you；　and　let　me　rot。　I　forgive　you　all　that。　It's　in　the　past。　But　death；　Joseph〃…he　finished　the　shuffling…〃that's　in　the　future。　The　near　future。　And　I　will　not　be　alone　when　I　go　into　it。〃　〃I've　made　my　apologies。　If　you　want　acts　of　contrition；　name　them。〃　〃Nothing。〃　〃You　want　my　balls？　My　eyes？　Take　them！〃　〃Play　the　game；　Pilgrim。〃　Whitehead　stood　up。　〃I　don't　want　to　play！〃　〃But　you　asked。〃　Whitehead　stared　down　at　the　cards　laid　out　on　the　inlaid　table。
　　〃That's　how　you　got　me　here；〃　he　said　quietly。　〃That　fucking　game。〃　〃Sit　down；　Pilgrim。〃　〃Made　me　suffer　the　torments　of　the　damned。〃　〃Have　I？〃　Mamoulian　said；　concern　lacing　his　voice。　〃Have　you　really　suffered？　If　you　have；　I'm　truly　sorry。　The　point　of　temptation　is　surely　that　some　of　the　goods　be　worth　the　price。〃　〃Are　you　the　Devil？〃　〃You　know　I'm　not；〃　Mamoulian　said；　pained　by　this　new　melodrama。　〃Every　man　is　his　own　Mephistopheles；　don't　you　think？　If　I　hadn't　e　along　you'd　have　made　a　bargain　with　some　other　power。　And　you　would　have　had　your　fortune；　and　your　women；　and　your　strawberries。　All　those　torments　I've　made　you　suffer。〃　Whitehead　listened　to　the　fluting　voice　lay　these　ironies　out。　Of　course；　he　hadn't　suffered：　he'd　lived　a　life　of　delights。　Mamoulian　read　the　thought　off　his　face。
　　〃If　I'd　really　wanted　you　to　suffer；〃　he　said；　snail…slow；　〃I　could　have　had　that　dubious　satisfaction　many　years　ago。　And　you　know　it。〃　Whitehead　nodded。　The　candle；　which　the　European　now　lifted　onto　the　table　beside　the　dealt　cards；　guttered。
　　〃What　I　want　from　you　is　something　far　more　permanent　than　suffering；〃　Mamoulian　said。　〃Now　play。　My　fingers　are　itching。〃
　　
　　71
　　Marty　got　out　of　the　car　and　stood　for　several　seconds　looking　up　at　the　looming　bulk　of　the　Hotel　Pandemonium。　It　was　not　pletely　in　darkness。　A　light；　albeit　frail；　glimmered　in　one　of　the　penthouse　windows。　He　began；　for　a　second　time　today；　across　the　wasteland；　his　body　shaking。　Carys　had　made　no　contact　with　him　since　he　had　started　on　his　journey　here。　He　didn't　question　her　silence：　there　were　too　many　plausible　reasons　for　it；　none　of　them　pleasant。
　　As　he　approached　he　could　see　that　the　front　door　of　the　hotel　had　been　forced。　At　least　he'd　be　able　to　enter　by　a　direct　route　instead　of　clambering　up　the　fire　escape。　He　stepped　over　the　litter　of　planks；　and　through　the　grandiose　doorway　into　the　foyer；　halting　to　accustom　his　eyes　to　the　darkness　before　he　began　a　cautious　ascent　of　the　burned　stairs。　In　the　gloom　every　sound　he　made　was　like　gunfire　at　a　funeral；　shockingly　loud。　Try　as　he　might　to　hush　his　tread；　the　stairway　hid　too　many　obstacles　for　plete　silence；　every　step　he　took　he　was　certain　the　European　was　hearing；　was　readying　himself　to　breathe　a　killing　emptiness　onto　him。
　　Once　he　reached　the　spot　he'd　entered　from　the　fire　escape；　the　going　got　easier。　It　was　only　as　he　advanced　into　the　carpeted　regions　he　realized…the　thought　brought　a　smile　to　his　lips…that　he'd　e　without　either　a　weapon　or　a　plan；　however　primitive；　of　how　he　was　to　snatch　Carys。　All　he　could　hope　was　that　she　was　no　longer　an　important　item　on　the　European's　agenda：　that　she　might　be　overlooked　for　a　few　vital　moments。　As　he　stepped　onto　the　final　staircase　he　caught　sight　of　himself　in　one　of　the　hall　mirrors：　thin；　unshaven；　his　face　still　bearing　traces　of　bloodstains；　his　shirt　dark　with　blood…he　looked　like　a　lunatic。　The　image；　reflecting　so　accurately　the　way　he'd　pictured　himself…desperate；　barbarous…gave　him　courage。　He　and　his　reflection　agreed：　he　was　out　of　his　mind。
　　
　　For　only　the　second　time　in　their　long　association　they　sat　facing　each　other　over　the　tiny　table；　and　played　chemin　de　fer。　The　game　was　uneventful；　they　were；　it　seemed；　more　evenly　matched　than　they'd　been　in　Muranowski　Square；　forty　odd　years　before。　And　as　they　played；　they　talked。　The　talk　too　was　calm　and　undramatic：　of　Evangeline；　of　how　the　market　had　fallen　of　late；　of　America；　even；　as　the　game　progressed；　of　Warsaw。
　　〃Have　you　ever　been　back？〃　Whitehead　asked。
　　The　European　shook　his　head。
　　〃It's　terrible；　what　they　did。〃　〃The　Germans？〃　〃The　city　planners。〃　They　played　on。　The　cards　were　shuffled　and　dealt　again；　shuffled　and　dealt。　The　breeze　of　their　motions　made　the　candle　flame　flicker。　The　game　went　one　way；　then　the　other。　The　conversation　faltered；　and　began　again：　chatty；　almost　banal。　It　was　as　though　in　these　last　minutes　together…when　they　had　so　much　to　say…they　could　say　nothing　of　the　least　significance；　for　fear　it　open　the　f