cb.damnationgame-第88节

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　　〃I　don't　want　to　be　here　when　he　gets　bored；〃　Marty　said。　Carys　made　no　move。　〃There's　nothing　we　can　do　for　the　old　man；〃　he　said。
　　She　looked　at　him；　bewildered　by　the　dilemma。
　　〃He's　gone；　Carys。　And　we　should　go　too。〃　A　silence　had　started　in　the　abattoir。　It　was　worse；　in　its　way；　than　the　laughter；　or　the　sound　of　Breer's　labors。
　　〃We　can't　wait　around；〃　Marty　said。　He　roughly　pulled　Carys　to　her　feet　and　propelled　her　toward　the　front　door　of　the　penthouse。　She　made　only　faint　objection。
　　As　they　slipped　away　downstairs；　somewhere　up　above　them　the　blond　American　began　to　applaud　again。
　　
　　72
　　The　dead　man　worked　at　his　work　for　a　good　time。　Long　after　the　domestic　traffic　on　the　highway　had　dwindled　to　a　trickle；　leaving　only　the　long…distance　freight　drivers　to　roar　their　way　north。　Breer　heard　none　of　it。　His　ears　had　long　since　given　out；　and　his　eyesight；　once　so　sharp；　could　barely　make　sense　of　the　carnage　that　now　lay　on　every　side　of　him。　But　when　his　sight　failed　pletely；　he　still　had　the　rudiments　of　touch。　This　he　used　to　finish　his　mission；　dividing　and　subdividing　the　flesh　of　the　European　until　it　was　impossible　to　tell　apart　the　piece　that　spoke　and　the　piece　that　pissed。
　　Chad　tired　of　the　entertainment　long　before　that　point　was　reached。　Grinding　out　his　second　cigar　with　his　heel　he　sauntered　through　to　see　how　things　were　progressing　elsewhere。　The　girl　had　gone；　the　hero　too。　God　loves　them；　he　thought。　The　old　man　was　still　lying　in　the　hallway；　however；　clutching　the　gun；　which　he'd　retrieved　at　some　point　in　the　proceedings。　His　fingers　spasmed　once　in　a　while；　nothing　more。　Chad　went　back　into　the　bloody　chamber；　where　Breer　was　on　his　knees　among　the　meat　and　the　cards；　still　chopping；　and　raised　Tom　off　the　floor。　He　was　in　a　languid　state；　his　lips　almost　blue；　and　it　took　a　good　deal　of　cajoling　to　get　any　action　out　of　him。　But　Chad　was　a　born　proselytizer；　and　a　short　talk　got　some　enthusiasm　back　into　him。　〃Nothin〃　we　can't　do　now；　you　know？〃　Chad　told　him。　〃We're　baptized　men。　I　mean　we've　seen　everything；　haven't　we？　There　ain't　nothing　in　this　whole　wide　world　the　Devil　can　fight　us　with；　because　we've　been　there。　Ain't　we　been　there？〃　Chad　was　high　on　his　new…found　freedom。　He　wanted　to　prove　the　point；　and　he　had　this　fine　idea…〃You'll　like　this；　Tommy〃…of　doing　a　dump　on　the　old　man's　chest。　Tom　didn't　seem　to　care　either　way；　and　he　just　watched　while　Chad　dropped　his　trousers　to　do　the　dirty　work。　His　bowels　would　not　oblige。　As　he　started　to　stand　upright；　however；　Whitehead's　eyes　snapped　open；　and　the　gun　fired。　The　bullet　missed　plowing　into　Chad's　testicles　by　a　hairbreadth；　but　scored　a　fine　red　mark　on　the　inside　of　his　milk…white　thigh；　and　whistled　past　his　face　to　slam　into　the　ceiling。　Chad's　bowels　gave　then；　but　the　old　man　was　dead；　he'd　died　with　the　shot　that　came　so　close　to　blowing　off　Chad's　manhood。
　　〃Near　thing；〃　Tom　said；　his　catatonia　broken　by　Chad's　near…mutiliation。
　　〃Guess　I'm　just　lucky；〃　the　blond　boy　replied。　Then　they　took　their　revenges　as　best　they　could；　and　went　their　way。
　　
　　I'm　the　last　of　the　tribe；　thought　Breer。　When　I'm　gone　the　Razor…Eaters　will　be　a　thing　of　the　past。
　　He　hauled　himself　from　the　Pandemonium　Hotel　knowing　that　what　coherence　his　body　had　was　fast　diminishing。　His　fingers　could　barely　grip　the　petrol　can　he'd　stolen　from　the　boot　of　a　car　before　he'd　e　to　the　hotel；　and　had　left；　awaiting　these　last　rites；　in　the　foyer。　It　was　as　difficult　to　grasp　with　his　mind　as　it　was　with　his　fingers；　but　he　did　the　best　he　could。　He　couldn't　name　the　things　that　sniffed　at　his　carcass　as　he　squatted　among　the　rubbish；　couldn't　even　remember　who　he　was；　except　that　he　had　seen；　once；　some　fine　and　wonderful　sights。
　　He　twisted　the　cap　off　the　petrol　can　and　spilled　the　contents　over　him　as　efficiently　as　he　could。　Most　of　the　fluid　simply　pooled　around　him。　Then　he　dropped　the　can　and　ferreted；　blind；　for　the　matches。　The　first　and　second　didn't　catch。　The　third　did。　Flames　instantly　engulfed　him。　In　the　conflagration　his　body　curled　up；　taking　on　that　pugilistic　attitude　mon　to　the　victims　of　immolation；　the　joints　shortening　as　they　cooked；　drawing　arms　and　legs　up　into　a　posture　of　defense。
　　When；　at　last；　the　games　went　out；　the　dogs　came　to　scavenge　what　they　could。　More　than　one　of　them　went　away　yelping；　however；　their　palates　slit　by　a　mouthful　of　meat　in　which；　secreted　like　pearls　in　an　oyster；　were　the　razor　blades　Breer　had　downed　like　a　gourmet。
　　
　　
　　XIV　After　the　Wave
　　
　　73
　　Wind　had　the　world。
　　It　blew　exactly　east…west　that　evening；　carrying　the　clouds；　buoyant　after　a　day　of　rain；　in　the　direction　of　the　setting　sun；　as　if　they　were　hurrying　to　some　Apocalypse　just　over　the　horizon。　Or　perhaps…this　thought　was　worse…they　were　rushing　to　persuade　the　sun　to　back　up　from　oblivion　for　another　hour；　another　minute…anything　to　delay　the　night。　And　of　course　it　wouldn't　e；　and　instead　the　sun　was　taking　advantage　of　their　fleecy…headed　panic　to　steal　them　over　the　edge　of　the　world。
　　Carys　had　tried　to　persuade　Marty　that　all　was　well；　but　she　hadn't　succeeded。　Now；　as　he　hurried　toward　the　Orpheus　Hotel　once　more；　with　the　clouds　suicidal　and　the　night　ing　down；　he　sensed　the　rightness　of　his　suspicions。　The　whole　visible　world　carried　evidence　of　conspiracy。
　　Besides；　Carys　still　spoke　in　her　sleep。　Not　with　Mamoulian's　voice　perhaps；　that　cautious；　looping；　ironic　voice　that　he'd　e　to　know　and　hate。　She　didn't　even　make　words　as　such。　Just　scraps　of　sound：　the　noise　of　crabs；　of　birds　trapped　in　an　attic。　Whirrs　and　scratchings；　as　though　she；　or　something　in　her；　was　laboring　to　reinvent　a　forgotten　vocabulary。　There　was　nothing　human　in　it　as　yet；　but　he　was　certain　the　European　was　in　hiding　there。　The　more　he　listened　the　more　he　seemed　to　hear　order　in　the　muttering；　the　more　the　noise　her　sleeping　tongue　made　sounded　like　a　palate　seeking　after　speech。　The　thought　made　him　sweat。
　　And　then；　the　night　before　this　night　of　rushing　clouds；　he'd　been　startled　awake　at　four　in　the　morning。　There　were　dreadful　dreams；　of　course；　and　would；　he　supposed；　be　dreams　for　many　years　to　e。　But　tonight　they　were　not　confined　to　his　head。　They　were　here。　They　were　now。
　　Carys　was　not　lying　beside　him　in　the　narrow　bed。　She　was　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　her　eyes　closed；　her　face　infested　with　tiny；　inexplicable　tics。　She　was　talking　again；　or　at　least　attempting　to；　and　this　time　he　knew；　knew　without　a　shadow　of　a　doubt　that　somehow　Mamoulian　was　still　with　her。
　　He　said　her　name；　but　she　made　no　sign　of　waking。　Getting　up　out　of　bed　he　crossed　the　room　toward　her；　but　as　he　made　his　move　the　air　around　them　seemed　to　bleed　darkness。　Her　chattering　took　on　a　more　urge　pitch；　and　he　sensed　the　darkness　solidifying。　His　face　and　chest　began　itch；　his　eyes　stung。
　　Again　he　called　her　name；　shouting　now。　There　was　no　response。　Shadows　had　begun　to　flit　across　her；　though　there　was　no　light　in　the　room　that　could　have　cast　them。　He　stared　at　her　gabbling　face：　the　shadows　resembled　those　cast　by　light　through　blossom…laden　boughs；　as　though　she　were　standing　in　the　shade　of　a　tree。
　　Above　him；　something　sighed。　He　looked　up。　The　ceiling　had　disappeared。　In　its　place　a　spreading　tracery　of　branches；　growing　even　as　he　watched。　Her　words　were　at　its　root；　he　had　no　doubt　of　it；　and　it　grew　stronger　and　more　intricate　with　every　syllable　she　spoke。　The　boughs　rippled　as　they　swelled；　sprouting　twigs　that　in　seconds　grew　heavy　with　foliage。　But　despite　its　health；　the　tree　was　corrupted　in　every　bud。　Its　leaves　were　black；　and　shone　not　with　sap　but　with　the　sweat　of　putrescence。　Vermin　scuttled　up　and　down　the　branches；　fetid　blossoms　fell　like　snow；　leaving　the　fruit　exposed。
　　Such　terrible　fruit！　A　sheaf　of　knives；　tied　up　in　a　ribbon　like　a　gift　for　an　assassin。　A　child's　head　hung　up　by　its　plaited　hair。　One　branch　was　looped　with　human　intestine；　from　another　a　cage　depended；　in　which　a　bird　was　burning　alive。　Mementos　all；　keepsakes　of　past　atrocities。　And　was　the　collector　here；　among　his　souvenirs？
　　Something　moved　in　the　turbulent　darkness　above　Marty；　and　it　was　no　rat。　He　could　hear　whispers　exchanged。　There　were　human　beings　up　there；　resting　in　the　rot。　And　they　were　climbing　down　to　have　him　join　them。
　　He　reached　through　the　boiling　air　and　took　hold　of　Carys〃　arm。　It　felt　mushy；　as　though　the　flesh　was　about　to　e　away　in　his　hand。　Beneath　her　lids；　she　rolled　her　eyes　like　a　stage　lunatic；　her　mouth　still　shaping　the　words　that　conjured　the　tree。
　　〃Stop；〃　he　said；　but　she　only　chattered　on。
　　He　took　hold　of　her　with　both　hands　and　shouted　for　her　to　shut　up；　shaking　her　as　he　did　so。　Above　them；　the　boughs　creaked；　a　litter　of　twigs　fell　down　on　him。
　　〃Wake　up；　damn　you；〃　he　told　her。　〃Carys！　This　is　Marty；　me；　Marty！　Wake　up；　for　Christ's　sake。〃　He　felt　something　in　his　hair；　and　glanced　up　to　see　a　woman　spitting　a　pearl…thread　of　saliva　down　upon　him。　It　spattered　on　his　face；　ice…cold。　Panic　mounting；　he　started　to　yell　at　Carys　to　make　her　stop；　and　when　that　failed　he　slapped　h