danbrown.thedavincicode-第12节

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　Sophie's　outgoing　message　immediately　cut　off；　and　Langdon　heard　an　electronic　voice　announce　in　French：　〃You　have　one　new　message。〃　Apparently；　454　was　Sophie's　remote　access　code　for　picking　up　her　messages　while　away　from　home。
　I'm　picking　up　this　woman's　messages？
　Langdon　could　hear　the　tape　rewinding　now。　Finally；　it　stopped；　and　the　machine　engaged。　Langdon　listened　as　the　message　began　to　play。　Again；　the　voice　on　the　line　was　Sophie's。
　〃Mr。　Langdon；〃　the　message　began　in　a　fearful　whisper。　〃Do　not　react　to　this　message。　Just　listen　calmly。　You　are　in　danger　right　now。　Follow　my　directions　very　closely。〃
　　
　CHAPTER　10
　
　Silas　sat　behind　the　wheel　of　the　black　Audi　the　Teacher　had　arranged　for　him　and　gazed　out　at　the　great　Church　of　Saint…Sulpice。　Lit　from　beneath　by　banks　of　floodlights；　the　church's　two　bell　towers　rose　like　stalwart　sentinels　above　the　building's　long　body。　On　either　flank；　a　shadowy　row　of　sleek　buttresses　jutted　out　like　the　ribs　of　a　beautiful　beast。
　The　heathens　used　a　house　of　God　to　conceal　their　keystone。　Again　the　brotherhood　had　confirmed　their　legendary　reputation　for　illusion　and　deceit。　Silas　was　looking　forward　to　finding　the　keystone　and　giving　it　to　the　Teacher　so　they　could　recover　what　the　brotherhood　had　long　ago　stolen　from　the　faithful。
　How　powerful　that　will　make　Opus　Dei。
　Parking　the　Audi　on　the　deserted　Place　Saint…Sulpice；　Silas　exhaled；　telling　himself　to　clear　his　mind　for　the　task　at　hand。　His　broad　back　still　ached　from　the　corporal　mortification　he　had　endured　earlier　today；　and　yet　the　pain　was　inconsequential　pared　with　the　anguish　of　his　life　before　Opus　Dei　had　saved　him。
　Still；　the　memories　haunted　his　soul。
　Release　your　hatred；　Silas　manded　himself。　Forgive　those　who　trespassed　against　you。
　Looking　up　at　the　stone　towers　of　Saint…Sulpice；　Silas　fought　that　familiar　undertow。。。　that　force　that　often　dragged　his　mind　back　in　time；　locking　him　once　again　in　the　prison　that　had　been　his　world　as　a　young　man。　The　memories　of　purgatory　came　as　they　always　did；　like　a　tempest　to　his　senses。。。　the　reek　of　rotting　cabbage；　the　stench　of　death；　human　urine　and　feces。　The　cries　of　hopelessness　against　the　howling　wind　of　the　Pyrenees　and　the　soft　sobs　of　forgotten　men。
　Andorra；　he　thought；　feeling　his　muscles　tighten。
　Incredibly；　it　was　in　that　barren　and　forsaken　suzerain　between　Spain　and　France；　shivering　in　his　stone　cell；　wanting　only　to　die；　that　Silas　had　been　saved。
　He　had　not　realized　it　at　the　time。
　The　light　came　long　after　the　thunder。
　His　name　was　not　Silas　then；　although　he　didn't　recall　the　name　his　parents　had　given　him。　He　had　left　home　when　he　was　seven。　His　drunken　father；　a　burly　dockworker；　enraged　by　the　arrival　of　an　albino　son；　beat　his　mother　regularly；　blaming　her　for　the　boy's　embarrassing　condition。　When　the　boy　tried　to　defend　her；　he　too　was　badly　beaten。
　One　night；　there　was　a　horrific　fight；　and　his　mother　never　got　up。　The　boy　stood　over　his　lifeless　mother　and　felt　an　unbearable　up…welling　of　guilt　for　permitting　it　to　happen。
　This　is　my　fault！
　As　if　some　kind　of　demon　were　controlling　his　body；　the　boy　walked　to　the　kitchen　and　grasped　a　butcher　knife。　Hypnotically；　he　moved　to　the　bedroom　where　his　father　lay　on　the　bed　in　a　drunken　stupor。　Without　a　word；　the　boy　stabbed　him　in　the　back。　His　father　cried　out　in　pain　and　tried　to　roll　over；　but　his　son　stabbed　him　again；　over　and　over　until　the　apartment　fell　quiet。
　The　boy　fled　home　but　found　the　streets　of　Marseilles　equally　unfriendly。　His　strange　appearance　made　him　an　outcast　among　the　other　young　runaways；　and　he　was　forced　to　live　alone　in　the　basement　of　a　dilapidated　factory；　eating　stolen　fruit　and　raw　fish　from　the　dock。　His　only　panions　were　tattered　magazines　he　found　in　the　trash；　and　he　taught　himself　to　read　them。　Over　time；　he　grew　strong。　When　he　was　twelve；　another　drifter…a　girl　twice　his　age…mocked　him　on　the　streets　and　attempted　to　steal　his　food。　The　girl　found　herself　pummeled　to　within　inches　of　her　life。　When　the　authorities　pulled　the　boy　off　her；　they　gave　him　an　ultimatum…leave　Marseilles　or　go　to　juvenile　prison。
　The　boy　moved　down　the　coast　to　Toulon。　Over　time；　the　looks　of　pity　on　the　streets　turned　to　looks　of　fear。　The　boy　had　grown　to　a　powerful　young　man。　When　people　passed　by；　he　could　hear　them　whispering　to　one　another。　A　ghost；　they　would　say；　their　eyes　wide　with　fright　as　they　stared　at　his　white　skin。　A　ghost　with　the　eyes　of　a　devil！
　And　he　felt　like　a　ghost。。。　transparent。。。　floating　from　seaport　to　seaport。
　People　seemed　to　look　right　through　him。
　At　eighteen；　in　a　port　town；　while　attempting　to　steal　a　case　of　cured　ham　from　a　cargo　ship；　he　was　caught　by　a　pair　of　crewmen。　The　two　sailors　who　began　to　beat　him　smelled　of　beer；　just　as　his　father　had。　The　memories　of　fear　and　hatred　surfaced　like　a　monster　from　the　deep。　The　young　man　broke　the　first　sailor's　neck　with　his　bare　hands；　and　only　the　arrival　of　the　police　saved　the　second　sailor　from　a　similar　fate。
　Two　months　later；　in　shackles；　he　arrived　at　a　prison　in　Andorra。
　You　are　as　white　as　a　ghost；　the　inmates　ridiculed　as　the　guards　marched　him　in；　naked　and　cold。　Mira　el　espectro！　Perhaps　the　ghost　will　pass　right　through　these　walls！
　Over　the　course　of　twelve　years；　his　flesh　and　soul　withered　until　he　knew　he　had　bee　transparent。
　I　am　a　ghost。
　I　am　weightless。
　Yo　soy　un　espectro。。。　palido　a　una　fantasma。。。　caminando　este　mundo　a　solas。
　One　night　the　ghost　awoke　to　the　screams　of　other　inmates。　He　didn't　know　what　invisible　force　was　shaking　the　floor　on　which　he　slept；　nor　what　mighty　hand　was　trembling　the　mortar　of　his　stone　cell；　but　as　he　jumped　to　his　feet；　a　large　boulder　toppled　onto　the　very　spot　where　he　had　been　sleeping。　Looking　up　to　see　where　the　stone　had　e　from；　he　saw　a　hole　in　the　trembling　wall；　and　beyond　it；　a　vision　he　had　not　seen　in　over　ten　years。　The　moon。
　Even　while　the　earth　still　shook；　the　ghost　found　himself　scrambling　through　a　narrow　tunnel；　staggering　out　into　an　expansive　vista；　and　tumbling　down　a　barren　mountainside　into　the　woods。　He　ran　all　night；　always　downward；　delirious　with　hunger　and　exhaustion。
　Skirting　the　edges　of　consciousness；　he　found　himself　at　dawn　in　a　clearing　where　train　tracks　cut　a　swath　across　the　forest。　Following　the　rails；　he　moved　on　as　if　dreaming。　Seeing　an　empty　freight　car；　he　crawled　in　for　shelter　and　rest。　When　he　awoke　the　train　was　moving。　How　long？　How　far？　A　pain　was　growing　in　his　gut。　Am　I　dying？　He　slept　again。　This　time　he　awoke　to　someone　yelling；　beating　him；　throwing　him　out　of　the　freight　car。　Bloody；　he　wandered　the　outskirts　of　a　small　village　looking　in　vain　for　food。　Finally；　his　body　too　weak　to　take　another　step；　he　lay　down　by　the　side　of　the　road　and　slipped　into　unconsciousness。
　The　light　came　slowly；　and　the　ghost　wondered　how　long　he　had　been　dead。　A　day？　Three　days？　It　didn't　matter。　His　bed　was　soft　like　a　cloud；　and　the　air　around　him　smelled　sweet　with　candles。　Jesus　was　there；　staring　down　at　him。　I　am　here；　Jesus　said。　The　stone　has　been　rolled　aside；　and　you　are　born　again。
　He　slept　and　awoke。　Fog　shrouded　his　thoughts。　He　had　never　believed　in　heaven；　and　yet　Jesus　was　watching　over　him。　Food　appeared　beside　his　bed；　and　the　ghost　ate　it；　almost　able　to　feel　the　flesh　materializing　on　his　bones。　He　slept　again。　When　he　awoke；　Jesus　was　still　smiling　down；　speaking。　You　are　saved；　my　son。　Blessed　are　those　who　follow　my　path。
　Again；　he　slept。
　It　was　a　scream　of　anguish　that　startled　the　ghost　from　his　slumber。　His　body　leapt　out　of　bed；　staggered　down　a　hallway　toward　the　sounds　of　shouting。　He　entered　into　a　kitchen　and　saw　a　large　man　beating　a　smaller　man。　Without　knowing　why；　the　ghost　grabbed　the　large　man　and　hurled　him　backward　against　a　wall。　The　man　fled；　leaving　the　ghost　standing　over　the　body　of　a　young　man　in　priest's　robes。　The　priest　had　a　badly　shattered　nose。　Lifting　the　bloody　priest；　the　ghost　carried　him　to　a　couch。
　〃Thank　you；　my　friend；〃　the　priest　said　in　awkward　French。　〃The　offertory　money　is　tempting　for　thieves。　You　speak　French　in　your　sleep。　Do　you　also　speak　Spanish？〃
　The　ghost　shook　his　head。
　〃What　is　your　name？〃　he　continued　in　broken　French。
　The　ghost　could　not　remember　the　name　his　parents　had　given　him。　All　he　heard　were　the　taunting　gibes　of　the　prison　guards。
　The　priest　smiled。　〃No　hay　problema。　My　name　is　Manuel　Aringarosa。　I　am　a　missionary　from　Madrid。　I　was　sent　here　to　build　a　church　for　the　Obra　de　Dios。〃
　〃Where　am　I？〃　His　voice　sounded　hollow。
　〃Oviedo。　In　the　north　of　Spain。〃
　〃How　did　I　get　here？〃
　〃Someone　left　you　on　my　doorstep。　You　were　ill。　I　fed　you。　You've　been　here　many　days。〃
　The　ghost　studied　his　young　caretaker。　Years　had　passed　since　anyone　had　shown　any　kindness。　〃Thank　you；　Father。〃
　The　priest　touched　his　bloody　lip。　〃It　is　I　who　am　thankful；　my　friend。〃
　When　the　ghost　awoke　in　the　morning；　his　world　felt　clearer。　He　gazed　up　at　the　crucifix　on　the　wall　above　his　bed。　Although　it　no　longer　spoke　to　him；　he　felt　a　forting　aura　in　its　presence。　Sitting　up；　he　was　surprised　to　find　a　newspaper