p&c.icelimit-第37节

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　〃This　was　underneath　the　boot；〃　he　said。　He　held　the　object　up　to　the　light；　brushed　off　the　clinging　ice　and　dirt；　and　held　it　up　again。
　〃A　belt　buckle；〃　said　Amira。
　〃What？〃　McFarlane　asked。　He　pushed　his　way　forward；　staring。
　〃It's　some　kind　of　purple　gemstone；　placed　in　a　silver　setting；〃　Amira　said。　〃But　look；　it's　been　melted。〃
　McFarlane　sank　back。
　Amira　looked　at　him。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃　McFarlane　merely　passed　a　gloved　hand　across　his　eyes　and　shook　his　head。　To　see　that　here；　of　all　places。。。　Years　ago；　after　they　had　scored　big　with　the　Atacama　tektites；　he　had　had　a　pair　of　belt　buckles　made；　each　with　a　sectioned　tektite；　to　celebrate　their　coup。　He'd　lost　his　long　ago。　But　despite　everything；　Nestor　had　still　been　wearing　his　at　his　death。　It　surprised　McFarlane　how　very　much　that　meant　to　him。
　Without　speaking；　they　gathered　up　the　prospector's　meager　effects。　Then　Glinn　fastened　the　locker；　Amira　gathered　up　the　lights；　and　the　two　began　trudging　back。　McFarlane　remained　a　moment　longer；　staring　at　the　cold　jumble　of　rocks。　Then　he　turned　to　follow。
　
　Punta　Arenas；
　July　17；　8：00　A。M。
　
　ANDANTE　VALLENAR　stood　over　the　tiny　metal　sink　in　his　cabin；　smoking　the　bitter　end　of　a　puro　and　lathering　his　face　with　sandalwood…scented　shaving　cream。　He　detested　the　fragrant　shaving　cream；　just　like　he　detested　the　razor　that　lay　on　the　basin：　a　two…bladed　disposable　of　bright　yellow　plastic。　Typical　American　throwaway　trash。　Who　else　would　build　such　a　wasteful　thing；　two　blades　when　just　a　single　blade　would　do？　But　naval　stores　were　capricious；　especially　for　ships　that　spent　most　of　their　time　in　the　far　south。　He　stared　at　the　little　disposable　in　disgust；　one　of　a　pack　of　ten　that　the　quartermaster　had　issued　him　that　morning。　It　was　either　that　or　a　straight　razor。　And　on　board　ship；　straight　razors　could　be　dangerous。
　He　rinsed　the　blade；　then　raised　it　to　his　left　cheekbone。　He　always　started　with　the　left　side　of　his　face：　he　had　never　been　fortable　shaving　with　his　left　hand；　and　this　side　was　easier　somehow。
　At　least　the　shaving　cream　hid　the　smell　of　the　ship。　Almirante　Ramirez　was　the　oldest　destroyer　in　the　fleet；　purchased　from　the　U。K。　in　the　fifties。　Decades　of　poor　sanitation；　vegetable　peelings　rotting　in　bilgewater；　chemical　solvents；　faulty　sewage　disposal；　and　spilled　diesel　fuel　had　suffused　the　vessel　with　a　stench　that　nothing　short　of　sinking　would　eradicate。
　The　sudden　blat　of　an　airhom　chased　away　the　noise　of　crying　birds　and　distant　traffic。　He　glanced　through　the　rusted　porthole　toward　the　piers　and　the　city　beyond。　It　was　a　brilliant　day；　with　crystal　skies　and　a　brisk　cold　wind　from　the　west。
　The　andante　returned　to　his　shaving。　He　never　liked　anchoring　in　Punta　Arenas；　it　was　a　poor　place　for　a　ship；　especially　in　a　westerly　wind。　He　was　surrounded；　as　usual；　by　fishing　boats　taking　advantage　of　the　destroyer's　lee。　It　was　typical　South　American　anarchy；　no　discipline；　no　sense　of　the　dignity　due　a　military　vessel。
　There　was　a　rap　on　the　door。　〃andante；〃　came　the　voice　of　Timmer；　the　signal　officer。
　〃Enter；〃　the　andante　said　without　turning。　In　the　mirror；　he　could　see　the　door　open　and　Timmer　enter　with　another　man　in　tow：　a　civilian；　well…fed；　prosperous；　satisfied　with　himself。
　Vallenar　ran　the　blade　a　few　times　along　his　chin。　Then　he　rinsed　the　blade　in　the　metal　basin　and　turned。　〃Thank　you；　Mr。　Timmer；〃　he　said　with　a　smile。　〃You　may　go。　If　you　would　be　so　kind　as　to　post　a　man　outside。〃
　After　Timmer　left；　Vallenar　took　a　moment　to　examine　the　man　before　him。　He　stood　before　the　desk；　a　slight　smile　on　his　face；　no　trace　of　apprehension。　And　why　should　he　be　afraid？　Vallenar　thought；　without　malice。　Vallenar　was　a　mander　in　name　only。　He　had　the　oldest　warship　in　the　fleet；　with　the　worst　posting。　So　who　could　blame　the　man　who　stood　here　before　him　now　for　sticking　out　his　chest　ever　so　slightly；　for　feeling　like　a　big　man　who　could　stare　down　the　powerless　andante　of　a　rusting　vessel？
　Vallenar　took　one　last；　deep　drag　on　the　puro；　then　flicked　it　out　the　open　porthole。　He　laid　down　the　razor　and　pulled　a　cigar　box　from　a　desk　drawer　with　his　good　hand；　offering　the　box　to　the　stranger。　The　man　glanced　at　the　cigars　with　disdain　and　shook　his　head。　Vallenar　took　one　for　himself。
　〃I　apologize　for　the　cigars；〃　the　andante　said；　replacing　the　box。　〃They　are　of　very　poor　quality。　Here　in　the　navy；　you　must　take　what　you　are　given。〃
　The　man　smiled　condescendingly；　staring　at　his　withered　right　arm。　Vallenar　eyed　the　heavy　sheen　of　pomade　in　the　man's　hair　and　the　clear　polish　on　his　fingernails。　〃Sit　down；　my　friend；〃　he　said；　placing　the　cigar　in　his　mouth。　〃Forgive　me　if　I　continue　shaving　while　we　talk。〃
　The　man　took　a　seat　in　front　of　the　desk；　daintily　propping　one　leg　over　the　other。
　〃I　understand　you　are　a　dealer　in　used　electronic　equipment　…　watches；　puters；　photocopiers；　that　sort　of　thing。〃　Vallenar　paused　while　drawing　the　razor　across　his　upper　lip。　〃Yes？〃　
　〃New　and　used　equipment；〃　the　man　said。
　〃I　stand　corrected；〃　Vallenar　said。　〃About　four　or　five　months　ago　…　it　would　have　been　in　March；　I　believe　…　you　purchased　a　certain　piece　of　equipment；　a　tomographic　sounder。　It　is　a　tool　used　by　prospectors；　a　set　of　long　metal　rods　with　a　keyboard　at　its　center。　Did　you　not？〃　
　〃Mi　andante；　I　have　a　large　business。　I　cannot　remember　every　piece　of　junk　that　crosses　my　door。〃
　Vallenar　turned。　〃I　did　not　say　it　was　junk。　You　said　you　sell　new　and　used　equipment；　did　you　not？〃
　The　merchant　shrugged；　raised　his　hands；　and　smiled。　It　was　a　smile　that　the　andante　had　seen　countless　times　before　from　petty　bureaucrats；　officials；　businessmen。　It　was　a　smile　that　said；　I　won't　know　anything；　and　I　won't　help　you；　until　I　get　la　mordida；　the　bribe。　It　was　the　same　smile　he　had　seen　on　the　faces　of　the　customs　officials　in　Puerto　Williams；　a　week　before。　And　yet　today；　instead　of　rage；　he　felt　only　a　great　pity　for　this　man。　A　man　like　this　wasn't　born　polluted。　He　had　been　corrupted　by　degrees。　It　was　a　symptom　of　a　greater　sickness；　a　sickness　that　manifested　itself　all　around　him。
　Sighing　deeply；　Vallenar　came　around　the　desk　and　perched　on　the　edge　closest　to　the　merchant。　He　smiled　at　the　man；　feeling　the　shaving　cream　drying　on　his　skin。　The　merchant　nodded　his　head　with　a　conspiratorial　wink。　As　he　did　so；　he　rubbed　his　thumb　and　forefinger　together　in　the　universal　gesture；　laying　the　other　manicured　palm　on　the　table。
　As　quick　as　a　striking　snake；　the　andante's　hand　shot　forward。　With　a　sharp；　digging　movement；　he　sank　the　twin　blades　of　the　razor　into　the　moon　end　of　the　merchant's　middle　fingernail。　The　man　drew　in　his　breath　sharply。　Terrified　eyes　stared　up　at　the　andante；　who　met　his　gaze　with　perfect　impassivity。　Then　the　andante　gave　a　brutal　tug　and　the　man　shrieked　as　the　fingernail　was　torn　away。
　Vallenar　shook　the　razor；　flicking　the　bloody　nail　out　the　porthole。　Then　he　turned　to　the　mirror　and　resumed　shaving。　For　a　moment；　the　only　sounds　in　the　small　cabin　were　the　scrape　of　the　blades　against　skin　and　the　loud　moaning　of　the　merchant。　Vallenar　noticed；　with　faint　interest；　that　the　razor　was　leaving　an　unshaven　stripe　on　his　face；　a　piece　of　matter　must　have　remained　stuck　between　the　blades。
　He　rinsed　the　blade　again　and　finished　shaving。　Then；　patting　and　drying　his　face；　he　turned　to　the　merchant。　The　man　had　risen　to　his　feet　and　was　standing　before　the　desk；　swaying　and　moaning；　and　clutching　his　dripping　finger。
　Vallenar　leaned　over　the　desk；　tugged　a　handkerchief　out　of　his　pocket；　and　gently　wrapped　it　around　the　man's　wounded　finger。　〃Please；　sit　down；〃　he　said。
　The　merchant　sat；　whimpering　softly；　his　jowls　quivering　with　fright。
　〃You　will　do　us　both　a　service　if　you　answer　my　questions　quickly　and　precisely。　Now；　did　you　purchase　a　device　such　as　I　described？〃
　〃Yes；　I　did；〃　the　man　said　instantly。　〃I　did　have　an　instrument　like　that；　andante。〃
　〃And　who　bought　it　from　you？〃
　〃An　American　artist。〃　He　cradled　his　wounded　finger。
　〃An　artist？〃
　〃A　sculptor。　He　wanted　to　make　a　modern　sculpture　out　of　it　to　show　in　New　York。　It　was　rusted；　useless　for　anything　else。〃
　Vallenar　smiled。　〃An　American　sculptor。　What　was　his　name？〃
　〃He　did　not　give　me　his　name。〃
　Vallenar　nodded；　still　smiling。　The　man　was　now　so　very　eager　to　tell　the　truth。　〃Of　course　not。　And　now　tell　me；　senor　…　but　I　realize　I　have　not　asked　your　name。　How　inconsiderate　of　me。〃
　〃Tornero；　mi　andante。　Rafael　Tornero　Perea。〃
　〃Senor　Tornero；　tell　me；　from　whom　did　you　purchase　the　instrument？〃
　〃A　mestizo。〃
　Vallenar　paused。　〃A　mestizo？　What　was　his　name？〃
　〃I　am　sorry。。。　I　do　not　know。〃
　Vallenar　frowned。　〃You　don't　know　his　name？　There　are　very　few　mestizos　left；　and　fewer　still　e　to　Punta　Arenas。〃
　〃I　can't　remember；　andante；　truly　I　can't。〃　The　man's　eyes　grew　frantic　as　he　searched　his　memory　in　desperation。　Sweat　trickled　from　the　pomaded　brow。　〃He　was　not　from　Punta　Arenas；　he　was　from　the　south。　It　was　a　strange　name。〃
　Suddenly；　a　flash　came　over　Vallenar。　〃Was　it　Puppup？　Juan　Puppup？〃
　〃Yes！　Thank　you；　thank　you；　andante；　for　refreshing　my　memory。　Pupp