srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第2节

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　not　in　bat；　but　in　surgery；　they　had　been　amputated　because　of　the　gangrene　which　had　e　with　the　onset　of　his　disease。　And　the　ring　had　been　given　to　him　by　a　woman　who　had　divorced　him　because　he　was　a　leper。　Nothing　could　have　been　less　true　than　the　Land's　belief　in　him。　And　because　he　was　in　a　false　position；　he　had　behaved　with　a　subtle　infidelity　which　now　made　him　squirm。
　Certainly　none　of　those　people　had　deserved　his　irrectitude。　Not　the　Lords；　the　guardians　of　the　health　and　beauty　of　the　Land；　not　Saltheart　Foamfollower；　the　Giant　who　had　befriended　him；　not　Atiaran　Trellmate；　who　had　guided　him　safely　toward　Revelstone；　the　mountain　city　where　the　Lords　lived；　and　not；　oh；　not　her　daughter　Lena；　whom　he　had　raped。
　Lena！　he　cried　involuntarily；　beating　his　numb　fingers　against　his　sides　as　he　paced。　How　could　I　do　that　to　you？
　But　he　knew　how　it　had　happened。　The　health　which　the　Land　gave　him　had　taken　him　by　surprise。　After　months　of　impotence　and　repressed　fury；　he　had　not　been　prepared　for　the　sudden　rush　of　his　vitality。　And　that　vitality　had　other　consequences；　as　well。　It　had　seduced　him　into　a　conditional　cooperation　with　the　Land；　though　he　knew　that　what　was　happening　to　him　was　impossible；　a　dream。　Because　of　that　health；　he　had　taken　to　the　Lords　at　Revelstone　a　message　of　doom　given　to　him　by　the　Land's　great　enemy；　Lord　Foul　the　Despiser。　And　he　had　gone　with　the　Lords　on　their　Quest　for　the　Staff　of　Law；　Berek's　rune　staff　which　had　been　lost　by　High　Lord　Kevin；　last　of　the　Old　Lords；　in　his　battle　against　the　Despiser。　This　weapon　the　new　Lords　considered　to　be　their　only　hope　against　their　enemy；　and　he　had　unwillingly；　faithlessly；　helped　them　to　regain　it。
　Then　almost　without　transition　he　had　found　himself　in　a　bed　in　the　town's　hospital。　Only　four　hours　had　passed　since　his　accident　with　the　police　car。　His　leprosy　was　unchanged。　Because　he　appeared　essentially　uninjured；　the　doctor　sent　him　back　to　his　house　on　Haven　Farm。
　And　now　he　had　been　roused　from　somnolence；　and　was　pacing　his　lighted　house　as　if　it　were　an　eyot　of　sanity　in　a　night　of　darkness　and　chaos。　Delusion！　He　had　been　deluded。　The　very　idea　of　the　Land　sickened　him。　Health　was　impossible　to　lepers；　that　was　the　law　on　which　his　life　depended。　Nerves　do　not　regenerate；　and　without　a　sense　of　touch　there　is　no　defense　against　injury　and　infection　and　dismemberment　and　death…no　defense　except　the　exigent　law　which　he　had　learned　in　the　leprosarium。　The　doctors　there　had　taught　him　that　his　illness　was　the　definitive　fact　of　his　existence；　and　that　if　he　did　not　devote　himself　wholly；　heart　and　mind　and　soul；　to　his　own　protection；　he　would　ineluctably　bee　crippled　and　putrescent　before　his　ugly　end。
　That　law　had　a　logic　which　now　seemed　more　infallible　than　ever。　He　had　been　seduced；　however　conditionally；　by　a　delusion；　and　the　results　were　deadly。
　For　two　weeks　now　he　had　pletely　lost　his　grasp　on　survival；　had　not　taken　his　medication；　had　not　performed　one　VSE　or　any　other　drill；　had　not　even　shaved。
　A　dizzy　nausea　twisted　in　him。　As　he　checked　himself　over；　he　was　trembling　uncontrollably。
　But　somehow　he　appeared　to　have　escaped　harm。　His　flesh　showed　no　scrapes；　burns；　contusions；　none　of　the　fatal　purple　spots　of　resurgent　leprosy。
　Panting　as　if　he　had　just　survived　an　immersion　in　horror；　he　set　about　trying　to　regain　his　hold　on　his　life。
　Quickly；　urgently；　he　took　a　large　dose　of　his　medication…DDS；　diamino…dephenyl…sulfone。　Then　he　went　into　the　white　fluorescence　of　his　bathroom；　stropped　his　old　straight　razor；　and　set　the　long　sharp　blade　to　his　throat。
　Shaving　this　way；　with　the　blade　clutched　in　the　two　fingers　and　thumb　of　his　right　hand；　was　a　personal　ritual　which　he　had　taught　himself　in　order　to　discipline　and　mortify　his　unwieldy　imagination。　It　steadied　him　almost　in　spite　of　himself。　The　danger　of　that　keen　metal　so　insecurely　held　helped　him　to　concentrate；　helped　to　rid　him　of　false　dreams　and　hopes；　the　alluring　and　suicidal　progeny　of　his　mind。　The　consequences　of　a　slip　were　acid…etched　in　his　brain。　He　could　not　ignore　the　law　of　his　leprosy　when　he　was　so　close　to　hurting　himself；　giving　himself　an　injury　which　might　reawaken　the　dormant　rot　of　his　nerves；　cause　infection　and　blindness；　gnaw　the　flesh　off　his　face　until　he　was　too　loathsome　to　be　beheld。
　When　he　had　shaved　off　two　weeks　of　beard；　he　studied　himself　for　a　moment　in　the　mirror。　He　saw　a　gray；　gaunt　man　with　leprosy　riding　the　background　of　his　eyes　like　a　plague　ship　in　a　cold　sea。　And　the　sight　gave　him　an　explanation　for　his　delusion。　It　was　the　doing　of　his　subconscious　mind…the　blind　despair　work　or　cowardice　of　a　brain　that　had　been　bereft　of　everything　which　had　formerly　given　it　meaning。　The　revulsion　of　his　fellow　human　beings　taught　him　to　be　revolted　at　himself；　and　this　self…despite　had　taken　him　over　while　he　had　been　helpless　after　his　accident　with　the　police　car。　He　knew　its　name：　it　was　a　death　wish。　It　worked　in　him　subconsciously　because　his　conscious　mind　was　so　grimly　devoted　to　survival；　to　avoiding　the　oute　of　his　illness。
　But　he　was　not　helpless　now。　He　was　awake　and　afraid。
　When　morning　finally　came；　he　called　his　lawyer；　Megan　Roman…a　woman　who　handled　his　contracts　and　financial　business…and　told　her　what　had　happened　to　Joan's　stables。
　He　could　hear　her　disfort　clearly　through　the　connection。　〃What　do　you　want　me　to　do；　Mr。　Covenant？〃
　〃Get　the　police　to　investigate。　Find　out　who　did　it。　Make　sure　it　doesn't　happen　again。〃
　She　was　silent　for　a　long；　unfortable　moment。　Then　she　said；　〃The　police　won't　do　it。　You're　in　Sheriff　Lytton's　territory；　and　he　won't　do　a　thing　for　you。　He's　one　of　the　people　who　thinks　you　should　be　run　out　of　the　county。　He's　been　sheriff　here　a　long　；；　time；　and　he　gets　pretty　protective　about　‘his'　county。　He　thinks　you're　a　threat。　Just　between　you　and　me；　I　don't　think　he　has　any　more　humanity　than　he　absolutely　needs　to　get　reelected　every　two　years。〃
　She　was　talking　rapidly　as　if　to　keep　him　from　saying　anything；　offering　to　do　anything。　〃But　I　think　I　；　can　make　him　do　something　for　you。　If　I　threaten　him　…tell　him　you're　going　to　e　into　town　to　press　charges…I　can　make　him　make　sure　nothing　like　this　happens　again。　He　knows　this　county。　You　can　bet　he　already　knows　who　burned　your　stables。〃
　Joan's　stables；　Covenant　answered　silently。　I　don't　。‘　like　horses。
　〃He　can　keep　those　people　from　doing　anything　else。　And　he'll　do　it…if　I　scare　him　right。〃
　Covenant　accepted　this。　He　seemed　to　have　no　choice。
　〃Incidentally；　some　of　the　people　around　here　have　been　trying　to　find　some　legal　way　to　make　you　move。　They're　upset　about　that　visit　of　yours。　I've　been　telling　them　it's　impossible…or　at　least　more　trouble　than　it's　worth。　So　far；　I　think　most　of　them　believe　me。〃
　He　hung　up　with　a　shudder。　He　gave　himself　a　thorough　VSE；　checking　his　body　from　head　to　foot　for…：　danger　signs。　Then　he　went　about　the　task　of　trying　to　recover　all　his　self…protective　habits。
　For　a　week　or　so；　he　made　progress。　He　paced　through　the　charted　neatness　of　his　house　like　a　robot　curiously　aware　of　the　machinery　inside　him；　searching　despite　the　limited　functions　of　his　programming…for　one　good　answer　to　death。　And　when　he　left　the　house；　walked　out　the　driveway　to　pick　up　his　groceries；　or　hiked　for　hours　through　the　woods　along　Righters　Creek　in　back　of　Haven　Farm；　he　moved　with　an　extreme　caution；　testing　every　rock　and　branch　and　breeze　as　if　he　suspected　it　of　concealing　malice。
　But　gradually　he　began　to　look　about　him；　and　as　he　did　so　some　of　his　determination　faltered。　April　was　on　the　woods…the　first　signs　of　a　spring　which　should　have　appeared　beautiful　to　him。　But　at　unexpected　moments　his　sight　seemed　to　go　suddenly　dim　with　sorrow　as　he　remembered　the　spring　of　the　Land。　pared　to　that；　where　the　very　health　of　the　sap　and　buds　was　visible；　palpable；　discernible　by　touch　and　scent　and　sound；　the　woods　he　now　walked　looked　sadly　superficial。　The　trees　and　grass　and　hills　had　no　savor；　no　depth　of　beauty。　They　could　only　remind　him　of　Andelain　and　the　taste　of　aliantha。
　Then　other　memories　began　to　disturb　him。　For　several　days；　he　could　not　get　the　woman　who　had　died　for　him　at　the　battle　of　Soaring　Woodhelven　out　of　his　thoughts。　He　had　never　even　known　her　name；　never　even　asked　her　why　she　had　devoted　herself　to　him。　She　was　like　Atiaran　and　Foamfollower　and　Lena；　she　assumed　that　he　had　a　right　to　such　sacrifices。
　Like　Lena；　about　whom　he　could　rarely　bear　to　think；　she　made　him　ashamed；　and　with　shame　came　anger…the　old　familiar　leper's　rage　on　which　so　much　of　his　endurance　depended。　By　hell！　he　fumed。　They　had　no　right。　They　had　no　right！　But　then　the　uselessness　of　his　passion　rebounded　against　him；　and　he　was　forced　to　recite　to　himself　as　if　he　were　reading　the　catechism　of　his　illness；　Futility　is　the　defining　characteristic　of　life。　Pain　is　the　proof　of　existence。　In　the　extremity　of　his　moral　solitude；　he　had　no　other　answers。
　At　times　like　that；　he　found　bitter　consolation　in　psychological　studies　where　a　subject　was　sealed　off　from　all　sensory　input；　made　blind；　deaf；　silent；　and　immobile；　and　as　a　result