el.angeleyes-第60节

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s　Colombian　factory　in　the　llano　negro　is　normal；　not　the　killer　stuff　the　Japanese　are　manufacturing。　So　at　least　he's　not　involved　in　that　side　of　it。〃
　〃Small　fort；〃　Tori　said。
　They　were　sitting　at　a　window　table　at　a　second…floor　kissaten…one　of　thirty　thousand　such　coffee　shops　in　Tokyo…overlooking　the　trendiest　street　in　the　trendy　Roppongi　district。　The　decor　was　highly　futuristic；　both　inside　the　kissaten　and　out　in　the　street。
　Red　neon　strips　hidden　by　pink　lacquer　sconces　that　ran　the　length　of　the　interior　of　the　coffee　shop　lit　stainless…steel　sculptures　of　bonsai　trees；　waves；　cranes　in　flight。　Old　symbols　in　a　new　medium。　It　was　as　if　the　Japanese；　in　stepping　boldly　forward　into　the　future；　were　duty…bound　to　drag　their　past　with　them。
　Outside；　people　passed　like　peacocks；　their　clothes　so　outlandish　they　could　be　considered　costumes。　Russell　noticed　that　the　futuristic　domes　were　almost　colorless：　black；　white；　putty；　simple　hues　that　allowed　the　fantastic　cuts　and　shapes　of　the　blouses；　skirts；　and　jackets　to　take　center　stage　and；　like　sculpture；　to　make　their　own　impact　in　the　purest　state。
　〃Tori；〃　Russell　said；　〃why　is　it　that　everything　in　Japan　is　a　symbol？〃
　〃That's　not　so　hard　to　figure；〃　Tori　said。　〃The　Japanese　fixation　on　symbols　is　merely　a　reflection　of　their　culture：　say　one　thing；　act　another　way。　Too　many　people　in　too　little　space。　And　because　of　chronic　earthquakes；　the　traditional　housing　construction　was　of　wood　and　paper…easier　to　rebuild　after　a　quake　has　leveled　your　house。　But　both　these　factors　made　for　an　acute　lack　of　privacy。　Did　you　ever　try　to　tell　someone　a　secret　in　a　room　whose　walls　are　made　of　rice　paper？　Don't　bother。
　〃In　Japan；　everyone　shares；　everyone　is　part　of　a　series　of　groups；　so　it　was　natural　that　an　elaborate　system　of　politeness　and　protocol　should　arise。　The　obsession　with　symbols　is　an　outgrowth　of　these　things。　A　symbol　is　easily　identifiable　for　groups；　something　happily　embraced　by　many。''
　〃I'm　with　you　so　far；　dudette；〃　Russell　drawled；　and　they　both　smiled。　〃But　if　you　take　the　time　to　look　behind　these　symbols；　you　find　that　they　have　no　meaning。〃
　〃Right。　And　that　makes　sense；　too；　if　you　can　learn　to　think　like　a　Japanese。　What　is　on　the　surface　is　to　be　admired；　but　not　necessarily　adhered　to。　As　long　as　form　and　protocol　are　outwardly　satisfied；　what　difference　does　it　make　what's　really　on　your　mind　or　in　your　heart？　Under　these　circumstances；　it's　far　better　for　the　symbols　to　be　meaningless。　That　way；　there's　no　chance　of　an　entanglement　that　could　cause　shame　and　loss　of　face。〃
　Tori　thought；　I　am　so　Japanese；　yes。　All　the　while　I'm　expounding　like　a　professor　on　their　culture；　I　am　part　of　it；　a　living　symbol。　I　am　talking；　hearing　myself　talk；　but　that　is　only　the　surface；　the　gleaming　shell；　all　that　I'm　allowing　Russ　to　see。　To　show　him　more　would　bring　me　shame；　a　loss　of　face。
　Tori　was　trying　desperately　to　e　to　terms　with　her　own　emotions。　Ever　since　she　had　seen　Russell　in　the　Medellin　cor…rida；　about　to　die；　something　had　changed　inside　her。　She　knew；　deep　down；　that　it　was　not　merely　a　sense　of　decency　or　even　guilt　that　had　motivated　her　to　leap　into　the　corrida；　climb　upon　the　bull's　humped　back。
　And　later；　in　the　727　on　the　way　to　Tokyo；　when　he　had　burst　in　on　her；　had　held　her　while　she　was　racked　with　the　pain　of　the　trust　she　had　lost　in　Estilo。　She　had　been　so　certain　that　Russell　would　reprimand　her；　push　her　face　into　the　uncertainty　that　now　loomed　before　her：　could　she　trust　any　of　the　network　of　friends　she　had　so　slowly；　so　painstakingly　nurtured；　cultivated；　relied　on？　Her　network　was　her　eyes　and　ears　on　the　clandestine　movements　of　the　world。　And　now　that　that　network　had　so　clearly　sprung　a　leak；　now　that　she　was　bleeding；　was　the　time　for　the　Russell　Slade　she　knew　to　hit　her；　hit　her　hard；　so　that　he　could　at　last　wrest　the　reins　of　control　from　her。　Because　she　had　been　convinced　that　this　was　Russell's　weakness：　he　was　a　control　freak；　and　the　fact　that　she　had　her　own　way　of　running　a　mission　drove　him　crazy。
　And　yet。。。　Russell　had　not　acted　in　character。　Just　the　opposite；　in　fact。　He　had　been　gentle；　kind；　understanding；　all　traits　she　could　not　reconcile　with　the　Russell　Slade　she　had　known　in　the　past。
　The　fact　was；　she　had　gotten　a　great　deal　of　pleasure　from　driving　Russell　crazy。　And　the　fact　that　she　was　so　obviously　successful　with　her　unorthodox　methodology　should　have　shown　him　his　own　weakness　as　clearly　as　if　it　were　a　mirror。　It　hadn't。　She　hadn't　counted　on　his　stubborn　streak…and　the　depth　of　his　weakness。　Control　was　everything。
　Tori　had　promised　herself　on　the　day　he　had　severed　her　from　the　Mall；　that　one　day　she　would　create　a　laboratory　experiment　where　Russell's　sense　of　control　was　stripped　from　him。
　This　new　mission　had　presented　just　the　opportunity　she　had　been　looking　for。　Since　it　was　clear　Russell　and　Bernard　were　desperate　to　have　her　back；　she　had　decided　to　exact　her　revenge　on　Russell。　The　field　was　the　greatest　laboratory　she　could　hope　to　find。　There　was　no　control　in　the　field；　where　one　was　continually　bombarded　with　the　randomness　of　life。　The　only　problem　was　that　she　had　herself　forgotten　how　random　a　mission　could　be；　and　events　had　not　gone　as　planned。
　For　one　thing；　Estilo　had　betrayed　her。　For　another；　Russell　had　turned　out　to　be　far　more　clever　and　resourceful　in　the　field　than　she　ever　could　have　imagined。　She　had　maneuvered　Bernard　Godwin　into　ordering　Russell　into　the　field　with　her　just　so　she　could　show　him　up　as　the　desk　jockey　he　was；　to　send　him　back　to　Mail　Central　humbled　and　defeated　by　his　inpetence。　But；　Tori　thought；　that's　not　how　it's　turned　out。
　She　had　been　increasingly　impressed　by　his　expertise；　his　bravery　under　fire；　both　psychological…at　Cruz's　apartment…　and　physical；　at　the　cocaine　factory　in　the　llano　negro。　And　then　in　a　stunning　display　of　courage；　he　had　challenged　Cruz；　throwing　himself；　weaponless；　into　the　corrida　in　Machine…Gun　City。
　My　God；　she　thought；　sitting　across　from　him　in　the　second…floor　coffee　shop　in　Roppongi；　this　can't　be　happening。　I　don't　know　this　man　at　all。　Russ　has　been　my　rival；　my　enemy。　Who　does　Bernard　love　most；　me　or　Russ？　That's　the　way　it's　been　ever　since　Russell　came　on　board…at　least；　I'm　convinced　that's　how　he's　seen　it。　Bernard　Godwin；　the　Mall's　eminence　grise；　has　been　our　surrogate　father；　and　like　disputatious　children　we've　been　yelling　''Choose　me！　Choose　me！〃　at　the　top　of　our　lungs。
　Staring　at　Russell　across　the　table；　watching　him　drink　his　ten…dollar　cup　of　coffee；　Tori　could　no　longer　see　him　as　the　man　who　had　outsmarted　her　at　every　turn　at　Mail　Central。　I'm　supposed　to　hate　this　man；　she　thought。　Haven't　I　hated　him　from　the　moment　he　severed　me？　I　hate　him；　I　don't；　I　can't　possibly…
　But　she　could　not　even　think　it；　and　with　an　inner　convulsion；　she　turned　her　thoughts　in　another　direction；　any　direction　to　distract　herself。。。
　She　remembered　a　time　at　Diana's　Garden　in　L。A。；　late　in　the　day；　when　the　shadows　grew　long　and　as　dark　as　plums；　her　favorite　time；　lazing　by　the　pool　after　a　ninety…minute　workout　on　the　board　and　in　the　water。　She　was　in　her　second　year　of　junior　high；　and　Greg　was　a　sophomore　in　college；　home　for　Easter。
　She　was　staring　up　at　the　glazed　sky。　Greg　was　at　her　side。　She　could　feel　him；　his　coolness　close　to　the　heat　of　her　own　body。　She　liked　that　he　was　always　cool；　always　a　contrast　to　her　warm　skin；　because　often；　when　she　looked　in　his　face；　it　was　like　staring　into　a　mirror；　two　pairs　of　identical　angel　eyes　reflecting。
　Her　workout　had　not　been　enough　to　calm　her　on　that　particular　day；　and　Greg　had　caught　her　crying。
　〃What's　up；　Tor？〃
　〃Nothing。〃
　〃You're　crying　over　nothing？''　He　grunted。　〃That's　stupid。''
　〃I'm　not　stupid。〃
　〃I　know。〃
　She　looked　up；　almost　shyly。　〃I'm　having　a　hard　time　in　Russian。　I　can't　seem　to　understand　it　at　all。〃
　〃Don't　give　up　on　it。　It's　important　to　him　that　we　know　Russian。〃
　〃Uck！〃
　It　had　always　seemed　an　enigma　that　her　father；　so　desperate　to　be　part　of　American　society　in　so　many　ways；　also　wanted　not　to　lose　his　Russian　heritage。　It　was　he　who　had　insisted　she　take　Russian　instead　of　French；　the　elegant　language　most　of　her　friends　took。　Russian　classes　were　filled　with　nerds　with　Coke…bottle…bottom　glasses；　thick　necks；　and　pimply　faces。　She　hated　them；　and　she　hated　the　language　in　which　nothing　seemed　to　make　sense。　She　thought　she'd　rather　study　Martian。
　〃You　have　a　test　today？〃　Greg　asked。
　〃Mid…term。　I　got　sick　and　threw　up　before　I　took　it。　I　think　I　might　have　failed　it。〃
　''You've　got　to　apply　yourself；''　Greg　said；　stretching　into　the　last　patch　of　sunlight　on　the　coping。　〃It's　easy　if　you　try。　Everything's　easy。〃
　''For　you；　maybe。〃
　〃For　you；　too。　We're　not　so　different　as　you　think。〃
　〃But　I　don't　understand　a　thing！〃　she　wailed。　〃I've　gone　to　every　class；　I　take　notes；　but　I　don't　know　what　it　is　I'm　writing。〃
　〃Maybe　it's　the　teacher；　then。　Who've　you　got？〃　Having　graduated　the　same　junior　high　six　years　before；　Greg　knew　everyone。
　〃Mr。　Broker。〃
　〃Broker　sucks；〃　Greg　said。　〃I'll　go　have　a　talk　with　Bob　Hayes；　the　p