el.angeleyes-第69节
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In the night； Honno recalled her lessons for the day； turning them over and over； as if they were jewels of great value which she must observe from every facet。
In this manner she absorbed everything she was taught。 She proved to be an extraordinary pupil。 Her memory was prodigious； and as long as her interest was piqued； she never grew tired or unresponsive。
The Man of One Tree instructed her in the basics of Zen and Shinto； for he felt strongly that religion was the backbone of any successful education。 From there he moved outward in what he saw as concentric circles to the Tao and the philosophy of Lao…tse。 Now came the warlike； more secular philosophies of the master strategist； Sun Tzu； and the master swordsman； Miya…moto Musashi。 Concurrent with these mental studies were the physical exercises： tai chi； jiujutsu； aikido； karate； kenjutsu。
One might think of this as a rather traditional curriculum； and it was： for a young boy studying the martial arts。 It was totally unconventional for a female。 In addition； the Man of One Tree added to Honno's studies the somewhat more esoteric philosophies and physical disciplines he had acquired during his years crisscrossing the Indonesian archipelago。
〃You will never be a woman in the traditional sense；〃 the Man of One Tree said to Honno one night。 It was six years since she had e to live with him。 She had breasts now； and the place between her thighs was covered with fine black hair。 She had bled for the first time that evening； just as the sun was sinking with the colors of a peacock into the turbulent ocean。
She had known what the blood flow was； and what it meant。 But some other part of her； the hinoeuma child hanging on； had remembered the horror of her mother's dream； how she had squatted in the snow and； under the baleful gaze of the starving stoat； had squirted blood。
〃I am still hinoeuma；〃 she had said in despair to the Man of One Tree。 She was trembling； and her callused hands were rough and red from scrubbing herself。 〃I am still unclean。〃
To which he had replied； 〃You will never be a woman in the traditional sense。'' He took her to the center of the One Tree； where its trunk was as large as a house； where even the stars could not be seen； and sat her down with her back to the rough bark。 ''But that is all to the good。 I have done my best to cleanse your spirit。 Never mind your body； it will only betray you。''
〃It will never betray me；〃 Honno had said naively。
He spread his arms wide。 ''When you return to the mainland； all this will fade in time。〃
〃No； no！〃
〃It will e to seem as a dream；〃 the Man of One Tree persisted。 〃That is only natural； it is the way of life。 You will continue to mature until you bee a woman。 Then will your body betray you； and you will want what every woman wants： a husband； a family； a home。
〃But your path leads in other directions。 For you； normality will bring to the fore your hinoeuma； and only evil can ensue。 Therefore； I counsel you to be strong within yourself。 When you feel the urge to fall in love； to marry； return to that place in your spirit I have taught you to find； for only this will nurture you； and protect you from the fate of the hinoeuma； the husband killer。〃
Honno； opening her eyes in the present； stared out into pale sunlight； except she was still seeing the body of the young man whose larynx she had crushed。 Had it been only hours ago？ It felt like years。
But； yes； it must be only hours。 In her mind's eye she could still see his blood fresh on her hands； and behind her Big Ezoe saying； almost gently； 〃Mrs。 Kansei； I have the Sakata ledgers and their decoded pages。 It's time to go。〃
Now Irina and Natasha Mayakova went to dinner almost every night。 Even on those days when she wasn't attending Natasha's acting classes in the back of the new Moscow Arts Theater； Irina met Natasha after her performance of Three Sisters。
Often； in fact； they did not have a proper dinner； they preferred to stroll through the streets and parks； talking； endlessly talking。 They would stop； eventually； for a bowl of cabbage soup in some tiny neighborhood shop filled with steam and gossip； then move on； drifting through their city； a part of it yet somehow apart； creating their own world。
Now more than ever Irina was burning with curiosity about Natasha's relationship with Valeri。 She could not be seeing him at night； unless they met very late； and as Irina was ing to understand； an actor could allow neither drunken days nor sleepless nights while she was working。
At the same time； Irina found herself feeling guilty at having lied to Natasha about her name。 It was no longer exciting to hear Natasha call her by the name of Katya Boroskaya； instead she longed to be called by her real name。 Yet she could think of no way to tell Natasha that her name was Irina Ponomareva。 What excuse could she give for her falsehood？ Besides； despite her growing friendship with Natasha； she was loath to give up her reason for contacting her in the first place： to find the link with Valeri。
It was so incredibly wearying to be a spy and to be feeling close to the person on whom you were spying。 Often； on their walks； Irina forgot why she was there and； for a brief time； would luxuriate in her newfound friendship。 Then reality would intrude and in some subtle way that disturbed and depressed her； she would withdraw from the shared intimacy with Natasha。
At night in bed； alone； Irina would think of her relationship with Natasha。 It seemed terribly unfair that her one chance at true friendship should be tainted； so distorted by lies and deceit。
Her nights with Valeri became more fevered； fueled by a kind of desperation pulled from Irina's very core。 Their lovemaking was increasingly wild； animalistic； exhausting； so that afterward Irina would plunge into the most absolute slumber； from which Valeri was obliged to shake her awake in the morning。
Then； over his protestations； she would climb upon his naked body； spread her legs across his loins； moving until she felt his response； then engulf him with her mouth until he arched off the bed； exploding。
In an orgy of self…destruction； she could no longer tell the difference between lust and love。 And Valeri's groans of sexual arousal and release would haunt her all day； echoing in her ears while she watched him talking intimately with Natasha Mayakova； until tears of hatred and self…pity clouded her eyes。
Irina； Irina； Irina。 She would recite her name silently as if it were a prayer or an enchantment that would ensure she remembered who she really was。 The trouble was； she no longer knew who Irina Ponomareva was。 Somewhere along the line her identity； her self； had been misplaced or covered over so thoroughly that she had forgotten where to look for it。
At Mars's apartment； after he fell asleep after their tepid love…making； she would stare at the ceiling and； before she herself fell into a shallow； troubled sleep； she would promise herself that tomorrow would be the day when she would confess everything to Natasha； so that they would have an opportunity to start all over。
But she awoke each morning knowing that she could never go through with it。 What was done was done。 She could never go back； sanitize the emotions that were sure to be raised by the truth。 Would Natasha forgive her for using her； or would she never want to see her again？ With a profound sense of foreboding； Irina knew that she could not take the chance to find out。 Her relationship with Natasha was already too precious for her to jeopardize it in any way。
And yet she knew that she was jeopardizing it every time she and Natasha were together； when there was a possibility that she might slip or that someone she knew would recognize her and use her real name。 Worse； she suspected that she hated Natasha as much as she cared for her； despised her for her relationship with Valeri； the unknown nature of which Irina found increasingly maddening。
Irina had begun to experience an odd sense of fragmentation； as if her life had been an eggshell that had abruptly been struck against a stone； turned into jagged bits； all with their own structure； but each with far less than the whole。 Some essential truth was missing； and had been； she realized； for some time； even before she had met Valeri。
Irina knew that she had been given a glimpse of that truth… that heart of things that； when she understood it； would e to mean more to her than anything else…in America。
In Boston she had watched the kids pouring out of the universities。 She had walked the tree…lined Cambridge streets with them； had eaten pizza and Coke alongside them； had bought clothes where they did； had listened to their music； first in snatches from passing cars； then in jukeboxes in the pizzerias； then in the dance clubs late at night。
One evening she had been invited to a party along with everyone else…including the chef…of the local pizzeria。 She had； of course； declined； but moments later thought； Why not？
It was as close to all…out chaos as Irina had ever been。 The noise level was tremendous。 Her glass shook in her hand and her teeth ached from the vibrations。 It was wonderful； as liberating； in its way； as sitting in the darkened mov
