cc.vixen03-第17节

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　Francis　made　a　helpless　gesture　with　his　hands。　〃Typical　of　an　AAR　raid。　They　always　police　the　area　right　after　an　attack。　Makes　it　tough　to　tag　them　with　any　hard　evidence。　They　plead　innocent　to　any　interna…tional　investigation　of　terrorism　while　pointing　a　hypocritical　finger　at　the　other　liberation　organizations。　If　it　hadn't　been　for　our　Alsatian　dogs；　we　never　would　have　uncovered　the　spent　shells　or　perhaps　even　the　arm。
　〃The　raiders'　tracks　e　and　go　from　the　bush　through　the　cane　fields　and　up　to　the　house。　I　figure　they　shot　down　the　guards　during　a　shift　change；　while　the　gate　was　open；　breaking　the　electrical　charge。　Pat　Junior　was　killed　over　by　that　burnt…out　tractor。　Myrna　and　Jenny　were　lying　a　few　feet　apart　in　the　parlor。　All　had　been　mercifully　shot。　Patrick；　for　what　little　fort　it's　worth；　there　was　no　indication　of　rape　or　mutilation。〃
　Constable　Francis　paused　to　take　a　drink　from　a　canteen。　He　offered　it　to　Fawkes；　who　simply　shook　his　head。
　〃Take　a　swig；　Patrick。　It's　whisky。〃
　Fawkes　refused　again。
　〃My　office　received　a　distress　message　over　the　radio　from　Jenny。　She　said　that　Pat　had　been　shot　and　that　men　in　bush　fatigues　were　attacking　the　farm。　She　and　Myrna　must　have　put　up　one　hell　of　a　fight。　We　found　four　separate　bloodstains　in　the　yard　behind　the　house。　And　you　can　see　for　yourself　that　what's　left　of　the　veranda　floor　is　filled　with　bloody　trails。　Jenny's　last　words　were；　'Good　Lord；　they're　shooting　the　chil…dren　in　the　pound。'
　〃We　assembled　our　forces　and　came　on　as　quickly　as　the　whirlybirds　could　get　us　here。　Thirteen　minutes　was　all　it　took。　By　then　everything　was　ablaze　and　the　raiders　had　vanished。　Two　platoons　and　a　helicopter　are　tracking　them　through　the　bush　now。〃
　〃My　people；〃　murmured　Fawkes；　pointing　at　the　still　figures　sprawled　around　the　pound。　〃We　can't　leave　them　lying　here　for　the　vultures。〃
　〃Your　neighbor　Brian　Vogel　is　ing　with　his　workers　to　bury　them。　They　should　be　here　any　time。　Until　then；　my　men　will　keep　the　scaven…gers　away。〃
　Fawkes　was　like　a　man　wandering　lost　in　a　dream　as　he　walked　up　the　steps　to　the　veranda。　He　could　not　yet　grasp　the　immensity　of　the　tragedy。　He　still　half　expected　to　see　his　three　loved　ones　standing　framed　by　the　bougainvillea。　And　his　mind　very　nearly　formed　a　picture　of　them　as　they　were；　waving　happily　to　him　when　he　left　for　Pembroke。
　The　veranda　was　painted　in　gore。　Puddled　streaks　traveled　from　the　smoking　embers　down　the　steps　to　the　yard；　where　they　abruptly　ended。　It　looked　to　Fawkes　as　if　three　or　maybe　four　bodies　had　been　dragged　from　the　house　before　it　was　torched。　The　blood　had　coagulated　and　turned　crusty　under　the　afternoon　sun。　Fat　iridescent　flies　hummed　and　waded　about　the　trails　in　swarms。
　Fawkes　leaned　against　the　lattice　and　felt　the　first　uncontrollable　tremor　of　shock。　The　house　he　had　built　for　his　family　was　nothing　but　blackened；　grotesque　ruins　incongruously　heaped　in　the　middle　of　the　trimmed　lawn　and　the　beds　of　gladiola　and　fire　lilies　that　stood　virtually　unmarked。　Even　the　memory　of　how　it　had　looked　was　beginning　to　twist　and　distort。　He　sank　down　on　the　steps　and　covered　his　face　with　his　hands。
　He　was　still　sitting　there　half　an　hour　later　when　Constable　Francis　came　over　and　gently　nudged　him。
　〃e；　Patrick；　let　me　take　you　to　my　place。　There　is　nothing　to　be　gained　by　staying　here。〃
　Francis　led　the　unresisting　Fawkes　to　the　Bushmaster　and　tenderly　deposited　him　in　the　passenger's　seat。
　As　the　vehicle　passed　through　the　gate；　Fawkes　stared　straight　ahead；　did　not　look　back。　He　knew　he　would　never　see　or　set　foot　on　his　farm　again。
　
　17
　
　Although　it　seemed　as　though　his　head　had　barely　hit　the　pillow；　Hiram　Lusana　had　been　asleep　for　seven　hours　when　he　was　roused　by　the　knock　at　his　door。　The　wristwatch　on　the　bed　table　read　six　o'clock。　He　cursed；　rubbed　the　sleep　from　his　coffee…brown　eyes；　and　sat　up。
　〃e　in。〃
　The　knock　came　again。
　〃I　said；　e　in；〃　he　grunted　loudly。
　Captain　John　Mukuta　entered　the　room　and　stood　stiffly　at　attention。　〃Sorry　to　wake　you；　sir；　but　section　fourteen　has　just　returned　from　its　reconnaissance　of　Umkono。〃
　〃So　what's　the　emergency？　I　can　study　their　report　later。〃
　Mukuta's　eyes　remained　fixed　on　a　spot　on　the　wall。　〃The　patrol　experienced　trouble。　The　section　leader　was　shot　and　lies　critically　wounded　in　the　hospital。　He　insists　on　reporting　to　you　and　no　one　else。〃
　〃Who　is　he？〃
　〃His　name　is　Marcus　Somala。〃
　〃Somala？〃　Lusana's　brow　knitted。　He　got　out　of　bed。　〃Tell　him　I'm　ing。〃
　The　captain　saluted　and　left；　softly　closing　the　door　behind　him；　pretending　not　to　have　noticed　the　second　shape　curled　beneath　the　satin　sheets。
　Lusana　reached　over　and　pulled　away　the　top　sheet。　Felicia　Collins　slept　like　a　statue。　Her　short　Afro　hair　gleamed　in　the　half　light　and　her　lips　were　puffy　and　parted。　Her　skin　was　the　color　of　cocoa　and　her　conical　breasts；　with　their　dark；　full　nipples；　heaved　with　each　deep　breath。
　He　smiled　and　left　the　sheet　off。　Still　half　asleep；　he　weaved　into　the　bathroom　and　splashed　handfuls　of　cold　water　on　his　face。　The　eyes　that　stared　back　from　the　mirror　were　streaked　with　red。　The　face　around　them　was　lined　and　haggard　from　a　night　heavily　laced　with　liquor　and　sex。　He　tenderly　patted　the　battle…worn　features　with　a　towel；　returned　to　the　bedroom；　and　dressed。
　Lusana　was　a　small；　wiry　man；　medium　boned　and　lighter　skinned　than　any　man　in　the　army　of　Africans　he　manded。　〃American　tan〃　is　what　they　called　it　behind　his　back。　And　yet　any　remarks　about　his　color　or　his　offhand　stateside　manner　were　not　uttered　out　of　disrespect。　His　men　looked　up　to　him　with　a　primitive　sort　of　awe　of　the　supernatural。　He　had　the　air　of　assurance　that　most　lightweight　fighters　have　in　their　early　careers；　some　might　call　it　an　air　of　arrogance。　He　took　a　last　fond　look　at　Felicia；　sighed；　and　walked　across　the　camp　to　the　hospital。
　The　Chinese　doctor　was　pessimistic。
　〃The　bullet　entered　from　the　rear；　tore　away　half　his　lung；　shattered　a　rib；　and　exited　below　the　left　breast。　It　is　a　miracle　the　man　is　still　alive。〃
　〃Can　he　talk？〃　Lusana　asked。
　〃Yes；　but　each　word　drains　his　strength。〃
　〃How　long…〃
　〃…has　he　to　live？〃　。
　Lusana　nodded。
　〃Marcus　Somala　has　an　incredibly　strong　constitution；〃　the　doctor　said。　〃But　I　doubt　if　he　can　last　out　the　day。〃
　〃Can　you　give　him　something　to　stimulate　his　senses；　if　even　for　only　a　few　minutes？〃
　The　doctor　looked　thoughtful。　〃I　suppose　speeding　up　the　inevitable　will　not　matter。〃　He　turned　and　murmured　instructions　to　a　nurse；　who　left　the　room。
　Lusana　looked　down　at　Somala。　The　section　leader's　face　was　drawn　and　his　chest　rose　shallowly　with　spasmodic　breaths。　A　maze　of　plastic　tubing　hung　from　a　rack　above　the　bed　and　ran　into　his　nose　and　arms。　A　large　surgical　dressing　was　taped　across　his　chest。
　The　nurse　returned　and　carefully　handed　the　doctor　a　hypodermic。　He　inserted　the　needle　and　pushed　evenly　on　the　plunger。　In　a　few　moments　Somala's　eyes　fluttered　half　open；　and　he　moaned。
　Lusana　silently　motioned　to　the　doctor　and　his　nurse　and　they　withdrew　to　the　hall　and　closed　the　door。
　He　leaned　over　the　bed。　〃Somala；　this　is　Hiram　Lusana。　Do　you　understand　me？〃
　Somala's　whispered　voice　came　out　hoarse　but　with　a　trace　of　emo…tion。　〃I　do　not　see　well；　my　General。　Is　it　really　you？〃
　Lusana　took　Somala's　hand　and　gripped　it　tightly。　〃Yes；　my　brave　warrior。　I　have　e　to　hear　your　report。〃
　The　man　on　the　bed　smiled　thinly；　and　then　a　haunting；　questioning　look　came　into　his　eyes。　〃Why　。　。　。　why　did　you　not　trust　me；　my　General？〃
　〃Trust　you？〃
　〃Why　did　you　not　tell　me　you　were　sending　men　to　raid　the　Fawkes　farm？〃
　Lusana　was　shaken。　〃Describe　what　you　saw。　Describe　everything。　Leave　out　nothing。〃
　Twenty　minutes　later；　exhausted　by　the　effort；　Marcus　Somala　lapsed　back　into　unconsciousness。　By　noon　he　was　dead。
　
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　Patrick　Fawkes　stood　alone　and　shoveled　the　molasseslike　clay　soil　over　the　coffins　of　his　family。　His　clothes　were　soaked　through　by　a　light　rain　and　his　own　sweat。　It　had　been　his　wish　to　dig　the　mon　grave　and　fill　it　himself。　The　burial　services　were　long　over　and　his　friends　and　neighbors　had　departed；　leaving　him　to　his　grievous　task。
　At　last　he　patted　smooth　the　last　shovelful；　stood　back；　and　looked　down。　The　headstone　had　not　arrived　yet；　and　the　mound　seemed　stark　and　forlorn　among　the　older　grave　sites　that　had　been　blanketed　by　grass　and　edged　with　rows　of　neatly　kept　flowers。　He　fell　to　his　knees　and　reached　into　a　pocket　of　his　discarded　coat。　His　hand　came　out　with　a　fistful　of　bougainvillea　petals。　These　he　sprinkled　over　the　damp　earth。
　Fawkes　let　the　grief　flow。　He　wept　until　after　the　sun　dipped　below　the　horizon。　He　wept　until　his　eyes　could　no　longer　produce　tears。
　His　mind　traveled　back　twelve　years　and　ran　off　images　like　a　movie　projector。　He　saw　Myrna　and　the　kids　in　the　little　cottage　near　Aberdeen　on　the　North　Sea。　He　saw　the　looks　of　surprise　and　happiness　in　their　faces　when　he　told　them　they　were　all　packing　up　and　heading　to　Natal　to　start　a　farm。　He　saw　how　sickly　white　skinned　Jenny　and　Pat　Junior　were　beside　the　other　schoolchildren　of　U