ib.thewaspfactory-第14节

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ng…paced　stride　that　got　my　lungs　working　properly　and　readied　my　legs。　My　arms；　fists　clenched；　moved　with　a　fluid　rhythm；　sending　first　one　then　the　other　shoulder　forward。　I　breathed　deeply；　padding　over　the　sand。　I　came　to　the　braided　reaches　of　the　river　where　it　swung　out　over　the　sands；　and　adjusted　my　steps　so　that　I　cleared　all　the　channels　easily　and　cleanly；　a　leap　at　a　time。　Once　over；　I　put　my　head　down　and　increased　speed。　My　head　and　fists　rammed　the　air；　my　feet　flexed；　flung；　gripped　and　pushed。
　　
　　The　air　whipped　at　me；　little　gusts　of　drizzle　stinging　slightly　as　I　hit　them。　My　lungs　exploded；　imploded；　exploded；　imploded；　plumes　of　wet　sand　flew　from　my　soles；　rising　as　I　sped　on；　falling　in　little　curves　and　spattering　back　as　I　raced　on　into　the　distance。　I　brought　my　face　up　and　put　my　head　back；　baring　my　neck　to　the　wind　like　a　lover；　to　the　rain　like　an　offering。　My　breath　rasped　in　my　throat；　and　a　slight　light…headedness　I　had　started　to　feel　owing　to　hyperoxygenating　earlier　waned　as　my　muscles　took　up　the　slack　of　the　extra　power　in　my　blood。　I　boosted；　increasing　speed　as　the　jagged　line　of　dead　seaweed　and　old　wood　and　cans　and　bottles　skittered　by　me；　I　felt　like　a　bead　on　a　thread　being　pulled　through　the　air　on　a　line；　sucked　along　by　throat　and　lungs　and　legs；　a　continual　pounce　of　flowing　energy。　I　kept　the　boost　up　as　long　as　I　could；　then；　when　I　felt　it　start　to　go；　relaxed；　and　went　back　to　merely　running　fast　for　a　while。
　　
　　I　charged　across　the　sands；　the　dunes　to　my　left　moving　by　like　stands　on　a　racetrack。　Ahead　I　could　see　the　Bomb　Circle；　where　I　would　stop　or　turn。　I　boosted　again；　head　down　and　shouting　to　myself　inside；　screaming　mentally；　my　voice　like　a　press；　screwing　down　tighter　to　squeeze　a　final　effort　from　my　legs。　I　flew　across　the　sands；　body　tilted　crazily　forward；　lungs　bursting；　legs　pounding。
　　
　　The　moment　passed　and　I　slowed　quickly；　dropping　to　a　trot　as　I　approached　the　Bomb　Circle；　almost　staggering　into　it；　then　flinging　myself　on　to　the　sand　inside　to　lie　panting；　heaving；　gasping；　staring　at　the　grey　sky　and　invisible　drizzle；　spreadeagled　in　the　centre　of　the　rocks。　My　chest　rose　and　fell；　my　heart　pounded　inside　its　cage。　A　dull　roaring　filled　my　ears；　and　my　whole　body　tingled　and　buzzed。　My　leg　muscles　seemed　to　be　in　some　daze　of　quivering　tension。　I　let　my　head　fall　to　one　side；　my　cheek　against　the　cool　damp　sand。
　　
　　I　wondered　what　it　felt　like　to　die。
　　
　　The　Bomb　Circle；　my　dad's　leg　and　his　stick；　his　reluctance　to　get　me　a　motorbike　perhaps；　the　candles　in　the　skull；　the　legions　of　dead　mice　and　hamsters…they're　all　the　fault　of　Agnes；　my　father's　second　wife　and　my　mother。
　　
　　I　can't　remember　my　mother；　because　if　I　did　I'd　hate　her。　As　it　is；　I　hate　her　name；　the　idea　of　her。　It　was　she　who　let　the　Stoves　take　Eric　away　to　Belfast；　away　from　the　island；　away　from　what　he　knew。　They　thought　that　my　father　was　a　bad　parent　because　he　dressed　Eric　in　girl's　clothes　and　let　him　run　wild；　and　my　mother　let　them　take　him　because　she　didn't　like　children　in　general　and　Eric　in　particular；　she　thought　he　was　bad　for　her　karma　in　some　way。　Probably　the　same　dislike　of　children　led　her　to　desert　me　immediately　after　my　birth；　and　also　caused　her　only　to　return　on　that　one；　fateful　occasion　when　she　was　at　least　partly　responsible　for　my　little　accident。　All　in　all；　I　think　I　have　good　reason　to　hate　her。　I　lay　there　in　the　Bomb　Circle　where　I　killed　her　other　son；　and　I　hoped　that　she　was　dead；　too。
　　
　　I　went　back　at　a　slow　run；　glowing　with　energy　and　feeling　even　better　than　I　had　at　the　start　of　the　Run。　I　was　already　looking　forward　to　going　out　in　the　evening…a　few　drinks　and　a　chat　to　Jamie；　my　friend；　and　some　sweaty；　ear…ringing　music　at　the　Arms。　I　did　one　short　sprint；　just　to　shake　my　head　as　I　ran　and　get　some　of　the　sand　out　of　my　hair；　then　relaxed　to　a　trot　once　more。
　　
　　The　rocks　of　the　Bomb　Circle　usually　get　me　thinking　and　this　time　was　no　exception；　especially　considering　the　way　I'd　lain　down　inside　them　like　some　Christ　or　something；　opened　to　the　sky；　dreaming　of　death。　Well；　Paul　went　about　as　quickly　as　you　can　go；　I　was　certainly　humane　that　time。　Blyth　had　lots　of　time　to　realise　what　was　happening；　jumping　about　the　Snake　Park　screaming　as　the　frantic　and　enraged　snake　bit　his　stump　repeatedly；　and　little　Esmerelda　must　have　had　some　inkling　what　was　going　to　happen　to　her　as　she　was　slowly　blown　away。
　　
　　My　brother　Paul　was　five　when　I　killed　him。　I　was　eight。　It　was　over　two　years　after　I　had　subtracted　Blyth　with　an　adder　that　I　found　an　opportunity　to　get　rid　of　Paul。　Not　that　I　bore　him　any　personal　ill…will；　it　was　simply　that　I　knew　he　couldn't　stay。　I　knew　I'd　never　be　free　of　the　dog　until　he　was　gone　（Eric；　poor　well…meaning　bright　but　ignorant　Eric；　thought　I　still　wasn't；　and　I　just　couldn't　tell　him　why　I　knew　I　was）。
　　
　　Paul　and　I　had　gone　for　a　walk　along　the　sand；　northwards　on　a　calm；　bright　autumn　day　after　a　ferocious　storm　the　night　before　that　had　ripped　slates　off　the　roof　of　the　house；　torn　up　one　of　the　trees　by　the　old　sheep…pen　and　even　snapped　one　of　the　cables　on　the　suspension　foot…bridge。　Father　got　Eric　to　help　him　with　the　clearing…up　and　repairs　while　I　took　myself　and　Paul　out　from　under　their　feet。
　　
　　I　always　got　on　well　with　Paul。　Perhaps　because　I　knew　from　an　early　age　that　he　was　not　long　for　this　world；　I　tried　to　make　his　time　in　it　as　pleasant　as　possible；　and　thus　ended　up　treating　him　far　better　than　most　young　boys　treat　their　younger　brothers。
　　
　　We　saw　that　the　storm　had　changed　a　lot　of　things　as　soon　as　we　came　to　the　river　that　marks　the　end　of　the　island；　it　had　swollen　hugely；　carving　immense　channels　out　of　the　sand；　great　surging　brown　trenches　of　water　streaming　by　and　tearing　lumps　from　the　banks　continually　and　sweeping　them　away。　We　had　to　walk　right　down　almost　to　the　sea　at　its　low…tide　limit　before　we　could　get　across。　We　went　on；　me　holding　Paul　by　the　hand；　no　malice　in　my　heart。　Paul　was　singing　to　himself　and　asking　questions　of　the　type　children　tend　to；　such　as　why　weren't　the　birds　all　blown　away　during　the　storm；　and　why　didn't　the　sea　fill　up　with　water　with　the　stream　going　so　hard？
　　
　　As　we　walked　along　the　sand　in　the　quietness；　stopping　to　look　at　all　the　interesting　things　which　had　been　washed　up；　the　beach　gradually　disappeared。　Where　the　sand　had　stretched　in　an　unbroken　line　of　gold　towards　the　horizon；　now　we　saw　more　and　more　rock　exposed　the　farther　up　the　strand　we　looked；　until　in　the　distance　the　dunes　faced　a　shore　of　pure　stone。　The　storm　had　swept　all　the　sand　away　during　the　night；　starting　just　past　the　river　and　continuing　farther　than　the　places　I　had　names　for　or　had　ever　seen。　It　was　an　impressive　sight；　and　one　that　frightened　me　a　little　at　first；　just　because　it　was　such　a　huge　change　and　I　was　worried　that　it　might　happen　to　the　island　sometime。　I　remembered；　however；　that　my　father　had　told　me　of　this　sort　of　thing　happening　in　the　past；　and　the　sands　had　always　returned　over　the　following　few　weeks　and　months。
　　
　　Paul　had　great　fun　running　and　jumping　from　rock　to　rock　and　throwing　stones　into　pools　between　the　rocks。　Rock　pools　were　something　of　a　novelty　for　him。　We　went　farther　up　the　wasted　beach；　still　finding　interesting　pieces　of　flotsam　and　finally　ing　to　the　rusted　remnant　I　thought　was　a　water…tank　or　a　half…buried　canoe；　from　a　distance。　It　stuck　out　of　a　patch　of　sand；　jutting　at　a　steep　angle；　about　a　metre　and　a　half　of　it　exposed。　Paul　was　trying　to　catch　fish　in　a　pool　as　I　looked　at　the　thing。
　　
　　I　touched　the　side　of　the　tapered　cylinder　wonderingly；　feeling　something　very　calm　and　strong　about　it；　though　I　didn't　know　why。　Then　I　stepped　back　and　looked　again　at　it。　Its　shape　became　clear；　and　I　could　then　guess　roughly　how　much　of　it　must　still　be　buried　under　the　sand。　It　was　a　bomb；　stood　on　its　tail。
　　
　　I　went　back　to　it　carefully；　stroking　it　gently　and　making　shushing　noises　with　my　mouth。　It　was　rust…red　and　black　with　its　rotund　decay；　smelling　dank　and　casting　a　shellshadow。　I　followed　the　line　of　the　shadow　along　the　sand；　over　the　rocks；　and　found　myself　looking　at　little　Paul；　splashing　happily　about　in　a　pool；　slapping　the　water　with　a　great　flat　bit　of　wood　almost　as　big　as　he　was。　I　smiled；　called　him　over。
　　
　　'See　this？'　I　said。　It　was　a　rhetorical　question。　Paul　nodded；　big　eyes　staring。　'This'；　I　told　him；　'is　a　bell。　Like　the　ones　in　the　church　in　the　town。　The　noise　we　hear　on　a　Sunday；　you　know？'
　　
　　'Yes。　Just　after　brekast；　Frank？'
　　
　　'What？'
　　
　　'The　noise　jus　affer　Sunday　brekast；　Frank。'　Paul　hit　me　lightly　on　the　knee　with　a　podgy　hand。
　　
　　I　nodded。　'Yes；　that's　right。　Bells　make　that　noise。　They're　great　big　hollow　bits　of　metal　filled　up　with　noises　and　they　let　the　noises　out　on　Sunday　mornings　after　breakfast。　That's　what　this　is。'
　　
　　'A　brekast？'　Paul　looked　up　at　me　with　mightily　furrowed　little　brows。　I　shook　my　head　patiently。
　　
　　'No。　A　bell。'
　　
　　'〃B　is　for　Bell；〃'　Paul　said　quietly；　nodding　to　hims