ib.thewaspfactory-第39节

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arcass　of　a　sheep　just　before　the　cellar　steps。　Eric　turned　round　and　swung　the　axe　at　me。　I　ducked　and　rolled。　I　landed　and　jumped　up；　ready　to　spring　away；　but　he　was　back　smashing　the　axe　into　the　door　again；　screaming　with　each　massive　blow　as　though　he　was　the　door。　The　axe　head　disappeared　through　the　wood；　became　stuck；　he　wriggled　it　mightily　and　got　it　out；　glanced　back　at　me　and　then　heaved　the　axe　at　the　door　again。　The　flames　from　the　torch　threw　his　shadow　at　me；　the　torch　lay　propped　against　the　side　of　the　door　and　I　could　see　the　new　paint　had　started　burning　already。　I　got　my　catapult　out。　Eric　had　the　door　almost　down。　My　father　still　hadn't　shown。　Eric　glanced　back　at　me　again　then　smashed　the　axe　into　the　door。　A　sheep　cried　out　behind　us　as　I　fumbled　for　a　steelie。　I　could　hear　the　crackling　of　fires　on　all　sides　and　smell　roasted　meat。　The　metal　sphere　fitted　into　the　leather　and　I　pulled。
　　
　　'Eric！　'　I　yelled；　as　the　door　gave　way。　He　held　the　axe　with　one　hand；　picked　up　the　torch　with　the　other；　he　kicked　the　door　and　it　fell。　I　tensed　the　catapult　one　final　centimetre。　I　gazed　at　him　through　the　Y　of　the　catapult's　arms。　He　looked　at　me。　His　face　was　bearded；　dirty；　like　an　animal　mask。　It　was　the　boy；　the　man　I　had　known；　and　it　was　another　person　entirely。　That　face　was　grinning　and　leering　and　sweating；　and　it　beat　to　and　fro　as　his　chest　heaved　in　and　out　and　the　flames　pulsed。　He　held　the　axe　and　the　burning　brand；　and　the　cellar　door　lay　in　a　wreck　behind　him。　I　thought　I　could　just　make　out　the　bales　of　cordite；　darkly　orange　in　the　thick　and　shivering　light　from　the　fires　around　us　and　the　torch　my　brother　held。　He　shook　his　head；　looking　expectant　and　confused。
　　
　　I　shook　my　head；　slowly。
　　
　　He　laughed　and　nodded；　half…dropped；　half…threw　the　torch　into　the　cellar；　and　ran　at　me。
　　
　　I　almost　released　the　steelie　as　I　saw　him　e　at　me　through　the　catapult；　but　just　in　the　last　second　before　my　fingers　opened　I　saw　he　had　dropped　the　axe；　it　clattered　off　the　steps　to　the　cellar　as　Eric　dodged　past　me　and　I　dropped　and　ducked　to　one　side。　I　rolled；　saw　Eric　haring　away　over　the　garden；　heading　south　down　the　island。　I　dropped　the　catapult；　ran　down　the　steps　and　picked　the　torch　up。　It　was　a　metre　into　the　cellar；　nowhere　near　the　bales。　I　threw　it　outside　quickly　as　the　bombs　in　the　blazing　shed　started　to　go　off。
　　
　　The　noise　was　deafening；　shrapnel　whizzed　over　my　head；　windows　in　the　house　blew　in　and　the　shed　was　totally　demolished；　a　couple　of　bombs　were　blown　out　of　the　shed　and　exploded　in　other　parts　of　the　garden；　but　luckily　none　came　near　me。　By　the　time　it　was　safe　for　me　to　raise　my　head　the　shed　no　longer　existed；　all　the　sheep　were　dead　or　gone；　and　Eric　had　vanished。
　　
　　My　father　was　in　the　kitchen；　holding　a　pail　of　water　and　a　carving…knife。　I　came　in　and　he　put　the　knife　down　on　the　table。　He　looked　about　a　hundred　years　old。　On　the　table　was　the　specimen…jar。　I　sat　down　at　the　head　of　the　table；　collapsing　into　the　chair。　I　looked　at　him。
　　
　　'That　was　Eric　at　the　door；　Dad；'　I　said；　and　laughed。　My　ears　were　still　ringing　from　the　explosions　in　the　shed。
　　
　　My　father　stood　looking　old　and　stupid；　and　his　eyes　were　bleary　and　wet　and　his　hands　shook。　I　felt　myself　calm　down；　gradually。
　　
　　'Wha…'　he　began；　then　cleared　his　throat。　'What。。。　what　happened？'　He　sounded　almost　sober。
　　
　　'He　tried　to　get　into　the　cellar。　I　think　he　was　going　to　blow　us　all　up。　He's　run　off　now。　I've　put　the　door　back　up　as　best　I　can。　Most　of　the　fires　are　out；　you　won't　need　that。'　I　nodded　at　the　pail　of　water　he　held。　'Instead　I'd　like　you　to　sit　down　and　tell　me　one　or　two　things　I'd　like　to　know。'　I　sat　back　in　my　chair。
　　
　　He　looked　at　me　for　a　second；　then　he　picked　up　the　specimen…jar；　but　it　slipped　from　his　fingers；　fell　to　the　floor　and　smashed。　He　gave　a　nervous　laugh；　bent；　and　stood　back　up　holding　what　had　been　inside　the　jar。　He　held　it　out　for　me　to　see；　but　I　was　looking　into　his　face。　He　closed　his　hand；　then　opened　it　again；　like　a　magician。　He　was　holding　a　pink　ball。　Not　a　testicle；　a　pink　ball；　like　a　lump　of　plasticine；　or　wax。　I　stared　back　into　his　eyes。
　　
　　'Tell　me；'　I　said。
　　
　　So　he　told　me。
　　
　　　12：　What　Happened　to　Me
　　
　　
　　ONCE；　far　south；　past　even　the　new　house；　I　went　to　build　some　dams　amongst　the　sand　and　the　rock　pools　on　that　part　of　the　coast。　It　was　a　perfect；　calm；　luminous　day。　There　was　no　line　between　the　sea　and　the　sky；　and　any　smoke　rose　straight。　The　sea　was　flat。
　　
　　On　the　land　in　the　distance　there　were　some　fields；　set　on　to　a　mildly　sloping　hillside。　In　one　field　there　were　some　cows　and　two　big　brown　horses。　While　I　was　building；　a　lorry　came　down　a　track　by　the　field。　It　stopped　by　the　gate；　reversed　and　turned　so　that　its　rear　was　facing　me。　I　watched　through　the　binoculars　as　this　went　on　about　half　a　mile　away。　Two　men　got　out。　They　opened　the　back　of　the　truck　so　that　a　ramp　was　formed　into　its　interior；　wooden　slatted　sides　being　folded　out　to　make　fences　on　either　side　of　the　ramp。　The　two　horses　came　to　watch。
　　
　　I　stood　in　a　rock　pool；　water　round　my　wellingtons；　and　I　cast　a　watery　shadow。　The　men　went　into　the　field　and　led　one　of　the　horses　out；　a　rope　round　its　neck。　It　went　out　with　no　plaint；　but　when　the　men　tried　to　get　it　to　go　into　the　truck；　up　the　tailboard；　between　the　skewed；　slatted　sides；　it　shied　and　refused；　leaned　backwards。　Its　mate　pressed　against　the　fence　beside　it。　I　heard　its　cries；　seconds　late　through　the　still　air。　The　horse　would　not　go　in。　Some　cows　in　the　field　looked　on；　then　continued　munching。
　　
　　Tiny　waves；　clear　folds　of　light；　consumed　the　sand；　rock；　weed　and　shell　beside　me；　lapping　quietly。　A　bird　called　in　the　calmness。　The　men　moved　the　truck　away；　led　the　horse　after　it；　down　the　track　and　along　an　offshoot　of　it。　The　horse　in　the　field　cried　out；　and　ran　in　pointless　circles。　My　arms　and　eyes　grew　tired；　and　I　looked　away；　at　the　line　of　hills　and　mountains　marching　into　the　glowing　light　of　the　north。　When　I　looked　back　they　had　the　horse　inside　the　truck。
　　
　　The　truck　moved　off；　wheels　spinning　briefly。　The　lone　horse；　confused　again；　ran　from　gate　to　fence　and　back　again；　first　following　the　truck；　then　not。　One　of　the　men　had　stayed　behind　in　the　field　with　it；　and　as　the　truck　disappeared　over　the　brow　of　the　hill　he　calmed　the　animal。
　　
　　Later；　on　my　way　back　home；　I　passed　the　field　with　the　horse　in　it；　and　it　was　quietly　cropping　the　grass。
　　
　　I　am　sitting　on　the　dune　above　the　Bunker　now；　in　this　fresh；　breezy　Sunday　morning；　and　I　am　remembering　dreaming　about　that　horse　last　night。
　　
　　After　my　father　told　me　what　he　had　to　tell　me；　and　I　passed　through　disbelief　and　fury　to　stunned　acceptance；　and　after　we　had　a　look　round　the　outskirts　of　the　garden；　calling　for　Eric；　cleaning　up　the　mess　the　best　we　could　and　putting　out　the　remaining　small　fires；　after　we　barricaded　the　cellar　door　and　went　back　to　the　house　and　he　told　me　why　he　had　done　what　he　had；　we　went　to　bed。　I　locked　my　bedroom　door；　and　I'm　pretty　sure　he　locked　his。　I　slept；　had　a　dream　in　which　I　relived　that　evening　of　the　horses；　then　woke　early　and　went　out；　looking　for　Eric。　I　saw　Diggs　ing　down　the　path　as　I　left。　My　father　had　a　lot　of　talking　to　do。　I　left　them　to　it。
　　
　　The　weather　had　cleared。　No　storm；　no　thunder　and　lightning；　just　a　wind　out　of　the　west　sweeping　all　the　cloud　away　out　to　sea；　and　the　worst　of　the　heat　with　it。　Like　a　miracle；　though　more　likely　just　an　anticyclone　over　Norway。
　　
　　So　it　was　bright　and　clear　and　cool。
　　
　　I　found　Eric　lying　asleep　on　the　dune　above　the　Bunker；　head　in　the　swaying　grass；　curled　up　like　a　little　child。　I　went　up　to　him　and　sat　beside　him　for　a　while；　then　spoke　his　name；　nudged　his　shoulder。　He　woke　up；　looked　at　me　and　smiled。
　　
　　'Hello；　Eric；'　I　said。　He　held　out　one　hand　and　I　clasped　it。　He　nodded；　still　smiling。　Then　he　shifted；　put　his　curly　head　on　my　lap；　closed　his　eyes　and　went　to　sleep。
　　
　　I'm　not　Francis　Leslie　Cauldhame。　I'm　Frances　Lesley　Cauldhame。　That's　what　it　boils　down　to。　The　tampons　and　the　hormones　were　for　me。
　　
　　My　father　dressing　Eric　up　as　a　girl　was　just；　as　it　turned　out；　a　rehearsal　for　me。　When　Old　Saul　savaged　me；　my　father　saw　it　as　an　ideal　opportunity　for　a　little　experiment；　and　a　way　of　lessening…perhaps　removing　entirely…the　influence　of　the　female　around　him　as　I　grew　up。　So　he　started　dosing　me　with　male　hormones；　and　has　been　ever　since。　That's　why　he's　always　made　the　meals；　that's　why　what　I've　always　thought　was　the　stump　of　a　penis　is　really　an　enlarged　clitoris。　Hence　the　beard；　no　periods；　and　all　the　rest。
　　
　　But　he　has　kept　tampons　for　the　last　few　years；　just　in　case　my　own　hormones　got　the　better　of　the　ones　he　had　been　pumping　me　with。　He　had　the　bromide　to　stop　the　added　androgen　making　me　feel　randy。　He　made　a　fake　set　of　male　genitals　from　the　same　wax　kit　I　found　under　the　stairs　and　made　my　candles　from。　He　was　going　to　confront　me　with　the　specimen…jar　if　I　ever　started　to　query　whether　I