cb.damnationgame-第4章

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stion　out；　however。　〃You　want　the　cards？〃　He'd　missed　the　point　entirely。　She　had　no　interest　in　him；　sexual　or　otherwise。　She　was　simply　a　messenger。　Mamoulian　was　here。　Within　spitting　distance；　probably。　Perhaps　watching　him　even　now。
　　But　the　confusion　of　emotions　in　him　blurred　the　elation　he　should　have　felt　at　this　moment。　Instead　of　triumph；　he　grappled　with　a　headful　of　contrary　images：　blossom；　breasts；　darkness；　the　burned　man's　face；　turning　too　briefly　toward　him；　lust；　fear；　a　single　star　appearing　from　a　flank　of　cloud。　Hardly　thinking　of　what　he　was　saying；　he　replied：　〃Yes。　I　want　the　cards。〃　She　nodded；　turned　away　from　him；　and　started　past　the　tree；　its　branches　still　rocking　where　the　man　who　was　not　Vasiliev　had　touched　them；　and　crossed　the　square。　He　followed。　It　was　possible　to　forget　this　go…between's　face　while　looking　at　the　grace　of　her　barefooted　steps。　She　didn't　seem　to　care　what　she　trod　on。　Not　once　did　she　falter；　despite　the　glass；　brick　and　shrapnel　underfoot。
　　She　led　him　across　to　the　remains　of　a　large　house　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　square。　Its　ravaged　exterior；　once　impressive；　still　stood；　there　was　even　a　doorway　in　it；　though　no　door。　Through　it；　the　light　of　a　bonfire　flickered。　Rubble　from　the　interior　spilled　through　the　doorway　and　blocked　the　lower　half；　obliging　both　woman　and　thief　to　duck　down　and　scramble　up　into　the　house　itself。　In　the　gloom　the　sleeve　of　his　coat　snagged　on　something；　the　cloth　tore。　She　didn't　turn　to　see　if　he　was　hurt；　though　he　cursed　audibly。　She　simply　led　on　over　the　mounds　of　brick　and　fallen　roof　timbers　while　he　stumbled　after　her；　feeling　ridiculously　clumsy。　By　the　light　of　the　bonfire　he　could　see　the　size　of　the　interior；　this　had　once　been　a　fine　house。　There　was　little　time　for　study；　however。　The　woman　was　past　the　fire　now；　and　climbing　toward　a　staircase。　He　followed；　sweating。　The　fire　spat；　he　glanced　around　at　it；　and　glimpsed　somebody　on　the　far　side；　keeping　out　of　sight　behind　the　flames。　Even　as　he　watched；　the　fire　keeper　threw　more　tinder　down；　and　a　constellation　of　livid　specks　was　thrown　up　against　the　sky。
　　The　woman　was　climbing　the　stairs。　He　hurried　after　her；　his　shadow…thrown　by　the　fire…huge　on　the　wall。　She　was　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　when　he　was　halfway　up；　and　now　she　was　slipping　through　a　second　doorway　and　gone。　He　followed　on　as　quickly　as　he　could；　and　turned　through　the　doorway　after　her。
　　The　firelight　only　found　its　way　fitfully　into　the　room　he'd　stepped　into；　and　he　could　scarcely　make　anything　out　at　first。
　　〃Close　the　door；〃　somebody　asked。　It　took　him　a　few　beats　to　realize　that　the　request　was　being　made　of　him。　He　half…turned；　fumbled　for　the　handle；　found　that　there　was　none；　and　pushed　the　door　closed　on　aching　hinges。
　　That　done；　he　looked　back　into　the　room。　The　woman　was　standing　two　or　three　yards　in　front　of　him；　her　perpetually　amused　face　looking　at　him；　the　smile　a　gray　sickle。
　　〃Your　coat；〃　she　said；　and　stretched　out　her　hands　to　help　him　shoulder　it　off。　Once　done；　she　stepped　out　of　his　eyeline；　and　the　object　of　his　long　search　came　into　view。
　　It　was　not　Mamoulian；　however；　that　took　his　eye　at　first。　It　was　the　carved　wooden　altar　piece　set　against　the　wall　behind　him；　a　Gothic　masterwork　which　blazed；　even　in　the　gloom；　with　gold　and　scarlet　and　blue。　Spoils　of　war；　the　thief　thought；　so　that's　what　the　bastard　does　with　his　fortune。　Now　he　looked　at　the　figure　in　front　of　the　triptych。　A　single　wick；　immersed　in　oil；　guttered　smokily　on　the　table　at　which　he　sat。　The　illumination　it　threw　up　on　to　the　card…player's　face　was　bright　but　unstable。
　　〃So；　Pilgrim；〃　the　man　said；　〃you　found　me。　Finally。〃　〃You　found　me；　surely；〃　the　thief　replied；　it　had　been　as　Vasiliev　had　predicted。
　　〃You　fancy　a　game　or　two；　I　hear。　Is　that　right？〃　〃Why　not？〃　He　tried　to　sound　as　nonchalant　as　possible；　though　his　heart　was　beating　a　double　tattoo　in　his　chest。　ing　into　the　card…player's　presence；　he　felt　pitifully　unprepared。　Sweat　glued　his　hair　to　his　forehead；　there　was　brick　dust　on　his　hands　and　muck　under　his　nails：　I　must　look；　he　squirmed；　like　the　thief　I　am。
　　By　contrast；　Mamoulian　was　a　picture　of　propriety。　There　was　nothing　in　the　sober　clothes…the　black　tie；　the　gray　suit…that　suggested　a　profiteer：　he　appeared；　this　legend；　like　a　stockbroker。　His　face；　like　his　dress；　was　unrepentantly　plain；　its　taut　and　finely　etched　skin　waxen　by　the　charmless　oil　flame。　He　looked　sixty　or　thereabouts；　cheeks　slightly　hollowed；　nose　large；　aristocratic；　brow　wide　and　high。　His　hair　had　receded　to　the　back　of　his　skull；　what　remained　was　feathery　and　white。　But　there　was　neither　frailty　nor　fatigue　in　his　posture。　He　sat　upright　in　his　chair；　and　his　agile　hands　fanned　and　gathered　a　pack　of　cards　with　loving　familiarity。　Only　his　eyes　belonged　to　the　thief's　dream　of　him。　No　stockbroker　ever　had　such　naked　eyes。　Such　glacial；　unforgiving　eyes。
　　〃I　hoped　you'd　e；　Pilgrim。　Sooner　or　later；〃　he　said。　His　English　was　without　inflection。
　　〃Am　I　late？〃　the　thief　asked；　half…joking。
　　Mamoulian　laid　the　cards　down。　He　seemed　to　take　the　inquiry　quite　seriously。　〃We'll　see。〃　He　paused　before　saying；　〃You　know；　of　course；　that　I　play　for　very　high　stakes。〃　〃I　heard。〃　〃If　you　wish　to　withdraw　now；　before　we　go　any　further；　I　would　perfectly　understand。〃　The　little　speech　was　made　without　a　trace　of　irony。
　　〃Don't　you　want　me　to　play？〃　Mamoulian　pressed　his　thin；　dry　lips　together　and　frowned。　〃On　the　contrary；〃　he　said；　〃I　very　much　want　you　to　play。〃　There　was　a　flicker…was　there　not？…of　pathos　there。　The　thief　wasn't　sure　if　it　was　a　slip　of　the　tongue；　or　the　subtlest　of　theatrics。　〃But　I　am　not　sympathetic　。　。　。〃　he　went　on；　〃to　those　who　do　not　pay　their　debts。〃　〃You　mean　the　lieutenant；〃　the　thief　chanced。
　　Mamoulian　stared　at　him。　〃I　know　no　lieutenant；〃　he　said　flatly。　〃I　know　only　gamblers；　like　myself。　A　few　are　good；　most　are　not。　They　all　e　here　to　test　their　mettle；　as　you　have。〃　He　had　picked　up　the　pack　again；　and　it　was　moving　in　his　hands　as　if　the　cards　were　alive。　Fifty…two　moths　fluttering　in　the　queasy　light；　each　one　marked　a　little　differently　from　the　last。　They　were　almost　indecently　beautiful；　their　glossy　faces　the　most　unflawed　thing　the　thief　had　set　eyes　on　in　months。
　　〃I　want　to　play；〃　he　said；　defying　the　hypnotic　passage　of　cards。
　　〃Then　sit　down；　Pilgrim；〃　Mamoulian　said；　as　though　the　question　had　never　been　at　issue。
　　Almost　soundlessly　the　woman　had　set　a　chair　behind　him。　As　he　sat　down；　the　thief　met　Mamoulian's　gaze。　Was　there　anything　in　those　joyless　eyes　that　intended　him　harm？　No；　nothing。　There　was　nothing　there　to　fear。
　　Murmuring　his　thanks　for　the　invitation；　he　unbuttoned　the　cuffs　of　his　shirt　and　folded　the　sleeves　back　in　preparation　for　play。
　　After　a　time；　the　game　began。
　　
　　
　　Part　Two　ASYLUM
　　
　　The　Devil　is　by　no　means　the　worst　that　there　is；　I　would　rather　have　dealings　with　him　than　with　many　a　human　being。　He　honours　his　agreements　much　more　promptly　than　many　a　swindler　on　Earth。　To　be　true；　when　payment　is　due　he　es　on　the　dot；　just　as　twelve　strikes；　fetches　his　soul　and　goes　off　home　to　Hell　like　a　good　Devil。　He's　just　a　businessman　as　is　right　and　proper。
　　J。N。　NESTROY；　Hollenangst
　　
　　I　Providence
　　
　　5
　　After　serving　six　years　of　his　sentence　at　Wandsworth；　Marty　Strauss　was　used　to　waiting。　He　waited　to　wash　and　shave　himself　every　morning；　he　waited　to　eat；　he　waited　to　defecate；　he　waited　for　freedom。　So　much　waiting。　It　was　all　part　of　the　punishment；　of　course；　as　was　the　interview　he'd　been　summoned　to　this　dreary　afternoon。　But　while　the　waiting　had　e　to　seem　easy；　the　interviews　never　had。　He　loathed　the　bureaucratic　spotlight：　the　Parole　File　bulging　with　the　Discipline　Reports；　the　Home　Circumstance　Reports；　the　Psychiatric　Evaluations；　the　way　every　few　months　you　stood　stripped　in　front　of　some　uncivil　servant　while　he　told　you　what　a　foul　thing　you　were。　It　hurt　him　so　much　he　knew　he'd　never　be　healed　of　it；　never　forget　the　hot　rooms　filled　with　insinuation　and　dashed　hopes。　He'd　dream　them　forever。
　　〃e　i