cb.damnationgame-第58章

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　toward　the　front　door　the　European　stepped　out　of　the　house。
　　There　was　no　way　to　avoid　being　seen。　Marty　stood；　rooted　to　the　spot；　while　Breer　emerged；　and　the　two　unlikely　panions　moved　away　from　the　house。　Whatever　job　they'd　e　to　do　was　clearly　pleted。
　　A　few　steps　across　the　gravel　Mamoulian　glanced　around。　His　eyes　found　Marty　immediately。　For　a　long　moment　the　European　simply　stared　across　the　expanse　of　bright　grass。　Then　he　nodded；　a　short；　sharp　nod　that　was　simply　acknowledgment。　I　see　you；　it　said；　and　look！　I　do　you　no　harm。　Then　he　turned　and　walked　away；　until　he　and　the　gravedigger　were　obscured　by　the　cypresses　that　lined　the　drive。
　　
　　
　　
　　Part　Four　THE　THIEF'S　TALE
　　
　　Civilisations　do　not　degenerate　through　fear；　but　because　they　forget　that　fear　exists。
　　…FREYA　STARK；　Perseus　in　the　Wind
　　
　　
　　48
　　Marty　stood　in　the　hallway　and　listened　for　footsteps　or　voices。　There　were　neither。　The　women　had　obviously　gone；　as　had　Ottaway；　Curtsinger　and　the　Troll…King。　Perhaps　the　old　man　too。
　　Few　lights　burned　in　the　house。　Those　that　did　rendered　the　place　almost　two…dimensional。　Power　had　been　unleashed　here。　Its　remnants　skittered　in　the　metalwork；　the　air　had　a　bluish　tinge。　He　made　his　way　upstairs。　The　second　floor　was　in　darkness；　but　he　found　his　way　along　it　by　instinct；　his　feet　kicking　the　porcelain　shards…some　smashed　treasure　or　other…as　he　went。　There　was　more　than　porcelain　underfoot。　Things　damp；　things　torn。　He　didn't　look　down；　but　made　his　way　toward　the　white　room；　anticipation　mounting　with　every　step。
　　The　door　was　ajar；　and　a　light；　not　electric　but　candle；　burned　inside。　He　stepped　over　the　threshold。　The　single　flame　offered　a　panicky　illumination…his　very　presence　had　it　jumping…but　he　could　see　that　every　bottle　in　the　room　had　been　smashed。　He　stepped　into　a　swamp　of　broken　glass　and　spilled　wine：　the　room　was　pungent　with　the　dregs。　The　table　had　been　overturned　and　several　of　the　chairs　reduced　to　match…wood。
　　Old　Man　Whitehead　was　standing　in　the　corner　of　the　room。　There　were　spatters　of　blood　on　his　face；　but　it　was　difficult　to　be　certain　if　it　was　his。　He　looked　like　a　man　pictured　in　the　aftermath　of　an　earthquake：　shock　had　bled　his　features　white。
　　〃He　came　early；〃　he　said；　disbelief　in　every　hushed　syllable。　〃Imagine　that。　I　thought　he　believed　in　covenants。　But　he　came　early　to　catch　me　out。〃　〃Who　is　he？〃　He　wiped　tears　from　his　cheeks　with　the　heel　of　his　hand；　smearing　the　blood。　〃The　bastard　lied　to　me；〃　he　said。
　　〃Are　you　hurt？〃　〃No。〃　Whitehead　said；　as　if　the　question　were　utterly　ridiculous。　〃He　wouldn't　lay　a　hand　on　me。　〃He　knows　better　than　that。　He　wants　me　to　go　willingly；　you　see？〃　Marty　didn't。
　　〃There's　a　body　in　the　hallway；〃　Whitehead　observed　matter…of…factly。　〃I　moved　her　off　the　stairs。〃　〃Who？〃　〃Stephanie。〃　〃He　killed　her？〃　〃Him？　No。　His　hands　are　clean。　You　could　drink　milk　from　them。〃　〃I'll　call　the　police。〃　〃No！〃　Whitehead　took　several　ill…advised　steps　through　the　glass　to　catch　Marty's　arm。
　　〃No！　No　police。〃　〃But　somebody's　dead。〃　〃Forget　her。　You　can　hide　her　away　later；　eh？〃　His　tone　was　almost　ingratiating；　his　breath；　now　he　was　close；　toxic。　〃You'll　do　that；　won't　you？〃　〃After　all　you've　done？〃　〃A　little　joke；〃　Whitehead　said。　He　tried　a　smile；　his　grip　on　Marty's　arm　was　blood…stopping。　〃e　on；　a　joke；　that's　all。〃　It　was　like　being　buttonholed　by　an　alcoholic　on　a　street　corner。
　　Marty　loosed　his　arm。　〃I've　done　all　I'm　going　to　do　for　you；〃　he　said。
　　〃You　want　to　go　back　home；　is　that　it？〃　Whitehead's　tone　soured　on　an　instant。　〃Want　to　go　back　behind　bars　where　you　can　hide　your　head？〃　〃You've　tried　that　trick。〃　〃Am　I　getting　repetitive？　Oh；　dear。　Oh；　Christ　in　Heaven。〃　He　waved　Marty　away。　〃Go　on　then。　Piss　off；　you're　not　in　my　class。〃　He　staggered　back　to　the　crutch　of　the　wall　and　leaned　there。　〃What　the　fuck　am　I　doing；　expecting　you　to　take　a　stand？〃　〃You　set　me　up；〃　Marty　snarled　in　reply；　〃all　along！〃　〃I　told　you　。　。　。　a　joke。〃　〃Not　just　tonight。　All　along。　Lying　to　me　。　。　。　bribing　me。　You　said　you　needed　someone　to　trust；　and　then　you　treat　me　like　shit。　No　wonder　they　all　run　out　on　you　in　the　end！〃　Whitehead　wheeled　on　him。　〃All　right；〃　he　shouted　back；　〃what　do　you　want？〃　〃The　truth。〃　〃Are　you　sure？〃　〃Yes；　damn　you；　yes！〃　The　old　man　sucked　at　his　lip；　debating　with　himself。　When　he　spoke　again；　the　voice　had　quietened。　〃All　right；　boy。　All　right。〃　The　old　glitter　flared　in　his　eyes；　and　momentarily　the　defeat　was　burned　away　by　a　new　enthusiasm。　〃If　you're　so　eager　to　hear；　I'll　tell　you。〃　He　pointed　a　shaky　finger　at　Marty。　〃Close　the　door。〃　Marty　kicked　a　smashed　bottle　out　of　the　way；　and　pushed　the　door　shut。　It　was　bizarre　to　be　closing　the　door　on　murder　simply　to　listen　to　a　story。　But　this　tale　had　waited　so　long　to　be　told；　it　could　be　delayed　no　longer。
　　〃When　were　you　born；　Marty？〃　〃In　1948。　December。〃　〃The　war　was　over。〃　〃Yes。〃　〃You　don't　know　what　you　missed。
　　It　was　an　odd　beginning　for　a　confession。
　　〃Such　times。〃　〃You　had　a　good　war？〃　Whitehead　reached　for　one　of　the　less　damaged　chairs　and　righted　it；　then　he　sat　down。　For　several　seconds　he　didn't　say　anything。
　　〃I　was　a　thief；　Marty；〃　he　said　at　last。　〃Well　。　。　。　black　marketeer　has　a　more　impressive　ring；　I　suppose；　but　it　amounts　to　the　same　thing。　I　was　able　to　speak　three　or　four　languages　adequately；　and　I　was　always　quick…witted。　Things　fell　my　way　very　easily。〃　〃You　were　lucky。〃　〃Luck　had　no　bearing　on　it。　Luck's　out　for　people　with　no　control。　I　had　control；　though　I　didn't　know　it　at　the　time。　I　made　my　own　luck；　if　you　like。〃　He　paused。　〃You　must　understand；　war　isn't　like　you　see　in　the　cinema；　or　at　least　my　war　wasn't。　Europe　was　falling　apart。　Everything　was　in　flux。　Borders　were　changing；　people　were　being　shipped　into　oblivion：　the　world　was　up　for　grabs。〃　He　shook　his　head。　〃You　can't　conceive　of　it。　You've　always　lived　in　a　period　of　relative　stability。　But　war　changes　the　rules　you　live　by。　Suddenly　it's　good　to　hate；　it's　good　to　applaud　destruction。　People　are　allowed　to　show　their　true　selves…〃　Marty　wondered　where　this　introduction　was　taking　them；　but　Whitehead　was　just　getting　into　the　rhythm　of　his　telling。　This　was　no　time　to　divert　him。
　　〃…and　when　there's　so　much　uncertainty　all　around；　the　man　who　can　shape　his　own　destiny　can　be　king　of　the　world。　Forgive　the　hyperbole；　but　it's　how　I　felt。　King　of　the　World。　I　was　clever；　you　see。　Not　educated；　that　came　later；　but　clever。　Streetwise；　you'd　call　it　now。　And　I　was　determined　to　make　the　most　of　this　wonderful　war　God　had　sent　me。　I　spent　two　or　three　months　in　Paris；　just　before　the　Occupation；　then　got　out　while　the　going　was　good。　Later　on；　I　went　south。　Enjoyed　Italy；　the　Mediterranean。　I　wanted　for　nothing。　The　worse　the　war　became　the　better　it　was　for　me。　Other　people's　desperation　made　me　into　a　rich　man。
　　〃Of　course　I　frittered　the　money　away。　Never　really　held　onto　my　earnings　for　more　than　a　few　months。　When　I　think　of　the　paintings　I　had　through　my　hands；　the　objets　d'art；　the　sheer　loot。　Not　that　I　knew　that　when　I　pissed　in　the　bucket　I　splashed　a　Raphael。　I　bought　and　sold　these　things　by　the　jeepload。〃　〃Towards　the　end　of　the　European　war　I　took　off　north；　into　Poland。　The　Germans　were　in　a　bad　way：　they　knew　the　game　was　ing　to　an　end；　and　I　thought　I　could　strike　a　few　deals。　Eventually…it　was　an　error　really…I　wound　up　in　Warsaw。　There　was　practically　nothing　left　by　the　time　I　got　there。　What　the　Russians　hadn't　flattened；　the　Nazis　had。　It　was　one　wasteland　from　end　to　end。〃　He　sighed；　and　pulled　a　face；　making　an　effort　to　find　the　words。　〃You　can't　imagine　it；〃　he　said。　〃This　had　been　a　great　city。　But　now？　How　can　I　make　you　understand？　You　have　to　see　through　my　eyes；　or　none　of　this　makes　sense。〃　〃I'm　trying；〃　Marty　said。
　　〃You　live　in　yourself；〃　Whitehead　went　on。　〃As　I　live　in　myself。　We　have　very　strong　ideas　of　what　we　are。　That's　why　we　value　ourselves；　by　what's　unique　in　us。　Do　you　follow　what　I'm　saying？〃　Marty　was　too　involved　to　lie。　He　shook　his　head。
　　〃No；　not　really。〃　〃The　isness　of　things：　that's　my　point。　The　fact　that　everything　of　an