cb.damnationgame-第6章

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　　〃There's　just　a　few　more　questions　I'd　like　to　ask。　You've　done　some　boxing；　am　I　right？〃　〃Some。　A　while　back…〃　Toy　looked　disappointed。　〃You　gave　it　up？〃　〃Yes；〃　Marty　replied。　〃I　kept　on　with　the　weight　training　for　a　while。〃　〃Do　you　have　any　self…defense　training　of　any　kind？　Judo？　Karate？〃　Marty　contemplated　lying；　but　what　would　be　the　use　of　that？　All　Toy　had　to　do　was　consult　the　screws　at　Wandsworth。　〃No；〃　he　said。
　　〃Pity。〃　Marty's　belly　shrank。　〃I'm　healthy　though；〃　he　said。　〃And　strong。　I　can　learn。〃　He　was　aware　that　an　unwele　tremor　had　slipped　into　his　voice　from　somewhere。
　　〃We　don't　want　a　learner；　I'm　afraid；〃　Somervale　pointed　out；　barely　able　to　suppress　the　triumph　in　his　tone。
　　Marty　leaned　forward　across　the　table；　trying　to　blot　out　Somervale's　leechlike　presence。
　　〃I　can　do　this　job；　Mr。　Toy；〃　he　insisted；　〃I　know　I　can　do　this　job。　Just　give　me　a　chance…〃　The　tremor　was　growing；　his　belly　was　an　acrobat。　Better　stop　now；　before　he　said　or　did　something　he　regretted。　But　the　words　and　the　feelings　just　kept　on　ing。
　　〃Give　me　an　opportunity　to　prove　I　can　do　it。　That's　not　much　to　ask；　is　it？　And　if　I　fuck　it　up　it's　my　fault；　see？　Just　a　chance；　that's　all　I'm　asking。〃　Toy　looked　up　at　him　with　something　like　condolence　in　his　face。　Was　it　all　over　then？　Had　he　made　up　his　mind　already…one　wrong　answer　and　the　whole　thing　goes　sour…was　he　already　mentally　packing　up　his　briefcase　and　returning　the　Strauss；　M。　file　into　Somervale's　clammy　hands　to　be　slotted　back　between　one　forgotten　con　and　another？
　　Marty　bit　his　tongue；　and　sat　back　in　the　unfortable　chair；　fixing　his　gaze　on　his　trembling　hands。　He　couldn't　bear　to　look　at　the　bruised　elegance　of　Toy's　face；　not　now　that　he'd　opened　himself　up　so　wide。　Toy　would　see　in　oh　yes；　to　all　the　hurt　and　the　wanting；　and　he　couldn't　bear　that。
　　〃At　your　trial　。　。　。〃　Toy　said。
　　What　now？　Why　was　he　prolonging　the　agony？　All　Marty　wanted　was　to　go　to　his　cell；　where　Feaver　would　be　sitting　on　the　bunk　and　playing　with　his　dolls；　where　there　was　a　familiar　dullness　that　he　could　take　refuge　〃n。　But　Toy　wasn't　finished；　he　wanted　the　truth；　the　whole　truth　and　nothing　but。
　　〃At　your　trial　you　testified　that　your　prime　motivation　for　involvement　in　the　robbery　was　to　pay　off　substantial　gambling　debts。　Am　I　correct？〃　Marty　had　moved　his　attention　from　his　hands　to　his　shoes。　The　laces　were　undone；　and　though　they　were　long　enough　to　be　double…knotted　he　never　had　the　patience　to　work　at　plicated　knots。　He　liked　a　simple　bow。　When　you　needed　to　untie　a　bow　you　pulled　and　behold…like　magic…it　was　gone。
　　〃Is　that　right？〃　Toy　asked　again。
　　〃Yes；　that's　right；〃　Marty　told　him。　He'd　got　so　far；　why　not　finish　the　story？　〃There　were　four　of　us。　And　two　guns。　We　tried　to　take　a　security　van。　Things　got　out　of　hand。〃　He　glanced　up　from　his　shoes；　Toy　was　watching　intently。　〃The　driver　was　shot　in　the　stomach。　He　died　later。　It's　all　in　the　file；　isn't　it？〃　Toy　nodded。　〃And　about　the　van？　Is　that　in　the　file　too？〃　Toy　didn't　reply。　〃It　was　empty；〃　Marty　said。　〃We　had　it　wrong　from　the　beginning。　The　fucking　thing　was　empty。〃　〃And　the　debts？〃　〃Huh？〃　〃Your　debts　to　Macnamara。　They're　still　outstanding？〃　The　man　was　really　beginning　to　get　on　Marty's　nerves。　What　did　Toy　care　if　he　owed　a　few　grand　here　and　there？　This　was　just　sympathetic　camouflage；　so　that　he　could　make　a　dignified　exit。
　　〃Answer　Mr。　Toy；　Strauss；〃　Somervale　said。
　　〃What's　it　to　you？〃　〃Interest；〃　said　Toy；　frankly。
　　〃I　see。〃　Sod　his　interest；　Marty　thought；　he　could　choke　on　it。　They'd　had　as　much　of　a　confessional　as　they　were　going　to　get。
　　〃Can　I　go　now？〃　he　said。
　　He　looked　up。　Not　at　Toy　but　at　Somervale；　who　was　smirking　behind　his　cigarette　smoke；　well　satisfied　that　the　interview　had　been　a　disaster。
　　〃I　think　so；　Strauss；〃　he　said。　〃As　long　as　Mr。　Toy　doesn't　have　any　more　questions。〃　〃No；〃　said　Toy；　the　voice　dead。　〃No；　I'm　well　satisfied。〃　Marty　stood　up；　still　avoiding　Toy's　eyes。　The　small　room　was　full　of　ugly　sounds。　The　chair's　heels　scraping　on　the　floor；　the　rasp　of　Somervale's　smoker's　cough。　Toy　was　shunting　away　his　notes。　It　was　all　over。
　　Somervale　said：　〃You　can　go。〃　〃I've　enjoyed　meeting　you；　Mr。　Strauss；〃　Toy　said　to　Marty's　back　as　he　reached　the　door；　and　Marty　turned　around　without　thinking　to　see　the　other　man　smiling　at　him；　his　hand　extended　to　be　shaken。　I've　enjoyed　meeting　you；　Mr。　Strauss。
　　Marty　nodded　and　shook　hands。
　　〃Thank　you　for　your　time；〃　Toy　said。
　　Marty　closed　the　door　behind　him　and　made　his　way　back　to　his　cell；　escorted　by　Priestley；　the　landing　officer。　They　said　nothing。
　　Marty　watched　the　birds　swooping　in　the　roof　of　the　building；　alighting　on　the　landing　rails　for　tidbits。　They　came　and　they　went　when　it　suited　them；　finding　niches　to　nest　in；　taking　their　sovereignty　for　granted。　He　envied　them　nothing。　Or　if　he　did；　now　wasn't　the　time　to　admit　to　it。
　　
　　6
　　Thirteen　days　passed；　and　there　was　no　further　word　from　either　Toy　or　Somervale。　Not　that　Marty　was　truly　expecting　any。　The　chance　had　been　lost；　he'd　almost　stage…managed　its　final　moments　with　his　refusal　to　talk　about　Macnamara。　That　way　he　had　expected　to　nip　any　trial　by　hope　in　the　bud。　In　that；　he'd　failed。　No　matter　how　he　tried　to　forget　the　interview　with　Toy；　he　couldn't。　The　encounter　had　thrown　him　badly　off…balance；　and　his　instability　was　as　distressing　as　its　cause。　He　thought　he　had　learned　the　art　of　indifference　by　now；　the　same　way　that　children　learned　that　hot　water　scalds：　by　painful　experience。
　　He'd　had　plenty　of　that。　During　the　first　twelve　months　of　his　sentence　he'd　fought　against　everything　and　everyone　he'd　encountered。　He'd　made　no　friends　that　year；　nor　the　least　impression　on　the　system；　all　he'd　earned　for　his　troubles　were　bruises　and　bad　times。　In　the　second　year；　chastened　by　defeat；　he'd　gone　underground　with　his　private　war；　he'd　taken　up　weight　training　and　boxing；　and　concentrated　on　the　challenge　of　building　and　maintaining　a　body　that　would　serve　him　when　the　time　for　retribution　came　round。　But　in　the　middle　of　the　third　year；　loneliness　had　intervened：　an　ache　that　no　amount　of　self…inflicted　punishment　（muscles　driven　to　the　pain　threshold　and　beyond；　day　after　day）　could　disguise。　He　made　a　truce　that　year；　with　himself　and　his　incarceration。　It　was　an　uneasy　peace；　but　things　began　to　improve　from　then　on。　He　even　began　to　feel　at　home　in　the　echoing　corridors；　and　in　his　cell；　and　in　the　shrinking　enclave　of　his　head；　where　most　pleasurable　experience　was　now　a　distant　memory。
　　The　fourth　year　had　brought　new　terrors。　He　was　twenty…nine　that　year；　thirty　loomed；　and　he　remembered　all　too　accurately　how　his　younger　self；　with　time　to　burn　had　dismissed　men　his　age　as　spent。　It　was　a　painful　realization；　and　the　old　claustrophobia　（trapped　not　behind　bars；　but　behind　his　life）　returned　more　forcibly　than　ever；　and　with　it　a　new　foolhardiness。　He'd　gained　his　tattoos　that　year：　a　scarlet　and　blue　lightning　bolt　on　his　upper　left　arm；　and　〃USA〃　on　his　right　forearm。　Just　before　Christmas　Charmaine　had　written　to　him　to　suggest　that　a　divorce　might　be　best；　and　he'd　thought　nothing　of　it。　What　was　the　use？　Indifference　was　the　best　remedy。　Once　you　conceded　defeat；　life　was　a　feather　bed。　In　the　light　of　that　wisdom；　the　fifth　year　was　a　breeze。　He　had　access　to　dope；　he　had　the　clout　that　came　with　being　an　experienced　con；　he　had　every　damned　thing　but　his　freedom；　and　that　he　could　wait　for。
　　And　then　Toy　had　e　along；　and　try　as　hard　as　he　could　to　forget　he'd　ever　heard　the　man's　name；　he　found　himself　turning　the　half…hour　of　the　interview　over　and　over　in　his　head；　examining　every　exchange　in　the　minutest　detail　as　though　he　might　turn　up　a　nugget　of　prophecy。　It　was　a　fruitless　exercise；　of　course；　but　it　didn't　stop　the　rehearsals　going　on；　and　the　process　became　almost　forting　in　its　way。　He　told　nobody；　not　even　Feaver。　It　was　his　secret：　the　room；　Toy；　Somervale's　defeat。
　　On　the　second　Sunday　after　the　meeting　with　Toy　Charmaine　came　to　visit。　The　interview　was　the　usual　mess；　like　a　transatlantic　telephone　call…all　the　timing　spo