cb.damnationgame-第7章

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c　telephone　call…all　the　timing　spoiled　by　the　second　delay　between　question　and　response。　It　wasn't　the　babble　of　other　conversations　in　the　room　that　soured　things；　things　were　simply　sour。　No　avoiding　that　fact　now。　His　early　attempts　at　salvage　had　long　since　been　abandoned。　After　the　cool　inquiries　about　the　health　of　relatives　and　friends　it　was　down　to　the　nitty…gritty　of　dissolution。
　　He'd　written　to　her　in　the　early　letters：　You're　beautiful；　Charmaine。　I　think　of　you　at　night；　I　dream　about　you　all　the　time。
　　But　then　her　looks　had　seemed　to　lose　their　edge…and　anyway　his　dreams　of　her　face　and　body　under　him　had　stopped…and　though　he　kept　up　the　pretense　in　the　letters　for　a　while　his　loving　sentences　had　begun　to　sound　patently　fake；　and　he'd　stopped　writing　about　such　intimacies。　It　felt　adolescent；　to　tell　her　he　thought　of　her　face；　what　would　she　imagine　him　doing　but　sweating　in　the　dark　and　playing　with　himself　like　a　twelve…year…old？　He　didn't　want　her　thinking　that。
　　Maybe；　on　reflection；　that　had　been　a　mistake。　Perhaps　the　deterioration　of　their　marriage　had　begun　there；　with　him　feeling　ridiculous；　and　giving　up　writing　love　letters。　But　hadn't　she　changed　too？　Her　eyes　looked　at　him　even　now　with　such　naked　suspicion。
　　〃Flynn　sends　his　regards。〃　〃Oh。　Good。　You　see　him；　do　you？〃　〃Once　in　a　while。〃　〃How's　he　doing？〃　She'd　taken　to　looking　at　the　clock；　rather　than　at　him；　which　he　was　glad　of。　It　gave　him　a　chance　to　study　her　without　feeling　intrusive。　When　she　allowed　her　features　to　relax；　he　still　found　her　attractive。　But　he　had；　he　believed；　perfect　control　over　his　response　to　her　now。　He　could　look　at　her…at　the　translucent　lobes　of　her　ears；　at　the　sweep　of　her　neck…and　view　her　quite　dispassionately。　That；　at　least；　prison　had　taught　him：　not　to　want　what　he　could　not　have。
　　〃Oh；　he's　fine…〃　she　replied。
　　It　took　him　a　moment　to　reorientate　himself；　who　was　she　talking　about？　Oh；　yes：　Flynn。　There　was　a　man　who'd　never　got　his　fingers　dirty。　Flynn　the　wise；　Flynn　the　flash。
　　〃He　sends　his　best；〃　she　said。
　　〃You　told　me；〃　he　reminded　her。
　　Another　pause；　the　conversation　was　more　crucifying　every　time　she　came。　Not　for　him　so　much　as　for　her。　She　seemed　to　go　through　a　trauma　every　time　she　spat　a　single　word　out。
　　〃I　went　to　see　the　solicitors　again。〃　〃Oh；　yes。〃　〃It's　all　going　ahead；　apparently。　They　said　the　papers　would　be　through　next　month。〃　〃What　do　I　do；　just　sign　them？〃　〃Well　。　。　。　he　said　we　needed　to　talk　about　the　house；　and　all　the　stuff　we've　got　together。〃　〃You　have　it。〃　〃But　it's　ours；　isn't　it？　I　mean；　it　belongs　to　both　of　us。　And　when　you　e　out　you're　going　to　need　somewhere　to　live；　and　furniture　and　everything。　〃　〃Do　you　want　to　sell　the　house？〃　Another　wretched　pause；　as　though　she　was　trembling　on　the　edge　of　saying　something　far　more　important　than　the　banalities　that　would　surely　surface。
　　〃I'm　sorry；　Marty；〃　she　said。
　　〃What　for？〃　She　shook　her　head；　a　tiny　shake。　Her　hair　shimmered。
　　〃Don't　know；〃　she　said。
　　〃This　isn't　your　fault。　None　of　this　is　your　fault。〃　〃I　can't　help…〃　She　stopped　and　looked　up　at　him；　suddenly　more　alive　in　the　urgency　of　her　fright…was　that　what　it　was；　fright？…than　she'd　been　in　a　dozen　other　wooden　exchanges　they'd　endured　in　one　chilling　room　or　another。　Her　eyes　were　liquefying；　swelling　up　with　tears。
　　〃What's　wrong？〃　She　stared　at　him：　the　tears　brimmed。
　　〃Char　。　。　。　what's　wrong？〃　〃It's　all　over；　Marty；〃　she　said；　as　though　this　fact　had　hit　her　for　the　first　time；　over；　finished；　fare　thee　well。
　　He　nodded；　〃Yes。〃　〃I　don't　want　you　。　。　。〃　She　stopped；　paused；　then　tried　again。　〃You　mustn't　blame　me。〃　〃I　don't　blame　you。　I've　never　blamed　you。　Christ；　you've　been　here；　haven't　you？　All　this　time。　I　hate　seeing　you　in　this　place；　you　know。　But　you　came；　when　I　needed　you；　you　were　there。〃　〃I　thought　it　would　be　all　right；〃　she　said；　talking　on　as　though　he'd　not　even　spoken；　〃I　really　did。　I　thought　you'd　be　ing　out　soon…and　maybe　we'd　make　it　work；　you　know。　We　still　had　the　house　and　all。　But　these　last　couple　of　years；　everything　just　started　falling　apart。〃　He　watched　her　suffering；　thinking：　I'll　never　be　able　to　forget　this；　because　I　caused　it；　and　I'm　the　most　miserable　shit　on　God's　earth　because　look　what　I　did。　There'd　been　tears　at　the　beginning；　of　course；　and　letters　from　her　full　of　hurt　and　half…buried　accusations；　but　this　wracking　distress　she　was　showing　now　went　so　much　deeper。　It　wasn't　from　a　twenty…two…year…old；　for　one　thing；　it　was　ing　from　a　grown　woman；　and　it　shamed　him　deeply　to　think　he'd　caused　it；　shamed　him　in　a　way　he　thought　he'd　put　behind　him。
　　She　blew　her　nose　on　a　tissue　teased　from　a　packet。
　　〃Everything's　a　mess；〃　she　said。
　　〃Yes。〃　〃I　just　want　to　sort　it　out。〃　She　gave　a　cursory　glance　at　her　watch；　too　fast　to　register　the　time；　and　stood　up。
　　〃I'd　better　go；　Marty。〃　〃Appointment？〃　〃No　。　。　。〃　she　replied；　a　transparent　lie　which　she　made　no　real　effort　to　carry　off；　〃might　do　some　shopping　later　on。　Always　makes　me　feel　better。　You　know　me。〃　No；　he　thought。　No　I　don't　know　you。　If　I　once　did；　and　I'm　not　even　sure　of　that；　it　was　a　different　you；　and　God　I　miss　her。　He　stopped　himself。　This　was　not　the　way　to　part　with　her；　he　knew　that　from　past　encounters。　The　trick　was　to　be　cold；　to　finish　on　a　note　of　formality；　so　that　he　could　go　back　to　his　cell　and　forget　her　until　the　next　time。
　　〃I　wanted　you　to　understand；〃　she　said。　〃But　I　don't　think　I　explained　it　very　well。　It's　just　such　a　bloody　mess。〃　She　didn't　say　goodbye：　tears　were　beginning　again；　and　he　was　certain　that　she　was　frightened；　under　the　talk　of　solicitors；　that　she　would　recant　at　the　last　moment…out　of　weakness；　or　love；　or　both…and　by　walking　out　without　turning　around　she　was　keeping　the　possibility　at　bay。
　　Defeated；　he　went　back　to　the　cell。　Feaver　was　asleep。　He'd　stuck　a　vulva　torn　from　one　of　his　magazines　onto　his　forehead　with　spit；　a　favorite　routine　of　his。　It　gaped…a　third　eye…above　his　closed　lids；　staring　and　staring　without　hope　of　sleep。
　　
　　7
　　〃Strauss？〃　Priestley　was　at　the　open　door；　staring　into　the　cell。　Beside　him；　on　the　wall　some　wit　had　scrawled：　〃If　you　feel　horny；　kick　the　door。　A　cunt　will　appear。〃　It　was　a　familiar　joke…he'd　seen　the　same　gag　or　similar　on　a　number　of　cell　walls…but　now；　looking　at　Priestley's　thick　face；　the　association　of　ideas…the　enemy　and　a　woman's　sex…struck　him　as　obscene。
　　〃Strauss？〃　〃Yes；　Sir。〃　〃Mr。　Somervale　wants　to　see　you。　About　three…fifteen。　I'll　e　and　collect　you。　Be　ready　at　ten　past。〃　〃Yes；　Sir。〃　Priestley　turned　to　go。
　　〃Can　you　tell　me　what　it's　about；　Sir？〃　〃How　the　fuck　should　I　know？〃
　　
　　Somervale　was　waiting　in　the　Interview　Room　at　three…fifteen。　Marty's　file　was　on　the　table　in　front　of　him；　its　drawstrings　still　knotted。　Beside　it；　a　buff　envelope；　unmarked。　Somervale　himself　was　standing　by　the　reinforced　glass　window；　smoking。
　　〃e　in；〃　he　said。　There　was　no　invitation　to　sit　down；　nor　did　he　turn　from　the　window。
　　Marty　closed　the　door　behind　him；　and　waited。　Somervale　exhaled　smoke　through　his　nostrils　noisily。
　　〃What　do　you　suppose；　Strauss？〃　he　said。
　　〃I　beg　your　pardon；　sir？〃　〃I　said：　what　do　you　suppose；　eh？　Imagine。〃　Marty　followed　none　of　this　so　far；　and　wondered　if　the　confusion　was　his　or　Somervale's。　After　an　age；　Somervale　said：　〃My　wife　died。〃　Marty　wondered　what　he　was　expected　to　say。　As　it　was；　Somervale　didn't　give　him　time　to　formulate　a　response。　He　followed　the　first　three　words　with　five　more：　〃They're　letting　you　out；　Strauss！〃　He　placed　the　bald　facts　side　by　side　as　if　they　belonged　together；　as　if　the　entire　world　was　in　collusion　against　him。
　　〃Am　I　going　with　Mr。　Toy？〃　Marty　asked。
　　〃He　and　the　board　believe　you　are　a　suitable　candidate　for　the　job　at　Whitehead's　estate；〃　Somervale　said。　〃Imagine。〃　He　made　a　low　sound　in　his　throat；　which　could　have　been　laughter。　〃You'll　be　under　close　scrutiny；　of　course。　Not　by　me；　but　by　whoever　follows　me。　And　if　you　once　step　out　of　line　。　。　。〃　〃I　understand。〃　〃I　wonder　if　you　do。〃　Somervale　drew　on　his　cigarette；　still　not　turning　around。　〃I　wonder　if