cb.damnationgame-第73章

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　　On　the　second　landing；　Carys　stopped。　She　could　hear　voices；　not；　now　she　listened　more　closely；　plural；　but　the　same　voice…Marty's　voice…speaking　and　answering　itself。　It　was　difficult　to　know　where　the　exchange　was　ing　from；　the　words　seemed　to　be　everywhere　and　nowhere。　She　glanced　into　her　room；　then　into　Breer's。　Finally；　steeling　herself　for　a　repeat　of　her　nightmare；　she　looked　into　the　bathroom。　He　was　in　none　of　them。　There　was　no　avoiding　the　unpalatable　conclusion。　He'd　gone　upstairs；　back　to　Mamoulian's　room。
　　Even　as　she　crossed　the　landing　to　the　flight　of　stairs　that　led　up　to　the　top　story；　another　sound　caught　her　attention：　somewhere　below　a　blade　was　hacking　wood。　She　knew　at　once　it　was　the　Razor…Eater。　He　was　up　and　itching　to　e　for　her。　What　a　house　this　is；　she　thought；　for　all　its　bland　facade。　It　would　take　another　Dante　to　describe　its　depths　and　heights：　dead　children；　Razor…Eaters；　addicts；　madmen　and　all。　Surely　the　stars　that　hung　at　its　zenith　squirmed　in　their　settings；　in　the　earth　beneath　it；　the　magma　curdled。
　　In　the　European's　room；　Marty　cried　out；　a　bewildered　plea。　Calling　his　name　in　answer；　and　hoping　to　God　he　heard　her；　she　scrambled　to　the　top　of　the　stairs　and　crossed；　heart　in　mouth；　toward　the　door。
　　
　　He　had　fallen　to　his　knees；　what　was　left　of　his　self…preservation　was　a　tattered　and　hopeless　thought；　gray　on　gray。　Even　the　voice　had　stopped　now。　It　was　bored　with　the　banter。　Besides；　it　had　taught　its　lesson　well。　Nothing　is　essential；　it　had　said；　and　shown　him　the　why　and　how；　or　rather　dug　up　that　part　of　him　that　had　known　all　along。　Now　he　would　just　wait　for　the　progenitor　of　this　elegant　syllogism　to　e　and　dispatch　him。　He　lay　down；　not　certain　if　he　was　alive　or　dead；　if　the　man　who　would　presently　e　would　kill　him　or　resurrect　him：　only　certain　that　to　lie　down　was　easiest；　in　this；　the　emptiest　of　all　possible　worlds。
　　
　　Carys　had　been　in　this　Nowhere　before。　She'd　tasted　its　flat；　futile　air。　But　in　the　past　few　hours　she　had　glimpsed　something　beyond　its　aridity。　There　had　been　victories　today；　not　large；　perhaps；　but　victories　nevertheless。　She　thought　of　the　way　Marty　had　e；　his　eyes　with　more　than　lust　in　them。　That　was　a　victory；　wasn't　it？　She'd　won　that　feeling　out　of　him；　earned　it　in　some　incalculable　way。　She　would　not　be　beaten　by　this　last　oppressor；　this　stale　beast　that　smothered　her　senses。　It　was　only　the　European's　residue；　after　all。　His　sloughings；　left　to　decorate　his　bower。　Scurf；　dross。　It　and　he　were　contemptible。
　　〃Marty；〃　she　said。　〃Where　are　you？〃　〃Nowhere　。　。　。〃　came　a　voice。
　　She　followed　it；　stumbling。　Desolation　pressed　in；　insisting　on　her。
　　
　　Breer　paused　for　a　moment。　A　long　way　off；　he　heard　voices。　He　couldn't　make　out　the　words；　but　the　sense　was　academic。　They　hadn't　escaped　yet；　that　was　the　important　thing。　He　had　plans　for　them　once　he　got　out：　especially　the　man。　He　would　divide　him　into　tiny　pieces；　until　not　even　his　loved　ones　could　tell　which　part　was　his　finger；　which　his　face。
　　He　began　to　hack　at　the　wood　with　renewed　fervor。　Under　his　relentless　attack　the　door　finally　began　to　splinter。
　　
　　Carys　followed　Marty's　voice　through　the　fog；　but　he　eluded　her。　Either　he　was　moving　around　or　else　the　room　was　somehow　deceiving　her；　echoing　his　voice　off　the　walls；　or　even　impersonating　him。　Then　his　voice　called　her　name；　close　by。　She　turned　in　the　murk；　utterly　without　bearings。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　door　she'd　entered　by…it　had　disappeared；　as　had　the　windows。　The　pieces　of　her　resolve　began　to　unglue。　Doubt　seeped　in；　smirking。
　　Well；　well。　And　who　are　you？　somebody　asked。　Perhaps　herself。
　　〃I　know　my　name；〃　she　breathed。　It　wasn't　going　to　unseat　her　that　way。　〃I　know　my　name。〃　She　was　a　pragmatist；　damn　it！　She　wasn't　prone　to　believing　that　the　world　was　all　in　the　mind。　That's　why　she'd　gone　to　H：　the　world　was　too　real。　Now　here　was　this　vapor　in　her　ears；　telling　her　she　was　nothing；　everything　was　nothing；　nameless　muck。
　　〃Shit；〃　she　told　it。　〃You're　shit。　His　shit！〃　It　didn't　deign　to　reply；　she　took　the　advantage　while　she　had　it。
　　〃Marty。　Can　you　hear　me？〃　There　was　no　answer。　〃It's　just　a　room；　Marty。　Can　you　hear　me？　That's　all　it　is！　Just　a　room。〃　You've　been　in　me　before；　the　voice　in　her　head　pointed　out。　Remember？
　　Oh；　yes；　she　remembered。　There　was　a　tree　in　this　fog　somewhere；　she'd　seen　it　in　the　sauna。　It　was　a　blossom…laden　freak　of　a　tree；　and　under　it　she'd　glimpsed　such　horrid　sights。　Was　that　where　Marty　had　gone？　Was　he　hanging　from　it　even　now：　new　fruit？
　　Damn　it；　no！　She　mustn't　give　in　to　such　thoughts。　It　was　just　a　room。　She　could　find　the　walls　if　she　concentrated；　even　find　the　window　maybe。
　　Careless　of　what　she　might　stumble　over；　she　turned　to　her　right；　and　walked　four　paces；　five；　until　her　outstretched　hands　hit　the　wall：　it　was　shockingly；　splendidly　solid。　Ha！　she　thought；　fuck　you　and　your　tree！　Look　what　I've　found。　She　put　her　palms　flat　on　the　wall。　Now；　left　or　right？　She　threw　up　an　imaginary　coin。　It　came　down　heads；　and　she　started　to　edge　along　to　her　left。
　　No　you　don't；　the　room　whispered。
　　〃Try　stopping　me。〃　Nowhere　to　go；　it　spat　back；　just　round　and　round。　You've　always　gone　round　and　round；　haven't　you？　Weak；　lazy；　ridiculous　woman。
　　〃You　call　me　ridiculous。　You。　A　talking　fog。〃　The　wall　she　was　moving　steadily　along　seemed　to　stretch　on　and　on。　After　half　a　dozen　paces　she　began　to　doubt　the　theory　she　was　testing。　Perhaps　this　was　a　manipulable　space　after　all。　Perhaps　she　was　moving　away　from　Marty　along　some　new　Wall　of　China。　But　she　clung　to　the　cold　surface　as　tenaciously　as　a　climber　to　a　sheer　cliff。　If　necessary　she　would　make　her　way　around　the　entire　room　until　she　found　the　door；　Marty；　or　both。
　　Pure　cunt；　the　room　said。　That's　all　you　are。　Can't　even　find　your　way　out　of　a　little　maze　like　this。　Better　just　lie　down　and　take　what's　ing　to　you；　the　way　good　cunts　should。
　　Did　she　sense　a　note　of　desperation　in　this　fresh　assault？
　　Despair？　said　the　room。　I　thrive　on　it。　Cunt。
　　She　had　reached　a　corner　of　the　room。　Now　she　turned　along　the　next　wall。
　　No　you　don't；　said　the　room。
　　Yes　I　do；　she　thought。
　　I　wouldn't　go　that　way。　Oh；　no。　Really　I　wouldn't。　The　Razor…Eater's　up　here　with　you。　Can't　you　hear　him？　He's　just　a　few　inches　ahead　of　you。　No；　don't！　Oh；　please　don't！　I　hate　the　smell　of　blood。
　　Pure　histrionics；　that　was　all　it　could　muster。　The　more　the　room　panicked；　the　more　her　spirits　rose。
　　Stop！　For　your　own　sake！　Stop！
　　Even　as　it　shouted　in　her　head　her　hands　found　the　window。　This　was　what　it　was　so　frightened　she'd　discover。
　　CUNT！　it　shrieked。　You'll　be　sorry。　I　promise　you。　Oh；　yes。
　　There　were　no　curtains　or　shutters；　the　window　had　been　entirely　boarded　up　so　that　nothing　could　spoil　this　perfect　nullity。　Her　fingers　scrabbled　for　purchase　on　one　of　the　planks：　it　was　time　she　let　some　outside　world　in。　The　wood　had　been　very　firmly　nailed　in　place；　however。　Though　she　tugged；　there　was　little　or　no　give。
　　〃Shift；　damn　you！〃　The　plank　creaked；　splinters　sprang　off　it。　〃Yes；〃　she　coaxed；　〃here　we　are。〃　Light；　a　fractured；　all…too…uncertain　thread　of　it；　filtered　between　the　planks。　〃e　on；〃　she　cajoled；　pulling　harder。　The　top　joints　of　her　fingers　were　bent　back　in　her　effort　to　wrest　the　wood　from　its　place；　but　the　thread　of　light　had　now　widened　to　a　beam。　It　fell　on　her；　and　through　a　veil　of　dirty　air　she　began　to　make　out　the　shape　of　her　own　hands。
　　It　wasn't　daylight　that　spilled　between　the　planks。　Just　the　glimmer　of　streetlamps　and　car　headlights；　of　starlight　perhaps；　of　televisions　blazing　in　a　dozen　houses　along　Caliban　Street。　It　was　sufficient；　though。　With　every　inch　the　gap　increased；　more　certainty　invaded　the　room；　edge　and　substance。
　　Elsewhere　in　the　room；　Marty　too　felt　the　light。　It　irritated　him；　like　someone　throwing　open　spring…morning　curtains　on　a　dying　man。　He　crabbed　his　way　across　the　floor；　trying　to　bury　himself　in　the　fog　before　it　dispersed；　seeking　out　the　reassuring　voice　that　would　tell　him　nothing　was　essential。　But　it　had　gone。　He　was　deserte