ib.thewaspfactory-第10章
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ny things I could do I don't even know where to start thinking about them。 But it would be a big change; and I don't know that I'm ready for it yet。
I could feel myself starting to slide off into sleep; I began to imagine and see all sorts of weird things behind my eyes : maze…shapes and spreading areas of unknown colours; then fantastic buildings and spaceships and weapons and landscapes。 I often wish I could remember my dreams better。。。。
Two years after I killed Blyth I murdered my young brother Paul; for quite different and more fundamental reasons than I'd disposed of Blyth; and then a year after that I did for my young cousin Esmerelda; more or less on a whim。
That's my score to date。 Three。 I haven't killed anybody for years; and don't intend to ever again。
It was just a stage I was going through。
3: In the Bunker
My GREATEST ENEMIES are Women and the Sea。 These things I hate。 Women because they are weak and stupid and live in the shadow of men and are nothing pared to them; and the Sea because it has always frustrated me; destroying what I have built; washing away what I have left; wiping clean the marks I have made。 And I'm not all that sure the Wind is blameless; either。
The Sea is a sort of mythological enemy; and I make what you might call sacrifices to it in my soul; fearing it a little; respecting it as you're supposed to; but in many ways treating it as an equal。 It does things to the world; and so do I; we should both be feared。 Women。。。 well; women are a bit too close for fort as far as I'm concerned。 I don't even like having them on the island; not even Mrs Clamp; who es every week on a Saturday to clean the house and deliver our supplies。 She's ancient; and sexless the way the very old and the very young are; but she's still been a woman; and I resent that; for my own good reason。
I woke the next morning; wondering if my father had e back or not。 Without bothering to dress; I went to his room。 I was going to try the door; but I could hear him snoring before I touched the handle; so I turned and went to the bathroom。
In the bathroom; after a piss; I went through my daily washing ritual。 First I had my shower。 The shower is the only time in any twenty…four…hour period I take my underpants right off。 I put the old pair in the dirty…linen bag in the airing cupboard。 I showered carefully; starting at my hair and ending between my toes and under my toenails。 Sometimes; when I have to make precious substances such as toenail cheese or belly…button fluff; I have to go without a shower or bath for days and days; I hate doing this because I soon feel dirty and itchy; and the only bright thing about such abstinence is how good it feels to have a shower at the end of it。
After my shower; and a brisk rub…down with first a face…cloth and then a towel; I trimmed my nails。 Then I brushed my teeth thoroughly with my electric toothbrush。 Next the shave。 I always use shaving foam and the latest razors (twin…blade swivel…heads are state…of…the…art at the moment); removing the downy brown growth of the previous day and night with dexterity and precision。 As with all my ablutions; the shave follows a definite and predetermined pattern; I take the same number of strokes of the same length in the same sequence each morning。 As always; I felt a rising tingle of excitement as I contemplated the meticulously shorn surfaces of my face。
I blew and picked my nose clean; washed my hands; cleaned the razor; nail…clipper; shower and basin; rinsed out the flannel and bed my hair。 Happily I didn't have any spots; so there was nothing else required but a final handwash and a clean pair of underpants。 I placed all my washing materials; towels; razor and so forth exactly where they should be; wiped a little steam off the mirror on my bathroom cabinet; and returned to my room。
There I put on my socks; green for that day。 Then a khaki shirt with pockets。 In the winter I'd have a vest underneath and a green army jumper over the shirt; but not in the summer。 My green cord trousers came next; followed by my fawn Kickers boots; labels removed as from everything I wear because I refuse to be a walking advertisement for anybody。 My bat jacket; knife; bags; catapult and other equipment I took down to the kitchen with me。
It was still early; and the rain I'd heard forecast the previous night was looking about ready to drop。 I had my modest breakfast; and I was ready。
I went out into the fresh damp morning; walking quickly to keep warm and get round the island before any rain started。 The hills beyond the town were hidden by cloud; and the sea was rough as the wind freshened。 The grass was heavy with dew; drops of mist bowed the unopened flowers and clung to my Sacrifice Poles; too; like clear blood on the shrivelled heads and tiny; desiccated bodies。
A couple of jets screamed over the island at one point; two Jaguars wing to wing about one hundred metres up and going fast; crossing the whole island in an eye…blink and racing out to sea。 I glared at them; then went on my way。 Once they made me jump; another couple of them; a couple of years ago。 They came in illegally low after bombing practice on the range just down the firth; blasting over the island so suddenly that I jumped while in the delicate manoeuvre of teasing a wasp into a jar from the old tree stump near the ruined sheep…pen at the north end of the island。 The wasp stung me。
I went into town that day; bought an extra plastic model of a Jaguar; made the kit up that afternoon and ceremonially blew it to pieces on the roof of the Bunker with a small pipe…bomb。 Two weeks later a Jaguar crashed into the sea off Nairn; though the pilot ejected in time。 I'd like to think the Power was working then; but I suspect it was coincidence; high…performance jets crash so often it was no real surprise my symbolic and their real destruction came within a fortnight of each other。
I sat on the earth banking that looks out over the Muddy Creek and ate an apple。 I leaned back on the young tree that as a sapling had been the Killer。 It was grown now; and a good bit taller than me; but when I was young and we were the same size it had been my static catapult defending the southerly approaches to the island。 Then; as now; it looked out over the broad creek and the gunmetal…coloured mud with the eaten…looking wreck of an old fishing boat sticking out of it。
After the Tale of Old Saul I put the catapult to another use; and it became the Killer; scourge of hamsters; mice and gerbils。
I remember that it could whack a fist…sized stone well over the creek and twenty metres or more into the undulating ground on the mainland; and once I got keyed into its natural rhythm I could send off a shot every two seconds。 I could place them anywhere within a sixty…degree angle by varying the direction in which I pulled the sapling over and down。 I didn't use a little animal every two seconds; they were expended at a few a week。 For six months I was the best customer the Porteneil Pet Shop had; going in every Saturday to get a couple of beasts; and about every month buying a tube of badminton shuttlecocks from the toyshop as well。 I doubt anybody ever put the two together; apart from me。
It was all for a purpose; of course; little that I do is not; one way or another。 I was looking for Old Saul's skull。
I threw the core of the apple over the creek; it plopped into the mud on the far bank with a satisfying slurp。 I decided it was time to look into the Bunker properly; and set off along the bank at a jog; swinging round the southernmost dune towards the old pillbox。 I stopped to look at the shore。 There didn't seem to be anything interesting there; but I remembered the lesson of the day before; when I had stopped to sniff the air and everything had seemed fine; then ten minutes later I was wrestling with a kamikaze rabbit; so I trotted down off the side of the dune and down to the line of debris thrown up by the sea。
There was one bottle。 A very minor enemy; and empty。 I went down to the water…line a