ib.thewaspfactory-第31章

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nd；　excitable　boy　he　had　been；　and　I　thought　of　what　he　was　now：　a　force　of　fire　and　disruption　approaching　the　sands　of　the　island　like　a　mad　angel；　head　swarming　with　echoing　screams　of　madness　and　delusion。
　　
　　I　leaned　forward　and　put　my　right　hand　palm　down　on　the　top　of　the　old　dog's　cranium；　keeping　my　eyes　closed。　The　candle　was　not　long　lit；　and　the　bone　was　only　warm。　Some　unpleasant；　cynical　part　of　my　mind　told　me　that　I　looked　like　Mr　Spock　in　Star　Trek；　doing　a　mind…meld　or　whatever；　but　I　ignored　it；　that　didn't　matter　anyway。　I　breathed　deeply；　thought　more　deeply。　Eric's　face　swam　in　front　of　me；　freckles　and　sandy　hair　and　anxious　smile。　A　young　face；　thin　and　intelligent　and　young；　the　way　I　thought　of　him　when　I　tried　to　remember　him　when　he　was　happy；　during　our　summers　together　on　the　island。
　　
　　I　concentrated；　pressured　my　guts　and　held　my　breath；　as　though　I　was　trying　to　force　a　turd　out　when　constipated；　the　blood　roared　in　my　ears。　With　my　other　hand　I　used　forefinger　and　thumb　to　press　my　closed　eyes　into　my　own　skull　while　my　other　hand　grew　hot　on　Old　Saul's。　I　saw　lights；　random　patterns　like　spreading　ripples　or　huge　fingerprints；　swirling。
　　
　　I　felt　my　stomach　clench　itself　involuntarily　and　a　wave　of　what　felt　like　fiery　excitement　swept　up　from　it。　Only　acids　and　glands；　I　knew；　but　I　felt　it　transport　me；　from　one　skull　through　another　to　another。　Eric！　I　was　getting　through！　I　could　feel　him；　feel　the　aching　feet；　the　blistered　soles；　the　quivering　legs；　the　sweat…stuck　grimy　hands；　the　itching；　unwashed　scalp；　I　could　smell　him　as　myself；　see　through　those　eyes　that　hardly　closed　and　burned　in　his　skull；　raw　and　shot　with　blood；　blinking　drily。　I　could　feel　the　remains　of　some　awful　meal　lying　dead　in　my　stomach；　taste　burned　meat　and　bone　and　fur　on　my　tongue；　I　was　there！　I　was…
　　
　　A　blast　of　fire　crashed　out　at　me。　I　was　thrown　back；　slammed　away　from　the　altar　like　a　piece　of　soft　shrapnel　and　bounced　off　the　earth…covered　concrete　floor　to　e　to　rest　by　the　far　wall；　my　head　buzzing；　my　right　hand　aching。　I　fell　over　to　one　side　and　curled　up　around　myself。
　　
　　I　lay　breathing　deeply　for　a　while；　hugging　my　sides　and　rocking　very　slightly；　my　head　scraping　on　the　floor　of　the　Bunker。　My　right　hand　felt　as　though　it　was　the　size　and　colour　of　a　boxing…glove。　With　every　slowing　beat　of　my　heart　it　sent　a　pulse　of　pain　up　my　arm。　I　crooned　to　myself　and　slowly　sat　up；　rubbing　my　eyes　and　still　rocking　very　slightly；　my　knees　and　head　ing　a　little　closer；　drawing　slightly　back。　I　tried　to　nurse　my　battered　ego　back　to　health。
　　
　　Across　the　Bunker；　as　the　dim　view　swam　back　to　focus；　I　could　see　the　skull　still　glowing；　the　flame　still　burning。　I　glared　at　it　and　brought　my　right　hand　up；　started　licking　it。　I　looked　to　see　if　my　flight　across　the　floor　had　damaged　anything　but　as　far　as　I　could　see　everything　was　in　its　place；　only　I　had　been　affected。　I　gave　a　shivery　sigh　and　relaxed；　letting　my　head　rest　on　the　cool　concrete　of　the　wall　behind　me。
　　
　　I　leaned　forward　after　a　while　and　placed　the　palm　of　my　hand；　still　throbbing；　on　the　floor　of　the　Bunker；　letting　it　cool。　I　kept　it　there　for　a　while；　then　brought　it　up　and　wiped　some　of　the　soil　off　it；　squinting　to　see　if　there　was　any　visible　damage；　but　the　light　was　too　poor。　I　got　slowly　to　my　feet　and　went　to　the　altar。　I　lit　the　side　candles　with　shaking　hands；　put　the　wasp　with　the　rest　in　the　plastic　rack　to　the　left　of　the　altar　and　burned　its　temporary　coffin　on　the　metal　plate　in　front　of　Old　Saul。　Eric's　photograph　took　flame；　the　boyish　face　disappearing　in　fire。　I　blew　through　one　of　Old　Saul's　eyes　and　put　the　candle　out。
　　
　　I　stood　for　a　moment；　collecting　my　thoughts；　then　went　to　the　metal　door　of　the　Bunker　and　opened　it。　The　silky　light　of　a　cloud…bright　morning　flooded　in　and　made　me　grimace。　I　turned　back；　put　out　the　other　candles　and　took　another　look　at　my　hand。　The　palm　was　red　and　inflamed。　I　licked　it　again。
　　
　　Almost　I　had　succeeded。　I　was　sure　I　had　had　Eric　in　my　grasp；　had　his　mind　there　under　my　hand　and　been　part　of　him；　seen　the　world　through　his　eyes；　heard　his　blood　pump　in　his　head；　felt　the　ground　beneath　his　feet；　smelled　his　body　and　tasted　his　last　meal。　But　he　had　been　too　much　for　me。　The　conflagration　in　his　head　was　just　too　strong　for　anybody　sane　to　cope　with。　It　had　a　lunatic　strength　of　total　mitment　about　it　which　only　the　profoundly　mad　are　continually　capable　of；　and　the　most　ferocious　soldiers　and　most　aggressive　sportsmen　able　to　emulate　for　a　while。　Every　particle　of　Eric's　brain　was　concentrated　on　his　mission　of　returning　and　setting　fire；　and　no　normal　brain…not　even　mine；　which　was　far　from　normal　and　more　powerful　than　most…　could　match　that　marshalling　of　forces。　Eric　was　mitted　to　Total　War；　a　Jihad；　he　was　riding　the　Divine　Wind　to　at　least　his　own　destruction；　and　there　was　nothing　I　could　do　about　it　this　way。
　　
　　I　locked　up　the　Bunker　and　went　back　along　the　beach　to　the　house；　my　head　down　again　and　even　more　thoughtful　and　troubled　than　I　had　been　on　the　outward　journey。
　　
　　I　spent　the　rest　of　the　day　in　the　house；　reading　books　and　magazines；　watching　television；　and　thinking　all　the　time。　I　could　not　do　anything　about　Eric　from　the　inside；　so　I　had　to　change　the　direction　of　my　attack。　My　personal　mythology；　with　the　Factory　behind　it；　was　flexible　enough　to　accept　the　failure　it　had　just　suffered　and　use　such　a　defeat　as　a　pointer　to　the　real　solution。　My　advance　troops　had　had　their　fingers　burned；　but　I　still　had　all　my　other　resources。　I　would　prevail；　but　not　through　the　direct　application　of　my　powers。　At　least；　not　through　the　direct　application　of　any　other　power　but　imaginative　intelligence；　and　that；　ultimately；　was　the　bedrock　for　everything　else。　If　it　could　not　meet　the　challenge　that　Eric　represented；　then　I　deserved　to　be　destroyed。
　　
　　My　father　was　still　painting；　hauling　his　way　up　ladders　to　windows　with　the　paint…tin　and　brush　clenched　between　his　teeth。　I　offered　to　help；　but　he　insisted　on　doing　it　himself。　I　had　used　the　ladders　myself　several　times　in　the　past　when　I　was　trying　to　find　a　way　into　my　father's　study；　but　he　had　special　locks　on　the　windows；　and　even　kept　the　blinds　down　and　curtains　drawn。　I　was　glad　to　see　the　difficulty　he　had　making　his　way　up　the　ladder。　He'd　never　make　it　up　into　the　loft。　It　crossed　my　mind　that　it　was　just　as　well　the　house　was　the　height　it　was；　or　he　might　just　have　been　able　to　climb　a　ladder　to　the　roof　and　be　able　to　see　through　the　skylights　into　the　loft。　But　we　were　both　safe；　our　mutual　citadels　secure　for　the　foreseeable　future。
　　
　　For　once　my　father　let　me　make　the　dinner；　and　I　made　a　vegetable　curry　we　would　both　find　acceptable　while　watching　an　Open　University　programme　on　geology　on　the　portable　television；　which　I　had　taken　through　to　the　kitchen　for　the　purpose。　Once　the　business　with　Eric　was　over；　I　decided；　I　really　must　restart　my　campaign　to　persuade　my　father　to　get　a　VCR。　It　was　too　easy　to　miss　good　programmes　on　fine　days。
　　
　　After　our　meal　my　father　went　into　town。　This　was　unusual；　but　I　didn't　ask　why　he　was　going。　He　looked　tired　after　his　day　spent　climbing　and　reaching；　but　he　went　up　to　his　room；　changed　into　his　town　clothes；　and　came　limping　back　into　the　lounge　to　bid　me　farewell。
　　
　　'I'll　be　off；　then；'　he　said。　He　looked　round　the　lounge　as　though　searching　for　some　evidence　I　had　started　some　heinous　mischief　already；　before　he　had　even　left。　I　watched　the　TV　and　nodded　without　looking　at　him。
　　
　　'Right　you　are；'　I　said。
　　
　　'I　won't　be　late。　You　don't　have　to　lock　up。'
　　
　　'OK。'
　　
　　'You'll　be　all　right；　then？'
　　
　　'Oh；　yes。'　I　looked　at　him；　crossed　my　arms　and　settled　deeper　into　the　old　easy　chair。　He　stepped　back；　so　that　both　feet　were　in　the　hall　and　his　body　was　canted　into　the　lounge；　only　his　hand　on　the　door…knob　stopping　him　from　falling　in。　He　nodded　again；　the　cap　on　his　head　dipping　once。
　　
　　'Right。　I'll　see　you　later。　See　you　behave　yourself。'
　　
　　I　smiled　and　looked　back　to　the　screen。　'Yes