ib.thewaspfactory-第36章
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My feet were sore and my legs ached slightly as I walked along the line of hard sand on the beach。 A slight wind had e up off the sea； and I was glad of it； because the clouds had all gone and the sun； though sinking gradually； was still powerful。 I came to a river I had already crossed once in the hills； and crossed it again near the sea； going up into the dunes a way to where I knew there was a wire bridge。 Sheep scattered in front of me； some shorn； some still shaggy； bouncing away with their fractured…sounding baas； then stopping once they thought they were safe and dipping their heads or kneeling to resume cropping the flower…scattered grass。
I remember I used to despise sheep for being so profoundly stupid。 I'd seen them eat and eat and eat； I'd watched dogs outsmart whole flocks of them； I'd chased them and laughed at the way they ran； watched them get themselves into all sorts of stupid； tangled situations； and I'd thought they quite deserved to end up as mutton； and that being used as wool…making machines was too good for them。 It was years； and a long slow process； before I eventually realised just what sheep really represented： not their own stupidity； but our power； our avarice and egotism。
After I'd e to understand evolution and know a little about history and farming； I saw that the thick white animals I laughed at for following each other around and getting caught in bushes were the product of generations of farmers as much as generations of sheep； we made them； we moulded them from the wild； smart survivors that were their ancestors so that they would bee docile； frightened； stupid； tasty woolproducers。 We didn't want them to be smart； and to some extent their aggression and their intelligence went together。 Of course； the rams are brighter； but even they are demeaned by the idiotic females they have to associate with and inseminate。
The same principle applies to chickens and cows and almost anything we've been able to get our greedy； hungry hands on for long enough。 It occasionally occurs to me that something the same might have happened to women but； attractive though the theory might be； I suspect I'm wrong。
Home in time for dinner； I wolfed down my eggs； steak； chips and beans； and spent the rest of the evening watching television and picking bits of dead cow out of my mouth with a match。
10： Running Dog
IT ALWAYS annoyed me that Eric went crazy。 Although it wasn't an on…off thing； sane one minute； mad the next； I don't think there is much doubt that the incident with the smiling child triggered something in Eric that led； almost inevitably； to his fall。 Something in him could not accept what had happened； could not fit in what he had seen with the way he thought things ought to be。 Maybe some deep part of him； buried under layers of time and growth like the Roman remains of a modem city； still believed in God； and could not suffer the realisation that； if such an unlikely being did exist； it could suffer that to happen to any of the creatures it had supposedly fashioned in its own image。
Whatever it was that disintegrated in Eric then； it was a weakness； a fundamental flaw that a real man should not have had。 Women； I know from watching hundreds…maybe thousands…of films and television programmes； cannot withstand really major things happening to them； they get raped； or their loved one dies； and they go to pieces； go crazy and mit suicide； or just pine away until they die。 Of course； I realise that not all of them will react that way； but obviously it's the rule； and the ones who don't obey it are in the minority。
There must be a few strong women； women with more man in their character than most； and I suspect that Eric was the victim of a self with just a little too much of the woman in it。 That sensitivity； that desire not to hurt people； that delicate； mindful brilliance…these things were his partly because he thought too much like a woman。 Up until his nasty experience it never really bothered him； but just at that moment； in that extremity of circumstance； it was enough to break him。
I blame my father； not to mention whatever stupid bitch it was threw him over for another man。 My father must take the blame in part at least because of that nonsense in Eric's early years； letting him dress as he wanted and giving him the choice of dresses and trousers； Harmsworth and Morag Stove were quite right to be worried about the way their nephew was being brought up； and did the proper thing in offering to look after him。 Everything might have been different if my father hadn't had those daft ideas； if my mother hadn't resented Eric； if the Stoves had taken him away earlier； but it happened the way it did； and as such I hope my father blames himself as much as I blame him。 I want him to feel the weight of that guilt upon him all the time； and have sleepless nights because of it； and bad dreams that wake him up in a sweat on cool nights once he does get to sleep。 He deserves it。
Eric didn't ring that night after my walk in the hills。 I went to bed fairly early； but I know I'd have heard the phone if it had gone； and I slept without a break； tired after my long trek。 The next day I was up at the normal time； went out for a walk along the sands in the coolness of the morning； and came back in time for a good big cooked breakfast。
I felt restless； my father was quieter than usual； and the heat built quickly； making the house very stuffy even with the windows open。 I wandered about the rooms； looking out through those opened spaces； leaning on ledges； scouring the land with closed…up eyes。 Eventually； with my father dozing in a deckchair； I went to my own room； changed to a T…shirt and my light waistcoat with the pockets； filled them up with useful things； slung my day…pack over one shoulder and set off to have a good look round the approaches to the island； and maybe take in the dump； too； if there weren't too many flies。
I put my sunglasses on； and the brown Polaroids made the colours more vivid。 I started to sweat as soon as I stepped out of the door。 A warm breeze； hardly cooling at all； swirled uncertainly from a few directions； brought smells of grass and flowers。 I walked steadily； up the path； over the bridge； down the mainland line of the creek and the stream； following the course of the burn and jumping its small offshoots and tributaries down to the dam…building area。 I turned north then； going up the line of the sea…facing dunes； taking them by their sandy summits despite the heat and the exertion of climbing their southern faces； so that I could gain the benefit of the views they offered。
Everything shimmered in that heat； became uncertain and shifting。 The sand was hot when I touched it； and insects of all sorts and sizes buzzed and whirred about me。 I waved them away。
Now and again I used the binoculars； wiping the sweat from my brows and lifting the glasses to my eyes； inspecting the distance through the heat…thick quivering air。 My scalp crawled with perspiration； and my crotch itched。 I checked the things I had brought with me more often than I usually did； absently weighing the small cloth bag of steelies； touching the Bowie knife and catapult on my belt； making sure I still had my lighter； wallet； b； mirror； pen and paper。 I drank from the small flask of water that I had； though it was warm and tasted stale already。
I could see some interesting…looking pieces of flotsam and jetsam when I looked over the sands and the lapping sea； but I stayed on the dunes； taking the higher ones when I had to； going far north； over streams and through small marshes； past the Bomb Circle and the place I had never really named； where Esmerelda took off。
I only thought of them after I had passed them。
After an hour or so I turned inland； then south； along the last of the mainland dunes； looking out over the scrubby pasture where the sheep moved slow； like maggots； over the land； eating。 Once I stood a while and watched a great bird； high up against the unbroken blue； wheeling and spiralling on the ther
