ib.thewaspfactory-第39章
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the Venus; checking wires; dusting the glass over the face; testing batteries and oiling doors and other mechanisms; all more to reassure myself than anything else。 I dusted the altar as well as arranged everything on it carefully; using a ruler to make sure all the little jars and other pieces were arranged perfectly symmetrically on it。
I was sweating again by the time I came down; but couldn't be bothered having another shower。 My father was up; and made breakfast while I watched some Saturday…morning television。 We ate in silence。 I took a tour round the island in the morning; going to the Bunker and getting the Head Bag so I could do any necessary repair work to the Poles as I made my way round。
It took me longer than usual to plete the circuit because I kept stopping and going to the top of the nearest tall dune to look out over the approaches。 I never did see anything。 The heads on the Sacrifice Poles were in fairly good repair。 I had to replace a couple of mice heads; but that was about all。 The other heads and the streamers were intact。 I found a dead gull lying on the mainland face of a dune; opposite the island's centre。 I took the head and buried the rest near a Pole。 I put the head; which was starting to smell; in a plastic bag and stuffed it in the Head Bag with the dried ones。
I heard then saw the birds go up as somebody came along the path; but I knew it was only Mrs Clamp。 I climbed a dune to watch; and saw her pedalling over the bridge with her ancient delivery…bike。 I took another look over the pasture land and dunes beyond; once she had disappeared round the dune before the house; but there was nothing; just sheep and gulls。 Smoke came from the dump; and I could just hear the steady grumble of an old diesel on the railway line。 The sky stayed overcast but bright; and the wind sticky and uncertain。 Out to sea I could make out golden slivers near the horizon where the water glittered under breaks in the cloud; but they were far; far out。
I pleted my round of the Sacrifice Poles; then spent half an hour near the old winch indulging in a bit of target practice。 I set up a few cans on the rusty iron of the drum housing; went back thirty metres and brought them all down with my catapult; using only three extra steelies for the six cans。 I set them up again once I had recovered all but one of the big ball…bearings; went back to the same position and threw pebbles at the cans; this time taking fourteen shots before all the cans were down。 I ended up throwing the knife at a tree by the old sheep…pen a few times and was pleased to find I was judging the number of tumbles well; the blade whacking into the much…cut bark straight each time。
Back in the house I washed; changed my shirt and then appeared in the kitchen in time for Mrs Clamp serving up the first course; which for some reason was piping…hot broth。 I waved a slice of soft; smelly white bread over it while Mrs Clamp bent to the bowl and slurped noisily and my father crumbled wholemeal bread; which appeared to have wood shavings in it; over his plate。
'And how are you; Mrs Clamp?' I asked pleasantly。
'Oh; I'm all right; ' Mrs Clamp said; drawing her brows together like a snagged end of wool being unravelled from a sock。 She pleted the frown and directed it at the dripping spoon just under her chin; telling it: 'Oh; yes; I'm all right。'
'Isn't it hot?' I said; and hummed。 I went on flapping the bread over my soup while my father looked at me darkly。
'It's summer;' Mrs Clamp explained。
'Oh; yes;' I said。 'I'd forgotten。'
'Frank;' my father said rather unclearly; his mouth full of vegetables and wood shavings; 'I don't suppose you recall the capacity of these spoons; do you?'
'A quarter…gill?' I suggested innocently。 He glowered and sipped some more soup。 I kept on flapping; stopping only to disturb the brown skin that was forming over the surface of my broth。 Mrs Clamp sipped again。
'And how are things in the town; Mrs Clamp?' I asked。
'Very well; as far as I know;' Mrs Clamp informed her soup。 I nodded。 My father was blowing at his spoon。 'The Mackies' dog has gone missing; or so I was told;' Mrs Clamp added。 I raised my brows slightly and smiled in a concerned way。 My father stopped and stared; and the noise of his soup dribbling off his spoon…the end of which had started to drop slightly just after Mrs Clamp's sentence…echoed round the room like piss going into a toilet bowl。
'Really?' I said; keeping on flapping。 'What a shame。 Just as well my brother's not around or he'd be getting the blame of it。' I smiled; glanced at my father; then back at Mrs Clamp; who was watching me with narrowed eyes through the rising steam from her soup。 Dough fatigue set into the piece of bread I was using to fan the soup; and it fell apart。 I caught the falling end smartly with my free hand and returned it to my side plate; raising my spoon and taking a tentative sip from the surface of the broth。
'H'm;' Mrs Clamp said。
'Mrs Clamp couldn't get your beefburgers today;' my father said; clearing his throat on the first syllable of 'couldn't'; 'so she got you mince instead。'
'Unions!' Mrs Clamp muttered darkly; spitting into her soup。 I put one elbow on the table; rested my cheek on a fist and looked puzzledly at her。 To no avail。 She didn't look up; and eventually I shrugged to myself and carried on sipping。 My father had put his spoon down; wiping his brow with one sleeve and using a fingernail in an attempt to remove a piece of what I assumed to be wood shaving from between two upper teeth。
'There was a wee fire down by the new house yesterday; Mrs Clamp; I put it out; you know。 I was down there and I saw it and I put it out;' I said。
'Don't boast; boy;' my father said。 Mrs Clamp held her tongue。
'Well; I did;' I smiled。
'I'm sure Mrs Clamp isn't interested。'
'Oh; I wouldn't say that;' Mrs Clamp said; nodding her head in slightly confusing emphasis。
'There; you see?' I said; humming as I looked at my father and nodded towards Mrs Clamp; who slurped noisily。
I kept quiet through the main course; which was a stew; and only noted during the rhubarb and custard that it had a novel addition to the medley of flavours; when in fact the milk it had been made from had obviously been most profoundly off。 I smiled; my father growled and Mrs Clamp slurped her custard and spat her stumps of rhubarb out on to her napkin。 To be fair; it was a little undercooked。
Dinner cheered me up immensely and; although the afternoon was hotter than the morning; I felt more energetic。 There were no slits of distant brightness out over the sea; and there was a thickness about the light ing through the clouds that went with the charge in the air and the slack wind。 I went out; going once round the island at a brisk jog; I watched Mrs Clamp depart for the town; then I walked out in the same direction to sit on top of a tall dune a few hundred metres into the mainland and sweep the sweltering land with my binoculars。
Sweat rolled off me as soon as I stopped moving; and I could feel a slight ache start in my head。 I had taken a little water with me; so I drank it; then refilled the can from the nearest stream。 My father was doubtless right that sheep shat in the streams; but I was sure I had long since grown immune to anything I could catch from the local burns; having drunk from them for years while I had been damming them。 I drank more water than I really felt like and returned to the top of the dune。 In the distance the sheep were still; lying on the grass。 Even the gulls were absent; and only the flies were still active。 The smoke from the dump still drifted; and another line of hazy blue rose from the plantations in the hills; ing up from the edge of a clearing where they were harvesting the trees for the pulp mill farther up the shore of the firth。 I strained to hear the sound of the saws; but couldn't。
I was scanning the binoculars over that view to the south when I saw my father。 I went over him; then jerked