ericlustbader.the ninja-第2章

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　Flies　buzzed　furrily　along　the　snaking　hillock　of　sand　above　the　high…tide　mark。　The　spindrift；　drying；　was　like　a　lock　of　a　child's　fine　white　hair。　Beyond；　the　bers　rolled　in；　purple…blue；　then　white　as　their　tops　turned　to　foam；　spending　themselves　upon　the　wet　sand　at　his　bare　feet。
　He　dug　his　toes　in；　very　much　as　he　had　done　when　he　was　younger；　but；　of　course；　it　did　no　good。　The　sea　leached　away　the　footing　from　under　him　and　he　grew　shorter　by　inches　as　the　land　was　eroded　by　the　tide's　inexorable　progress。
　Until　then　it　had　been　a　quiet　afternoon；　Dune　Road　lazy　in　midweek；　even　though　this　was　the　week　after　the　Fourth　of　July。　He　reached　unconsciously　for　the　pack　of　thin　black…tobaccoed　cigarettes　which　he　no　longer　carried。　He　had　given　up　smoking　six　months　ago。　He　remembered　the　date　well　enough　because　it　was　the　day　he　had　quit　his　job。
　He　had　arrived　at　the　agency　one　chill　sullen　winter's　day　and　had　stayed　in　his　office　only　long　enough　to　place　the　ostrich…hide　briefcase　that　Vincent　had　presented　him　with　for　no　apparent　reason　…　it　was　some　months　past　his　birthday　and　longer　than　that　since　he　had　been　promoted　…　on　his　rosewood　and　smoked…glass　desk　that　was　much　too　modern　to　hold　anything　remotely　resembling　drawers。　Then　he　went　out；　turning　left；　past　the　curious；　upturned　face　of　Lil；　his　secretary；　down　the　beige…carpeted；　rose…neon　indirectly　lit　hall。　When　had　he　actually　made　the　decision？　He　had　no　idea；　really。　On　the　way　in；　in　the　cab；　his　mind　had　been　empty；　his　thoughts　like　ashes　swirled　in　the　dregs　of　last　night's　coffee。　Nothing　else　seemed　to　remain。
　He　went　past　the　pair　of　female　guardians　who；　like　perfectly　carved　sphinxes　before　a　great　pharaoh's　tomb；　flanked　the　enormous　carved　mahogany　door。　The　thing　of　it　was；　they　were　damned　efficient；　too。　He　gave　a　brief　knock　and　went　in。
　Goldman　was　on　the　phone　…　the　dark　blue　one；　which　meant　a　conversation　with　a　high…level　client；　rather　than　the　beige　one；　which　would　indicate　inter…office　brainstorming　…　so　Nicholas　stared　out　of　the　window。　They're　all　high…level　these　days；　he　thought。　There　were　days　when　being　on　the　thirty…sixth　floor　had　its　advantages；　but　this　was　not　one　of　them。　The　sky　was　so　dense　with　leaden　clouds　that　it　seemed　as　if　a　lid　had　been　clamped　down　on　the　city。　Perhaps；　near　nightfall；　it　would　snow　again。　He　couldn't　think　whether　that　would　be　good　or　bad。
　'Nick；　my　boy　1'　Goldman　cried　as　he　cradled　the　receiver。　'It　must've　been　ESP；　you　walking　in　now！　Guess　who　that　was　on　the　phone？　No。'　He　waved　one　hand。　It　looked　like　a　duck；　eager　to　take　off。　'Better　yet；　don't　guess。　I'll　tell　you。　It　was　Kingsley。'　His　eyes　got　big。　They　always　got　big　when　he　was　excited。　'Know　what　he　said？　He　was　talking　my　ear　off　about　you　and　the　campaign。　The　first　results　are　already　in。　They're　〃a　dramatic　improvement〃；　he　says。　Those　are　his　words；　the　schmendric。　〃A　dramatic　improvement〃。'
　Nearing　sixty；　Sam　Goldman　did　not　look　a　day　over　fifty。　He　was　fit　and　trim　and　always　tanned。　This；　Nicholas　had　always　supposed；　he　maintained　to　set　off　his　shock　of　brilliant　white　hair　which　he　wore　long　and　bed　straight　back。　Goldman　was　enamored　of　contrasts。　His　face　was　somewhat　long；　lined；　pitted　slightly　on　the　crown　of　each　cheek。　It　was　a　proud　face；　dominated　by　large　brown　eyes；　despite　the　long　nose　and　generous　mouth。　He　wore　a　blue　pinstripe　shirt　with　solid　white　collar　and　a　navy　and　maroon　Italian　silk　tie。　He　knew　how　to　dress；　Goldman　did。　Despite　this；　his　sleeves　were　rolled　half　way　up　his　forearms。
　Looking　at　him　now；　Nicholas　abruptly　knew　why　this　was　going　to　be　so　hard　for　him　to　do。
　'I'm　glad；　Sam；'　he　said。
　'Well；　sit　down；　sit　down　then。'　Goldman　waved　him　to　a　beige　suede　and　chrome　chair　in　front　of　his　enormous　desk。
　It　was　not；　perhaps；　what　he　would　have　chosen　himself　but　all　his　clients　were　happy　with　it。
　'No；　I'm　fine　where　I　am；　thanks。'　Now　that　he　was　down　to　it；　he　realized　that　there　was　just　no　easy　way。　'I'm　leaving；　Sam。'
　'Leaving？　What；　you　want　a　vacation　already？　You've　only　been　creative　director　for　six　months　…'　'Seven。'
　'So　who's　counting？　Anyway；　you　want　a　vacation？　Okay；　you　got　a　vacation。　Where're　you　going？'
　'I　don't　think　you　understand；　Sam。　I　want　to　leave　the　pany。　Resign。'
　Goldman　swivelled　around　in　his　chair；　stared　out　of　the　window。　'You　know；　it's　going　to　snow　today。　On　the　radio　they　said　no。　But　I　knew　better。　An　old　campaigner　can　always　tell。　My　feet　tell　me。　Every　time　I　play　tennis。　I　said　to　Edna　this　morning　…'
　'Sam；　did　you　hear　me？'　Nicholas　said　gently。　〃That　Kingsley。　What　a　schmuck！　He　may　know　publishing　but　he　doesn't　know　shit　from　advertising。　It　took　him　long　enough　to　e　here。'　He　swivelled　back；　abruptly。　'You；　Nick；　you　know　advertising。'　'Sam…'
　'Resign；　Nicky？　Resign？　What's　this　resign？　I　don't　believe　it。　You　have　everything　here。　Everything。　You　know　how　much　we're　gonna　net　…　not　gross；　mind　you；　but　net　…　from　this　one　goddamn　campaign　of　yours？'　'I　don't　care；　Sam。'
　'Two　hundred　fucking　thousand；　Nick。　Now　why　would　you　leave？'
　'I'm　tired；　Sam。　Honestly。　I　feel　like　I've　been　in　advertising　so　long　that　lately　…　lately；　I've　been　waking　up　feeling　like　Count　Dracula。〃
　Goldman　cocked　his　head；　a　non…verbal　sign　of　query。　'You　know；　like　I've　been　in　a　coffin。'　'You're　going　back　to　Japan。'
　'I　hadn't　really　thought　about　it。'　He　was　far　more　pleased　than　surprised；　Goldman　was　unusually　perceptive　about　these　things。　'I　don't　know　that　it　matters。'
　'Of　course　it　matters　I'　Goldman　exploded。　'I　think　about　going　back　to　Israel　all　the　time！'
　'You　didn't　grow　up　in　Israel；'　Nicholas　countered。
　'I　would　have　if　it'd've　been　in　existence　then。'　He　snorted。　'But　that's　irrelevant。'　He　waved　a　hand　again。　'History。　History　is　all　that　matters。'　A　call　came　through　for　him　and　he　barked　at　one　of　the　sphinxes　outside　to　jot　it　down　as　a　callback。　'Listen；　I　don't　give　a　good　goddamn　what　we　make　outa　Kingsley；　Nicky；　you　know　that。　But　it's　a　sign。　Can't　you　see　that？　You're　hot　now。　I　felt　it　was　gonna　happen　a　year　ago　and　now　I　know　I　was　right。　You　really　want　to　walk　away　from　that　now？'
　'I　don't　think　want　is　the　right　word；'　Nicholas　said。　'Have　to　is　more　like　it。'
　Goldman　took　out　a　cigar　from　a　thick　wooden　humidor；　contemplated　it。　'Nick；　I　won't　bore　you　by　telling　you　how　many　bright　guys　would　give　their　left　nut　for　your　job　…'
　'Thanks；'　Nicholas　said　dryly。　'I　appreciate　that。'
　'Everyone's　gotta　do　for　himself。'　Goldman's　eyes　regarded　the　cigar's　tip。　He　took　a　bite　off　the　end；　struck　a　long　wooden　match。
　'I　wish　you　wouldn't？'　Nicholas　said。　'I've　given　up　smoking。'
　Goldman　eyed　him；　the　flame　in　mid…air。　'Just　like　you；〃　he　said　flatly。　'Everything　at　once。'　He　puffed　at　the　flame；　flicked　the　match　into　a　wide　glass　ashtray。　But；　unwilling　perhaps　to　admit　unconditional　defeat；　he　stuck　the　cold　cigar　unhappily　in　his　mouth；　chewed　on　it　meditatively。　'You　know；　Nick；　I　like　to　think　of　myself　as　more　than　just　your　boss。　It's　been　a　lotta　years　since　I　picked　you　up　right　off　the　boat。'
　'Plane。'
　Goldman　waved　his　hand。　'Whatever。'　He　took　the　cigar　out　of　his　mouth。　'As　a　friend；　I　think　you　owe　me　some　kind　of　an　explanation。'
　'Look；　Sam　…'
　He　put　his　hand　up；　palm　outwards。　'Hey；　I'm　not　gonna　try　to　stop　you　from　going。　You're　a　big　boy　now。　And　I　can't　say　I'm　not　disappointed；　because　I　am。　Why　the　hell　should　I　lie　to　you？　Only；　I'd　just　like　to　know。'
　Nicholas　got　up；　went　over　to　the　window。　Goldman　swung　his　chair　around　to　follow　his　progress　like　a　radar　tracking　station。
　'It's　not　even　very　clear　to　me　yet；　Sam。'　He　rubbed　a　hand　across　his　forehead。　'I　don't　know；　it's　like　this　place　has　bee　a　prison。　A　place　to　get　out　of　instead　of　e　into。'　He　turned　to　face　Goldman。　'Oh；　it　isn't　this　place；　itself。　There's　nothing　wrong　…　I　suspect。。。'　He　shrugged。　'Perhaps　it's　advertising。　I　feel　lost　within　the　medium　now；　as　if　the　electronicization　has　no　meaning　for　me。　As　if　I've　slipped　back；　somehow；　into　another　age；　another　time。'　He　leaned　forwards；　a　peculiar　kind　of　tension　lacing　his　up