rr.eastofealing-第9章

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　'You　buffoon。　There　is　no　reputation　worth　more　than　five　pounds　and　the　man　who　is　five　pounds　to　credit　needs　no　reputation　whatever。'
　'Ah　well；　let's　look　on　the　bright　side。　I　think　I　can　say　without　any　fear　of　contradiction　that　nothing　else　can　possibly　happen　to　us　today。'
　It　is　of　some　small　consequence　to　note　that　had　Jim　been　possessed　of　that　rare　gift　of　foresight；　even　to　the　degree　of　a　few　short　hours；　he　would　certainly　not　have　made　that　particular；　ill…considered　and　totally　inaccurate　remark。
　
　8
　Brentford's　only　cinema；　the　Electric　Alhambra；　had　closed　its　doors　upon　an　indifferent　public　some　fifty　years　ago。　The　canny　Brentonians　had　shunned　it　from　the　word　go；　realizing　that　moving　pictures　were　nothing　more　than　a　flash　in　the　pan。　Miraculously；　the　building　had　remained　intact；　playing　host　to　a　succession　of　small　industries　which　had　sprung　up　like　mushrooms　and　died　like　mayflies。　The　last　occupier；　a　Mr　Doveston；　Purveyor　of　Steam…Driven　Appliances　to　the　Aristocracy；　had　weathered　it　out　for　a　full　five　years　before　burning　his　headed　notepaper　and　vanishing　with　the　smoke。
　Now　the　crumbling　edifice；　about　the　size　of　the　average　scout　hut　and　still　sporting　its　original　mock　rococo　stuccoed　fagade；　was　left　once　more　alone　with　its　memories。　The　projection　room；　which　had　served　as　governor's　office　to　many　a　down　at　heel　entrepreneur；　now　deprived　of　its　desks　and　filing　cabinets；　suddenly　took　to　itself　once　more。　With　the　collapse　of　some　lop…sided　partitions；　the　old　and　pitted　screen　made　a　reappearance。　But　for　the　lack　of　seating　and　the　scattered　debris　littering　the　floor；　the　ancient　cinema　emerged；　a　musty　phoenix　from　its　fifty…year　hibernation。
　The　'Sold'　notice　was　up　out　front　and　rumour　had　it　that　the　dreaded　Lateinos　and　Romiith　had　the　place　earmarked　for　redevelopment。　A　light　evening　breeze　rattled　a　corrugated　iron　shutter　upon　a　glassless　window；　and　something　that　looked　very　much　like　a　giant　feral　torn　stole　across　the　floor。　In　the　eaves　a　bat　awoke　and　whistled　something　in　an　unknown　dialect。
　A　gaunt　and　fragile　shadow　fell　across　an　expanse　of　littered　linoleum　and　a　pale　hand　moved　into　a　patch　of　light。　Ghostly　fingers　drew　away　a　cowled　hood；　revealing　a　head　of　pure　white　hair；　an　expanse　of　pallid　forehead；　and　two　eyes　which　glowed　pinkly　in　the　failing　light。　Surely　we　have　seen　this　pale　hand　before？　Known　the　Jason's　fleece　of　snowy　hair；　and　marvelled　at　the　flesh　coloured　eyes？　Can　this　be　he　who　now　dwells　beneath；　shunning　the　realm　of　sunlight　and　changing　seasons？　He　who　tills　the　subterranean　waters　in　his　search　for　Shamballa　and　its　legendary　dwellers　in　that　world　of　forever　night？　Yes；　there　can　be　no　doubt。　The　name　of　this　seeker　after　the　hidden　truths　below　is　well　known　to　the　folk　of　Brentford。
　Soap　Distant；　it　is　he。
　Soap　spat　his　roll…up　from　between　his　teeth　and　ground　it　to　oblivion　beneath　a　boot…heel。　He　scrutinized　the　luminous　chronometer　upon　his　wrist　and　said；　'Ten　thirty…two。　They'll　be　a　while　yet。'　He　paced　slowly　to　and　fro；　his　shadow　clattering　soundlessly　along　the　corrugated　shutters　to　merge　with　the　blackness　as　he　moved　beyond　the　range　of　the　limited　illumination。　At　length；　his　chronometer　chimed　the　three…quarter　hour；　and　Soap　ceased　his　pacing。　From　without　came　sounds　of　approaching　feet。　Harsh　footfalls　echoing　along　the　deserted　street；　acpanied　by　the　sounds　of　foolish　giggling　and　the　occasional　bout　of　coughing。　'Pissed　again；'　said　Soap　to　himself；　'but　no　matter。'
　The　inebriated　couple；　one　with　a　fat　eye　and　the　other　sleeveless；　came　to　a　halt　outside　the　cinema；　and　Soap　could　make　out　snatches　of　conversation　that　penetrated　the　numerous　cracks　in　the　wall。
　'Who's　on　then？'　asked　a　voice。　'Where's　my　opener？'
　'William　S。　Hart；'　said　another。　'Open　it　with　your　teeth。'
　'I　never　could　abide　that　body's　hat。　I　was　always　an　Elmo　Lincoln　man　myself。　Christ；　there　goes　a　filling。　You've　got　my　opener；　I　remember　you　borrowing　it。'
　'I　gave　it　back。　Stand　aside　man；　I　need　a　quick　jimmy。'
　'Not　in　my　doorway！'　Soap　threw　open　the　shattered　glass　door　to　admit　a　stumbling　Jim　Pooley；　flies　gaping。
　'By　the　grave；'　said　that　man。
　'By　the　roadside；　but　not　in　my　doorway。'
　Omally　squinted　towards　the　dark　void　which　had　suddenly　swallowed　up　his　panion。　'Soap？'　said　he。　'Soap　Distant？　I　know　that　voice。'
　'e　in　out　of　the　night；　and　pick　your　friend　up。'
　Omally　bumbled　in　and　Soap　slammed　shut　the　door　upon　the　Brentford　night　and；　as　far　as　John　and　Jim　were　concerned；　life　as　they　had　once　known　it。
　'Where's　the　bog？'　wailed　Pooley；　struggling　to　his　feet。
　'Stick　it　out　through　a　crack　in　the　wall　and　be　done。'
　Pooley　did　so。
　'How　would　you　two　care　to　make　thirty　quid　for　a　swift　half…hour's　work？'　Soap　asked　when　Jim　had　finished　his　micturition。
　Omally　was　about　to　say　'Each？'　but　after　his　experiences　this　day　he　thought　better　of　it。　'I　think　that　we　would　be　very　grateful；'　he　said。　'This　has　been　a　bad　day　for　us　both；　financially。'
　'If　it　is　decorating；'　said　Jim；　'I　do　not　feel　that　half　an　hour　will　be　sufficient。'
　'It　is　not　decorating；　it　is　a　little　matter；　below。'
　'Below。。。　ah；　well　now。'　Both　Pooley　and　Omally　had　in　chapters　past　had　very　bad　experiences　'below'。
　'Are　you　sure　this　is　safe？'　queried　Omally。
　'As　houses。'
　Pooley　was　more　than　doubtful。　Sudden　chill　memories　of　former　times　spent　beneath　the　surface　of　the　globe　flooded　over　him　in　an　icy…black　tide。　'You　can　have　my　half；　John；'　he　said；　'I　think　I'll　get　an　early　night　in。'
　'It　will　take　the　two　of　you　I　am　afraid。'　Soap　raised　his　palms　in　the　gloom。　'It　is　a　simple　matter。　One　man　cannot　move　an　object；　three　men　can。'
　'Things　are　rarely　as　simple　as　they　at　first　appear；'　said　Pooley　with　a　wisdom　older　than　his　years。
　'e　below　then。'
　With　that；　a　thin　line　of　wan　light　appeared　in　the　centre　of　the　floor；　growing　to　a　pale　square　illuminating　a　flight　of　stairs。　Soap　led　the　way　down。　'Follow　me；'　he　said　gaily。
　Pooley　sucked　upon　a　knuckle　and；　like　the　now　legendary　musical　turn；　dilly…dallied　on　the　way。　Omally　nudged　him　in　the　back。　'Thirty　quid；'　he　said。
　Soap's　newly…hired　work…force　followed　him　down　the　stairway；　and　above　them　the　trapdoor　slammed　shut　with　what　is　referred　to　in　condemned　circles　as　a　'death…cell　finality'。　The　stairway；　as　might　be　imagined；　led　ever　down；　its　passageway　hewn　from　the　living　rock。　At　length　it　unexpectedly　debouched　into　a　pleasant　looking　sitting…room；　furnished　with　a　pale　green　Waterford　settee　and　matching　armchairs；　and　decorated　with　Laura　Ashley　wallpaper。　'Nice；　eh？'　said　Soap　as　he　divested　himself　of　his　ankle…length　cloak　to　reveal　a　natty　line　in　three…piece　tweed　wear。
　'Very；'　said　John。　'And　the　Russell　Flints？'　He　pointed　to　a　brace　of　pictures　which　hung　above　the　hearth。　'No　expense　spared。'
　'A　gift　from　Professor　Slobe；'　said　Soap。
　Pooley；　who　had　a　definite　sway　on；　sank　into　a　fortable　armchair。
　'We　have　a　couple　of　bottles　of　brown　with　us；'　said　John。　'If　you　have　an　opener？'
　'It's　a　bit　close　down　here。'　Pooley　fanned　at　his　brow。
　'It　was　a　bit　close　down　that　hole　today；　wasn't　it　Jim？'　Soap　popped　the　stoppers　from　the　bottles　and　ignored　Pooley's　similarly　popping　eyes。
　'How　did　you　know？'
　'There's　not　much　that　goes　on　beneath　ground　level　that　I　don't　know　something　of。　Those　buggers　from　Lateinos　and　Romiith　have　been　making　my　life　a　misery　lately；　sinking　their　damned　foundations　every　which　way　about　the　parish。'
　'Progress；'　said　Pooley　in　a　doomed　tone。
　'Some　say；'　said　Soap。　'Listen　now；　let　us　dispense　with　brown　ale。　I　have　some　home…brewed　mushroom　brandy　which　I　think　you　might　find　interesting。'
　'That　would　be　a　challenge。'
　''Tis　done　then。'
　Something　over　an　hour　later；　three　very　drunken　men　were　to　be　found　some　three　miles　beneath　the　surface　of　planet　Earth　a…rowing　in　a　leathern　coracle　over　a　stretch　of　ink…black　subterranean　water。
　'Where　are　we？'　asked　an　Irish　surface…dweller。
　'Below　the　very　heart　of　London。'
　'I　don't　recognize　it。'
　The　splish…splash　of　the　oars　echoed　about