cb.damnationgame-第21部分

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　springing　up　from　his　sides　and　tearing　at　the　rope　as　it　tightened。　The　initial　drop　had　not　broken　his　neck；　but　his　spine　felt　like　a　vast　centipede　sewn　into　his　back；　writhing　now　every　way　it　could；　causing　his　legs　to　spasm。　The　pain　was　the　least　of　it：　the　real　anguish　came　from　being　out　of　control；　smelling　his　bowels　giving　out　into　his　clean　trousers　without　his　say…so；　his　penis　stiffening　without　a　lustful　thought　in　his　popping　head；　his　heels　digging　the　air　looking　for　purchase；　fingers　still　scrabbling　at　the　rope。　All　suddenly　not　his　own；　all　too　hot　for　their　own　preservation　to　hold　still　and　die。
　　But　their　efforts　were　in　vain。　He'd　planned　this　too　carefully　for　it　to　go　awry。　The　rope　was　tightening　still；　the　cavortings　of　the　centipede　weakening。　Life；　this　unwele　visitor；　would　leave　very　soon。　There　was　a　lot　of　noise　in　his　head；　almost　as　though　he　was　underground；　and　hearing　all　the　sounds　of　the　earth。　Rushing　noises；　the　roar　of　great　hidden　weirs；　the　bubbling　of　molten　stone。　Breer；　the　great　Razor…Eater；　knew　the　earth　very　well。　He'd　buried　dead　beauties　in　it　all　too　often；　and　filled　his　mouth　with　soil　as　penitence　for　the　intrusion；　chewing　on　it　as　he　covered　over　their　pastel　bodies。　Now　the　earth　noises　had　blotted　out　everything…his　gasps；　the　music　from　the　radio；　and　the　traffic　outside　the　window。　Sight　was　going　too；　lace　darkness　crept　over　the　room；　its　patterns　pulsing。　He　knew　he　was　turning…there　was　the　bed；　now　the　wardrobe；　now　the　sink…but　the　forms　he　fitfully　saw　were　decaying。
　　His　body　had　given　up　the　good　fight。　His　tongue　flapped　perhaps；　or　maybe　he　imagined　the　motion；　just　as　surely　as　he　imagined　the　sound　of　somebody　calling　his　name。
　　Quite　abruptly；　sight　went　out　pletely；　and　death　was　on　him。　No　flood　of　regrets　attended　the　ending；　no　lightning　regurgitation　of　a　life　history　encrusted　with　guilt。　Just　a　dark；　and　a　deeper　dark；　and　now　a　dark　so　deep　night　was　luminous　by　parison　with　it。　And　it　was　over；　easily。
　　No；　not　over。
　　Not　quite　over。　A　cluster　of　unwele　sensations　swarmed　over　him；　intruding　on　the　privacy　of　his　death。　A　breeze　warmed　his　face；　assaulting　his　nerve　endings。　An　ungracious　breath　choked　him；　pressing　into　his　flaccid　lungs　without　the　least　invitation。
　　He　fought　the　resurrection；　but　his　Savior　was　insistent。　The　room　began　to　reassemble　itself　around　him。　First　light；　then　form。　Now　color；　albeit　drained　and　grimy。　The　noises…fiery　rivers　and　liquid　stone　alike…were　gone。　He　was　hearing　himself　cough；　and　smelling　his　own　vomit。　Despair　mocked　him。　Could　he　not　even　kill　himself　successfully？
　　Somebody　said　his　name。　He　shook　his　head；　but　the　voice　came　again；　and　this　time　his　upturned　eyes　found　a　face。
　　And　oh　it　was　not　over：　far　from　it。　He　had　not　been　delivered　into　Heaven　or　Hell。　Neither　would　dare　boast　the　face　he　was　now　staring　up　into。
　　〃I　thought　I'd　lost　you；　Anthony；〃　said　the　Last　European。
　　
　　19
　　He　had　righted　the　chair　Breer　had　used　to　stand　on　for　his　suicide　attempt；　and　was　sitting　on　it；　looking　as　unsullied　as　ever。　Breer　tried　to　say　something；　but　his　tongue　felt　too　fat　for　his　mouth；　and　when　he　felt　it　his　fingers　came　back　bloody。
　　〃You　bit　your　tongue　in　your　enthusiasm；〃　said　the　European。　〃You　won't　be　able　to　eat　or　speak　too　well　for　a　while。　But　it'll　heal；　Anthony。　Everything　heals　given　time。〃　Breer　had　no　energy　to　get　up　off　the　floor；　all　he　could　do　was　lie　there；　the　noose　still　tight　around　his　neck；　staring　up　at　the　severed　rope　that　still　depended　from　the　light　fixture。　The　European　had　obviously　just　cut　him　down　and　let　him　fall。　His　body　had　begun　to　shake；　his　teeth　were　chattering　like　a　mad　monkey's。
　　〃You're　in　shock；〃　said　the　European。　〃You　lie　there　。　。　。　I'll　make　some　tea；　shall　I？　Sweet　tea　is　just　the　thing。〃　It　took　some　effort；　but　Breer　managed　to　haul　himself　off　the　floor　and　onto　the　bed。　His　trousers　were　soiled；　front　and　back：　he　felt　disgusting。　But　the　European　didn't　mind。　He　forgave　all；　Breer　knew　that。　No　other　man　Breer　had　ever　met　was　quite　so　capable　of　forgiveness；　it　humbled　him　to　be　in　the　pany　and　the　care　of　such　easy　humanity。　Here　was　a　man　who　knew　the　secret　heart　of　his　corruption；　and　never　once　spoke　a　word　of　censure。
　　Propped　up　on　the　bed；　feeling　the　signs　of　life　reappearing　in　his　wracked　body；　Breer　watched　the　European　making　the　tea。　They　were　very　different　people。　Breer　had　always　felt　awed　by　this　man。　Yet　hadn't　the　European　told　him　once：　〃I　am　the　last　of　my　tribe；　Anthony；　just　as　you　are　the　last　of　yours。　We　are　in　so　many　ways　the　same〃？　Breer　hadn't　understood　the　significance　of　the　remark　when　he'd　first　heard　it；　but　he'd　e　to　understand　in　time。　〃I　am　the　last　true　European；　you　are　the　last　of　the　Razor…Eaters。　We　should　try　to　help　each　other。　〃　And　the　European　had　gone　on　to　do　just　that；　keeping　Breer　from　capture　on　two　or　three　occasions；　celebrating　his　trespasses；　teaching　him　that　to　be　a　Razor…Eater　was　a　worthy　estate。　In　return　for　this　education　he'd　asked　scarcely　anything：　a　few　minor　services；　no　more。　But　Breer　wasn't　so　trusting　that　he　didn't　suspect　a　time　would　e　when　the　Last　European…please　call　me　Mr。　Mamoulian；　he　used　to　say；　but　Breer　had　never　really　got　his　tongue　around　that　ical　name…when　this　strange　panion　would　ask　for　help　in　his　turn。　It　wouldn't　be　an　odd　job　or　two　he'd　ask　either；　it　would　be　something　terrible。　Breer　knew　that；　and　feared　it。
　　In　dying　he　had　hoped　to　escape　the　debt　ever　being　called　in。　The　longer　he'd　been　away　from　Mr。　Mamoulian…and　it　was　six　years　since　they'd　last　met…the　more　the　memory　of　the　man　had　e　to　frighten　Breer。　The　European's　image　had　not　faded　with　time：　quite　the　contrary。　His　eyes；　his　hands；　the　caress　of　his　voice　had　stayed　crystal…clear　when　yesterday's　events　had　bee　a　blur。　It　was　as　if　Mamoulian　had　never　quite　gone；　as　though　he'd　left　a　sliver　of　himself　in　Breer's　head　to　polish　up　his　picture　when　time　dirtied　it；　to　keep　a　watch　on　his　servant's　every　deed。
　　No　surprise　then；　that　the　man　had　e　in　when　he　had；　interrupting　the　death　scene　before　it　could　be　played　out。　No　surprise　either　that　he　was　talking　to　Breer　now　as　though　they'd　never　been　parted；　as　though　he　was　the　loving　husband　to　Breer's　devoted　wife；　and　the　years　had　never　intervened。　Breer　watched　Mamoulian　move　from　sink　to　table　as　he　prepared　the　tea；　locating　the　pot；　setting　out　the　cups；　performing　each　domestic　act　with　hypnotic　economy。　The　debt　would　have　to　be　paid；　he　knew　that　now。　There　would　be　no　darkness　until　it　was　paid。　At　the　thought；　Breer　began　to　sob　quietly。
　　〃Don't　cry；〃　said　Mamoulian；　not　turning　from　the　sink。
　　〃I　wanted　to　die；〃　Breer　murmured。　The　words　came　out　as　though　through　a　mouthful　of　pebbles。
　　〃You　can't　perish　yet；　Anthony。　You　owe　me　a　little　time。　Surely　you　must　see　that？〃　〃I　wanted　to　die；〃　was　all　Breer　could　repeat　in　response。　He　was　trying　not　to　hate　the　European；　because　the　man　would　know。　He'd　feel　it　for　certain；　and　maybe　lose　his　temper。　But　it　was　so　difficult：　resentment　bubbled　up　through　the　sobbing。
　　〃Has　life　been　treating　you　badly？〃　the　European　asked。
　　Breer　sniffed。　He　didn't　want　a　father　confessor；　he　wanted　the　dark。　Couldn't　Mamoulian　understand　that　he　was　past　explanations；　past　healing？　He　was　shit　on　the　shoe　of　a　mongol；　the　most　worthless；　irredeemable　thing　in　creation。　The　image　of　himself　as　a　Razor…Eater；　as　the　last　representative　of　a　once…terrible　tribe；　had　kept　his　self…esteem　intact　for　a　few　perilous　years；　but　the　fantasy　had　long　since　lost　its　power　to　sanctify　his　vileness。　There　was　no　possibility　of　working　the　same　trick　twice。　And　it　was　a　trick；　just　a　trick；　Breer　knew　that；　and　hated　Mamoulian　all　the　more　for　his　manipulations。　I　want　to　be　dead；　was　all　he　could　think。
　　Did　he　say　the　words　out　loud？　He　hadn't　heard　himself　speak；　but　Mamoulian　answered　him　as　though　he　had。
　　〃Of　course　you　do。　I　understand；　I　really　do。　You　think　it's　all　an　illusion：　tribes；　and　dreams　of　salvation。　But　take　it　from　me；　it　isn't。　There's　purpose　in　the　world　yet。　For　both