cb.imajica2-第5部分

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eet；　are　only　her　replica。　Perfect；　maybe；　but　stilt　a　replica。〃
　〃I　won't。。。　I　don't。。。　believe　you。〃
　〃Of　course　you　must　refuse　the　truth　at　first。　It's　perfectly　understandable。　But　your　body　knows　what's　true　and　what　isn't。　You're　shaking；　inside　and　out。。。。〃
　〃I'm　tired；〃　she　said；　knowing　the　explanation　was　pitifully　weak。
　〃You're　feeling　more　than　weary；〃　Dowd　said。　〃Admit　it。〃
　As　he　pried；　she　remembered　the　results　of　his　last　revelations　about　her　past：　how　she'd　dropped　to　the　kitchen　floor；　hamstrung　by　invisible　knives。　She　dared　not　succumb　to　such　a　collapse　now；　with　the　well　a　foot　from　where　she　stood；　and　Dowd　knew　it。
　〃You　have　to　face　the　memories；〃　he　was　saying。　〃Just　spit　them　out。　Go　on。　You'll　feel　better　for　it；　I　promise　you。〃
　She　could　feel　both　her　limbs　and　her　resolve　weakening　as　he　spoke；　but　the　prospect　of　facing　whatever　lay　in　the　darkness　at　the　back　of　her　skull…and　however　much　she　distrusted　Dowd；　she　didn't　doubt　there　was　something　horrendous　there…was　almost　as　terrifying　as　the　thought　of　the　well　taking　her。　Perhaps　it　would　be　better　to　die　here　and　now；　two　sisters　extinguished　within　the　same　hour；　and　never　know　whether　Dowd's　claims　were　true　or　not。　But　then　suppose　he'd　been　lying　to　her　all　along…the　actor　chappie's　finest　performance　yet…and　she　was　not　a　shadow；　not　a　replica；　not　a　thing　bred　to　do　service；　but　a　natural　child　with　natural　parents：　a　creature　unto　herself；　real；　plete？　Then　she'd　be　giving　herself　to　death　out　of　fear　of　self…discovery；　and　Dowd　would　have　claimed　another　victim。　The　only　way　to　defeat　him　was　to　call　his　bluff；　to　do　as　he　kept　urging　her　to　do　and　go　into　the　darkness　at　the　back　of　her　head；　ready　to　embrace　whatever　revelations　it　concealed。　Whichever　Judith　she　was；　she　was；　whether　real　or　replica；　natural　or　bred。　There　was　no　escape　from　herself　in　the　living　world。　Better　to　know　the　truth；　once　and　for　all。
　The　decision　ignited　a　flame　in　her　skull；　and　the　first　phantoms　of　the　past　appeared　in　her　mind's　eye。
　〃Oh；　my　Goddess；〃　she　murmured；　throwing　back　her　head。　〃What　is　this？　What　is　this？〃
　She　saw　herself　lying　on　bare　boards　in　an　empty　room；　a　fire　burning　in　the　grate；　warming　her　in　her　sleep　and　flattering　her　nakedness　with　its　tuster。　Somebody　had　marked　her　body　while　she　slept；　daubing　upon　it　a　design　she　recognized…the　glyph　she'd　first　seen　in　her　mind's　eye　when　she'd　made　love　with　Oscar；　then　glimpsed　again　as　she　passed　between　Dominions…the　spiraling　sign　of　her　flesh；　here　painted　on　flesh　itself　in　half　a　dozen　colors。
　She　moved　in　her　sleep；　and　the　whorls　seemed　to　leave　traces　of　themselves　in　the　air　where　she'd　been；　their　persistence　exciting　another　motion；　this　other　in　the　ring　of　sand　that　bounded　her　hard　bed。　It　rose　around　her　like　the　curtain　of　the　Borealis；　shimmering　with　the　same　colors　in　which　her　glyph　had　been　painted；　as　though　something　of　her　essential　anatomy　was　in　the　very　air　of　the　room。　She　was　entranced　by　the　beauty　of　the　sight。
　〃What　are　you　seeing？〃　she　heard　Dowd　asking　her。
　〃Me；〃　she　said；　〃lying　on　the　floor　。。。　in　a　circle　of　sand。。。。〃
　〃Are　you　sure　it's　you？〃　he　said。
　She　was　about　to　pour　scorn　on　his　question；　when　she　realized　its　import。　Perhaps　this　wasn't　her；　but　her　sister。
　〃Is　there　any　way　of　knowing？〃　she　said。
　〃You'll　soon　see；〃　he　told　her。
　So　she　did。　The　curtain　of　sand　began　to　wave　more　violently；　as　if　seized　by　a　wind　unleashed　within　the　circle。　Particles　flew　from　it；　intensifying　as　they　were　thrown　against　the　dark　air：　motes　of　the　purest　color　rising　like　new　stars；　then　dropping　again；　burning　in　their　descent；　towards　the　place　where　she；　the　witness；　lay。　She　was　lying　on　the　ground　close　to　her　sister；　receiving　the　rain　of　color　like　a　grateful　earth；　needing　its　sustenance　if　she　was　to　grow　and　swell　and　bee　fruitful。
　〃What　am　I？〃　she　said；　following　the　fall　of　color　to　snatch　a　glimpse　of　the　ground　it　was　falling　upon。
　The　beauty　of　what　she'd　seen　so　far　had　lulled　her　into　vulnerability。　When　she　saw　her　own　unfinished　body；　the　shock　threw　her　out　of　the　remembrance　like　a　blow。　Sud…；　denly　she　was　teetering　on　the　wall's　edge　again；　with　Dowd's　hand　the　only　check　upon　her　falling。　Icewater　sweat　filled　her　pores。
　〃Don't　let　me　go；〃　she　said。
　〃What　are　you　seeing？〃　he　asked　her。
　〃Is　this　being　born？〃　she　sobbed。　〃Oh；　Christ；　is　this　being　born？〃
　〃Go　back　to　the　memory；〃　he　said。　〃You've　begun　it；　so；　finish　it！〃　He　shook　her。　〃Hear　me？　Finish　it！〃
　She　saw　his　face　raging　before　her。　She　saw　the　well；　yearning　behind。　And　in　between；　in　the　firelit　room　awaiting　her　in　her　head；　she　saw　a　nightmare　worse　than　both：　her　anatomy；　barely　made；　lying　in　a　circle　of　perverted　enchantments；　raw　until　the　distillates　of　another　woman's　body　put　skin　on　her　sinew　and　color　in　that　skin；　put　the　tint　in　her　eyes　and　the　gloss　on　her　lips；　gave　her　the　same　breasts；　belly；　and　sex。　This　was　not　birth；　it　was　duplication。　She　was　a　facsimile；　a　likeness　stolen　from　a　slumbering　original。
　〃I　can't　bear　it；〃　she　said。
　〃I　did　warn　you；　lovey；〃　Dowd　replied。　〃It's　never　easy；　reliving　the　first　moments。〃
　〃I'm　not　even　real；〃　she　said。
　〃Let's　stay　clear　of　the　metaphysics；〃　came　the　reply。　〃What　you　are；　you　are。　You　had　to　know　sooner　or　later。〃
　〃I　can't　bear　it。　I　can't　bear　it。〃
　〃But　you　are　bearing　it；〃　Dowd　said。　〃You　just　have　to　take　it　slowly。　Step　by　step。〃
　〃No　more。。。。〃
　〃Yes；〃　he　insisted。　〃A　lot　more。　That　was　the　worst。　It'll　get　easier　from　now　on。〃
　That　was　a　lie。　When　memory　took　her　again；　almost　without　her　inviting　it；　she　was　raising　her　arms　above　her　head；　letting　the　colors　congeal　around　her　outstretched　fingers。　Pretty　enough；　until　she　let　one　arm　drop　beside　her　and　her　new…made　nerves　felt　a　presence　at　her　side；　sharing　the　womb。　She　turned　her　head　and　screamed。　〃What　is　it？〃　Dowd　said。　〃Did　the　Goddess　e？〃　It　was　no　Goddess。　It　was　another　unfinished　thing；　gaping　at　her　with　lidless　eyes；　putting　out　its　colorless　tongue；　which　was　still　so　rough　it　could　have　licked　her　new　skin　off　her。　She　retreated　from　it；　and　her　fear　aroused　it；　the　pale　anatomy　shaken　by　silent　laughter。　It　too　had　gathered　motes　of　stolen　color；　she　saw；　but　it　had　not　bathed　in　them；　rather；　it　had　caught　them　in　its　hands；　postponing　the　moment　it　attired　itself　until　it　had　luxuriated　in　its　flayed　nakedness。
　Dowd　was　interrogating　her　again。　〃Is　it　the　Goddess？〃　he　was　asking。　〃What　are　you　seeing？　Speak　it　out；　woman！　Speak　it…〃
　His　demand　was　cut　suddenly　short。　There　was　a　beat　of　silence；　then　a　cry　of　alarm　so　shrill　her　conjuring　of　the　circle　and　the　thing　she'd　shared　it　with　vanished。　She　felt　Dowd's　grip　on　her　wrist　slip；　and　her　body　toppled。　She　flailed　as　she　fell；　and　more　by　luck　than　design　her　motion　threw　her　sideways；　along　the　rim　of　the　well；　rather　than　pitching　her　within。　Instantly；　she　began　to　slip　down　the　incline。　She　clutched　at　the　pavement。　But　the　stone　had　been　polished　by　years　of　passage；　and　her　body　slid　towards　the　edge　as　if　the　depths　were　calling　in　a　long…neglected　debt。　Her　legs　kicked　empty　air；　her　hips　sliding　over　the　well's　lip　while　her　fingers　sought　some　purchase；　however　slight…a　name　etched　a　little　deeper　than　the　rest；　a　rose　thorn；　wedged　between　stones…that　would　give　her　some　defense　against　gravity。　As　she　did　so　she　heard　Dowd　cry　out　a　second　time；　and　she　looked　up　to　see　a　miracle。
　Quaisoir　had　survived　the　mite。　The　change　that　had　e　over　her　flesh　when　she　rose　in　defiance　of　Dowd　was　here　pleted。　Her　skin　was　the　color　of　the　blue　eye；　her　face；　so　lately　maimed；　was　bright。　But　these　were　little　changes；　beside　the　dozen　ribbons　of　her　substance；　several　yards　in　length；　that　were　unraveled　around　her；　their　source　her　back；　their　purpose　to　touch　in　succession　the　ground　beneath　her　and　raise　her　up　into　a　strange　flight。　The　power　she'd　found　in　the　Bastion　was　blazing　in　her　and　Dowd　could　only　retreat　before　it；　to　the　edge　of　the　well。　He　kept　his　silence　now；　dropping　to　his　knees；　preparing　to　crawl　away　beneath　the　spiraling　skirts　of　filament
　Jude　fel