jefflong.yearzero-第24部分

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ee　smeared　her　face　and　shoulders。　While　he　stood　looking　at　the　stone　idol；　a　woman　and　her　daughter　approached。
　Nathan　Lee　drew　his　elbows　tighter　to　his　ribs。　He　was　caught。　Surely　they　would　cry　out。　But　the　woman　didn't　waste　a　glance　on　him。　She　was　businesslike　in　her　devotion；　tossing　a　bit　of　rice；　murmuring　a　prayer。　The　little　girl　stared　at　him　with　huge　black　eyes。　Nathan　Lee　lowered　his　head　and　moved　away。
　His　previous　escapes　had　been　nothing　but　wild；　mindless　gallops。　This　time；　he　vowed；　would　be　different。　He　wanted　to　bolt　from　the　city。　But　for　the　moment；　his　best　ruse　would　be　to　mingle　with　other　Westerners　in　the　tourist　district。　Even　there；　Nathan　Lee　knew　he　would　stick　out。　In　jail；　he'd　weighed　himself　by　the　hook　scale　used　for　sacks　of　rice。　He　had　shrunk　to　forty…six　kilos。　At　six　feet　two；　he　weighed　less　than　Miss　America。
　In　the　fabled　hippie　days；　world　travelers　used　to　show　up　looking　much　like　he　did　now；　thin　as　skeletons；　draped　with　rags；　unwashed；　impure；　hair　long。　That　was　then。　Nowadays　tourists　came　sporting　North　Face　and　Nike　brands；　with　designer　sunglasses　and　thousand…dollar　video　cameras。　Perhaps　they　would　mistake　him　for　asaddhu　and　give　him　some　money。　That　would　be　a　start。　He　could　beg　for　clothes。　Shoes　were　a　priority。　And　socks。　And　food。　And　a　backpack。　His　thoughts　tumbled。　Maybe　some　climbers　would　take　him　in。　Maybe　he　could　even　arrange　a　passport。　For　the　time　being；　the　American　embassy　was　out；　however。　The　police　would　surely　be　watching　it　for　him　soon。
　The　mist　bled　pink；　then　burned　to　white。　Nathan　Lee　felt　like　a　vampire；　desperate　to　get　off　the　streets。　Clutching　hisjhola；　he　reached　the　main　road；　Kanti　Path；　and　it　was　strangely　silent。　By　now　there　should　have　been　a　stream　of　traffic　with　honking　horns　and　the　jingle　of　bicycle　bells。　Instead；　two　farmers　were　trying　to　push　a　cart　piled　with　grass　between　scores　of　taxis　and　autorickshaws　and　buses。。。all　of　them　abandoned。　Some　stood　parked　in　the　middle　of　the　street；　others　had　pulled　onto　the　sidewalk。　Judging　by　the　flat　tires　and　missing　seats；　they　had　been　sitting　here　for　weeks　or　months。
　Astonished；　he　spoke　to　the　two　farmers。　〃Why　are　the　cars　like　this？〃　he　asked　in　Nepali。
　〃Bhote；〃one　said　to　the　other；　indicating　Nathan　Lee。　With　his　bad　accent　and　dumb　question；　they　took　him　for　a　mountain　yokel。
　〃Do　you　think　a　car　uses　water？〃　the　other　said　to　Nathan　Lee。
　Fuel；he　meant。There　was　no　fuel。　Now　Nathan　Lee　saw　the　strangle　weeds　growing　everywhere　from　cracks　in　the　asphalt。　He　looked　around；　and　the　post　office　was　in　similar　condition；　its　doors　lolling　open；　creepers　growing　up　the　concrete。　Telephone　cables　hung　down　the　sides；　slit　open　for　their　wires。　Wood　smoke　came　from　broken　windows。　Squatters　had　taken　residence　in　there。　No　fuel；　no　postal　service；　no　police；　no　electricity；　no　phone。　The　infrastructure　had　vanished。　〃What　happened？〃　asked　Nathan　Lee。
　〃Mahakala；〃one　farmer　responded。Mahakala　was　a　wrathful　deity。　He　was　black　and　ferocious；　with　a　sword　of　flames　to　cut　down　the　demons　of　ignorance。
　〃The　world　is　ing　to　an　end；〃　said　the　other　farmer。
　〃Was　there　a　war？〃　asked　Nathan　Lee。
　〃No；　I　just　told　you。　It　just　is　so。〃　The　man　shrugged。〃Ke　garne？〃　What　to　do？
　They　returned　to　pushing　their　cart。　The　morning　fog　opened　wider。　Sunlight　glinted　on　Swayambunath；　the　hilltop　temple　to　the　west。　People　surfaced　from　their　homes。　Freshly　paintedtikas　on　their　foreheads　were　bright　and　precise　like　bullseyes。　Men　wore　tiny　devotional　flower　petals　in　their　hair。　Shopkeepers　opened　their　shutters　and　peasants　laid　their　winter　vegetables　in　neat　rows　for　sale。　As　if　the　odor　of　raw　meat　weren't　enough；　bright　orange　goat　heads…rubbed　with　tumeric　to　keep　away　flies…advertised　a　butcher　shop。　Chinese　bicycles；　deathless　clunkers；　clattered　back　and　forth；　bells　jingling。
　And　no　one　paid　the　slightest　attention　to　him！Penniless；　weak；　and　bewildered；　he　began　to　relax。　Maybe　this　was　a　dream；　after　all。　Maybe　he　was　still　lying　asleep　on　his　straw　mat。
　Kathmandu　had　always　been　a　vortex　of　centuries　swirling　upon　themselves；　the　medieval　and　the　modern。　Electric　lines　threaded　among　thirteen…tiered　temples。　Ancient　stone　gods　peered　up　from　shafts　in　the　asphalt。　What　he　saw　this　morning　was　mostly　the　medieval。　Video　and　fax　shops；　Indian　boutiques；　carpet　andthangka　stores：　all　were　closed；　their　signs　ripped　away。　The　air　was　rich　with　spices；　smoke；　dung；　meat；　wood　shavings；　incense。。。everything　but　the　city's　infamous　smog。　The　dinosaur　blaring　of　taxi　horns　was　extinguished。　Time　had　slowed　down。　The　world　had　slipped　a　cog。
　Nathan　Lee　couldn't　shake　the　feeling　of　fantasia。　His　stomach　rumbled。　Kathmandu　was　huge。　Its　temples　loomed。　What　really　threw　him　was　the　shift　in　human　scale。　Nepalis　had　always　seemed　to　him　slight　and　undernourished。　But　this　morning　everyone　looked　lush　and　muscular。　His　norm　had　bee　emaciated　prisoners。
　The　plaza　of　Durbar　Marg　was　packed　so　tightly　with　cars　and　buses　that　it　looked　like　solid　metal。　Vehicles　had　been　pushed　from　the　narrow　streets　into　this　rusting　junkpile　among　serene　pagodas。　He　kept　moving；　letting　the　tangle　of　streets　guide　him。　He　had　escaped　into　a　city　moving　backward　in　time。　Now　he　had　to　figure　a　way　to　escape　time　itself。
　At　the　time　of　his　arrest；　political　parties　had　been　waging　street　warfare　with　posters　and　paint。　Now　all　the　political　graffiti　had　been　whitewashed　to　extinction；　replaced　by　images　of　their　god…king；　a　youngcaudillo　in　sunglasses　and　a　pencil　moustache。　Had　he　decreed　a　return　to　traditional　ways？　That　might　explain　it。
　The　street　wound　back　and　forth。　The　city　was　so　quiet！　No　radios；　no　horns；　no　engine　roar。　Here　and　there　little　courtyards　opened　in　the　walls　like　separate　worlds。　People　circled　shrines；　ringing　little　temple　bells。　Soothsayers　and　ayurvedic　doctors　and　professional　ear　cleaners　plied　their　trades　on　steps　beneath　temple　eaves。
　He　reached　Thamel；　the　tourist　district。　His　little　expedition　with　Ochs　had　started　here　at　the　Tibet　Guesthouse；　a　favorite　of　mountaineers。　It　was　closed；　the　metal　gates　wired　together。　He　meandered　deeper　into　tourist　territory；　his　stomach　pinched　with　hunger。　This　should　have　been　his　sanctuary；　a　place　among　fellow　Americans；　brothers　of　the　rope；　sympathizers。　But　there　were　no　climbers　prowling　for　one…night　stands；　no　adventure…travelers　with　StairMaster　thighs；　no　package　tourists；　no　money　changers；　shoeshine　boys；　or　professional　beggars。　Trekking　shops　and　bookstores　stood　shuttered。　Gaudy　Christmas　tree　lights　in　restaurant　windows　were　dead　on　the　vine。　Led　Zeppelin　was　nowhere　in　the　air。　The　whole　scene　had　gone　belly…up。
　Then　he　glimpsed　a　man　and　woman　at　the　far　end　of　the　block。　They　were　dressed　in　New　Age　gypsy　clothing。　Her　hair　was　blonde。　The　man　was　pushing　a　sturdy；　green　mountain　bike。　Westerners！
　Nathan　Lee　didn't　call　out。　After　so　many　months　spent　among　the　whispering　lepers；　he　had　bee　an　untouchable　in　his　own　mind。　He　hurried　to　catch　them。　His　knee　ached。　The　missing　toes　forced　a　rocking；　hitched　gimp。　He　even　walked　like　a　leper　now。
　The　woman　was　draped　with　half　a　dozen　scarves　flowing　in　the　sunbeams。　Their　pace　was　casual。　Her　laughter　sparkled。　She　was　smoking　a　mintbidi。　What　for　Nathan　Lee　was　a　painful；　life…and…death　pursuit　amounted　to　nothing　but　a　morning　stroll　for　them。
　His　pursuit　slowed。　He　was　weak。　He　lost　them。　Then　he　spied　abidi　in　the　gutter　still　venting　mint　tendrils。　Spurred　on；　he　found　the　man's　bicycle　resting　against　the　wall。　Nathan　Lee　smelled　food。　It　was　a　restaurant　of　sorts；　an　old…fashioned；　no…nonsensebhaati　that　probably　served　nothing　but　tea；　rice　and　lentils　with　chicken　parts　on　the　bone。　He　descended　the　few　steps　and　bent　to　enter　a　room　lit　with　two　candles。　It　could　have　been　an　opium　den。
　As　his　eyes　adjusted　to　the　dimness；　Nathan　Lee　saw　the　man　and　woman。　They　were　the　only　customers。　He　went　toward　them　and　stopped；　keeping　a　respectful　distance。　He　didn't　speak。
　Finally　the　woman　said；　〃Ooo　are　yoo？〃　She　was　French。　She　had　rings　on　her　thumbs　and　fingers。　Her　eyes　were　rimmed