rl.thebourneidentity-第6部分

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　'It's　only　for　a　week；'　protested　Jean…Pierre。　It　would　have　been　easier　…　far　easier　…　to　offer　to　reimburse　the　unemployed　brother　from　Washburn's　monthly　stipend　but　the　doctor　and　his　patient　had　agreed　to　refrain　from　such　promises。
　'I　hope　you're　good　with　the　nets！'
　He　was　not。
　There　were　moments　during　the　next　seventy…two　hours　when　the　man　called　Jean…Pierre　thought　the　alternative　of　financial　appeasement　was　warranted。　The　harassment　never　stopped；　even　at　night　…　especially　at　night。　It　was　as　though　eyes　were　trained　on　him　as　he　lay　on　the　infested　deck　mattress；　waiting　for　him　to　reach　the　brinks　of　sleep。
　'You！　Take　the　watch！　The　mate　is　sick。　You　fill　in！'
　'Get　up！　Philippe　is　writing　his　memoirs！　He　can't　be　disturbed。'
　'On　your　feet！　You　tore　a　net　this　afternoon。　We　won't　pay　for　your　stupidity。　We've　all　agreed。　Mend　it　now！'
　'　The　nets。'
　If　two　men　were　required　for　one　flank；　his　two　arms　took　the　place　of　four。　If　he　worked　beside　one　man；　there　were　abrupt　hauls　and　releases　that　left　him　with　the　full　weight；　a　sudden　blow　from　an　adjacent　shoulder　sending　him　crashing　into　the　gunwale　and　nearly　over　the　side。
　And　Lamouche。　A　limping　maniac　who　measured　each　kilometre　of　water　by　the　fish　he　had　lost。　His　voice　was　a　grating；　static…prone　bullhorn。　He　addressed　no　one　without　an　obscenity　preceding　his　name；　a　habit　the　patient　found　increasingly　maddening。　But　Lamouche　did　not　touch　Washburn's　patient；　he　was　merely　sending　the　doctor　a　message：　Don't　ever　do　this　to　me　again。　Not　where　my　boat　and　my　fish　are　concerned。
　Lamouche's　schedule　called　for　a　return　to　Port　Noir　at　sundown　on　the　third　day；　the　fish　to　be　unloaded；　the　crew　I　given　until　four　the　next　morning　to　sleep；　fornicate；　get　drunk；　or；　with　luck；　all　three。　As　they　came　within　sight　of　land；　it　happened。
　The　nets　were　being　doused　and　folded　at　midships　by　the　netman　and　his　first　assistant。　The　unwele　crewman　they　cursed　as　Jean…Pierre　Sangsue　scrubbed　down　the　deck　with　a　long…handled　brush。　The　two　remaining　crew　heaved　buckets　of　sea　water　in　front　of　the　brush；　more　often　than　not　drenching　the　leech　with　truer　aim　than　the　deck。
　A　bucketful　was　thrown　too　high；　momentarily　blinding　Washburn's　patient；　causing　him　to　lose　his　balance。　The　heavy　brush　with　its　metal…like　bristles　flew　out　of　his　hands；　its　head　up…ended；　the　sharp　bristles　making　contact　with　the　kneeling　netman's　thigh。
　Sacro　diable！'
　'Je　regrate；'　said　the　offender　casually；　shaking　the　water　from　his　eyes。
　'The　hell　you　are！'　shouted　the　netman。
　'I　said　I　was　sorry；'　replied　the　man　called　Jean…Pierre。　'Tell　your　friends　to　wet　the　deck；　not　me。'
　'My　friends　don't　make　me　the　object　of　their　stupidity！'
　'They　were　the　cause　of　mine　just　now。'
　The　netman　grabbed　the　handle　of　the　brush；　got　to　his　feet；　and　held　it　out　like　a　bayonet。　'You　want　to　play；　leech？'
　'e　on；　give　it　to　me。'
　'With　pleasure；　leech。　Here！'　The　netman　shoved　the　brush　forward；　downward；　the　bristles　scraping　the　patient's　chest　and　stomach；　penetrating　the　cloth　of　his　shirt。
　Whether　it　was　the　contact　with　the　scars　that　covered　his　previous　wounds；　or　the　frustration　and　anger　resulting　from　three　days　of　harassment；　the　man　would　never　know。　He　only　knew　he　had　to　respond。　And　his　response　was　as　alarming　to　him　as　anything　he　could　imagine。
　He　gripped　the　handle　with　his　right　hand；　jamming　it　back　into　the　netman's　stomach；　pulling　it　forward　at　the　instant　of　impact；　simultaneously；　he　shot　his　left　foot　high　off　the　deck；　ramming　it　into　the　netman's　throat。
　'Tao！'　The　guttural　whisper　came　from　his　lips　involuntarily；　he　did　not　know　what　it　meant。
　Before　he　could　understand；　he　had　pivoted；　his　right　foot　now　surging　forward　like　a　battering　ram；　crashing　into　the　netman's　left　kidney。
　'Che…sah！'　he　whispered。
　The　netman　recoiled；　then　lunged　towards　him　in　pain　and　fury；　his　hands　outstretched　like　claws。　'Pig！'
　The　patient　crouched；　shooting　his　right　hand　up　to　grip　the　netman's　left　forearm；　yanking　it　downwards；　then　rising；　pushing　his　victim's　arm　up；　twisting　it　at　its　highest　arc　clockwise；　yanking　again；　finally　releasing　it　while　jamming　his　heel　into　the　small　of　the　netman's　back。　The　Frenchman　sprawled　forward　over　the　nets；　his　head　smashing　into　the　wall　of　the　gunwale。
　'Mee…sah！'　Again　he　did　not　know　the　meaning　of　his　silent　cry。
　A　crewman　grabbed　his　neck　from　the　rear。　The　patient　crashed　his　left　fist　into　the　pelvic　area　behind　him；　then　bent　forward；　gripping　the　elbow　to　the　right　of　his　throat。　He　lurched　to　his　left；　his　assailant　was　lifted　off　the　ground；　his　legs　spiralling　in　the　air　as　he　was　thrown　across　the　deck；　his　face　impaled　between　the　wheels　of　a　winch。
　The　two　remaining　men　were　on　him；　fists　and　knees　pummelling　him；　as　the　captain　of　the　fishing　boat　repeatedly　screamed　his　warnings。
　'Le　medecin！　Rappelons　le　medecin！　Doucement！　The　doctor！　Remember　the　doctor！　Easy！'
　The　words　were　as　misplaced　as　the　captain's　appraisal　of　what　he　saw。　The　patient　gripped　the　wrist　of　one　man；　bending　it　down；　twisting　it　counterclockwise　in　one　violent　movement；　the　man　roared　in　agony。　The　wrist　was　broken。
　Washburn's　patient　viced　the　fingers　of　his　hands　together；　swinging　his　arms　up　like　a　sledgehammer；　catching　the　crewman　with　the　broken　wrist　at　the　midpoint　of　his　throat。　The　man　somersaulted　off　his　feet　and　collapsed　on　the　deck。
　'Kwa…sah！'　The　whisper　echoed　in　the　patient's　ears。
　The　fourth　man　backed　away；　staring　at　the　maniac　who　simply　looked　at　him。
　It　was　over。　Three　of　Lamouche's　crew　were　unconscious；　severely　punished　for　what　they　had　done。　It　was　doubtful　that　any　would　be　capable　of　ing　down　to　the　docks　at　four　o'clock　in　the　morning。
　Lamouche's　words　were　uttered　in　equal　parts；　astonishment　and　contempt。　'Where　you　e　from　I　don't　know；　but　you　will　get　off　this　boat。'
　The　man　with　no　memory　understood　the　unintentional　irony　of　the　captain's　words。　I　don't　know　where　I　came　from；　either。
　'You　can't　stay　here　now；'　said　Geoffrey　Washburn；　ing　into　the　darkened　bedroom。　'I　honestly　believed　I　could　prevent　any　serious　assault　on　you。　But　I　can't　protect　you　when　you've　done　the　damage。'
　'It　was　provoked。'
　'To　the　extent　it　was　inflicted？　A　broken　wrist　and　lacerations　requiring　sutures　on　one　man's　throat　and　face　and　another's　skull。　A　severe　concussion；　and　an　undetermined　injury　to　a　kidney？　To　say　nothing　of　a　blow　to　the　groin　that's　caused　a　swelling　of　the　testicles？　I　believe　the　word　is　overkill。'
　'It　would　have　been　just　plain　〃kill〃　and　I　would　have　been　the　dead　man；　if　it'd　happened　any　other　way。'　The　patient　paused；　but　spoke　again　before　the　doctor　could　interrupt。　'I　think　we　should　talk。　Several　things　happened；　other　words　came　to　me。　We　should　talk。'
　'We　should；　but　we　can't　There　isn't　time。　You've　got　to　leave　now　I've　made　arrangements。'
　'Now？'
　'Yes。　I　told　them　you　went　into　the　village；　probably　to　get　drunk。　The　families　will　go　looking　for　you。　Every　able…bodied　brother；　cousin　and　in…law。　They'll　have　knives；　hooks；　perhaps　a　gun　or　two。　When　they　can't　find　you；　they'll　e　back　here。　They　won't　stop　until　they　do　find　you。！
　'Because　of　a　fight　I　didn't　start！'
　'Because　you've　injured　three　men　who　will　lose　at　least　a　month's　wages　between　them。　And　something　else　that's　infinitely　more　important。'
　'What's　that？'
　'The　insult。　An　off…islander　proved　himself　more　than　a　match　for　not　one；　but　three　respected　fishermen　of　Port　Noir。'
　'Respected？'
　'In　the　physical　sense。　Lamouche's　crew　is　considered　the　roughest　on　the　waterfront！'
　'That's　ridiculous！'
　'Not　to　them。　It's　their　honour。。。　Now；　hurry；　get　your　things　together。　There's　a　boat　in　from　Marseilles；　the　captain's　agreed　to　stow　you；　and　drop　you　a　half…mile　offshore　north　of　La　Ciotat。'
　The　man　with　no　memory　held　his　breath。　Then　it's　time；'　he　said　quietly。
　'It's　time；'　replied　Washburn。　'I　think　I　know　what's　going　through　your　mind。　A　sense　of　helplessness；　of　drifting　without　a　rudder　to　put　you　on　a　course。　I've　been　your　rudder；　and　I　won't　be　with　you；　there's　nothin