bl.necroscope2-第26部分

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ven　think　I　remember　things　from　before　my　birth。〃
　〃Well；　that　might　explain　why　you're　so　〃extraordinary〃；〃　she　told　him；　〃but　what　is　it　makes　me　different？〃
　〃Your　innocence；〃　he　at　once　replied；　his　voice　a　purr。　〃And　your　desire　not　to　be。〃　His　hand　caressed　her　rump　now；　the　merest　touch　of　electric　fingers　tracing　the　curve　of　her　buttocks；　to　and　fro；　to　and　fro。
　Helen　sighed；　put　a　piece　of　straw　between　her　teeth；　slowly　turned　over　on　to　her　back。　Her　dress　rode　up　even　more。　She　didn't　look　at　Yulian　but　gazed　wide…eyed　at　the　sloping　rows　of　tiles　overhead。　As　she　turned　so　he　lifted　his　hand　a　fraction；　but　didn't　take　it　away。
　〃My　desire　not　to　be？　Not　to　be　innocent？　What　makes　you　think　that？〃　And　she　thought：　because　it's　so　obvious？
　When　he　answered；　Yulian's　voice　was　a　man's　again。　She　hadn't　noticed　the　slow　transition；　but　now　she　did。
　Thick　and　dark；　that　voice；　as　he　said；　〃I've　read　it。　All　girls　of　your　age　desire　not　to　be　innocent。〃
　His　hand　fell　on　her　belly；　lingered　over　her　navel；　slipped　down　and　crept　under　the　band　of　her　knickers。　She　stopped　him　there；　trapping　his　hand　with　her　own。　〃No；　Yulian。　You　can't。〃
　〃Can't？〃　the　word　came　in　a　gulp；　choking。　〃Why？〃
　〃Because　you're　right。　I　am　innocent。　But　also　because　it's　the　wrong　time。〃
　〃Time？〃　he　was　trembling　again。
　She　pushed　him　away；　sighed　abruptly　and　said；　〃Oh；　Yulian…I'm　bleeding！〃
　〃Bleed…？〃　He　rolled　away　from　her；　snatched　himself　to　his　feet。　Startled；　she　stared　at　him　standing　there。　He　shivered　as　if　in　a　fever。
　〃Bleeding；　yes；〃　she　said。　〃It's　perfectly　natural；　you　know。〃
　There　was　no　pallor　in　his　face　now：　it　was　red　with　blood；　burning　like　a　drunkard's　face；　with　his　eyes　narrow　slits　dark　as　knife　slashes。　〃Bleeding！〃　this　time　he　managed　to　choke　the　word　out　whole。　He　reached　out　his　arms　towards　her；　hands　hooked　like　claws；　and　for　a　moment　she　thought　he　would　attack　her。　She　could　see　his　nostrils　flaring；　a　nervous　tic　tugging　the　corner　of　his　mouth。
　For　the　first　time　she　felt　afraid；　felt　something　of　his　strangeness。　〃Yes；〃　she　whispered。　〃It　happens　every　month。。。〃
　His　eyes　opened　up　a　little。　Their　pupils　seemed　flecked　with　scarlet。　A　trick　of　the　light。　〃Ah！　Ah…bleeding！〃　he　said；　as　though　only　just　understanding　her　meaning。　〃Oh；　yes。。。〃　Then　he　reeled；　turned　away；　went　a　little　unsteadily　down　the　steps　and　was　gone。Then　Helen　had　heard　the　puppy's　wild　yelp　of　joy　（it　had　been　stopped　by　the　steps；　which　it　couldn't　climb）
　and　its　whining　and　barking　fading　as　it　followed　Yulian　back　to　the　house。　And　finally　she　started　to　breathe　again。
　〃Yulian！〃　she'd　called　after　him　then。　〃Your　sunglasses；　your　hat！〃　But　if　he　heard；　he　didn't　bother　to　answer。
　She　wasn't　able　to　find　him　for　the　rest　of　the　day；　but　then　she　hadn't　really　looked　for　him。　And　because　she　had　her　pride…and　also　because　he　had　failed　to　seek　her　out…she　hadn't　much　bothered　with　him　for　the　rest　of　their　holiday。　Perhaps　it　had　been　for　the　best；　for　she　had　been　innocent；　after　all。　She　wouldn't　have　known　what　to　do；　not　two　years　ago。
　But　when　she　thought　of　him；　she　still　remembered　his　hand　burning　on　her　flesh。　And　now；　going　back　to　Devon　with　the　countryside　speeding　by　outside　the　car；　she　found　herself　wondering　if　there　was　still　straw　in　the　hayloft。。。
　George；　too；　had　his　secret　thoughts　about　Yulian。　Anne　could　say　what　she　liked　but　she　couldn't　change　that。　He　was　weird；　that　lad；　and　weird　in　several　directions。　It　wasn't　only　the　creeping…Jesus　aspect　that　irritated　George；　though　certainly　the　youth's　furtive　ways　were　annoying　enough。　But　he　was　sick；　too。　Not　mental；　maybe　not　even　sick　in　his　body；　just　generally　sick。　To　look　at　him　sometimes；　to　catch　him　unawares　with　a　side…glance；　was　to　look　at　a　cockroach　surprised　by　a　switched…on　light；　or　a　jellyfish　steaming　away；　stranded　on　the　beach　when　the　tide　goes　out。　You　could　almost　sense　something　seething　in　him。　But　if　it　wasn't　mental　or　physical；　and　yet　enpassed　both；　then　what　the　hell　was　it？
　Hard　to　explain。　Maybe　it　was　both　mind　and　body…and　soul　too？　Except　George　wasn't　much　of　a　one　for　believing　in　souls。　He　didn't　disbelieve；　but　he　would　like　evidence。　He'd　probably　be　praying　when　he　died；　just　in　case；　but　until　then。。。
　As　for　what　Anne　had　said　about　Yulian　at　school：　well；　it　was　true；　as　far　as　it　went。　He　had　taken　all　of　his　exams　early；　and　passed　every　one　of　them；　but　that　wasn't　why　he'd　left　early。　George　had　a　draughtsman；　Ian　Jones；　working　for　him　in　his　London　office；　and　Jones　had　a　young　son　in　the　same　school。　Anne　would　hear　none　of　it；　of　course　not；　but　the　stories　had　been　wild。　Yulian　had　〃seduced〃　a　male　teacher；　a　half…way…gone　gay　he'd　somehow　switched　on。　Once　over　the　top；　the　fellow　had　apparently　turned　into　a　raver；　trying　to　roger　every　male　thing　that　moved。　He'd　blamed　Yulian。　That　was　one　thing。　And　then：
　In　his　art　classes；　Yulian　had　painted　pictures　which　caused　a　very　gentle　lady　teacher　to　attack　him　physically；　she'd　also　stormed　his　bed…space　and　burned　his　art　folios。　Out　nature　rambling　（George　hadn't　known　they　still　did　that）　Yulian　had　been　found　wandering　on　his　own；　his　face　and　hands　smeared　with　filth　and　entrails。　Dangling　from　one　hand　he'd　carried　the　remains　of　a　stray　kitten。　Its　carcass　was　still　warm。　He'd　said　a　man　had　done　it；　but　this　was　out　on　the　moors；　miles　from　anywhere。
　That　wasn't　all。　It　seemed　he　walked　in　his　sleep　and　had　apparently　scared　the　living　shit　out　of　the　younger　boys；　until　the　school　had　had　to　put　a　night…guard　on　their　dorms。　But　by　then　the　head　had　spoken　at　length　with　Georgina　and　she'd　agreed　he　could　leave。　It　was　that　or　expulsion…for　the　sake　of　the　good　name　of　the　school。
　And　there'd　been　other　things；　lesser　things；　but　that　had　been　the　gist　of　it。
　These　were　some　of　the　reasons　why　George　didn't　like　Yulian。　But　of　course　there　was　one　other　thing。　It　was　something　very　nearly　as　old　as　Yulian　himself；　but　it　had　fixed　itself　in　George's　mind　indelibly。
　The　sight　of　an　old　man　clutching　his　sheets　to　his　chest　as　he　died；　and　his　last　whispered　words：　〃Christen　it？　No；　no…you　mustn't！　First　have　it　exorcised！〃
　Anne　could　be　strident　if　she　had　to　be；　but　she　was　good　through　and　through。　She　would　never　say　a　thing　to　hurt　anyone；　even　though　she　might　think　certain　things。　To　herself…if　only　to　herself…she　had　to　admit　that　she'd　thought　things　about　Yulian。
　Now；　lying　back　a　little　in　her　seat　and　stretching；　feeling　the　cooling　draught　from　the　half…open　window；　she　thought　them　again。　Funny　things：　something　about　a　big　green　frog；　and　something　about　the　pain　she'd　get　now　and　then　in　her　left　nipple。
　The　frog　thing　was　hard　to　focus　on；　rather；　she　didn't　like　to　focus　on　it。　Personally　she　couldn't　hurt　a　fly。　Of　course　a　child；　a　mere　five…year　old；　wouldn't　realise　what　he　was　doing。　Would　he？　The　trouble　was　that　as　long　as　she'd　know　Yulian　he'd　always　seemed　to　know　exactly　what　he　was　doing。　Even　as　a　baby。
　She　had　called　him　a　〃funny　little　thing〃；　but　in　fact　George　was　right。　Yulian　had　been　more　than　just　funny。　For　one　thing；　he　never　cried。　No；　not　quite　true；　he　had　cried　when　hungry；　at　least　when　he　was　very　small。　And　he　had　cried　in　direct　sunlight。　Photophobia；　apparently；　right　from　infancy。　Oh；　yes；　and　he'd　cried　at　least　one　other　time；　at　his　christening。　Though　that　had　seemed　more　rage…or　outrage…than　crying　proper。　As　far　as　Anne　knew；　he　never　had　been　properly　christened。
　She　let　her　thoughts　take　hold；　carrying　her　back。　Yulian　had　just　started　to　walk…to　toddle；　anyway…when　Helen　came　along。　That　was　a　month　or　so　before　poor　Georgina　had　been　well　enough　to　go　home　and　take　him　back。　Anne　remembered　that　time　well。　She'd　been　heavy　with　milk；　fat　as　butter　and　happier　than　at　any　other　time　in　her　life。　And　rosy？　What　a　picture　of　health　she'd　been！
　One　day　when　Helen　was　just　six　weeks　old；　while　she　was　feeding　her；　Yulian　had　e　toddling　like　a　little　robot；　looking　for　that　extra　ounce　of　affection　of　which　Helen　had　robbed　him。　Jealousy　even　then；　yes；　for　he　was　no　longer　all　important。　On　impulse…feeling