preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第39部分

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t　it　was　really　just　as　well。　Because　an　hour　ago；　the　things　started　to　arrive。〃　He　shrugged。　〃He　refused　to　eat　hospital　food；　insisted　on　ordering　in　from　Balducci's。　Refused　an　IV　drip。　Refused　painkillers…no　OxyContin；　not　even　Vicodin　or　Tylenol　Number　3。　He　must　be　in　dreadful　pain；　but　doesn't　show　it。　With　these　new　patient…rights　guidelines；　my　hands　are　tied。〃
　〃It　sounds　just　like　him。〃
　〃The　bright　side　is　that　the　most　difficult　patients　usually　make　the　fastest　recovery。　I　just　feel　sorry　for　the　nurses。〃　The　doctor　glanced　at　his　watch。　〃You　might　as　well　head　over　there　now。　Room　1501。〃
　As　Nora　approached　the　room；　she　noticed　a　faint　odor　in　the　air：　something　out　of　place　among　the　aromas　of　stale　food　and　rubbing　alcohol。　Something　exotic；　fragrant。　A　shrill　voice　echoed　out　of　the　open　door。　She　paused　in　the　doorway　and　gave　a　little　knock。
　The　floor　of　the　room　was　stacked　high　with　old　books；　and　a　riot　of　maps　and　papers　lay　across　them。　Tall　sticks　of　sandalwood　incense　were　propped　inside　silver　cups；　sending　up　slender　coils　of　smoke。　That　accounts　for　the　smell；　Nora　thought。　A　nurse　was　standing　near　the　bed；　clutching　a　plastic　pill　box　in　one　hand　and　a　syringe　in　the　other。　Pendergast　lay　on　the　bed　in　a　black　silk　dressing　gown。　The　overhead　television　showed　a　splayed　body；　grotesque　and　bloody；　being　worked　on　by　no　fewer　than　three　doctors。　One　of　the　doctors　was　in　the　middle　of　lifting　a　wobbly　brain　out　of　the　skull。　She　looked　away。　On　the　bedside　table　was　a　dish　of　drawn　butter　and　the　remains　of　coldwater　lobster　tails。
　〃Mr。　Pendergast；　I　insist　you　take　this　injection；〃　the　nurse　was　saying。　〃You've　just　undergone　a　serious　operation。　You　must　have　your　sleep。〃
　Pendergast　withdrew　his　arms　from　behind　his　head；　picked　up　a　dusty　volume　lying　atop　the　sheets；　and　began　leafing　through　it　nonchalantly。　〃Nurse；　I　have　no　intention　of　taking　that。　I　shall　sleep　when　I'm　ready。〃　Pendergast　blew　dust　from　the　book's　spine　and　turned　the　page。
　〃I'm　going　to　call　the　doctor。　This　is　pletely　unacceptable。　And　this　filth　is　highly　unsanitary。〃　She　waved　her　hand　through　the　clouds　of　dust。
　Pendergast　nodded；　leafed　over　another　page。
　The　nurse　stormed　past　Nora　on　her　way　out。
　Pendergast　glanced　at　her　and　smiled。　〃Ah；　Dr。　Kelly。　Please　e　in　and　make　yourself　fortable。〃
　Nora　took　a　seat　in　a　chair　at　the　foot　of　the　bed。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃
　He　nodded。
　〃What　happened？〃
　〃I　was　careless。〃
　〃But　who　did　it？　Where？　When？〃
　〃Outside　my　residence；〃　said　Pendergast。　He　held　up　the　remote　and　turned　off　the　video；　then　laid　the　book　aside。　〃A　man　in　black；　with　a　cane；　wearing　a　derby　hat。　He　tried　to　chloroform　me。　I　held　my　breath　and　pretended　to　faint；　then　broke　away。　But　he　was　extraordinarily　strong　and　swift；　and　I　underestimated　him。　He　stabbed　me；　then　escaped。〃
　〃You　could　have　been　killed！〃
　〃That　was　the　intention。〃
　〃The　doctor　said　it　missed　your　heart　by　an　inch。〃
　〃Yes。　When　I　realized　he　was　going　to　stab　me；　I　directed　his　hand　to　a　nonvital　place。　A　useful　trick；　by　the　way；　if　you　ever　find　yourself　in　a　similar　position。〃
　He　leaned　forward　slightly。　〃Dr。　Kelly；　I'm　convinced　he's　the　same　man　who　killed　Doreen　Hollander　and　Mandy　Eklund。〃
　Nora　looked　at　him　sharply。　〃What　makes　you　say　that？〃
　〃I　caught　a　glimpse　of　the　weapon…a　surgeon's　scalpel　with　a　myringotomy　blade。〃
　〃But　。　。　。　but　why　you？〃
　Pendergast　smiled；　but　the　smile　held　more　pain　than　mirth。　〃That　shouldn't　be　hard　to　answer。　Somewhere　along　the　way；　we　brushed　up　a　little　too　close　to　the　truth。　We　flushed　him　out。　This　is　a　very　positive　development。〃
　〃A　positive　development？　You　could　still　be　in　danger！〃
　Pendergast　raised　his　pale　eyes　and　looked　at　her　intently。　〃I　am　not　the　only　one；　Dr。　Kelly。　You　and　Mr。　Smithback　must　take　precautions。〃　He　winced　slightly。
　〃You　should　have　taken　that　painkiller。〃
　〃For　what　I　plan　to　do；　it's　essential　to　keep　my　head　clear。　People　did　without　painkillers　for　countless　centuries。　As　I　was　saying；　you　should　take　precautions。　Don't　venture　out　alone　on　the　streets　at　night。　I　have　a　great　deal　of　trust　in　Sergeant　O'Shaughnessy。〃　He　slipped　a　card　into　her　hand。　〃If　you　need　anything；　call　him。　I'll　be　up　and　about　in　a　few　days。〃
　She　nodded。
　〃Meanwhile；　it　might　be　a　good　idea　for　you　to　get　out　of　town　for　a　day。　There's　a　talkative；　lonely　old　lady　up　in　Peekskill　who　would　love　to　have　visitors。〃
　She　sighed。　〃I　told　you　why　I　couldn't　help　anymore。　And　you　still　haven't　told　me　why　you're　spending　your　time　with　these　old　murders。〃
　〃Anything　I　told　you　now　would　be　inplete。　I　have　more　work　of　my　own　to　do；　more　pieces　of　the　puzzle　to　fit　together。　But　let　me　assure　you　of　one　thing；　Dr。　Kelly：　this　is　no　frivolous　field　trip。　It　is　vital　that　we　learn　more　about　Enoch　Leng。〃
　There　was　a　silence。
　〃Do　it　for　Mary　Greene；　if　not　for　me。〃
　Nora　rose　to　leave。
　〃And　Dr。　Kelly？〃
　〃Yes？〃
　〃Smithback　isn't　such　a　bad　fellow。　I　know　from　experience　that　he's　a　reliable　man　in　a　pinch。　It　would　ease　my　mind　if；　while　all　this　is　going　on；　you　two　worked　together…〃
　Nora　shook　her　head。　〃No　way。〃
　Pendergast　held　up　his　hand　with　a　certain　impatience。　〃Do　it　for　your　own　safety。　And　now；　I　need　to　get　back　to　my　work。　I　look　forward　to　hearing　back　from　you　tomorrow。〃
　His　tone　was　peremptory。　Nora　left；　feeling　annoyed。　Yet　again　Pendergast　had　dragged　her　back　into　the　case；　and　now　he　wanted　to　burden　her　with　that　ass　Smithback。　Well；　forget　Smithback。　He'd　just　love　to　get　his　hands　on　part　two　of　the　story。　Him　and　his　Pulitzer。　She'd　go　to　Peekskill；　all　right。　But　she'd　go　by　herself。
　
　NINE
　　
　THE　BASEMENT　ROOM　was　small　and　silent。　In　its　simplicity　it　resembled　a　monk's　cell。　Only　a　narrow…legged　wooden　table　and　stiff；　unfortable　chair　broke　the　monotony　of　the　uneven　stone　floor；　the　damp　unfinished　walls。　A　black　light　in　the　ceiling　threw　a　spectral　blue　pall　over　the　four　items　upon　the　table：　a　scarred　and　rotting　leather　notebook；　a　lacquer　fountain　pen；　a　tan…colored　length　of　India…rubber；　and　a　hypodermic　syringe。
　The　figure　in　the　chair　glanced　at　each　of　the　carefully　aligned　items　in　turn。　Then；　very　slowly；　he　reached　for　the　hypodermic。　The　needle　glowed　with　strange　enchantment　in　the　ultraviolet　light；　and　the　serum　inside　the　glass　tube　seemed　almost　to　smoke。
　He　stared　at　the　serum；　turning　it　this　way　and　that；　fascinated　by　its　eddies；　its　countless　miniature　whorls。　This　was　what　the　ancients　had　been　searching　for：　the　Philosopher's　Stone；　the　Holy　Grail；　the　one　true　name　of　God。　Much　sacrifice　had　been　made　to　get　it…on　his　part；　on　the　part　of　the　long　stream　of　resources　who　had　donated　their　lives　to　its　refinement。　But　any　amount　of　sacrifice　was　acceptable。　Here　before　him　was　a　universe　of　life；　encased　in　a　prison　of　glass。　His　life。　And　to　think　it　all　started　with　a　single　material：　the　neuronal　membrane　of　the　cauda　equina；　the　divergent　sheaf　of　spinal　ganglia　with　the　longest　nerve　roots　of　all。　To　bathe　all　the　cells　of　the　body　with　the　essence　of　neurons；　the　cells　that　did　not　die：　such　a　simple　concept；　yet　so　damnably　plicated　in　development。
　The　process　of　synthesis　and　refinement　was　tortuous。　And　yet　he　took　great　pleasure　in　it；　just　as　he　did　in　the　ritual　he　was　about　to　perform。　Creating　the　final　reduction；　moving　from　step　to　step　to　step；　had　bee　a　religious　experience　for　him。　It　was　like　the　countless　Gnostic　keys　the　believer　must　perform　before　true　prayer　can　begin。　Or　the　harpsichordist　who　works　his　way　through　the　twenty…nine　Goldberg　Variations　before　arriving　at　the　final；　pure；　unadorned　truth　Bach　intended。
　The　pleasure　of　these　reflections　was　troubled　briefly　by　the　thought　of　those　who　would　stop　him；　if　they　could：　who　would　seek　him　out；　follow　the　carefully　obscured　trail　to　this　room；　put　a　halt　to　his　noble　work。　The　most　troublesome　one　had　already　been　punished　for　his　presumption…though　not　as　fully　punished　as　intended。　Still；　there　would　be　other　methods；　other　opportunities。
　Placing　the　hypodermic　gently　aside；　he　reached　for　the　leather…bound　journal；　turned　over