preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第43部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　Yacht　Club　sailing　regatta　on　the　Hudson　earlier　that　afternoon；　the　miraculous　curative　properties　of　the　Wilsonia　Magnetic　Garment。
　There　were　still　gaps；　of　course…hazy　dark　patches；　like　fog…about　which　Pendergast　had　little　or　no　information。　No　memory　crossing　was　ever　plete。　There　were　details　of　history　that　had　been　irrevocably　lost。
　When　the　train　at　last　reached　the　lower　stretches　of　the　Bowery；　Pendergast　disembarked。　He　stood　on　the　platform　a　moment；　looking　around　a　little　more　intently　now。　The　elevated　tracks　were　erected　over　the　sidewalks；　rather　than　along　the　middle　of　the　street；　and　the　awnings　below　were　covered　in　a　greasy　film　of　oil　drippings　and　ash。　The　Chauncey　M。　Depew　gave　a　shriek；　beginning　its　furious　dash　to　the　next　stop。　Smoke　and　hot　cinders　belched　from　its　stack；　scattering　into　the　leaden　air。
　He　descended　skeletal　wooden　stairs　to　ground　level；　alighting　outside　a　small　shop。　He　glanced　at　its　signboard：　George　Washington　Abacus；　Physiognomic　Operator　and　Professor　of　the　Tonsorial　Art。　The　broad　thoroughfare　before　him　was　a　sea　of　bobbing　plug　hats。　Trams　and　horsecars　went　careering　down　the　center　of　the　road。　Peddlers　of　all　kinds　jostled　the　narrow　sidewalk；　crying　out　their　trade　to　all　who　would　listen。　〃Pots　and　pans！〃　called　a　tinker。　〃Mend　your　pots　and　pans！〃　A　young　woman　trundling　a　steaming　cauldron　on　wheels　cried；　〃Oysters！　Here's　your　brave；　good　oysters！〃　At　Pendergast's　left　elbow；　a　man　selling　hot　corn　out　of　a　baby's　perambulator　fished　out　an　ear；　smeared　it　with　a　butter…soaked　rag；　and　held　it　out　invitingly。　Pendergast　shook　his　head　and　eased　his　way　into　the　milling　crowd。　He　was　jostled；　there　was　a　momentary　fog；　a　loss　of　concentration；　and　then　Pendergast　recovered。　The　scene　returned。
　He　moved　south；　gradually　bringing　all　five　senses　fully　alive　to　the　surroundings。　The　noise　was　almost　overwhelming：　clattering　horseshoes；　countless　snatches　of　music　and　song；　yelling；　screaming；　whinnying；　cursing。　The　air　was　supercharged　with　the　odors　of　sweat；　dung；　cheap　perfume；　and　roasting　meats。
　Down　the　street；　at　43　Bowery；　Buffalo　Bill　was　playing　in　the　Scout　of　the　Plains　stage　show　at　the　Windsor。　Several　other　theaters　followed；　huge　signs　advertising　current　performances：　Fedora；　Peck's　Bad　Boy；　The　Darkness　to　the　North；　Kit；　the　Arkansas　Traveler。　A　blind　Civil　War　veteran　lay　between　two　entrances；　cap　held　out　imploringly。
　Pendergast　glided　past　with　barely　a　glance。
　At　a　corner；　he　paused　to　get　his　bearings；　then　turned　onto　East　Broadway　Street。　After　the　frenzy　of　Bowery；　he　entered　a　more　silent　world。　He　moved　past　the　myriad　shops　of　the　old　city；　shuttered　and　dark　at　this　hour：　saddleries；　millinery　shops；　pawnbrokers；　slaughterhouses。　Some　of　these　buildings　were　distinct。　Others…places　Pendergast　had　not　succeeded　in　identifying…were　vague　and　shadowy；　shrouded　in　that　same　indistinct　fog。
　At　Catherine　Street　he　turned　toward　the　river。　Unlike　on　East　Broadway；　all　the　establishments　here…grog　shops；　sailors'　lodging　houses；　oyster…cellars…were　open。　Lamps　cast　lurid　red　stripes　out　into　the　street。　A　brick　building　loomed　at　the　corner；　low　and　long；　streaked　with　soot。　Its　granite　cornices　and　arched　lintels　spoke　of　a　building　done　in　a　poor　imitation　of　the　Neo…Gothic　style。　A　wooden　sign；　gold　letters　edged　in　black；　hung　over　the　door：
　　
　J。　C。　SHOTTUM'S　CABINET　OF　NATURAL　PRODUCTIONS　&　CURIOSITIES
　　
　A　trio　of　bare　electric　bulbs　in　metal　cages　illuminated　the　doorway；　casting　a　harsh　glare　onto　the　street。　Shottum's　was　open　for　business。　A　hired　hawker　shouted　at　the　door。　Pendergast　could　not　catch　the　words　above　the　noise　and　bustle。　A　large　signboard　standing　on　the　pavement　in　front　advertised　the　featured　attractions…See　the　Double…Brained　Child　&　Visit　Our　New　Annex　Showing　Bewitching　Female　Bathers　in　Real　Water。
　Pendergast　stood　on　the　corner；　the　rest　of　the　city　fading　into　fog　as　he　focused　his　concentration　on　the　building　ahead；　meticulously　reconstructing　every　detail。　Slowly；　the　walls　came　into　sharper　focus…the　dingy　windows；　the　interiors；　the　bizarre　collections；　the　maze　of　exhibit　halls…as　his　mind　integrated　and　shaped　the　vast　quantity　of　information　he　had　amassed。
　When　he　was　ready；　he　stepped　forward　and　queued　up。　He　paid　his　two　pennies　to　a　man　in　a　greasy　stovepipe　hat　and　stepped　inside。　A　low　foyer　greeted　his　eye；　dominated　on　the　far　side　with　a　mammoth　skull。　Standing　next　to　it　was　a　moth…eaten　Kodiak　bear；　an　Indian　birchbark　canoe；　a　petrified　log。　His　eyes　traveled　around　the　room。　The　large　thighbone　of　an　Antediluvian　Monster　stood　against　the　far　wall；　and　there　were　other　eclectic　specimens　laid　out；　helter…skelter。　The　better　exhibits；　he　knew；　were　deeper　inside　the　cabinet。
　Corridors　ran　off　to　the　left　and　right；　leading　to　halls　packed　with　teeming　humanity。　In　a　world　without　movies；　television；　or　radio…and　where　travel　was　an　option　only　for　the　wealthiest…the　popularity　of　this　diversion　was　not　surprising。　Pendergast　bore　left。
　The　first　part　of　the　hall　consisted　of　a　systematic　collection　of　stuffed　birds；　laid　out　on　shelves。　This　exhibit；　a　feeble　attempt　to　insinuate　a　little　education；　held　no　interest　to　the　crowd；　which　streamed　past　on　the　way　to　less　edifying　exhibits　ahead。
　The　corridor　debouched　into　a　large　hall；　the　air　hot　and　close。　In　the　center　stood　what　appeared　to　be　a　stuffed　man；　brown　and　wizened；　with　severely　bowed　legs；　gripping　a　post。　The　label　pinned　below　it　read：　Pygmy　Man　of　Darkest　Africa；　Who　Lived　to　Be　Three　Hundred　Fifty…Five　Years　of　Age　Before　Death　by　Snakebite。　Closer　inspection　revealed　it　to　be　a　shaved　orangutan；　doctored　to　look　human；　apparently　preserved　through　smoking。　It　gave　off　a　fearful　smell。　Nearby　was　an　Egyptian　mummy；　standing　against　the　wall　in　a　wooden　sarcophagus。　There　was　a　mounted　skeleton　missing　its　skull；　labeled　Remains　of　the　Beautiful　Countess　Adele　de　Brissac；　Executed　by　Guillotine；　Paris；　1789。　Next　to　it　was　a　rusty　piece　of　iron；　dabbed　with　red　paint；　marked：　The　Blade　That　Cut　Her。
　Pendergast　stood　at　the　center　of　the　hall　and　turned　his　attention　to　the　noisy　audience。　He　found　himself　mildly　surprised。　There　were　many　more　young　people　than　he　had　assumed；　as　well　as　a　greater　cross　section　of　humanity；　from　high　to　low。　Young　bloods　and　fancy　men　strolled　by；　puffing　on　cigars；　laughing　condescendingly　at　the　exhibits。　A　group　of　tough…looking　youths　swaggered　past；　sporting　the　red　flannel　firemen's　shirts；　broadcloth　pantaloons；　and　greased　〃soap…lock〃　hair　that　identified　them　as　Bowery　Boys。　There　were　workhouse　girls；　whores；　urchins；　street　peddlers；　and　barmen。　It　was；　in　short；　the　same　kind　of　crowd　that　thronged　the　streets　outside。　Now　that　the　workday　was　done　for　many；　they　came　to　Shottum's　for　an　evening's　entertainment。　The　two…penny　admission　was　within　reach　of　all。
　Two　doors　at　the　far　end　of　the　hall　led　to　more　exhibits；　one　to　the　bewitching　ladies；　the　other　marked　Gallery　of　Unnatural　Monstrosities。　This　latter　was　narrow　and　dark；　and　it　was　the　exhibit　that　Pendergast　had　e　to　see。
　The　sounds　of　the　crowds　were　muffled　here；　and　there　were　fewer　visitors；　mostly　nervous；　gaping　youngsters。　The　carnival　atmosphere　had　changed　into　something　quieter；　more　eerie。　The　darkness；　the　closeness；　the　stillness；　all　conspired　to　create　the　effect　of　fear。
　At　the　first　turn　of　the　gallery　stood　a　table；　on　which　was　a　large　jar　of　thick　glass；　stoppered　and　sealed；　containing　a　floating　human　baby。　Two　miniature；　perfectly　formed　arms　stuck　out　from　its　forehead。　Pendergast　peered　closer　and　saw　that；　unlike　many　of　the　other　exhibits；　this　one　had　not　been　doctored。　He　passed　on。　There　was　a　small　alcove　containing　a　dog　with　a　cat's　head；　this　one　clearly　fake；　the　sewing　marks　visible　through　the　thinning　hair。　It　stood　next　to　a　giant　clam；　propped　open；　showing　a　skeletonized　foot　inside。　The　label　copy　told　the　gruesome　story　of　the　hapless　pearl　diver。　Around　another　corner；　there　was　a　great　miscellany　of　objects　in　jars　of　formaldehyde：　a　Portuguese　man…of…war；　a　giant　rat　from　Sumatra；　a　hideous　brown　thing　the