cw.blackalibi-第23部分

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　　〃He's　got　an　obsession；　that　man；〃　he　heard　Robles　explaining　scornfully　to　some　of　his　cohorts　without　troubling　to　lower　his　voice　much；　〃that　there　is　some　other　element　than　the　jaguar　involved　in　this。　Don't　ask　me　why！〃
　　〃Don't　ask　me　either；〃　Manning　turned　his　head　to　call　back。　〃But　don't　ask　me　to　give　it　up。〃　He　put　his　foot　to　the　lower　rung　of　one　of　the　ladders；　to　get　out　of　the　accursed　place。
　　〃It's　right　here　before　his　very　eyes；〃　Robles　went　on　in　a　loud；　carrying　voice；　provoked　by　the　opposition。　〃Look；　the　very　ribs　are　exposed　in　places！　Nothing　human　could　mit　such　a　shambles。〃
　　They　were　dropping　slowly　below　Manning；　a　rung　at　a　time。　〃And　I　say　the　very　opposite；〃　he　contradicted　over　his　shoulder；　〃that　only　something　human　could　be　so　thorough　about　it。　It's　carried　too　far　for　even　the　most　vicious　brute　animal。　Their　rages　don't　last　that　long；　the　death　of　the　quarry　ends　them。　Their　memories　are　shorter…〃
　　A　hard；　mirthless　laugh　went　up　all　around　as　he　straddled　the　top　of　the　wall　with　his　legs　and　took　his　unlamented　and　somewhat　undignified　departure。
　　
　　
　　IV。　Clo…Clo
　　
　　Clo…Clo　was　rapidly　tiring　of　the　German　merchant…marine　officer。　She　wasn't　sure　he　was　German　and　she　wasn't　even　sure　he　was　a　merchant…marine　officer。　All　she　knew　was　he　came　from　one　of　those　countries　where　the　people　have　butter…colored　hair　and　blue　eyes　and　can't　speak　Spanish　properly；　and　that　he　had　tarnished　brass　buttons　on　his　short　blue　jacket；　instead　of　the　bone　kind　other　people　wore。
　　There　was　nothing　personal　in　this　rapid　tiring　on　her　part。　Just　as　there　was　nothing　personal　in　anything　she　did　after　six　in　the　evening。　Those　were　her　working　hours。　He　hadn't　been　any　too　loaded　with　money　even　when　she　first　met　him…some　of　his　shipmates　must　have　warned　him；　before　he　came　ashore　down　on　the　coast；　about　bringing　his　whole　pay　up　to　the　city　with　him　at　one　time…and　now　he　had　slowed　down　to　about　a　drink　a　half…hour。　Also；　he　kept　wanting　to　marry　her　all　the　time；　and　that　made　for　heavy　conversation。　The　main　thing　wrong　with　him；　though；　was　he　was　holding　her　up；　making　her　behindtime　on　her　schedule　of　nightly　rounds。　She'd　have　to　skip　her　ten…o'clock　stop　and　go　straight　on　to　the　midnight　one；　from　here。
　　Clo…Clo　adhered　to　a　rigid　timetable。　She　lived　by　the　clock。　If　you　didn't；　you　didn't　get　anywhere。　You　had　to　work　fast；　you　had　to　keep　going。　Each　night　had　its　fixed　stops；　and　each　stop　had　its　hour　and　its　allotted　duration。　The　day。　light　hours　up　to；　say；　about　seven　or　eight　in　the　evening；　that　was　strictly　antemeridian；　that　didn't　count。　You　didn't　expect　anything。　You　didn't　get　anything。　You　stayed　home　and　did　your　hair。　You　washed　stockings。　You　lazed　around。　If　you　felt　good　maybe　you　even　gave　the　poor　old　lady　a　hand；　with　that　never…ending　cooking　and　dishing　it　out　to　hungry　mouths　that　she　was　always　doing。　Or　if　you　went　out；　it　was　just　to　get　something　you　needed；　a　bit　of　nail　polish　at　the　five…and…ten。　The　grand　sortie　didn't　e　until　around　eight；　eight…thirty。　You　looked　things　over；　you　got　their　feel；　you　warmed　yourself　up。　Her　nine…o'clock　stop　was　the　Elite　Bar。　This　was　the　Elite　Bar　now。　There　wasn't　really　much　doing　yet。　The　real　swells；　the　real　spenders；　were　all　still　at　home　with　their　families；　lingering　over　their　cigars　and　after…dinner　drinks。　At　nine　o'clock　you　got　things　like　this　foreign　sea　officer；　good　enough　to　kill　time　with；　a　couple　of　brandies　over　a　bar。
　　Ten　to　eleven　was　a　notch　up　the　social　scale。　Places　like　the　Tivoli　and　the　Miraflor　Gardens。　The　swells　were　all　at　shows　around　now；　they　still　hadn't　appeared　yet。　You　hung　around　over　a　table；　with　young　writers；　clerks；　businessmen。　Wine　now。
　　Midnight　to　about　two　was　the　zenith。　Meridian　of　her　〃day。〃　That　was　when　the　shows　let　Out。　They　let　out　late　in　Ciudad　Real。　The　Casino　Bleu；　the　Madrid　out　in　the　park　（she　never　went　out　there；　though；　too　far　to　walk　back　in　case　you　didn't　connect）；　the　Jockey　Club；　the　Tabarin；　the　Select。　Those　were　the　places　to　seek　out　then。　That　was　the　cream　of　the　night　life；　swarming　with　the　sports；　the　swells；　the　heavy　spenders。　Most　of　them　had　cabaret　entertainment；　if　not；　tango　bands　and　dancing　at　the　very　least。　Benedictine；　then。　Crиme　de　menthe。　Sometimes　even　champagne。
　　It　tapered　off　quickly　after　that。　From　about　three　on；　that　was　the　lees　of　the　night。　That　was　the　time　to　watch　out　for。　That　was　the　time　when　the　laughter　died　down；　lights　started　thin　ning　and　the　shadows　came　creeping　on；　and　if　you　were　smart　you　didn't　hang　around　any　more；　you　went　on　home。　It　was　a　bad　time。　〃The　Blue　Hour；〃　some　of　them　called　it。　〃The　Deathwatch；〃　others。　It　was　a　time　when　things　sometimes　happened。　Things　they　told　you　about　behind　the　back　of　the　hand。　If　they　were　going　to　at　all；　that　was　when　they　did。
　　So　it　will　be　seen；　Clo…Clo　was　on　the　town。　The　technical　designation　for　her　might　be　a　little　harder　to　arrive　at。　She　was　acquiring　a　second　nickname；　in　fact；　that　threatened　to　obliterate　the　first。　〃　Enganadora；〃　the　little　cheat。　Fulfillment　withheld　for　promises　implicit　in　her　very　presence　at　the　places　she　went。　She　honored　obligations　only　when　cornered；　and　even　then；　in　a　manner　that　made　it　hardly　worth　while；　except　for　professional　wrestlers。　She　had　already　had　one　or　two　brushes　with　the　police；　not　because　of　her　supposed　activities；　but　because　of　their　absence。　Others　in　her　own　immediate　bracket　would　warn　her；　〃Look　out；　chica；　you'll　be　getting　a　bad　reputation。　Once　you　do；　they'll　steer　clear　of　you　like　a　bad　case　of　smallpox。〃　In　other　words；　in　the　underworld　a　bad　reputation　was　directly　inverse　to　what　was　monly　meant　by　One　in　the　upperworid。
　　Nonetheless；　Clo…Clo　remained　stubbornly；　you　might　even　say　fanatically；　virtuous　at　heart。　Her　every　instinct　was　that　of　the　good；　respectable；　industrious　middle…class　girl　who　expects　to　be　a　wife　someday。　She　had　her　own　future　all　staked　out。　By　thirty　at　the　latest　she　was　going　to　be　married　to　some　honest；　hard…working　fellow；　and　have　a　raft　of　kids；　and　maybe　a　little　produce　farm　outside　of　town；　just　a　patch。　And　if　any　of　them　were　girls；　and　so　much　as　looked　at　anybody；　she'd　knock　the　left　side　of　their　faces　loose　from　the　right。
　　She　still　had　eleven　years　and　six　months　to　go。
　　This　interlude；　therefore；　was　not　a　question　of　looseness　of　character；　it　was　a　matter　of　financial　stringency。　Her　intrinsic　morality　was　not　in　the　least　impaired　by　it。　Strangers　in　bars　couldn't　reach　that。　It　was　simply　being　bent　a　little　to　permit　her　to　achieve　financial　security。
　　At　home；　in　the　tumbledown　shack　on　Rivera　Street；　with　shoals　of　kids　sleeping　all　over　the　place；　they　knew　that　Clo…Clo　was　not　exactly　a　saint；　but　the　money　sure　came　in　handy。　They　didn't　inquire　too　closely　into　her　ings　and　goings。　They　had　a　euphemism　for　her　prolonged　and　nightly　absences；　among　themselves；　among　their　friends　and　neighbors；　if　anyone　inquired　for　her。　〃　Salio　para　dar　una　vuelta。〃　She　went　out　to　take　a　stroll。　Well；　she　had；　in　a　way。　One　of　these　little　strolls　of　hers　had　once　taken　her　clear　across　the　spine　of　the　continent；　as　far　as　Buenos　Aires。　But　she　had　e　back　two　days　later　perfectly　unharmed；　having　jumped　the　train　just　one　station　before　it　got　in　in　order　to　retain　her　free　dom　of　movement；　and　with　marvelous　tales　to　tell。
　　Her　fat；　slow…moving　mother　would　sigh　and　shrug　as　she　broomed　a　few　of　the　younger　kids　out　of　the　way。　She　was　a　good　daughter。　Here　in　the　home；　she　was　a　good　daughter。　Outside；　well；　that　was　outside。　After　all；　who　was　perfect　in　this　world？　Should　she；　a　mother；　throw　the　first　stone　at　her　own　child？　Besides；　it　was　only　for　now；　a　great　change　was　ing　someday。　Didn't　she；　Clo…Clo；　say　so　herself　over　and　over？　〃You　wait；　mamita；　when　I'm　thirty　I'm　going　to　stop　being　bad；　I'm　going　to　be　good　after　that。〃
　　And　now　here　she　was；　stuck　in　a　nine…o'clock　stop　with　a　nine…o'clock　patron；　and　it　was　rapidly　nearing　eleven。　And　one　of　the　sentimental　type；　the　worst　kind。　The　more　sentimental　they　got；　the　less　t