cb.coldheart canyon-第48部分

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mb　from　limb　by　those　amongst　the　haunters　of　these　hills　who　were　loyal　to　her；　the　creatures　she　referred　to　as　los　ninos：　the　children。
　 He　didn't　doubt　that　she　would　enforce　the　edict。　She　knew　what　power　she　held；　and　how　to　keep　it。　His　death　would　be　a　fine　lesson　for　those　amongst　the　dans　here　who　were　less　than　loyal；　and　muttered　their　unrest　in　the　ears　of　coyotes；　and　plotted　the　undoing　of　their　mistress。　They　called　her　by　many　names；　in　many　languages；　being　men　and　women　who　had　e　from　all　over　the　world；　and　now；　in　this　strange　afterlife；　were　returning　to　the　tongue　they　knew　best。　To　some　she　was　La　Catin；　the　Bitch；　to　others　she　was　simply　the　Duchess　of　Sorrows。　But　none　of　these　name…callers　dared　confront　her。　Whatever　they　whispered；　whatever　they　plotted；　they　were　too　afraid　of　what　they　would　lose　if　they　went　up　against　her　and　failed　to　win　the　day。　Not　only　did　they　hope　for　her　clemency　at　some　time　in　the　future；　but　they　prayed　with　all　their　hearts　that　they'd　be　let　back　into　the　house；　so　that　they　could　once　more　venture　down　the　stairs　into　the　Devil's　Country；　where　they　had　once　tasted　something　that　was　in　their　blood　now　permanently　and　could　not　be　satisfied；　except　by　more　of　the　same。
　 He　understood　their　hunger。　He　shared　it。　And　if　she　would　let　him　back　into　the　house　then　all　the　agonies　of　this　half…life　of　his　would　be　erased；　all　pain　forgotten；　all　need　dispatched。　But　Willem　had　few　hopes　of　such　clemency。　Katya　was　crazy。　She　always　had　been；　of　course；　indeed　in　earlier　times　it　had　been　part　of　her　glamour。　Wasn't　that　part　of　what　had　made　her　so　incredible　to　watch　up　there　on　the　screen？　A　gleam　of　madness　always　lit　up　the　eyes　of　her　characters；　whatever　she　was　playing。　Her　innocents　were　crazy　with　their　sinlessness；　just　as　the　vamps　she　played　later　were　maddened　by　their　sin。　Of　all　the　names　that　she　was　called；　it　was　Cesar　Romero's　nickname　that　suited　her　best；　La　Puta　Enojada；　the　Mad　Bitch。　That　was　the　name　Zeffer　used　when　he　talked　about　her。　Katya；　La　Puta　Enojada。　But　bitch　or　no；　mad　or　no；　she　had　the　reins；　and　that　was　that。　She　was　not　going　to　wither　any　time　soon；　thanks　to　the　machinations　of　that　damnable　room；　nor　was　she　likely　to　get　up　one　morning　and　vacate　her　Canyon。　She　was　just　as　afraid　of　the　world　beyond　its　perimeters　as　he　was。　In　truth；　for　all　her　bombast　and　her　brutality；　it　was　fear　that　shaped　her　life。
　 Fear　of　living；　fear　of　dying。　Fear　of　staying；　fear　of　going。　Fear　of　remembering；　and　yes；　fear　of　forgetting。
　
　 But　every　now　and　again；　even　in　this　despairing　paradise；　there　would　e　a　glimpse　of　hope；　a　hint　of　a　chance　that　things　might　finally　change　for　the　better。　Such　hints　and　glimpses　usually　appeared　in　the　form　of　interlopers；　people　whose　unplanned　presence　in　the　Canyon　had　the　potential　to　subtly　change　the　balance　of　power　in　La　Puta　Enojada's　feudal　realm。
　 There　had　been　perhaps　a　dozen　such　opportunities　during　in　the　time　in　which　Zeffer　had　been　a　prisoner　of　the　Canyon；　all　in　their　way　dangers　to　the　status　quo；　and　all　carefully　managed　by　Katya；　so　as　to　prevent　the　destruction　of　her　autocracy。　The　most　notable；　until　now；　had　been　the　appearance　of　a　runaway　child；　one　Jerry　Brahms；　who　had　fled　his　minders　into　the　Canyon；　ignorant　of　the　mysteries　he　was　treading　amongst。　He'd　almost　brought　her　down；　that　one；　ing　into　the　house　without　anyone　realizing　he　was　there；　and　getting　his　fingers　into　places　they　had　no　business　being。　Opening　doors；　letting　the　ghosts　sniff　the　Hunt。　The　fact　that　he　was　a　child　had　made　her　indulgent　of　his　mistakes。　Rather　than　have　him　killed；　Katya　had　let　him　live；　brought　him　to　her　bosom；　in　fact。
　 It　was　an　act　of　trust　that　had　served　her　well　as　the　years　had　passed。　Brahms　the　boy　had　became　Brahms　the　man；　and　his　loyalty　had　remained　unwavering。　Zeffer　had　never　entirely　understood　what　had　happened　between　them；　but　he　had　his　suspicions。　Katya　had　shown　Brahms　pleasures　that　had　marked　him　as　hers　forever。　That　meant；　most　likely；　that　she　had　taken　him　down　to　see　the　Hunt。　Once　you'd　walked　in　the　Devil's　Country；　smelt　its　ancient　air；　you　belonged　to　that　place；　in　some　unspeakable　way。　It　owned　you。　He　didn't　need　to　look　any　further　than　his　own　body　for　evidence　of　this。　Since　Katya　had　forbidden　him　to　enter　the　house…keeping　him　from　close　proximity　to　the　tiles…he　had　started　to　look　and　feel　his　true　age。　His　hair　had　turned　white；　his　bones　and　joints　ached　perpetually。　Why　was　he　surprised？　Nobody　lived　forever。　Not　movie　goddesses；　nor　the　men　who　served　them。　And　certainly　not　houses；　however　much　rapture　they　contained。　Every　facade　cracked；　finally；　and　crumbled；　and　went　away　to　dust。　It　was　only　a　question　of　time。
　 Which　thought　brought　him　back　to　the　newest　trespasser　in　their　sealed　world：　the　most　promising　opportunity　for　an　undoing　of　long…held　certainties　he'd　seen　in　many　years。　She　was　a　strong　one；　this　big…boned；　big…breasted　woman　with　her　unhappy　eyes。　She　was　trouble；　thank　God。　Under　the　right　circumstances　a　woman　like　that　could　do　all　kinds　of　mischief。　If；　of　course；　she　was　still　alive。　She'd　been　snatched　away　by　los　ninos；　the　corrupt　children　of　the　Canyon；　offspring　of　unsavory　couplings　between　animals　and　ghosts。　Zeffer　had　witnessed　such　intercourse　many　times　over　the　years；　vile　marriages　between　ghost　women　and　coyotes；　ghost　men　and　deer；　or　dogs；　even　once；　a　woman　and　a　bird。　Somehow；　such　consummations　were　often　fruitful；　though　the　birthings　were　not　anything　he　could　have　imagined　until　he　laid　eyes　on　them。　The　animals　who　produced　infants　this　way　almost　always　died　in　the　process；　every　now　and　again　he　would　e　upon　one　of　their　rotted　carcasses　on　the　hillside；　and　he'd　know　that　another　hybrid　had　been　added　to　that　unholy　tribe。　The　revenant　women　who　allowed　such　congress　（some　of　them　famous　in　their　day；　reduced　in　their　frustration　and　madness　to　mating　with　wild　animals）；　these　women　seemed　to　show　no　signs　of　trauma　when　the　birth　was　over；　their　bodies　being　less　than　flesh　and　more　than　ether；　malleable；　mendable。　But　that　was　not　to　say　their　matings　were　without　consequence。　These　ghosts　were　also　the　wildest；　in　his　experience；　the　most　prone　to　sudden　violence。　The　beast　had　got　into　them　in　more　ways　than　one。　They　were　touched　by　a　kind　of　rabidity；　which　was　in　distressing　contrast　to　what　remained　of　their　elegance。　Their　glossy　skins　were　pulled　tight　over　something　feral；　and　their　beauty　could　not　conceal　it。　Women　who　had　once　been　household　names…paragons　of　elegance　and　sophistication…walking　on　all　fours；　their　gait　crabbed；　their　speed　uncanny；　baring　their　perfect　teeth　in　the　thicket　and　yelping　like　coyotes　who'd　just　e　upon　a　fresh　kill。
　 There　was　reason；　then；　for　him　to　believe　the　interloper　had　not　survived　her　abduction。　If　they'd　caught　up　with　her；　los　ninos　might　have　toyed　with　her　for　awhile；　but　they　were　stupid　things；　and　their　attention　spans　were　short。　It　would　not　take　them　long　to　decide　that　there'd　be　more　sport　in　hurting　the　woman　than　in　teasing　her；　and　once　her　blood　began　to　run　they'd　bee　frenzied；　and　fall　upon　her；　taking　her　limb　from　limb。
　 That　was　his　fear。
　 The　source　of　his　hope？　That　he　had　not　heard　any　death…cries　in　the　canyon　since　she'd　been　gone。　It　was　a　tiny　reason　to　believe　that　something　good　might　e　of　the　woman's　arrival　here；　but　he　had　to　have　some　little　measure　of　hope；　or　there　was　nothing。　So　in　the　absence　of　hearing　the　woman's　screams；　he　allowed　himself　to　believe　that　there　was　one　in　the　Canyon　who　would　might　the　undoing　of　Katya　Lupi。　
　
　
　TWO
　 Tammy　was　indeed　alive。　She　knew　she　was　alive　because　she　was　hungry。　It　was　the　only　thing　about　her　present　condition　which　she　really　recognized；　the　rest　was　a　kind　of　fever…dream；　filled　with　blurred　horrors；　remote　pieces　of　what　might　be　real　and　what　she　hoped　to　God　were　not。
　 She　had　been　carried　by　her　abductors　to　the　far　end　of　the　Canyon　where　there　was　no　sign　of　any　habitation。　The　area　was　pretty　much　jungle：　dense　thickets　of　barbed　shrubs；　overshadowed　by　stands　of　immense；　shaggy　palms。　There