cb.imajica1-第101部分

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　〃Of　me？〃
　〃Of　everything。　You；　Dowd；　the　Society。　I　started　to　see　plots　everywhere。　Suddenly　the　idea　of　your　being　in　my　bed　seemed　too　much　of　a　risk。　I　was　afraid　you'd　smother
　me；　or…〃
　〃That's　ridiculous。〃
　〃Is　it？　How　can　I　be　sure　who　you　belong　to？〃
　〃I　belong　to　myself。〃
　He　shook　his　head；　his　gaze　going　from　her　face　up　to　the　painting　of　Joshua　Godolphin　that　hung　above　the　bed。
　〃How　can　you　know　that？〃　he　said。　〃How　can　you　be　certain　that　what　you　feel　for　me　es　from　your　heart？〃
　〃What　does　it　matter　where　it　es　from？　It's　there。　Look　at　me。〃
　He　refused　her　demand；　his　eyes　still　fixed　on　the　Mad　Lord。
　〃He's　dead；〃　she　said。
　〃But　his　legacy…〃
　〃Fuck　his　legacy！〃　she　said；　and　suddenly　got　to　her　feet；　taking　hold　of　the　portrait　by　its　heavy；　gilded　frame　and　wrenching　it　from　the　wall。
　Oscar　rose　to　protest；　but　her　vehemence　carried　the　day。　The　picture　came　from　its　hooks　with　a　single　pull；　and　she　summarily　pitched　it　across　the　room。　Then　she　dropped　back　onto　the　bed　in　front　of　Oscar。
　〃He's　dead　and　gone；〃　she　said。　〃He　can't　judge　us。　He　can't　control　us。　Whatever　it　is　we　feel　for　each　other…and　I　don't　pretend　to　know　what　it　is…it's　ours。〃　She　put　her　hands　to　his　face；　her　fingers　woven　with　his　beard。　〃Let　go　of　the　fears；〃　she　said。　〃Take　hold　of　me　instead。〃
　He　put　his　arms　around　her。
　〃You're　going　to　take　me　to　Yzordderrex；　Oscar。　Not　in　a　week's　time；　not　in　a　few　days：　tomorrow。　I　want　to　go　tomorrow。　Or　else〃…her　hands　dropped　from　his　face…　〃let　me　go　now。　Out　of　here。　Out　of　your　life。　I　won't　be　your　prisoner；　Oscar。　Maybe　his　mistresses　put　up　with　that；　but　I　won't。　I'll　kill　myself　before　I'll　let　you　lock　me　up　again。〃
　She　said　all　of　this　dry…eyed。　Simple　sentiments；　simply　put。　He　took　hold　of　her　hands　and　raised　them　to　his　cheeks　again；　as　if　inviting　her　to　possess　him。　His　face　was　full　of　tiny　creases　she'd　not　seen　before；　and　they　were　wet　with　tears。
　〃We'll　go；〃　he　said。
　Rooms；　lounges；　and　chapel　were　a　state　unto　themselves；　and　he'd　long　ago　sworn　to　her　he　would　never　violate　them。　She'd　decorated　the　rooms　with　any　lush　or　luxurious　item　that　pleased　her　eclectic　eye。　It　was　an　aesthetic　he　himself　had　favored；　before　his　present　melancholia。　He'd　filled　the　bedrooms　now　nested　by　carrion　birds　with　immaculate　copies　of　baroque　and　rococo　furniture；　had　missioned　the　walls　to　be　mirrored　like　Versailles；　and　had　the　toilets　gilded。　But　he'd　long　since　lost　his　taste　for　such　extravagances；　and　now　the　very　sight　of　Quaisoir's　rooms　nauseated　him　so　much　that　if　he　hadn't　been　driven　by　need　he'd　have　retreated；　appalled　by　their　opulence。
　He　called　his　wife's　name　as　he　went。　First　through　the　lounges；　strewn　with　the　leavings　of　a　dozen　meals；　all　were　empty。　Then　into　the　state　room；　which　was　appointed　even　more　grandly　than　the　lounges；　but　also　empty。　Finally；　to　the　bedroom。　At　its　threshold；　he　heard　the　slap　of　feet　on　the　marble　floor；　and　Quaisoir's　servant　Concupis…centia　paddled　into　view。　She　was　naked；　as　always；　her　back　a　field　of　multicolored　extremities　each　as　agile　as　an　ape's　tail；　her　forelimbs　withered　and　boneless　things；　bred　to　such　vestigial　condition　over　generations。　Her　large　green　eyes　seeped　constantly；　the　feathery　fans　to　either　side　of　her　face　dipping　to　brush　the　moisture　from　her　rouged　cheeks。
　〃Where's　Quaisoir？〃　he　demanded。　She　drew　a　coquettish　fan　of　her　tails　over　her　lower　face　and　giggled　behind　them　like　a　geisha。　The　Autarch　had　slept　with　her　once；　in　a　kreauchee　fugue；　and　the　creature　never　let　him　by　without　a　show　of　flirtation。
　〃Not　now；　for　Christ's　sake；〃　he　said；　disgusted　at　the　display。　〃I　want　my　wife！　Where　is　she？〃
　Concupiscentia　shook　her　head；　retreating　from　his　raised　voice　and　fist。　He　pushed　past　her　into　the　bedroom。　If　there　was　any　tiny　wad　of　kreauchee　to　be　had；　it　would　be　here；　in　her　boudoir；　where　she　lazed　away　so　many　days；　listening　to　Concupiscentia　sing　hymns　and　lullabies。　The　chamber　smelled　like　a　harbor　bordello；　a　dozen　sickly　perfumes　draping　the　air　like　the　veils　that　hung　around　the　bed。

　〃I　want　kreauchee！〃　he　said。　〃Where　is　it？〃
　Again；　a　great　shaking　of　the　head　from　Concupiscentia；　this　time　acpanied　by　whimpering。
　〃Where？〃　he　shouted。　〃Where？〃
　The　perfume　and　the　veils　sickened　him；　and　he　began　to　rip　at　the　silks　and　gossamers　in　his　rage。　The　creature　didn't　intervene　until　he　picked　up　the　Bible　lying　open　on　the　pillows　and　threatened　to　rip　out　its　onion…leaf　pages。
　〃Pleas　ep！〃　she　squealed。　〃Please　ep！　Shellem　beat　I　if　ye　taurat　the　Book。　Quaisoir　lovat　the　Book。〃
　It　wasn't　often　he　heard　the　gloss；　the　pidgin　English　of　the　islands；　and　the　sound　of　it…as　misshapen　as　its　source…infuriated　him　even　more。　He　tore　half　a　dozen　pages　from　the　Bible；　just　to　make　her　squeal　again。　She　obliged。
　〃I　want　kreauchee！〃　he　said。
　〃I　havat！　I　havat！〃　the　creature　said；　and　led　him　from　the　bedroom　into　the　enormous　dressing　room　that　lay　next　door；　where　she　began　to　search　through　the　gilded　boxes　on　Quaisoir's　dressing　table。
　Catching　sight　of　the　Autarch's　reflection　in　the　mirror；　she　made　a　tiny　smile；　like　a　guilty　child；　before　bringing　a　package　out　of　the　smallest　of　the　boxes。　He　snatched　it　from　her　fingers　before　she　had　a　chance　to　proffer　it。　He　knew　from　the　smell　that　stung　his　nostrils　that　this　was　good　quality；　and　without　hesitating　he　unwrapped　it　and　put　the　whole　wad　into　his　mouth。
　〃Good　girl；〃　he　told　Concupiscentia。　〃Good　girl。　Now；　do　you　know　where　your　mistress　got　it？〃
　Concupiscentia　shook　her　head。　〃She　goallat　alon　unto　the　Kesparates；　many　nights。　Sometimes　shellem　a　goat　beggar；　sometimes　shellem　goat…〃
　〃A　whore。〃
　〃No；　no。　Quaisoir　isem　a　whore。〃
　〃Is　that　where　she　is　now？〃　the　Autarch　said。　〃Is　she　out　whoring？　It's　a　little　early　for　that；　isn't　it；　or　is　she　cheaper　in　the　afternoon？〃
　The　kreauchee　was　better　than　he'd　hoped；　he　felt　it　striking　him　as　he　spoke；　lifting　his　melancholy　and　replacing　it　with　a　vehement　buzz。　Even　though　he'd　not　penetrated　Quaisoir　in　four　decades　（nor　had　any　desire　to）；　in　some　moods　news　of　her　infidelities　could　still　depress　him。　But　the　drug　took　all　that　pain　away。　She　could　sleep　with　fifty　men　a　day；　and　it　wouldn't　take　her　an　inch　from　his　side。　Whether　they　felt　contempt　or　passion　for　each　other　was　irrelevant。　History　had　made　them　indivisible　and　would　hold　them　together　till　the　Apocalypse　did　them　part。
　〃Shellem　not　whoring；〃　Concupiscentia　piped　up；　determined　to　defend　her　mistress's　honor。　〃Shellem　downer　ta　Scoriae。〃
　〃The　Scoriae？　Why？〃
　〃Executions；〃　Concupiscentia　replied；　pronouncing　this　word…learned　from　her　mistress's　lips…perfectly。
　〃Executions？〃　the　Autarch　said；　a　vague　unease　surfacing　through　the　kreauchee's　soothings。　〃What　executions？〃
　Concupiscentia　shook　her　head。　〃I　dinnet　knie；〃　she　said。　〃Jest　executions。　Allovat　executions。　She　prayat　to　tern…〃
　〃I'm　sure　she　does。〃
　〃We　all　prayat　far　the_sols；　so　ta　go　intat　the　presence　of　the　Unbeheld　washed…〃
　Here　were　more　phrases　repeated　parrot　fashion；　the　kind　of　Christian　cant　he　found　as　sickening　as　the　decor。　And；　like　the　decor；　these　were　Ouaisoir's　work。　She'd　embraced　the　Man　of　Sorrows　only　a　few　months　ago；　but　it　hadn't　taken　her　long　to　claim　she　was　His　bride。　Another　infidelity；　less　syphilitic　than　the　hundreds　that　had　gone　before；　but　just　as　pathetic。
　The　Autarch　left　Concupiscentia　to　babble　on　and　dispatched　his　bodyguard　to　locate　Rosengarten。　There　were　questions　to　be　answered　here；　and　quickly；　or　else　it　wouldn't　only　be　the　Scoriae　where　heads　would　roll。
　
　Traveling　the　Lenten　Way；　Gentle　had　e　to　believe　that；　far　from　being　the　burden　he'd　expected　her　to　be；　Huzzah　was　a　blessing。　If　she　hadn't　been　with　them　in　the　Cradle　he　was　certain　the　Goddess　Tishalulle　would　not　have　intervened　on　their　behalf；　nor　would　hitchhiking　along　the　highway　have　been　so　easy　if　they　hadn't　had　a　winsome　child　to　thumb　rides　for　them。　Despite　the　months　she'd　spent　hidden　away　in　the　depths　of　the　asylum　（or　perhaps　because　of　them）；　Huzzah　was　eager　to　engage　everyone　in　conversation；