cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第36部分

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；　whitecoated　stock；　shone　like　burnished　gold。
　　I　read　my　article　carefully。　There　were　no　errors　in　spelling；　and　no　typographical　errors。　My　name　was　spelled　correctly　at　the　end　of　the　article。　A　short　bibliography　of　the　books　and　major　critical　articles　on　Debierue　followed　my　by…line；　set　in　5　1/2…point　agate　boldface。　There　were　no　typos　in　the　bibliography；　either。
　　Satisfied；　I　began　to　leaf　through　some　of　the　other　volumes　of　the　Encyclopedia；　here　and　there；　to　check　the　writing　and　the　quality　of　the　work。　I　read　pieces　on　some　of　my　favorites…Goya；　El　Greco；　Piranesi；　Michelangelo。
　　My　stomach　became　queasy；　and　I　had　a　peculiar　premonition。　The　articles　I　had　read　were　well　researched　and　well　written；　particularly　the　piece　on　Piranesi；　but　my　stomach　felt　as　if　it　had　been　filled　with　raw　bread　dough　that　was　beginning　to　rise　and　swell　inside　me。　I　opened　my　desk　drawer　and　took　out　my　brass　ruler。　Taking　my　time；　to　make　certain　there　would　be　no　mistakes；　I　measured　the　column　inches　in　the　Encyclopedia　to　see　how　many　inches　had　been　allotted　to　Goya；　El　Greco；　Piranesi；　Michelangelo…and　Debierue。
　　Goya　had　nine　and　one…half　inches。　El　Greco　had　twelve。　Piranesi　had　eight。　Michelangelo　had　fourteen。　But　Debierue　had　sixteen　column　inches！　The　old　man；　insofar　as　space　was　concerned；　had　topped　the　greatest　artists　of　all　time。
　　I　closed　the　books；　all　of　them；　and　returned　them　to　the　crate。　I　lit　a　cigarette　and　moved　to　the　window。　The　buttery　sunlight　of　Palm　Beach　scattered　gold　coins　beneath　the　poinciana　tree　outside　my　window。　The　dark　green　grass　in　the　apartment…house　courtyard　was　still　wet　from　the　sprinklers　the　yardman　had　recently　turned　off。　The　pale　blue　sky；　without　any　clouds；　unpolluted　by　industrial　smoke；　was　as　clear　as　expensively　bottled　water。　I　wasn't　fooled　by　the　air…conditioning　of　the　room。　It　was　hotter　than　hell　outside　in　the　sun。
　　But　my　work　was　over。　Debierue　had　triumphed　over　everyone；　and　so　had　I。　There　would　never　be　another　Jacques　Debierue；　not　in　my　lifetime；　and　I　would　never　want　to　meet　another　one　like　him　if　one　ever　did　e　along。　There　was　no　place　else　for　me　to　go　as　an　art　critic。　How　could　I　top　myself？　Not　in　this　world。
　　But　what　about　Berenice　Hollis？　Could　I　pass　the　test？　In　a　cigar　box　in　the　bottom　drawer　of　my　dresser；　together　with　a　picture　of　my　father；　taken　when　he　was　seven　years　old；　and　a　dry；　rough　periwinkle　shell　（a　reminder；　because　I　had　picked　it　up　on　the　beach　as　a　kid；　that　I　was　born　in　Puerto　Rico）；　was　Berenice's　dried　finger；　wrapped　in　a　linen　handkerchief。　I　unrolled　the　handkerchief　and　looked　at　the　shriveled　finger。　The　blood…red　Chen　Yu　nail　varnish　was　dull；　and　some　of　it　had　flaked　off。　I　looked　at　the　finger　for　a　long　time　without　feeling　fear；　pain；　or　remorse。
　　Debierue；　and　his　achievement；　had　been　worth　it；　and　there　was　nothing　else　left　for　me　to　do。　Somebody　else；　another　critic；　could　cover　the　unveiling　of　Cassidy's　only　signed　Debierue　at　the　Everglades　Club。　The　time　had　e　for　me　to　pay　my　dues　for　the　death　of　Berenice　Hollis。
　　I　showered；　shaved；　and　put　on　my　tailor…made　suit；　together　with　a　white　shirt；　a　wide　red…white…and…blue　striped　tie；　black　silk　socks；　and　polished　cordovan　shoes。
　　Taking　my　time；　strolling；　I　walked　through　the　late　afternoon　streets　to　the　Spanish…style　Palm　Beach　police　station。　No　one　else　would　ever　know　the　truth　about　Debierue；　and　no　one；　other　than　myself；　knew　the　truth　about　my　part　in　his　apotheosis。　And　I　would　never　tell；　never；　but　I　had　to　pay　for　Berenice。　The　man　who　achieves　success　in　America　must　pay　for　it。　It's　the　American　way；　and　no　one　knows　this　fact　of　life　any　better　than　I；　a　de…islanded　Puerto　Rican。
　　There　were　a　sergeant　and　two　patrolmen　inside　the　station。　One　patrolman　was　going　on　duty　and　the　other　was　going　off；　but　they　both　looked　so　clean　and　well　groomed　it　would　have　been　impossible　to　tell　them　apart。　All　three　policemen　were　looking　at　a　copy　of　Palm　Beach　Life；　the　slick；　seasonal　magazine　that　covers　Palm　Beach　society。　The　policeman　going　off　duty　had　his　picture　in　it…a　shot　of　a　group　of　women　on　a　garden　tour；　and　he　was　smiling　in　the　background。
　　〃Good　afternoon；　sir；〃　the　sergeant　said　politely；　getting　to　his　feet；　〃may　I　help　you？〃
　　I　nodded。　〃Good　afternoon；　Sergeant；〃　I　replied。　I　unfolded　the　handkerchief　on　the　table；　and　Berenice's　finger　rolled　out。　〃I　want　to　confess　to　a　crime　of　passion。〃







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