ib.thewaspfactory-第33部分

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　　'OK。　Well；　I　just　thought　I'd　ring　you　and　tell　you　I'm　all　right；　and　see　how　you　are。'
　　
　　'I'm　fine。　Are　you　sure　you're　OK；　too？'
　　
　　'Yeah　；　never　felt　better。　Feeling　great。　I　think　it's　my　diet；　all…'
　　
　　'Listen！'　I　broke　in　desperately；　feeling　my　eyes　widen　as　I　thought　of　what　I　wanted　to　ask　him。　'You　didn't　feel　anything　this　morning；　did　you？　About　dawn？　Anything？　I　mean；　anything　at　all？　Nothing　inside　you…ah…you　didn't　feel　anything？　Did　you　feel　anything？'
　　
　　'What　are　you　gibbering　about？'　Eric　said；　slightly　angrily。
　　
　　'Did　you　feel　anything　this　morning；　very　early？'
　　
　　'What　on　earth　do　you　mean…〃feel　anything〃？'
　　
　　'I　mean　did　you　experience　anything；　anything　at　all　about　dawn　this　morning？'
　　
　　'Well；'　Eric　said　in　measured　tones；　and　slowly；　'Funny　you　should　say　that。。。。'
　　
　　'Yes　？　Yes　？'　I　said　excitedly；　pressing　the　receiver　so　close　to　my　mouth　that　my　teeth　clattered　off　the　mouthpiece。
　　
　　'Not　a　damn　thing。　This　morning　was　one　of　the　few　I　can　honestly　say　I　experienced　not　a　thing；'　Eric　informed　me　urbanely。　'I　was　asleep。'
　　
　　'But　you　said　you　didn't　sleep！'　I　said　furiously。
　　
　　'Christ；　Frank；　nobody's　perfect。'　I　could　hear　him　start　to　laugh。
　　
　　'But…'　I　started。　I　closed　my　mouth　and　gritted　my　teeth。　Once　more；　I　closed　my　eyes。
　　
　　He　said：　'　Anyway；　Frank；　old　sport；　to　be　quite　honest；　this　is　getting　boring。　I　might　call　you　again　but；　either　way；　I'll　see　you　soon。　Ta　ta。'
　　
　　Before　I　could　say　anything；　the　line　went　dead；　and　I　was　left　fuming　and　belligerent；　holding　the　telephone　and　glaring　at　it　like　it　was　to　blame。　I　considered　hitting　something　with　it；　but　decided　that　would　be　too　much　like　a　bad　joke；　so　I　slammed　it　down　on　the　cradle　instead。　It　chimed　once　in　response　and　I　gave　it　another　glare；　then　turned　my　back　on　it　and　stamped　downstairs；　threw　myself　into　an　easy　chair　and　punched　the　buttons　on　the　remote　control　for　the　television　repeatedly　through　channel　after　channel　time　after　time　for　about　ten　minutes。　At　the　end　of　that　period　I　realised　that　I　had　got　just　as　much　out　of　watching　three　programmes　simultaneously　（the　news；　yet　another　awful　American　crime　series　and　a　programme　on　archaeology）　as　I　ever　got　from　watching　the　damn　things　separately。　I　hurled　the　control　unit　away　in　disgust　and　stormed　outside　in　the　fading　light　to　go　and　throw　a　few　stones　at　the　waves。
　　
　　
　　　9：　What　Happened　to　Eric
　　
　　
　　I　SLEPT　fairly　late；　for　me。　My　father　had　arrived　back　at　the　house　just　as　I　returned　from　the　beach；　and　I　had　gone　to　bed　at　once；　so　I　had　a　good　long　sleep。　In　the　morning　I　called　Jamie；　got　his　mother；　and　found　out　he　had　gone　to　the　doctor's　but　would　be　straight　back。　I　packed　my　day…pack　and　told　my　father　I'd　be　back　in　the　early　evening；　then　set　off　for　the　town。
　　
　　Jamie　was　in　when　I　got　to　his　house。　We　drank　a　couple　of　cans　of　the　old　Red　Death　and　chatted　away；　then；　after　sharing　in　elevenses　and　some　of　his　mother's　home…made　cakes；　I　left　and　made　my　way　out　of　town　for　the　hills　behind。
　　
　　
　　
　　High　on　a　heathered　summit；　a　gentle　slope　of　rock　and　earth　above　the　Forestry　mission's　tree　line；　I　sat　on　a　big　rock　and　ate　my　lunch。　I　looked　out　over　the　heat…hazed　distance；　over　Porteneil；　the　pastureland　dotted　white　with　sheep；　the　dunes；　the　dump；　the　island　（not　that　you　could　see　it　as　such；　it　looked　like　part　of　the　land）；　the　sands　and　the　sea。　The　sky　held　a　few　small　clouds；　it　beat　blue　over　the　view；　fading　to　paleness　towards　the　horizon　and　the　calm　expanse　of　firth　and　sea。　Larks　sung　in　the　air　above　me　and　I　watched　a　buzzard　hover　as　it　looked　for　movement　in　the　grass　and　heather；　broom　and　whin　beneath。　Insects　buzzed　and　danced；　and　I　waved　a　fan　of　fern　in　front　of　my　face　to　keep　them　away　as　I　ate　my　sandwiches　and　drank　my　orange　juice。
　　
　　To　my　left；　the　mounting　peaks　of　the　hills　marched　off　northward；　growing　gradually　higher　as　they　went　and　fading　into　grey　and　blue；　shimmering　with　distance。　I　watched　the　town　beneath　me　through　the　binoculars；　saw　trucks　and　cars　make　their　way　along　the　main　road；　and　followed　a　train　as　it　headed　south；　stopping　in　the　town　then　going　on　again；　snaking　across　the　level　ground　before　the　sea。
　　
　　I　like　to　get　away　from　the　island　now　and　again。　Not　too　far；　I　still　like　to　be　able　to　see　it　if　possible；　but　it　is　good　to　remove　oneself　sometimes　and　get　a　sense　of　perspective　from　a　little　farther　away。　Of　course；　I　know　how　small　a　piece　of　land　it　is；　I'm　not　a　fool。　I　know　the　size　of　the　planet　and　just　how　minuscule　is　that　part　of　it　I　know。　I've　watched　too　much　television　and　seen　too　many　nature　and　travel　programmes　not　to　appreciate　how　limited　my　own　knowledge　is　in　terms　of　first…hand　experience　of　other　places；　but　I　don't　want　to　go　farther　afield；　I　don't　need　to　travel　or　see　foreign　climes　or　know　different　people。　I　know　who　I　am　and　I　know　my　limitations。　I　restrict　my　horizons　for　my　own　good　reasons；　fear…oh；　yes；　I　admit　it…and　a　need　for　reassurance　and　safety　in　a　world　which　just　so　happened　to　treat　me　very　cruelly　at　an　age　before　I　had　any　real　chance　of　affecting　it。
　　
　　Also；　I　have　the　lesson　of　Eric。
　　
　　Eric　went　away。　Eric；　with　all　his　brightness；　all　his　intelligence　and　sensitivity　and　promise；　left　the　island　and　tried　to　make　his　way；　chose　a　path　and　followed　it。　That　path　led　to　the　destruction　of　most　of　what　he　was；　changed　him　into　a　quite　different　person　in　whom　the　similarities　to　the　sane　young　man　he　had　been　before　only　appeared　obscene。
　　
　　But　he　was　my　brother；　and　I　still　loved　him　in　a　way。　I　loved　him　despite　his　alteration　the　way；　I　suppose；　he　had　loved　me　despite　my　disability。　That　feeling　of　wanting　to　protect；　I　suppose；　which　women　are　supposed　to　feel　for　the　young　and　men　are　meant　to　feel　for　women。
　　
　　Eric　left　the　island　before　I　was　even　born；　only　ing　back　for　holidays；　but　I　think　that　spiritually　he　was　always　there；　and　when　he　did　return　properly；　a　year　after　my　little　accident；　when　my　father　thought　we　both　old　enough　for　him　to　be　able　to　look　after　the　two　of　us；　I　didn't　resent　him　being　there　at　all。　On　the　contrary；　we　got　on　well　from　the　start；　and　I'm　sure　I　must　have　embarrassed　him　with　my　slavish　following　around　and　copying；　though；　being　Eric；　he　was　too　sensitive　to　other　people's　feelings　to　tell　me　so　and　risk　hurting　me。
　　
　　When　he　was　sent　off　to　private　schools　I　pined；　when　he　came　back　on　holidays　I　enthused；　I　jumped　and　bubbled　and　got　excited。　Summer　after　summer　we　spent　on　the　island；　flying　kites；　making　models　from　wood　and　plastic；　Lego　and　Meccano　and　anything　else　we　found　lying　about；　building　dams　and　constructing　huts　and　trenches。　We　flew　model　airplanes；　sailed　model　yachts；　built　sand…yachts　with　sails　and　invented　secret　societies；　codes　and　languages。　He　told　me　stories；　inventing　them　as　he　went　along。　We　played　some　stories　out：　brave　soldiers　in　the　dunes　and　fighting；　winning　and　fighting　and　fighting　and　sometimes　dying。　Those　were　the　only　times　he　deliberately　hurt　me；　when　his　stories　required　his　own　heroic　death　and　I　would　take　it　all　too　seriously　as　he　lay　expiring　on　the　grass　or　the　sands；　having　just　blown　up　the　bridge　or　the　dam　or　the　enemy　convoy　and　like　as　not　saved　me　from　death；　too；　I　would　choke　back　tears　and　punch　him　lightly　as　I　tried　to　change　the　story　myself　and　he　refused；　slipping　away　from　me　and　dying；　too　often　dying。
　　
　　When　he　had　his　migraines…sometimes　lasting　days…I　lived　on　edge；　taking　cool　drinks　and　some　food　up　to　the　darkened　room　on　the　second　floor；　creeping　in；　standing　and　shaking　sometimes　if　he　moaned　and　shifted　on　the　bed。　I　was　wretched　while　he　suffered；　and　nothing　meant　anything；　the　games　and　the　stories　seemed　stupid　and　pointless；　and　only　throwing　stones　at　bottles　or　seagulls　made　much　sense。　I　went　out　fishing　for　gulls；　determined　things　other　than　Eric　should　suffer：　when　he　recovered　it　was　like　him　ing　back　for　the　summer　allover　again；　and　I　was　irrepressib