ib.thewaspfactory-第42部分

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l。　I　couldn't　see　anything。　The　noises　had　stopped。　I　sniffed　the　air。
　　
　　I　could　smell　the　smoky；　pubby　smell　of　drink。　It　must　be　my　father。　I　felt　relieved。　Just　then　I　heard　him　e　out　of　the　lounge。　A　noise　washed　out　behind　him　like　an　ocean　roaring。　I　came　away　from　the　rail　and　stood　listening。　He　was　staggering；　bumping　off　the　walls　and　tripping　on　the　stairs。　I　heard　him　breathing　heavily　and　muttering　something。　I　listened；　let　the　smell　and　sound　e　up。　I　stood　and　gradually　I　calmed　myself。　I　heard　my　father　get　to　the　first　landing；　where　the　phone　was。　Then　unsteady　footsteps。
　　
　　'Frang！'　he　shouted。　I　kept　still；　said　nothing。　Just　instinct；　I　suppose；　or　habit　born　of　all　the　times　I've　pretended　not　to　be　where　I　really　am；　and　listened　to　people　when　they　have　thought　they　were　alone。　I　breathed　slowly。
　　
　　'Frang！'　he　yelled。　I　got　ready　to　go　back　up　to　the　loft；　shifting　back；　on　tip…toe；　avoiding　the　places　where　I　knew　the　floor　creaked。　My　father　hammered　on　the　door　of　the　first…floor　toilet；　then　cursed　when　he　discovered　it　was　open。　I　heard　him　start　up　the　stairs；　towards　me。　His　steps　pattered；　irregular；　and　he　grunted　as　he　stumbled　and　hit　a　wall。　I　went　quietly　up　the　ladder；　swung　up　and　on　to　the　bare　wood　floor　of　the　loft；　lay　there　with　my　head　a　metre　or　so　from　the　hole；　my　hands　on　the　brickwork；　ready　to　duck　behind　the　flue　if　my　father　attempted　to　look　into　the　loft　from　the　hole。　I　blinked。　My　father　hammered　on　my　room　door。　He　opened　it。
　　
　　'Frang！　he　shouted　again。　Then　'Ah。。。　fuck。。。。'　My　heart　leaped　as　I　lay　there。　I　had　never　heard　him　swear　before。　It　sounded　obscene　in　his　mouth；　not　like　the　casual　way　Eric　or　Jamie　said　it。　I　heard　him　breathing　under　the　hole；　the　smell　of　him　ing　up　through　it　to　me：　whisky　and　tobacco。
　　
　　The　steps　again；　unsteady　down　the　landing；　then　his　door；　and　it　slamming　shut。　I　breathed　again；　only　then　realising　that　I　had　been　holding　my　breath。　My　heart　was　pounding　fit　to　burst　and　I　was　almost　surprised　my　father　hadn't　been　able　to　hear　it　booming　through　the　floorboards　above　him。　I　waited　for　a　while；　but　there　were　no　more　noises；　just　that　distant　white　sound　from　the　lounge。　It　sounded　as　though　he　had　left　the　television　on；　between　channels。
　　
　　I　lay　there；　gave　him　five　minutes；　then　I　got　up　slowly；　brushed　myself　down；　tucked　my　shirt　in；　picked　up　the　bag　in　the　darkness；　attached　my　catapult　to　my　belt；　felt　around　for　my　waistcoat　and　found　it；　then　with　all　my　gear　on　crept　down　the　ladder　and　on　to　the　landing；　then　along　it　and　softly　downstairs。
　　
　　In　the　lounge；　the　television　sparkled　its　colourful　hiss　to　an　empty　room。　I　went　to　it；　clicked　it　off。　I　turned　to　go　and　saw　my　father's　tweed　jacket　lying　crumpled　in　a　chair。　I　picked　it　up　and　it　jingled。　I　felt　through　the　pockets　as　I　wrinkled　my　nose　at　the　stench　of　drink　and　smoke　ing　off　it。　My　hand　closed　around　a　bunch　of　keys。
　　
　　I　brought　them　out　and　stared　at　them。　There　was　the　front…door　key；　the　back…door　key；　the　cellar　key；　shed　key；　a　couple　of　smaller　ones　I　didn't　recognise；　and　another　key；　a　key　to　one　of　the　rooms　in　the　house；　like　the　key　for　my　room　but　a　different　cut。　I　felt　my　mouth　start　to　dry　up；　and　saw　my　hand　start　to　shake　in　front　of　me。　Sweat　sparkled　on　it；　beading　suddenly　in　the　lines　of　the　palm。　It　might　be　his　bedroom　key　or。。。。
　　
　　I　ran　upstairs；　three　at　a　time；　only　breaking　rhythm　for　the　noisy　ones。　I　went　up　past　the　study；　up　to　my　father's　bedroom。　The　door　was　ajar；　its　key　was　in　the　lock。　I　could　hear　my　father　snoring。　I　closed　the　door　gently　and　ran　back　down　to　the　study。　I　put　the　key　in　the　lock；　and　it　turned　with　well…oiled　ease。　I　stood　there　for　a　second　or　two；　then　turned　the　handle；　opened　the　door。
　　
　　I　put　the　light　on。　The　study。
　　
　　It　was　cluttered　and　full；　stuffy　and　warm。　The　light　in　the　centre　of　the　ceiling　had　no　shade；　and　was　very　bright。　There　were　two　desks；　a　bureau；　and　a　camp　bed　with　a　mess　of　sheets　lying　twisted　on　it。　There　was　a　bookcase；　two　large　tables　standing　together　covered　with　various　bottles　and　pieces　of　chemical　apparatus；　test　tubes　and　bottles　and　a　condenser　linked　to　a　sink　in　the　corner。　The　place　smelled　of　something　like　ammonia。　I　turned；　stuck　my　head　out　of　the　door　into　the　hall；　listened；　heard　very　distant　snoring；　then　took　the　key　and　closed　the　door；　locking　myself　in　and　leaving　the　key　in　the　door。
　　
　　It　was　as　I　turned　away　from　the　door　that　I　saw　it。　A　specimen…jar　standing　on　top　of　the　bureau；　which　was　placed　just　to　the　side　of　the　door　and　would　be　hidden　from　the　hall　outside　by　the　door　when　it　was　open。　In　the　jar　was　clear　liquid…alcohol；　I　assumed。　In　the　alcohol　was　a　tiny；　torn　set　of　male　genitalia。
　　
　　I　looked　at　it；　my　hand　still　on　the　key　I　had　been　turning；　and　my　eyes　filled。　I　felt　something　in　my　throat；　something　from　deep　in　me；　and　my　eyes　and　nose　seemed　to　fill　and　quickly　burst。　I　stood　and　I　cried；　letting　the　tears　trickle　down　my　cheeks　and　into　my　mouth；　salting　it。　My　nose　ran；　and　I　sniffed　and　snorted；　and　I　felt　my　chest　heave　and　a　muscle　in　my　jaw　tremored　uncontrollably。　I　forgot　all　about　Eric；　about　my　father；　about　everything　except　me；　and　my　loss。
　　
　　It　took　me　some　time　to　pull　myself　together；　and　I　didn't　do　it　by　being　angry　at　myself　or　telling　myself　not　to　act　like　some　stupid　girl；　but　I　just　calmed　down　naturally　and　evenly；　and　some　sort　of　weight　left　my　head　and　settled　in　my　stomach。　I　wiped　my　face　on　my　shirt　and　blew　my　nose　quietly；　then　started　searching　the　room　methodically；　ignoring　the　jar　on　the　bureau。　Maybe　that　was　all　the　secret　there　was；　but　I　wanted　to　be　sure。
　　
　　Most　of　it　was　junk。　Junk　and　chemicals。　The　drawers　of　the　desk　and　the　bureau　were　filled　with　ancient　photographs　and　papers。　There　were　old　letters；　old　bills　and　notes；　deeds　and　forms　and　insurance　policies　（none　for　me；　and　all　expired　long　since　anyway）；　pages　from　a　short　story　or　novel　somebody　had　been　writing　on　a　cheap　typewriter；　covered　in　corrections　and　still　awful　（something　about　hippies　in　a　mune　in　the　desert　somewhere　making　contact　with　aliens）；　there　were　glass　paperweights；　gloves；　psychedelic　badges；　some　old　Beatles　singles；　a　few　copies　of　Oz　and　IT；　some　dry　pens　and　broken　pencils。　Rubbish；　all　rubbish。
　　
　　Then　I　came　to　part　of　the　bureau　which　was　locked：　one　section　under　the　roll…top　hinged　at　the　bottom　with　a　keyhole　in　the　top　edge。　I　got　the　keys　from　the　door　and；　sure　enough；　one　of　the　small　ones　fitted。　The　flap　hinged　down　and　I　took　out　the　four　small　drawers　set　behind　it　and　set　them　on　the　working…surface　of　the　bureau。
　　
　　I　stared　at　their　contents　until　my　legs　got　shaky　and　I　had　to　sit　down　on　the　rickety　little　chair　which　had　been　half…undemeath　the　bureau。　I　put　my　head　in　my　hands　and　I　was　shaking　again。　How　much　was　I　going　to　have　to　go　through　this　night？
　　
　　I　put　my　hands　into　one　of　the　little　drawers　and　took　out　the　blue　box　of　tampons。　Shaking　fingers　brought　out　the　other　box　from　the　drawer。　It　was　labelled　'Hormones…male'。
　　
　　Inside　it　were　smaller　boxes；　neatly　numbered　in　black　biro　with　dates　going　about　six　months　into　the　future。　Another　box　from　a　different　drawer　said　'KBr'；　which　rang　a　bell　somewhere　in　my　mind；　but　only　at　the　very　back　of　it。　The　remaining　two　drawers　contained　tightly　rolled　bundles　of　five…　and　ten…pound　notes　and　Cellophane　bags　with　little　squares　of　paper　inside。　I　had　no　spare　capacity　for　trying　to　work　out　what　any　of　that　other　stuff　was；　though；　my　mind　was　racing　with　an　awful　idea　it　had　just　formed。　I　sat　there；　staring；　mouth　open；　and　I　thought。　I　didn't　look　up　at　the　jar。
　　
　　I　thought　of　that　delicate　face；　those　lightly　haired　arms。　I　tried　to　think　of　one　time　I　had　seen　my　father　naked　to　the　waist；　but　for　the　life　of　me　I　couldn't。　The　secret。　It　couldn't　be。　I　shook　my　head；　but　I　couldn't　let　go　of　the　idea。　Angus。
　　
　　Agnes。　I　only　had　his　word　for　anything　that　had　happened。　I　had　no　idea　at　all　how　much　Mrs　Clamp　could　be　trusted；　no　idea　w