cw.imarriedadeadman-第32部分

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reached　her　as　music；　as　she　was　now。　The　hypertension　of　her　senses　filtered　it　into　a　sound　somewhat　like　a　scrubbing…brush　being　passed　over　a　sheet　of　ribbed　tin。　Or　maybe；　it　occurred　to　her；　it　was　on　the　inside　of　her；　and　not　outside　anywhere。
　No；　there　it　was。　He　had　a　small　battery…portable　standing　against　the　side　wall。　She　went　over　to　it。
　〃Che　gelida　mannina…〃　some　far…off　voice　was　singing；　she　didn't　know　what　that　meant。　She　only　knew　that　this　was　no　love…scene；　this　was　a　death…scene。
　Her　hand　gave　a　brutal　little　wrench；　like　wringing　the　neck　of　a　chicken；　and　there　was　a　stupor　of　silence　in　his　two　shoddy　rooms。　This　one　out　here；　and　that　one　in　there。
　Now　he'd　step　out　to　see　who　had　done　that。
　She　turned　to　face　the　opening。　She　raised　her　handbag　frontally　to　her　chest。　She　undid　it；　and　took　out　the　gun；　and　fitted　her　hand　around　it；　the　way　her　hand　was　supposed　to　go。　Without　flurry；　without　a　tremor；　every　move　in　perfect　coordination。
　She　sighted　the　gun　toward　the　opening。
　〃Steve；〃　she　said　to　him；　at　no　more　than　room…to…room　conversational　pitch　in　the　utter　stillness。　〃e　out　here　a　second。　I　want　to　see　you。〃
　No　fear；　no　love；　no　hate；　no　anything　at　all。
　He　didn't　e。　Had　he　seen　her　in　a　mirror？　Had　he　guessed？　Was　he　that　much　of　a　coward；　cringing　away　even　from　a　woman？
　The　fractured　cigarette　continued　to　unravel　into　smoke…skeins。　The　ice　cube　continued　to　peer　through　the　highball　glass；　foursquare　and　uneroded。
　She　went　toward　the　opening。
　〃Steve；〃　she　rasped。　〃Your　wife　is　here。　Here　to　see　you。〃
　He　didn't　stir；　he　didn't　answer。
　She　made　the　turn　of　the　doorway；　gun　wheeling　before　her　like　some　sort　of　foreshortened　steering…gear。　The　second　room　was　not　parallel　to　the　first；　it　was　over　at　a　right　angle　to　it　It　was　very　small；　just　an　alcove　for　sleeping　in。　It　had　a　bulb　up　above；　as　though　a　luminous　blister　had　formed　on　the　calcimined　surface　of　the　ceiling。　There　was　also　a　lamp　beside　the　iron　cot；　and　that　was　lit　as　well；　but　it　was　upside…down。　It　was　standing　on　its　head　on　the　floor；　its　extension…wire　grotesquely　looped　in　air。
　She'd　caught　him　in　the　act　of　getting　ready　for　bed。　His　shirt　was　lying　over　the　foot　of　the　cot。　That　was　all　he'd　taken　off。　And　now　he　was　trying　to　hide　from　her；　down　on　the　floor　somewhere；　below　cot…level；　on　the　far　side　of　it。　His　hand　peered　over　it…he'd　forgotten　that　it　showed…clutching　at　the　bedding；　pulling　it　into　long；　puckered　lines。　And　the　top　of　his　head　showed；　burrowed　against　the　cot…just　a　glimpse　of　it…bowed　in　attempt　at　concealment；　but　not　inclined　deeply　enough。　And　then；　just　on　the　other　side　of　that；　though　his　second　hand　didn't　show；　more　of　those　puckered　wrinkles　ran　over　the　edge　of　the　bedding　at　one　place；　as　though　it　were　down　below　there　somewhere　out　of　sight；　but　hanging　on　for　dear　life。
　And　when　she　looked　at　the　floor；　out　beyond　the　far　side　of　the　cot；　she　could　glimpse　the　lower　part　of　one　leg；　extended　out　behind　him　in　a　long；　lazy　sprawl。　The　other　one　didn't　show；　must　have　been　drawn　up　closer　under　his　body。
　〃Get　up；〃　she　sneered。　〃At　least　I　thought　I　hated　a　man。　Now　I　don't　know　what　you　are。〃　She　passed　around　the　foot　of　the　cot；　and　his　back　came　into　view。　He　didn't　move；　but　every　line　of　his　body　expressed　the　arrested　impulse　to　get　away。
　Her　handbag　sprang　open　and　she　pulled　something　out；　pitched　it　at　him。　〃Here's　the　five　dollars　you　gave　me。　Remember？〃　It　fell　between　his　shoulderblades；　and　lay　there　lengthwise　across　his　spine；　caught　in　the　sharp　upcurve　his　back　made；　oddly　like　a　label　or　tag　loosely　pasted　across　him。
　〃You　love　money　so；〃　she　said　scathingly。　〃Now　here's　the　interest　Turn　around　and　get　it。〃
　She'd　fired　before　she'd　known　she　was　going　to。　As　though　there　were　some　cue　in　the　words　for　the　gun　to　take　of　its　own　accord；　without　waiting　for　her。　The　crash　surprised　her；　she　could　feel　it　go　up　her　whole　arm；　as　though　someone　had　stingingly　slapped　her　wristbone；　and　the　fiery　spittle　that　gleamed　for　a　moment　at　the　muzzle　made　her　blink　her　eyes　and　swerve　her　head　aside　involuntarily。
　He　didn't　move。　Even　the　five…dollar　bill　didn't　flutter　off　him。　There　was　a　curious　low　moaning　sound　from　the　tubular　rod　forming　the　head　of　the　cot；　as　when　a　vibration　is　slowly　dimming；　and　there　was　a　black　pockmark　in　the　plaster　of　the　wall；　sharply　offto　one　side　of　it；　that　seemed　to　leap　up　into　being　for　the　first　time　only　as　her　eyes　discovered　it。
　Her　hand　was　at　his　shoulder　now；　while　her　mind　was　trying　to　say　〃I　didn't…I　didn't…〃　He　turned　over　lazily；　and　ebbed　down　to　the　floor；　in　a　way　that　was　almost　playful；　as　if　she　had　been　threatening　to　tickle　him　and　he　was　trying　to　avoid　it。
　Indolent　dalliance；　his　attitude　seemed　to　express。　There　was　even　a　sort　of　gashed　grin　across　his　mouth。
　His　eyes　seemed　to　be　fixed　on　her；　watching　her；　with　that　same　detached　mockery　they'd　always　shown　toward　her。　As　if　to　say；　〃What　are　you　going　to　do　now？〃
　You　could　hardly　tell　anything　was　the　matter。　There　was　only　a　little　dark　streak　by　the　outside　corner　of　one　eye；　like　a　patch　of　patent　leather　used　instead　of　court　plaster；　as　though　he'd　hurt　himself　there　and　then　covered　it　over。　And　where　that　side　of　his　head　had　e　to　rest　against　the　lateral　thickness　of　the　bedding；　there　was　a　peculiar　sworled　stain；　its　outer　layers　of　a　lighter　discoloration　than　its　core。
　Somebody　screamed　in　the　confined　little　room。　Not　shrilly；　but　with　a　guttural　wrench；　almost　like　the　bark　of　a　terrified　dog。　It　must　have　been　she；　for　there　was　no　one　in　there　to　scream　but　her。　Her　vocal　chords　hurt；　as　though　they　had　been　strained　asunder。
　〃Oh；　God！〃　she　sobbed　in　an　undertone。　〃I　didn't　need　to　e…〃
　She　cowered　away　from　him；　step　by　faltering　step。　It　wasn't　that　little　glistening　streak；　that　daub　of　tar；　nor　yet　the　way　he　lay　there；　relaxed　and　languid；　as　if　they　had　had　such　fun　he　was　exhausted；　and　it　was　too　much　trouble　to　get　up　off　his　back　and　see　her　out。　It　was　his　eyes　that　knifed　her　with　fear；　over　and　over；　until　panic　had　welled　up　in　her；　as　though　gushing　through　a　sieve。　The　way　they　seemed　fixed　on　her；　the　way　they　seemed　to　follow　her　backward；　step　by　step。　She　went　over　a　little　to　one　side；　and　that　didn't　get　her　away　from　them。　She　went　over　a　little　to　the　other；　and　that　didn't　get　her　away　from　them　either。　Contemptuous；　patronizing；　mocking；　to　the　end；　with　no　real　tenderness　in　them　for　her；　ever。　He　looked　on　her　in　death　as　he'd　looked　on　her　in　life。
　She　could　almost　hear　the　drawled　words　that　went　with　that　look。　〃Where　d'you　think　you're　going　now？　What's　your　hurry？　e　back　here；　you！〃
　Her　mind　screamed　back：　〃Away　from　here…！　Out　of　here…！　Before　somebody　es…！　Before　anybody　sees　me！〃
　She　turned　and　fled　through　the　opening；　and　beat　her　way　through　the　outside　room；　flailing　with　her　arms；　as　though　it　were　an　endless　treadmill　going　the　other　way；　trying　to　carry　her　back　in　to　him；　instead　of　a　space　of　a　brief　few　yards。
　She　got　to　the　door　and　collided　against　it。　But　then；　after　the　first　impact；　after　her　body　was　stopped　against　it；　instead　of　stilling；　it　kept　on　thumping；　and　kept　on　thumping；　as　though　there　were　dozens　of　her　hurling　themselves　against　it　in　an　endless　succession。
　Wood　shouldn't　knock　so；　wood　shouldn't　bang　so…　Her　hands　flew　up　to　her　ears　arid　clutched　them。　She　was　going　mad。
　The　blows　didn't　space　themselves　and　wait　between。　They　were　aggressive；　demanding；　continuous。　They　were　already　angered；　and　they　were　feeding　on　their　own　anger　with　every　second's　added　delay。　They　drowned　out；　in　her　own　ears；　her　second；　smothered　scream　of　anguish。　A　scream　that　held　more　real　fear　in　it　than　even　the　first　one　had；　in　the　other　room　just　now。　Fear；　not　of　the　supernatural　now；　but　of　the　personal；　a　fear　more　immediate；　a　fear　more　strong。　Agonizing　fear；　trapped　fear　such　as　she'd　never　known　existed　before。　The　fear　of　losing　the　thing　you　love。　The　greatest　fear　there　is。
　For　the　voice　that　riddled　the　door；　that　welled　through；　bated　but　flinty　with　stern　impatience；　was　Bill's。