df.theedge-第14部分

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　I　wondered　if　the　Fluted　Point　People　had　been　lighthearted　ten　thousand　years　ago。　But　probably　not。
　　Nell　and　I　walked　back　to　where　she　had　parked　her　car　near　the　office：　she　lived　twenty　minutes'　drive　away；　she　said；　in　a　very　small　apartment　by　the　lake。
　　To　say　good　night　we　kissed　cheeks　and　she　thanked　me　for　the　evening；　saying　cheerfully　that　she　would　see　me　on　Sunday　if　she　didn't　sink　without　trace　under　all　the　things　she　still　had　to　do　on　the　next　day；　Saturday。　I　watched　her　tail　lights　recede　until　she　turned　a　corner；　then　I　walked　back　to　the　hotel；　slept　an　untroubled　night；　and　presented　myself　next　morning　at　ten　sharp　in　the　Public　Affairs　office；　at　Union　Station。
　　The　Public　Affairs　officer；　a　formidably　efficient　lady；　had　gathered　from　Nell　that　I　was　one　of　the　actors；　as　they　had　helped　with　actors　before；　and　I　didn't　change　that　understanding。　She　wheeled　me　back　into　the　cavernous　Great　Hall　of　the　station　（which　she　briskly　said　was　250　feet　long；　84　feet　wide　and　had　a　tiled　arched　ceiling　88　feet　above　the　floor）　and　led　me　through　a　heavy　door　into　an　undecorated　downstairs　duplication　of　the　grandeur　upstairs；　a　seemingly　endless　basic　domain　where　the　food　and　laundry　and　odd　jobs　of　the　trains　got　seen　to。　There　was　a　mini　power　station　also；　and　painting　and　carpentering　going　on　all　over　the　place。
　　'This　way；'　she　said；　clattering　ahead　on　snapping　heels。　'Here　is　the　uniform　centre。　They'll　see　to　you。'　She　pushed　open　a　door　to　let　me　through；　said　briefly；　'Here's　the　actor　to　the　staff　inside；　and　with　a　nod　abandoned　me　to　fate。
　　The　staff　inside　were　were　good…natured　and　equally　efficient。　One　was　working　a　sewing　machine；　another　a　puter；　and　a　third　asked　me　what　collar　size　I　took。
　　There　were　shelves　all　round　the　room　bearing　hundreds　of　folded　shirts　of　fine　light　grey　and　white　vertical　stripes；　with　striped　collars；　long　striped　sleeves　and　buttoned　cuffs。　'The　cuffs　must　remain　buttoned　at　all　times　unless　you　are　washing　dishes。'
　　'Catch　me；　I　thought　mildly；　washing　dishes。
　　There　were　two　racks　of　the　harvest　gold　waistcoats　on　hangers。　'All　the　buttons　must　be　fastened　at　all　times。'
　　There　were　row　on　row　of　mid…grey　trousers　and　mid…grey　jackets　tidily　hung；　and　boxes　galore　of　grey；　yellow　and　maroon　striped　ties。
　　My　helper　was　careful　that　everything　he　gave　me　should　fit　perfectly。　'VIA　Rail　staff　at　all　times　are　well　turned　out　and　spotlessly　clean。　We　give　everyone　tips　on　how　to　care　for　the　clothes。'
　　He　gave　me　a　grey　jacket；　two　pairs　of　grey　trousers；　five　shirts；　two　waistcoats　（which　he　called　vests）；　two　ties　and　a　grey　raincoat　to　go　over　all；　and　as　he　passed　each　garment　as　suitable　he　called　out　the　size　to　the　man　with　the　puter。　'We　know　the　sizes　of　every　VIA　employee　right　across　Canada。'
　　I　looked　at　myself　in　the　glass　in　my　shirtsleeves　and　yellow　waistcoat；　and　the　waiter　Tommy　looked　back。
　　I　smiled　at　my　reflection。　Tommy　looked　altogether　too　pleased　with　himself；　I　thought。
　　'fortable？'　my　helper　asked。
　　'Very。'
　　'Don't　vary　the　uniform　at　all；'　he　said。　'Any　variation　would　mark　you　out　straight　away　as　an　actor。'
　　'Thank　you。'
　　'This　uniform；'　he　said；　'trousers；　shirt；　tie　and　vest；　is　worn　by　all　male　service　attendants　and　assistant　service　attendants　when　on　duty。　That's　to　say；　the　sleeping…car　attendants　and　the　dining…car　staff；　except　that　sometimes　they　wear　aprons　in　the　dining　car。'
　　'Thank　you。'　I　said　again。
　　The　chief　service　attendant；　who　is　in　charge　of　the　dining　car；　wears　a　grey　suit；　not　a　vest　or　an　apron。　That's　how　you'll　know　him。'
　　'Right。'
　　He　smiled。　'They'll　teach　you　what　to　do。　Now；　we'll　lend　you　a　locker　for　these　clothes　until　Sunday　morning。　Collect　the　clothes　and　put　them　on　in　the　changing　room　here　before　boarding；　and　take　your　own　clothes　with　you　on　to　the　train。　When　you've　finished　with　the　VIA　uniform；　please　see　that　we　get　it　back。'
　　'Right；'　I　said　again。
　　When　I'd　put　my　own　clothes　on　once　more；　he　took　me　along　a　few　passages　into　a　room　with　ultra…narrow　lockers　into　which　Tommy's　clothes　barely　slotted。　He　locked　the　metal　door；　gave　me　the　key；　showed　me　the　way　back　into　the　Great　Hall　and　smiled　briefly。
　　'Good　luck；'　he　said。　'Don't　spill　anything。'
　　'Thank　you；'　I　said；　'very　much。'
　　I　went　back　to　the　hotel　and　had　them　arrange　a　car　with　a　driver　to　take　me　to　Woodbine；　wait　through　the　afternoon　and　bring　me　back。　No　trouble　at　all；　they　said；　so　as　it　was　a　nice　bright　autumn　day　with　no　forecast　of　rain　I　curled　my　hair　and　put　on　some　sunglasses　and　a　Scandinavian　patterned　sweater　to　merge　into　the　crowd　at　the　races。
　　It　actually　isn't　easy　to　remember　a　stranger's　face　after　a　fleeting　meeting　unless　one　has　a　special　reason　for　doing　so；　or　unless　there　is　something　wholly　distinctive　about　it；　and　I　was　reasonably　certain　no　one　going　on　the　train　would　know　me　again　even　if　I　inadvertently　stood　next　to　them　on　the　stands。　I　had　spectacular　proof　of　this；　in　fact；　almost　as　soon　as　I'd　paid　my　way　into　the　paddock；　because　Bill　Baudelaire　was　standing　nearby；　watching　the　throng　ing　in；　and　his　eyes　paused　on　me　for　a　brief　second　and　slid　away。　With　his　carroty　hair　and　the　acne　scars；　I　thought；　he　would　have　trouble　getting　lost　in　a　crowd。
　　I　walked　over　to　him　and　said；　'Could　you　tell　me　the　time；　sir；　please？'
　　He　glanced　at　his　watch　but　hardly　at　me　and　said；　'One　twenty…five；'　in　his　gravelly　voice；　and　looked　over　my　shoulder　towards　the　gate。
　　'Thank　you；'　I　said。　'I'm　Tor　Kelsey。'
　　His　gaze　sharpened　abruptly　on　my　face　and　he　almost　laughed。
　　'When　Val　told　me　about　this　I　scarcely　believed　him。'
　　'Is　Filmer　here？'　I　asked。
　　'Yes。　He　arrived　for　the　lunch。'
　　'OK；'　I　said。　Thanks　again。'　I　nodded　and　walked　on　past　him　and　bought　a　race…card；　and　when　in　a　moment　or　two　I　looked　back；　he　had　gone。
　　The　racecourse　was　packed　with　people　and　there　were　banners　everywhere　announcing　that　this　was　the　opening　event　of　The　Great　Transcontinental　Mystery　Race　Train's　journey。　Race　Train　Day；　they　economically　said。　There　was　a　splendid　colour　photograph　of　a　train　crossing　a　prairie　on　the　race…card's　cover。　There　were　stalls　selling　red　and　white　Race　Train　T…shirts；　with　a　horse　face　to　face　with　a　lootive　across　the　chest。　There　were　Race　Train　flags　and　scarves　and　baseball　caps；　and　a　scatter　of　young　ladies　with　Support　Canadian　Racing　sashes　across　their　bosoms　were　handing　out　information　leaflets。　The　PR　firm；　I　thought　with　amusement；　were　leaving　no　one　in　any　doubt。
　　I　didn't　see　Filmer　until　just　before　the　Race　Train's　special　race；　which　had　been　named　without　subtlety　The　Jockey　Club　Race　Train　Stakes　at　Woodbine。　I'd　spent　some　of　the　afternoon　reading　the　information　in　the　race…card　about　the　owners　and　their　horses　and　had　seen　that　whereas　all　the　owners　were　on　the　train's　passenger　list；　none　of　the　horses　were。　We　would　be　taking　fresh　animals　to　Winnipeg　and　Vancouver
　　Filmer　wasn't　on　the　race…card　as　an　owner；　but　Mrs　Daffodil　Quentin　was；　and　when　she　came　down　to　see　the　saddling　of　her　runner；　Filmer　was　with　her；　assiduous　and　smiling。
　　Daffodil　Quentin　had　a　big　puff…ball　hair　arrangement　of　blonde　curls　above　a　middle…aged　face　with　intense　shiny　red　lipstick。　She　wore　a　black　dress　with　a　striped　chinchilla　coat　over　it：　too　much　fur；　I　briefly　thought；　for　the　warmth　of　the　afternoon　sun。
　　There　was　hardly　time　to　identify　all　the　other　owners　as　the　pre…race　formalities　were　over　much　more　quickly　than　in　England；　but　I　did　particularly　look　for　and　sort　out　Mercer　Lorrimore。
　　Mercer　Lorrimore；　darling　of　the　glossy　mags；　was　running　two　horses　in　the　race；　giving　it　his　loyal　support。　He　was　a　man　of　average　height；　average　build；　average　weight；　and　was　distinguishable　chiefly　because　of　his　well…cut；　well…brushed　full　head　of　white　hair。　His　expression　looked　reasonable　and　pleasant；　and　he　was　being　nice　to　his　trainer。
　　Beside　him　was　a　thin　well…groomed　woman　whom　I　supposed　to　be　his　wife；　Bambi　and　in　attendance　were　a　supercilious…looking　young　man　and　a　sulking　teenage　girl。　Son　and　daughter；　Sheridan　and　Xanthe；　no　doubt。
　　The　jockeys　were　thrown　up　like　rainbow　thistledown　on　to　the　tiny　saddles　and　let　their　skinny　bodies　move　to　the　fluid　rhythm　of　the　walking　thoroughbreds。　Out　on　the　track　with　the　horses'　gait　breaking　into　a　trot　or　canter　they　would　be　more　fortable　standing　up　in　the　stirrups　to　let　the　bumpier　rhythms　flow　beneath　them；　but　on　the　way　out　from　the　parade　ring　they　swayed　languorously　like　a　camel　train。　I　loved　to　watch　them：　never　grew　tired　of　it。　I　loved　the　big　beautiful　animals　with　their　tiny　brains　and　their　overwhelming　instincts　and　I'd　always；　all　over　the　world；　felt　at　home　tending　them；　riding　them　and　watching　them　wake　up　and　perform。
　　The　Lorrimore　colours　were　truly　Canadian；　bright　red　and　white　like　the　maple　leaf　flag。　Daffodil　Quentin's　colours　weren't　daffodil　yellow　but　pale　blue　and　dark　green；　a　lot　more　subdued　than　the　lady。
　　She　and　Filmer　and　all　the　other　owners　disappeared　upstairs　behind　glass　to　watch　the　race；　and　I　went　down　towards　the　track　to　wait　and　watch　from　near　where　the　lucky　owner　would　e　down　to　greet　his　winner。
　　There　were　fourteen　runners　for　the　mile…and…a…half　race　and　I　knew　nothing　about　the　form　of　any　of　them　except　for　the　information　on　the　race…card。　In　England　I　knew　the　current　scene　like　a　magnified　city　map；　knew　the　thoroughfares；　the　back　alleys；　the　small　turnings。　Knew　who　people　knew；　who　they　would　turn　to　and　turn　away　from；　who　they　lusted　after。　In　Canada；　I　was　without　radar　and　felt　blind。
　　The　Race　Train　Stakes　at　Woodbine；　turning　out　to　be　hot　enough　in　the　homestretch　to　delight　the　Ontario　Jockey　Club's　heart；　was　greeted　with　roars　and　screams　of　encouragement　from　the　stands。　Lorrimore's　scarlet…and…white　favourite　was　beaten　in　the　last　stride　by　a　streak　in　pale　blue　and　dark　green　and　a　good　many　of　the　cheers　turned　to　groans。
　　Daffodil　Quentin　came　down　and　passed　close　by　me　in　clouds　of　chinchilla；　excitement　and　a　m