ssheldon.doomsdayconspiracy-第18部分

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　Too　late。　　Life　did　not　give　second　chances。　　He　was　alone。　　He　did　his　own　shopping；　cooked　his　meals　for　himself；　and　went　to　the　neighborhood　laundromat　once　a　week　when　he　was　home。
　
　It　was　a　lonely；　miserable　time　in　Robert's　life。　　But　the　worst　was　yet　to　e。　　A　beautiflil　designer　he　had　met　in　Washington　telephoned　him　several　times　to　invite　him　to　dinner。　　Robert　had　been　reluctant；　but　he　had　finally　accepted。　　She　prepared　a　delicious　candlelight　dinner　for　the　two　of　them。
　〃You're　a　very　good　cook；〃　Robert　said。
　〃I'm　very　good　at　everything。〃　　And　there　was　no　mistaking　her　meaning。　She　moved　closer　to　him。
　〃Let　me　prove　it　to　you。〃　　She　put　her　hands　on　his　thighs　and　ran　her　tongue　around　his　lips。　　It's　been　a　long　time；　Robert　thought。　Maybe　too　long。　　They　went　to　bed；　and　to　Robert's　consternation；　it　was　a　disaster。　　For　the　first　time　in　his　life；　Robert　was　impotent。　　He　was　humiliated。
　〃Don't　worry；　darling；〃　she　said。
　〃It　will　be　all　right。〃　　She　was　wrong。
　
　Robert　went　home　feeling　embarrassed；　crippled。　　He　knew　that　in　some　crazy；　convoluted　way；　he　had　felt　that　making　love　to　another　woman　was　a　betrayal　of　Susan。　　How　stupid　can　I　get？
　
　He　tried　to　make　love　again　several　weeks　later　with　a　bright　secretary　at　ONI。　　She　had　been　wildly　passionate　in　bed；　stroking　his　body　and　taking　him　inside　her　hot　mouth。　　But　it　was　no　use。　　He　wanted　only　Susan。　　After　that；　he　stopped　trying。　　He　thought　about　consulting　a　doctor；　but　he　was　too　ashamed。　　He　knew　the　answer　to　his　problem；　and　it　had　nothing　to　do　with　medical　advice。　　He　poured　all　his　energy　into　work。　　Susan　called　him　at　least　once　a　week。
　〃Don't　forget　to　pick　up　your　shirts　at　the　laundry；〃　she　would　say。　Or：　〃I'm　sending　over　a　maid　to　clean　up　the　apartment。　　I'll　bet　it's　a　mess。〃　　Each　call　made　the　loneliness　more　intolerable。　　She　had　called　him　the　night　before　her　wedding。
　〃Robert；　I　want　you　to　know　I'm　getting　married　tomorrow。
　
　It　was　difficult　for　him　to　breathe。　　He　began　to　hyperventilate。
　〃Susan…〃
　〃I　love　Monte；〃　she　said；　〃but　I　love　you；　too。　　I'll　love　you　until　the　day　I　die。　　I　don't　want　you　ever　to　forget　that。〃
　
　What　was　there　to　say　to　that？　　〃Robert；　are　you　all　right？〃
　
　Sure。　　I'm　great。　　Except　that　I'm　a　fucking　eunuch。　　Scratch　the　adjective。
　〃Robert？〃
　
　He　could　not　bear　to　punish　her　with　his　problem。
　〃I'm　fine。　　Just　do　me　a　favor；　will　you；　baby？〃
　〃Anything　I　can。〃
　〃Don't…don't　let　him　take　you　on　your　honeymoon　to　any　of　the　places　we　went　to。〃　　He　hung　up　and　went　out　and　got　drunk　again。　　That　had　been　a　year　earlier。　　That　was　the　past。　　He　had　been　forced　to　face　the　reality　that　Susan　now　belonged　to　someone　else。　　He　had　to　live　in　the　present。　　He　had　work　to　do。　　It　was　time　to　have　a　chat　with　Leslie　Mothershed；　the　photographer　who　had　the　photographs　and　names　of　the　witnesses　Robert　had　been　assigned　to　track　down　on　what　was　going　to　be　his　last　assignment。
　
　eslie　Mothershed　was　in　a　state　beyond　euphoria。　　The　moment　he　had　returned　to　London；　clutching　his　precious　film；　he　had　hurried　into　the　small　pantry　he　had　converted　into　a　darkroom　and　checked　to　make　sure　he　had　everything　on　hand：　filmprocessing　tank；　thermometer；　spring…type　clothespins；　four　large　beakers；　a　timer；　and　developer；　stop…bath　solutions；　and　fixer。
　
　He　turned　out　the　light　and　switched　on　a　small　red　overhead　lamp。　His　hands　were　trembling　as　he　opened　the　cartridges　and　removed　the　film。
　
　He　took　deep　breaths　to　control　himself。　　Nothing　must　go　wrong　this　time；　he　thought。　　Nothing。　　This　is　for　you；　Mother。　　Carefully；　he　rolled　the　film　into　reels。　　He　placed　the　reels　；~　the　tank　and　filled　it　with　developer；　the　first　of　the　liquids　he　would　use。　　It　would　require　a　constant　temperature　of　68xF　and　periodic　agitation。　After　eleven　minutes；　he　emptied　the　contents　and　poured　the　fixer　over　the　reels。
　
　He　was　getting　nervous　again；　terrified　of　making　a　mistake。　　He　poured　off　the　fixer　for　the　first　wash　and　then　let　the　film　sit　in　a　tankful　of　water　for　ten　minutes。　　This　was　followed　by　two　minutes　of　constant　agitation　in　a　hypocleansing　agent　and　twelve　more　minutes　in　water。　Thirty　seconds　in　photo…flo　solution　ensured　there　would　be　no　streaks　or　flaws　in　the　negatives。　　Finally；　very；　very　carefully；　he　removed　the　film；　hung　it　up　with　clothespins；　and　used　a　squeegee　to　remove　the　last　drips　from　the　film。　　He　waited　impatiently　for　the　negatives　to　dry。　　It　was　time　to　have　a　look。　　Holding　his　breath；　heart　pounding；　Mothershed　picked　up　the　first　strip　of　negatives　and　held　it　up　to　the　light。　　Pe~ct。　　Absolutely　perfect！
　
　Each　one　was　a　gem；　a　picture　that　any　photographer　in　the　world　would　be　proud　to　have　taken。　　Every　detail　of　the　strange　spacecraft　was　outlined；　including　the　bodies　of　the　two　alien　forms　lying　inside。
　
　Two　things　he　had　not　noticed　before　caught　Mothershed's　eye；　and　he　took　a　closer　look。　　Where　the　spaceship　had　cracked　open　he　could　see　three　narrow　couches　inside　the　ship…and　yet　there　were　only　two　aliens。
　
　The　other　thing　that　was　strange　was　that　one　of　the　aliens'　hands　had　been　severed。　　It　was　nowhere　to　be　seen　in　the　photograph。　　Maybe　the　creature　had　only　one　hand；　Mothershed　thought。　　My　God；　these　pictures　are　masterpieces！　　Mother　was　right。　　I'm　a　genius。　　He　looked　around　the　tiny　room　and　thought；　The　next　time　I　develop　my　film；　it　will　be　in　a　big；　beautiful　darkroom　in　my　mansion　in　Eaton　Square。
　
　He　stood　there　fingering　his　treasures　like　a　miser　fingering　his　gold。　There　wasn't　a　magazine　or　newspaper　in　the　world　that　wouldn't　kill　to　get　these　pictures。　　All　these　years　the　bastards　had　rejected　his　photographs　with　their　insulting　little　notes。
　〃Thank　you　for　submitting　the　photos　that　we　are　herewith　returning。　They　do　not　fit　our　present　needs。〃　　And：　〃Thank　you　for　your　submission。　　They　are　too　similar　to　pictures　we　have　already　printed。〃　Or　simply：　〃We　are　returning　the　photographs　you　sent　us。〃　For　years　he　had　gone　begging　to　the　creeps　for　jobs；　and　now　they　were　going　to　crawl　to　him；　and　he　was　going　to　make　them　pay　through　the　nose。　　He　could　not　wait。　　He　had　to　start　immediately。　　Since　bloody　British　Tele　had　shut　off　his　phone　merely　because　he　happened　to　be　a　few　weeks　late　making　his　last　quarterly　payment；　Mothershed　had　to　go　outside　to　find　a　phone。　　On　an　impulse；　he　decided　to　go　to　Langan's；　the　celebrity　hangout；　and　treat　himself　to　a　much…deserved　lunch。　Langan's　was　well　beyond　his　means；　but　if　there　was　ever　a　time　to　celebrate；　this　was　it。　　Wasn't　he　on　the　verge　of　being　rich　and　famous？
　
　A　maitre　d'　seated　Mothershed　at　a　table　in　a　corner　of　the　restaurant；　and　there；　at　a　booth　not　ten　feet　away；　he　saw　two　familiar　faces。　　He　suddenly　realized　who　they　were；　and　a　little　thrill　ran　through　him。　Michael　Caine　and　Roger　Moore；　in　person！　　He　wished　his　mother　were　still　alive　so　he　could　tell　her　about　it。　　She　had　loved　reading　about　movie　stars。　　The　two　men　were　laughing　and　having　a　good　time；　not　a　care　in　the　world；　and　Mothershed　could　not　help　staring。
　
　Their　glances　moved　past　him。　　Smug　bastards；　Leslie　Mothershed　thought　angrily。　　I　suppose　they　expect　me　to　e　over　and　ask　for　their　autographs。　　Well；　in　a　few　days　they're　going　to　be　asking　for　mine。
　
　They'll　be　falling　all　over　themselves　to　introduce　me　to　their　friends。
　〃Leslie；　I　want　you　to　meet　Charles　and　Di；　and　this　is　Fergie　and　Andrew。　　Leslie；　you　know；　is　the　chap　who　took　those　famous　photos　of　the　UFO。〃
　
　When　Mothershed　finished　his　lunch；　he　walked　past　the　two　stars　and　went　upstairs　to　the　phone　booth。　　Director　Inquiries　gave　him　the　number　of　the　Sun。
　〃I'd　like　to　speak　to　your　Picture　editor。〃　　A　male　voice　came　on　the　line。
　〃Chapman。〃
　〃What　would　it　be　worth　to　you　to　have　photographs　of　a　UFO　with　the　bodies　of　two　aliens　in　it？〃
　
　The　voice　at　the　other　end　of　the　phone　said；　〃If　the　pictures　are　good　enough；　we　might　run　them　as　an　example　of　a　clever　hoax；　andMothershed　said　waspishly；　〃It　so　happens　that　this　is　no　hoax。　　I　have　the　names　of　nine　reputable　witnesses　who　will　testify　that　it's　real；　including　a　priest。〃　　The　man's　tone　changed。
　〃Oh？　　And　where　were　these　pictures　taken？〃
　〃Never　mind；〃　Mothershed　said　cagily。　　He　was　not　going　to　let　them　trick　him　into　giving　away　any　information。
　〃Are　you　interested？〃
　
　The　voice　said　cautiously；　〃If　you　can　prove　that　the　pictures　are　authentic；　yes；　we　would　be　very　interested。〃
　
　Damn　right　you　would；　Mothershed　thought　gleefully。
　〃I'll　get　back　to　you。〃　　He　hung　up。　　The　other　two　phone　calls　were　just　as　satisfactory。　　Mothershed　had　to　admit　to　himself　that　getting　the　names　and　addresses　of　the　witnesses　had　been　a　stroke　of　pure　genius。　　There　was　no　way　now　that　anyone　could　accuse　him　of　trying　to　perpetrate　a　fraud。　　These　pictures　were　going　to　appear　on　the　front　pages　of　every　important　newspaper　and　magazine　in　the　world。
　
　With　my　credit：　Photographs　by　Leslie　Mothershed。
　
　As　Mothershed　left　the　restaurant；　he　could　not　resist　walking　up　to　the　booth　where　the　two　stars　were　seated。
　〃Excuse　me；　I'm　sorry　to　bother　you；　but　would　you　give　me　your　autographs？〃
　
　Roger　Moore　and　Michael　Caine　smiled　up　at　him　pleasantly。　　They　scribbled　their　names　on　pieces　of　paper　and　handed　them　to　the　photographer。
　〃Thank　you。〃
　
　When　Leslie　Mothershed　got　outside；　he　savagely　tore　up　the　autographs　and　threw　them　away。
　
　Screw　them！　　he　thought。　　I'm　more　important　than　they　are。
　
　obert　took　a　taxi　to　Whitechapel。　　They　drove　through　the　City；　the　business　section　of　London；　heading　east　until　they　reached　the　Whitechapel　Road；　the　area　made　infamous　a　century　earlier　by　Jack　the　Ripper。　　Along　the　Whitechapel　Road　were　dozens　of　outside　stalls　selling　everything　from　clothing　to　fresh　vegetables　to　carpets。
　
　As　the　taxi　neared　Mothershed's　address；　the　neighborhood　became　more　and　more　dilapidated。　　Graffiti　was　scrawled　all　over　the　peeling；　brownstone　buildings。　　They　passed　the　Weaver's　Arms　Pub。　　That　would　be　Mothershed's　local；　Robert