ib.thewaspfactory-第13部分

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d　my　mother　let　them　take　him　because　she　didn't　like　children　in　general　and　Eric　in　particular；　she　thought　he　was　bad　for　her　karma　in　some　way。　Probably　the　same　dislike　of　children　led　her　to　desert　me　immediately　after　my　birth；　and　also　caused　her　only　to　return　on　that　one；　fateful　occasion　when　she　was　at　least　partly　responsible　for　my　little　accident。　All　in　all；　I　think　I　have　good　reason　to　hate　her。　I　lay　there　in　the　Bomb　Circle　where　I　killed　her　other　son；　and　I　hoped　that　she　was　dead；　too。
　　
　　I　went　back　at　a　slow　run；　glowing　with　energy　and　feeling　even　better　than　I　had　at　the　start　of　the　Run。　I　was　already　looking　forward　to　going　out　in　the　evening…a　few　drinks　and　a　chat　to　Jamie；　my　friend；　and　some　sweaty；　ear…ringing　music　at　the　Arms。　I　did　one　short　sprint；　just　to　shake　my　head　as　I　ran　and　get　some　of　the　sand　out　of　my　hair；　then　relaxed　to　a　trot　once　more。
　　
　　The　rocks　of　the　Bomb　Circle　usually　get　me　thinking　and　this　time　was　no　exception；　especially　considering　the　way　I'd　lain　down　inside　them　like　some　Christ　or　something；　opened　to　the　sky；　dreaming　of　death。　Well；　Paul　went　about　as　quickly　as　you　can　go；　I　was　certainly　humane　that　time。　Blyth　had　lots　of　time　to　realise　what　was　happening；　jumping　about　the　Snake　Park　screaming　as　the　frantic　and　enraged　snake　bit　his　stump　repeatedly；　and　little　Esmerelda　must　have　had　some　inkling　what　was　going　to　happen　to　her　as　she　was　slowly　blown　away。
　　
　　My　brother　Paul　was　five　when　I　killed　him。　I　was　eight。　It　was　over　two　years　after　I　had　subtracted　Blyth　with　an　adder　that　I　found　an　opportunity　to　get　rid　of　Paul。　Not　that　I　bore　him　any　personal　ill…will；　it　was　simply　that　I　knew　he　couldn't　stay。　I　knew　I'd　never　be　free　of　the　dog　until　he　was　gone　（Eric；　poor　well…meaning　bright　but　ignorant　Eric；　thought　I　still　wasn't；　and　I　just　couldn't　tell　him　why　I　knew　I　was）。
　　
　　Paul　and　I　had　gone　for　a　walk　along　the　sand；　northwards　on　a　calm；　bright　autumn　day　after　a　ferocious　storm　the　night　before　that　had　ripped　slates　off　the　roof　of　the　house；　torn　up　one　of　the　trees　by　the　old　sheep…pen　and　even　snapped　one　of　the　cables　on　the　suspension　foot…bridge。　Father　got　Eric　to　help　him　with　the　clearing…up　and　repairs　while　I　took　myself　and　Paul　out　from　under　their　feet。
　　
　　I　always　got　on　well　with　Paul。　Perhaps　because　I　knew　from　an　early　age　that　he　was　not　long　for　this　world；　I　tried　to　make　his　time　in　it　as　pleasant　as　possible；　and　thus　ended　up　treating　him　far　better　than　most　young　boys　treat　their　younger　brothers。
　　
　　We　saw　that　the　storm　had　changed　a　lot　of　things　as　soon　as　we　came　to　the　river　that　marks　the　end　of　the　island；　it　had　swollen　hugely；　carving　immense　channels　out　of　the　sand；　great　surging　brown　trenches　of　water　streaming　by　and　tearing　lumps　from　the　banks　continually　and　sweeping　them　away。　We　had　to　walk　right　down　almost　to　the　sea　at　its　low…tide　limit　before　we　could　get　across。　We　went　on；　me　holding　Paul　by　the　hand；　no　malice　in　my　heart。　Paul　was　singing　to　himself　and　asking　questions　of　the　type　children　tend　to；　such　as　why　weren't　the　birds　all　blown　away　during　the　storm；　and　why　didn't　the　sea　fill　up　with　water　with　the　stream　going　so　hard？
　　
　　As　we　walked　along　the　sand　in　the　quietness；　stopping　to　look　at　all　the　interesting　things　which　had　been　washed　up；　the　beach　gradually　disappeared。　Where　the　sand　had　stretched　in　an　unbroken　line　of　gold　towards　the　horizon；　now　we　saw　more　and　more　rock　exposed　the　farther　up　the　strand　we　looked；　until　in　the　distance　the　dunes　faced　a　shore　of　pure　stone。　The　storm　had　swept　all　the　sand　away　during　the　night；　starting　just　past　the　river　and　continuing　farther　than　the　places　I　had　names　for　or　had　ever　seen。　It　was　an　impressive　sight；　and　one　that　frightened　me　a　little　at　first；　just　because　it　was　such　a　huge　change　and　I　was　worried　that　it　might　happen　to　the　island　sometime。　I　remembered；　however；　that　my　father　had　told　me　of　this　sort　of　thing　happening　in　the　past；　and　the　sands　had　always　returned　over　the　following　few　weeks　and　months。
　　
　　Paul　had　great　fun　running　and　jumping　from　rock　to　rock　and　throwing　stones　into　pools　between　the　rocks。　Rock　pools　were　something　of　a　novelty　for　him。　We　went　farther　up　the　wasted　beach；　still　finding　interesting　pieces　of　flotsam　and　finally　ing　to　the　rusted　remnant　I　thought　was　a　water…tank　or　a　half…buried　canoe；　from　a　distance。　It　stuck　out　of　a　patch　of　sand；　jutting　at　a　steep　angle；　about　a　metre　and　a　half　of　it　exposed。　Paul　was　trying　to　catch　fish　in　a　pool　as　I　looked　at　the　thing。
　　
　　I　touched　the　side　of　the　tapered　cylinder　wonderingly；　feeling　something　very　calm　and　strong　about　it；　though　I　didn't　know　why。　Then　I　stepped　back　and　looked　again　at　it。　Its　shape　became　clear；　and　I　could　then　guess　roughly　how　much　of　it　must　still　be　buried　under　the　sand。　It　was　a　bomb；　stood　on　its　tail。
　　
　　I　went　back　to　it　carefully；　stroking　it　gently　and　making　shushing　noises　with　my　mouth。　It　was　rust…red　and　black　with　its　rotund　decay；　smelling　dank　and　casting　a　shellshadow。　I　followed　the　line　of　the　shadow　along　the　sand；　over　the　rocks；　and　found　myself　looking　at　little　Paul；　splashing　happily　about　in　a　pool；　slapping　the　water　with　a　great　flat　bit　of　wood　almost　as　big　as　he　was。　I　smiled；　called　him　over。
　　
　　'See　this？'　I　said。　It　was　a　rhetorical　question。　Paul　nodded；　big　eyes　staring。　'This'；　I　told　him；　'is　a　bell。　Like　the　ones　in　the　church　in　the　town。　The　noise　we　hear　on　a　Sunday；　you　know？'
　　
　　'Yes。　Just　after　brekast；　Frank？'
　　
　　'What？'
　　
　　'The　noise　jus　affer　Sunday　brekast；　Frank。'　Paul　hit　me　lightly　on　the　knee　with　a　podgy　hand。
　　
　　I　nodded。　'Yes；　that's　right。　Bells　make　that　noise。　They're　great　big　hollow　bits　of　metal　filled　up　with　noises　and　they　let　the　noises　out　on　Sunday　mornings　after　breakfast。　That's　what　this　is。'
　　
　　'A　brekast？'　Paul　looked　up　at　me　with　mightily　furrowed　little　brows。　I　shook　my　head　patiently。
　　
　　'No。　A　bell。'
　　
　　'〃B　is　for　Bell；〃'　Paul　said　quietly；　nodding　to　himself　and　staring　at　the　rusting　device。　Probably　remembering　an　old　nursery…book。　He　was　a　bright　child；　my　father　intended　to　send　him　off　to　school　properly　when　the　time　came；　and　had　already　started　him　learning　the　alphabet。
　　
　　'That's　right。　Well；　this　old　bell　must　have　fallen　off　a　ship；　or　perhaps　it　got　washed　out　here　in　a　flood。　I　know　what　we'll　do；　I'll　go　up　on　the　dunes　and　you　hit　the　bell　with　your　bit　of　wood　and　we'll　see　if　I　can　hear　it。　Will　we　do　that？　Would　you　like　that？　It'll　be　very　loud　and　you　might　get　frightened。'　I　stooped　down　to　put　my　face　level　with　his。　He　shook　his　head　violently　and　stuck　his　nose　against　mine。　'No！　Won't　get　frigh'　end！'　he　shouted。　'I'll…'
　　
　　He　was　about　to　skip　past　me　and　hit　the　bomb　with　the　piece　of　wood…he　had　already　raised　it　above　his　head　and　made　the　lunge…when　I　reached　out　and　caught　him　round　the　waist。
　　
　　'Not　yet；'　I　said。　'Wait　until　I'm　farther　away。　It's　an　old　bell　and　it　might　only　have　one　good　noise　left　in　it。　You　don't　want　to　waste　it；　do　you？'
　　
　　Paul　wriggled；　and　the　look　on　his　face　seemed　to　indicate　that　he　wouldn't　actually　mind　wasting　anything；　just　so　long　as　he　got　to　hit　the　bell　with　his　plank　of　wood。　'Aw…right；'　he　said；　and　stopped　struggling。　I　put　him　down。　'But　can　I　hit　it　really　really　hard？'
　　
　　'As　hard　as　you　possibly　can；　when　I　wave　from　the　top　of　the　dune　over　there。　All　right？'
　　
　　'Can　I　prakiss？'
　　
　　'Practise　by　hitting　the　sand。'
　　
　　'Can　I　hit　the　puddles？'
　　
　　'Yes；　practise　hitting　the　pools　of　water。　That's　a　good　idea。'
　　
　　'Can　I　hit　this　puddle？'　He　pointed　with　the　wood　at　the　circular　sand…pool　around　the　bomb。　I　shook　my　head。
　　
　　'No；　that　might　make　the　bell　angry。'
　　
　　He　frowned。　'Do　bells　get　an'ry？'
　　
　　'Yes；　they　do。　I'm　going　now。　You　hit　the　bell　really　hard　and　I'll　listen　really　hard；　right？'
　　
　　'Yes；　Frank。'
　　
　　'You　won't　hit　the　bell　until　I　wave；　will　you？'
　　
　　He　shook　his　head。　'Pomiss。'
　　
　　'Good。　Won't　be　long。'　I　turned　and　started　to　head　for　the　dunes　at　a　slow　run。　My　back　felt　funny。　I　looked　round　as　I　went；　checking　there　was　nobody　about。　There　were　only　a　few　gulls；　though；　wheeling　in　a　sky　shot　with　ragged　clouds。
　　
　　Over　my　shoulder　when　I　looked　back；　I　saw　Paul。　He　was　still　by　the　bomb；　whacking　the　sand　with　his　plank；　using　both　hands　to　hold　it　and　bringing　it　down　with　all　his　strength；　jumping　up　in　the　air　at　the　same　time　and　yelling。　I　ran　faster；　over　the　rocks　on　to　the　firm　sand；　over　the　driftline　and　on　up　to　the　golden　sand；　slower　and　dry；　then　up　to　the　grass　on　the　nearest　dune。　I　scrambled　to　the　top　and　looked　out　over　the　sand　and　rocks　to　where　Paul　stood；　a　tiny　figure　against　the　reflected　brightness　of　the　pools　and　wet　sands；　overshadowed　by　the　tilted　cone　of　metal　beside　him。　I　stood　up；　waited　until　he　noticed　me；　took　one　last　look　round；　then　waved　my　hands　high　over　my　head　and　threw　myself　flat。
　　
　　While　I　was　lying　there；　waiting；　I　realised　that　I　hadn't　told　Paul　where　to　hit　the　bomb。　Nothing　happened。　I　lay　there　feeling　my　stomach　sinking　slowly　into　the　sand　on　the　top　of　the　dune。　I　sighed　to　myself　and　looked　up。
　　
　　Paul　was　a　distant　puppet；　jerking　and　leaping　and　throwing　back　his　arms　and　whacking　the　bomb　repeatedly　on　the　side。　I　could　just　hear　his　lusty　yells　over　the　whisper　of　the　grass　in　the　wind。　'Shit；'　I　said　to　myself；　and　put　my　hand　under　my　chin　just　as　Paul；　after　a　quick　glance　in　my　direction；　started　to　attack　the　nose　of　the　bomb。　He　had　hit　it　once　and　I　had　taken　my　hand　out　from　under　my　chin　preparatory　to　ducking　when　Paul；　the　bomb　and　its　little　halo…pool　and　everything　else　for　about　ten　metres　around　suddenly　vanished　inside　a　climbing　column　of　sand　and　steam　and　flying　rock；　lit　just　the　once　from　inside；　in　that　blindingly　brief　first　moment；　by　the　high　explosive　detonating。
　　
　　The　rising　tower　of　debris　blossomed　and　drifted；　start