ib.thewaspfactory-第21部分

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hat　I　did　seem　to　enjoy　annoying　Old　Saul；　the　bandy…legged　and　ancient　white　bulldog　my　father　kept…I'm　told…because　it　was　so　ugly　and　it　didn't　like　women。　It　didn't　like　motorbikes；　either；　and　had　gone　wild　when　Agnes　first　arrived；　barking　and　attacking。　Agnes　kicked　it　across　the　garden　and　it　ran　off　yelping　into　the　dunes；　only　reappearing　once　Agnes　was　safely　out　of　the　way；　confined　to　bed。　Mrs　Clamp　maintains　that　my　father　ought　to　have　put　the　dog　down　years　before　all　this　happened；　but　I　think　the　wet…jowled；　yellow…bleary…eyed；　fishy…smelling　old　hound　must　have　worked　on　his　sympathy　just　by　being　so　repulsive。
　　
　　Agnes　duly　went　into　labour　about　lunch…time　one　hot　still　day；　pouring　sweat　and　Omming　to　herself　while　my　father　boiled　lots　of　water　and　things　and　Mrs　Clamp　dabbed　Agnes's　brow　and　like　as　not　told　her　of　all　the　women　she'd　known　who　had　died　in　childbirth。　I　played　outside；　running　around　in　a　pair　of　shorts　and…I　imagine…quite　happy　to　have　the　whole　pregnancy　thing　going　on　because　it　gave　me　more　freedom　to　do　as　I　liked　about　the　house　and　garden；　free　from　my　father's　supervision。
　　
　　What　I　ever　did　to　annoy　Old　Saul；　whether　it　was　the　heat　that　made　him　especially　cantankerous；　whether　Agnes　really　had　kicked　him　in　the　head　when　she　arrived；　as　Mrs　Clamp　says…none　of　this　do　I　know。　But　the　little　tousle…headed；　dirty；　tanned；　bold　toddler　that　was　me　might　well　have　been　up　to　some　sort　of　mischief　involving　the　beast。
　　
　　It　happened　in　the　garden；　over　a　piece　of　ground　that　later　became　a　vegetable　patch　when　my　father　went　on　his　health…food　binge。　My　mother　was　heaving　and　grunting；　pushing　and　breathing；　an　hour　or　so　away　from　producing；　and　attended　by　both　Mrs　Clamp　and　my　father；　when　all　three　（or　at　least　two；　I　suppose　Agnes　might　have　been　too　preoccupied）　heard　frenzied　barking　and　one　high；　awful　scream。
　　
　　My　father　rushed　to　the　window；　looked　out　and　down　into　the　garden；　then　shouted　and　ran　out　of　the　room；　leaving　Mrs　Clamp　goggle…eyed；　alone。
　　
　　He　ran　out　into　the　garden　and　picked　me　up。　He　ran　back　into　the　house；　shouted　up　to　Mrs　Clamp；　then　put　me　on　the　table　in　the　kitchen　and　used　some　towels　to　stop　the　bleeding　as　best　he　could。　Mrs　Clamp；　still　ignorant　and　quite　enraged；　appeared　with　the　medicine　he　had　demanded；　then　almost　fainted　when　she　saw　the　mess　between　my　legs。　My　father　took　the　bag　from　her　and　told　her　to　get　back　upstairs　to　my　mother。
　　
　　One　hour　later　I　had　recovered　consciousness；　was　lying　drugged　and　bloodless　in　my　bed；　and　my　father　had　gone　out　with　the　shotgun　he　owned　then　to　look　for　Old　Saul。
　　
　　He　found　him　in　a　couple　of　minutes；　before　he　had　properly　left　the　house。　The　old　dog　was　cowering　by　the　door　of　the　cellar；　down　the　steps　in　the　cool　shadow。　He　whined　and　shivered；　and　my　young　blood　mixed　on　his　slavering　chops　with　gamey　saliva　and　thick　eye…mucus　as　he　girned　and　looked　shakily　and　pleadingly　up　at　my　father；　who　picked　him　up　and　strangled　him。
　　
　　Now；　I　did　eventually　get　my　father　to　tell　me　this；　and；　according　to　him；　it　was　just　as　he　choked　the　last　struggling　life　out　of　the　dog　that　he　heard　another　scream；　this　time　from　above；　and　inside　the　house；　and　that　was　the　boy　they　called　Paul　being　born。　What　sort　of　twisted　thoughts　went　through　my　father's　brain　at　the　time　to　make　him　choose　such　a　name　for　the　child　I　cannot　start　to　imagine；　but　that　was　the　name　Angus　chose　for　his　new　son。　He　had　to　choose　it　by　himself　because　Agnes　didn't　stay　long。　She　spent　two　days　recovering；　expressed　shock　and　horror　at　what　had　happened　to　me；　then　got　on　her　bike　and　roared　off。　My　father　tried　to　stop　her　by　standing　in　her　way；　so　she　ran　him　over　and　broke　his　leg　quite　badly；　on　the　path　before　the　bridge。
　　
　　Thus　it　was　that　Mrs　Clamp　found　herself　looking　after　my　father　while　he　insisted　on　looking　after　me。　He　still　refused　to　let　the　old　woman　call　in　any　other　doctor；　and　set　his　own　leg；　though　not　quite　perfectly；　hence　the　limp。　Mrs　Clamp　had　to　take　the　newly　born　child　into　the　local　cottage　hospital　the　day　after　Paul's　mother　left。　My　father　protested　but；　as　Mrs　Clamp　pointed　out；　it　was　quite　enough　to　have　to　look　after　two　invalids　in　the　one　house　without　having　an　infant　needing　constant　care　as　well。
　　
　　So　that　was　my　mother's　last　visit　to　the　island　and　the　house。　She　left　one　dead；　one　born　and　two　crippled　for　life；　one　way　or　the　other。　N　ot　a　bad　score　for　a　fortnight　in　the　summer　of　groovy　and　psychedelic　love；　peace　and　general　niceness。
　　
　　Old　Saul　ended　up　buried　in　the　slope　behind　the　house；　in　what　later　I　called　the　Skull　Grounds。　My　father　claims　that　he　cut　the　animal　open　and　found　my　tiny　genitals　in　its　stomach；　but　I　never　did　get　him　to　tell　me　what　he　did　with　them。
　　
　　Paul；　of　course；　was　Saul。　That　enemy　was…must　have　been…cunning　enough　to　transfer　to　the　boy。　That　was　why　my　father　chose　such　a　name　for　my　new　brother。　It　was　just　lucky　that　I　spotted　it　in　time　and　did　something　about　it　at　such　an　early　age；　or　God　knows　what　the　child　might　have　turned　into；　with　Saul's　soul　possessing　him。　But　luck；　the　storm　and　I　introduced　him　to　the　Bomb；　and　that　settled　his　game。
　　
　　As　for　the　little　animals；　the　gerbils；　white　mice　and　hamsters；　they　had　to　die　their　muddy　little　ploppy　deaths　so　that　I　could　get　to　the　Skull　of　Old　Saul。　I　catapulted　the　tiny　beasts　across　the　creek　and　into　the　mud　on　the　far　side　so　that　I　could　have　funerals。　My　father　would　never　have　let　me　start　digging　up　our　graveyard　for　family　pets　otherwise；　so　off　they　had　to　go；　departing　this　life　in　the　rather　undignified　garb　of　half　a　badminton　shuttlecock。　I　used　to　buy　the　shuttlecocks　in　the　town　toy　and　sports　shop　and　cut　the　rubber　end　off；　then　squeeze　the　protesting　guinea…pig　（I　did　use　one　once；　just　on　principle；　but　as　a　rule　they　were　too　expensive　and　a　little　too　big）　up　through　the　funnel　of　plastic　until　it　sat　round　their　waist　like　a　little　dress。　Thus　flighted；　I　sent　them　shooting　out　over　the　mud　and　the　water　towards　their　suffocating　ends；　then　I　buried　them；　using　as　coffins　the　big　matchboxes　we　always　kept　by　the　stove；　and　which　I　had　been　saving　for　years　and　using　as　toy…soldier　containers；　model　houses　and　so　on。
　　
　　I　told　my　father　I　was　trying　to　get　them　over　to　the　far　side；　to　the　mainland；　and　that　the　ones　I　had　to　bury；　the　ones　which　fell　short；　were　victims　of　scientific　research；　but　I　doubt　I　really　needed　this　excuse；　my　father　never　seemed　bothered　about　the　suffering　of　lower　forms　of　life；　despite　having　been　a　hippy；　and　perhaps　because　of　his　medical　training。
　　
　　I　kept　a　log；　naturally；　and　therefore　have　it　recorded　that　it　took　no　less　than　thirty…seven　of　these　supposed　flight　experiments　before　my　trusty　long…handled　trowel；　in　biting　the　Skull　Grounds'　earth　skin；　struck　something　harder　than　the　sandy　soil；　and　I　finally　knew　where　the　dog's　bones　were。
　　
　　It　would　have　been　nice　if　it　had　been　a　decade　to　the　day　since　the　dog　died　that　I　exhumed　its　skull；　but　in　fact　I　was　a　few　months　late。　Nevertheless；　the　Year　of　the　Skull　ended　with　my　old　enemy　in　my　power；　the　bone　jug　pulled　from　the　ground　like　a　very　rotten　tooth　indeed　one　suitably　dark　and　stormy　night；　by　torchlight　and　Stoutstroke　the　trowel　while　my　father　was　sleeping　and　I　should　have　been；　and　the　heavens　shook　with　thunder；　rain　and　gale。
　　
　　I　was　shaking　by　the　time　I　got　the　thing　to　the　Bunker；　nearly　frightening　myself　to　death　with　my　paranoid　imaginings；　but　I　prevailed；　I　took　the　filthy　skull　there　and　I　cleaned　it　and　stuck　a　candle　in　it　and　I　surrounded　it　with　heavy　magic；　important　things；　and　got　back　cold　and　wet　to　my　warm　little　bed　safely。
　　
　　So；　all　things　considered；　I　think　I　have　done　all　right；　handled　my　problem　as　well　as　it　could　have　been　handled。　My　enemy　is　twice　dead；　and　I　still　have　him。　I　am　not　a　full　man；　and　nothing　can　ever　alter　that；　but　I　am　me；　and　I　regard　that　as　pensation　enough。
　　
　　This　burning　dogs　stuff　is　just　nonsense。
　　
　　
　　　7：　Space　Invaders
　　
　　
　　BEFORE　I　realised　the　birds　were　my　occasional　allies；　I　used　to　do　unkind　things　to　them：　fish　for　them；　shoot　them；　tie　them　to　stakes　at　low　tide；　put　electrically　detonated　bombs　under　their　nests；　and　so　on。
　　
　　My　favourite　game　was　capturing　two　using　bait　and　a　net；　then　tying　them　together。　Usually　they　were　gulls　and　I　tied　thick　orange　nylon　fishing…line　to　a　leg　each；　then　sat　on　a　dune　and　watched。　Sometimes　I　would　have　a　gull　and　a　crow　but；　whether　they　were　the　same　species　or　not；　they　quickly　found　out　they　couldn't　fly　properly…though　the　twine　was　long　enough　in　theory…and　ended　up　（after　a　few　hilariously　clumsy　aerobatics）　fighting。
　　
　　With　one　dead；　though；　the　survivor…usually　injured　wasn't　really　any　better　off；　attached　to　a　heavy　corpse　instead　of　a　live　opponent。　I　have　seen　a　couple　of　determined　ones　peck　the　leg　off　their　defeated　adversary；　but　most　were　unable；　or　didn't　think　of　it；　and　got　caught　by　the　rats　during　the　night。
　　
　　I　had　other　games；　but　that　one　always　struck　me　as　one　of　my　more　mature　inventions；　symbolic　somehow；　and　with　a　nice　blend　of　callousness　and　irony。
　　
　　One　of　the　birds　shat　on　Gravel　as　I　pedalled　up　the　path　to　town　on　the　Tuesday　morning。　I　stopped；　glared　up　at　the　wheeling　gulls　and　a　couple　of　thrushes；　then　got　some　grass　and　wiped　the　yellow…white　mess　off　the　front　guard。　It　was　a　bright；　sunny　day　and　a　light　breeze　blew。　The　forecast　for　the　next　few　days　was　good；　and　I　hoped　the　fine　weather　held　for　Eric's　arrival。
　　
　　I　met　Jamie　in　the　lounge　bar　of　the　Cauldhame　Arms　for　lunch　and　we　sat　playing　an　electronic　game　over　a　TV　table。
　　
　　'If　he's　that　crazy；　I　don't　know　why　they　haven't　caught　him　yet；'　Jamie　said。
　　
　　'I've　told　you；　he's　crazy　but　he's　very　cunning。　He's　not　stupid。　He　was　always　very　bright；　right　from　the　start。　He　was　reading　early　and　getting　all　his　relations　and　uncles　and　aunts　to　say　〃Och；　they're　old　so　young　these　days〃　and　things　like　that　b