el.angeleyes-第62部分

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　〃Daddy！〃　she　had　wailed。　〃Daddy！〃
　But　Noboru　had　already　turned　resolutely　away　as　the　boat　took　him　out　over　the　gray　sea　toward　home。
　Honno　collapsed　at　the　edge　of　the　water；　weeping　uncontrollably。　Then　she　was　aware　of　being　lifted　into　the　air；　and　opening　her　eyes；　saw　to　her　utter　astonishment　that　the　Man　of　One　Tree　had　hefted　her　in　his　arms　as　easily　as　if　she　were　a　sack　of　rice。
　〃Why　do　you　cry；　little　one？〃　he　said。　〃This　is　a　new　beginning　for　you；　a　chance　for　life　instead　of　death。''
　〃I　want　to　go　home！〃　Honno　had　cried。
　〃I　understand；〃　the　Man　of　One　Tree　had　said。　〃Home　is　where　I　am　taking　you。''
　It　took　Honno　less　than　a　year　to　think　of　the　island　as　home；　but　then　children　are　so　much　more　adaptable　than　adults。　No…boru；　for　instance；　would　never　have　been　able　to　make　the　adjustment。
　The　thing　about　the　Man　of　One　Tree　was　that　he　was　so　interesting。　Even　when　Honno　could　not　quite　grasp　everything　he　said；　she　filed　it　away；　to　ponder　over　late　at　night　when　she　was　alone；　staring　up　at　the　stars　glittering　through　the　overarching　branches　of　the　One　Tree。
　And　that　was　another　thing　that　surprised　her。　She　enjoyed　being　alone；　having　time　to　listen　to　the　rhythm　of　the　surf　on　the　rocks；　the　crying　of　the　terns　and　gulls；　the　rising　and　falling　whisper　of　the　sea　wind　through　the　tangle　of　the　One　Tree；　the　ticking　of　her　own　mind。
　〃Thought　takes　time；〃　the　Man　of　One　Tree　had　told　her　early　on　in　her　stay。　〃And　it　takes　effort；　because　you　must　decide　which　thoughts　will　improve　you；　which　will　impair　you。　You　must　think　of　your　mind　as　a　garden　that　needs　constant　attention。　You　must　study　and　discuss　your　studies　to　feed　it；　you　must　regularly　seek　the　silence　and　isolation　essential　for　periodic　weeding。〃
　Honno　used　the　stars　as　her　focus。　They　were　so　far　away　that　even　her　wa；　which　each　day　she　and　the　Man　of　One　Tree　worked　to　expand；　could　never　reach　them。　But　stretching　over　such　a　distance　allowed　for　the　deepest　weeding。
　In　the　night；　Honno　recalled　her　lessons　for　the　day；　turning　them　over　and　over；　as　if　they　were　jewels　of　great　value　which　she　must　observe　from　every　facet。
　In　this　manner　she　absorbed　everything　she　was　taught。　She　proved　to　be　an　extraordinary　pupil。　Her　memory　was　prodigious；　and　as　long　as　her　interest　was　piqued；　she　never　grew　tired　or　unresponsive。
　The　Man　of　One　Tree　instructed　her　in　the　basics　of　Zen　and　Shinto；　for　he　felt　strongly　that　religion　was　the　backbone　of　any　successful　education。　From　there　he　moved　outward　in　what　he　saw　as　concentric　circles　to　the　Tao　and　the　philosophy　of　Lao…tse。　Now　came　the　warlike；　more　secular　philosophies　of　the　master　strategist；　Sun　Tzu；　and　the　master　swordsman；　Miya…moto　Musashi。　Concurrent　with　these　mental　studies　were　the　physical　exercises：　tai　chi；　jiujutsu；　aikido；　karate；　kenjutsu。
　One　might　think　of　this　as　a　rather　traditional　curriculum；　and　it　was：　for　a　young　boy　studying　the　martial　arts。　It　was　totally　unconventional　for　a　female。　In　addition；　the　Man　of　One　Tree　added　to　Honno's　studies　the　somewhat　more　esoteric　philosophies　and　physical　disciplines　he　had　acquired　during　his　years　crisscrossing　the　Indonesian　archipelago。
　〃You　will　never　be　a　woman　in　the　traditional　sense；〃　the　Man　of　One　Tree　said　to　Honno　one　night。　It　was　six　years　since　she　had　e　to　live　with　him。　She　had　breasts　now；　and　the　place　between　her　thighs　was　covered　with　fine　black　hair。　She　had　bled　for　the　first　time　that　evening；　just　as　the　sun　was　sinking　with　the　colors　of　a　peacock　into　the　turbulent　ocean。
　She　had　known　what　the　blood　flow　was；　and　what　it　meant。　But　some　other　part　of　her；　the　hinoeuma　child　hanging　on；　had　remembered　the　horror　of　her　mother's　dream；　how　she　had　squatted　in　the　snow　and；　under　the　baleful　gaze　of　the　starving　stoat；　had　squirted　blood。
　〃I　am　still　hinoeuma；〃　she　had　said　in　despair　to　the　Man　of　One　Tree。　She　was　trembling；　and　her　callused　hands　were　rough　and　red　from　scrubbing　herself。　〃I　am　still　unclean。〃
　To　which　he　had　replied；　〃You　will　never　be　a　woman　in　the　traditional　sense。''　He　took　her　to　the　center　of　the　One　Tree；　where　its　trunk　was　as　large　as　a　house；　where　even　the　stars　could　not　be　seen；　and　sat　her　down　with　her　back　to　the　rough　bark。　''But　that　is　all　to　the　good。　I　have　done　my　best　to　cleanse　your　spirit。　Never　mind　your　body；　it　will　only　betray　you。''
　〃It　will　never　betray　me；〃　Honno　had　said　naively。
　He　spread　his　arms　wide。　''When　you　return　to　the　mainland；　all　this　will　fade　in　time。〃
　〃No；　no！〃
　〃It　will　e　to　seem　as　a　dream；〃　the　Man　of　One　Tree　persisted。　〃That　is　only　natural；　it　is　the　way　of　life。　You　will　continue　to　mature　until　you　bee　a　woman。　Then　will　your　body　betray　you；　and　you　will　want　what　every　woman　wants：　a　husband；　a　family；　a　home。
　〃But　your　path　leads　in　other　directions。　For　you；　normality　will　bring　to　the　fore　your　hinoeuma；　and　only　evil　can　ensue。　Therefore；　I　counsel　you　to　be　strong　within　yourself。　When　you　feel　the　urge　to　fall　in　love；　to　marry；　return　to　that　place　in　your　spirit　I　have　taught　you　to　find；　for　only　this　will　nurture　you；　and　protect　you　from　the　fate　of　the　hinoeuma；　the　husband　killer。〃
　Honno；　opening　her　eyes　in　the　present；　stared　out　into　pale　sunlight；　except　she　was　still　seeing　the　body　of　the　young　man　whose　larynx　she　had　crushed。　Had　it　been　only　hours　ago？　It　felt　like　years。
　But；　yes；　it　must　be　only　hours。　In　her　mind's　eye　she　could　still　see　his　blood　fresh　on　her　hands；　and　behind　her　Big　Ezoe　saying；　almost　gently；　〃Mrs。　Kansei；　I　have　the　Sakata　ledgers　and　their　decoded　pages。　It's　time　to　go。〃
　Now　Irina　and　Natasha　Mayakova　went　to　dinner　almost　every　night。　Even　on　those　days　when　she　wasn't　attending　Natasha's　acting　classes　in　the　back　of　the　new　Moscow　Arts　Theater；　Irina　met　Natasha　after　her　performance　of　Three　Sisters。
　Often；　in　fact；　they　did　not　have　a　proper　dinner；　they　preferred　to　stroll　through　the　streets　and　parks；　talking；　endlessly　talking。　They　would　stop；　eventually；　for　a　bowl　of　cabbage　soup　in　some　tiny　neighborhood　shop　filled　with　steam　and　gossip；　then　move　on；　drifting　through　their　city；　a　part　of　it　yet　somehow　apart；　creating　their　own　world。
　Now　more　than　ever　Irina　was　burning　with　curiosity　about　Natasha's　relationship　with　Valeri。　She　could　not　be　seeing　him　at　night；　unless　they　met　very　late；　and　as　Irina　was　ing　to　understand；　an　actor　could　allow　neither　drunken　days　nor　sleepless　nights　while　she　was　working。
　At　the　same　time；　Irina　found　herself　feeling　guilty　at　having　lied　to　Natasha　about　her　name。　It　was　no　longer　exciting　to　hear　Natasha　call　her　by　the　name　of　Katya　Boroskaya；　instead　she　longed　to　be　called　by　her　real　name。　Yet　she　could　think　of　no　way　to　tell　Natasha　that　her　name　was　Irina　Ponomareva。　What　excuse　could　she　give　for　her　falsehood？　Besides；　despite　her　growing　friendship　with　Natasha；　she　was　loath　to　give　up　her　reason　for　contacting　her　in　the　first　place：　to　find　the　link　with　Valeri。
　It　was　so　incredibly　wearying　to　be　a　spy　and　to　be　feeling　close　to　the　person　on　whom　you　were　spying。　Often；　on　their　walks；　Irina　forgot　why　she　was　there　and；　for　a　brief　time；　would　luxuriate　in　her　newfound　friendship。　Then　reality　would　intrude　and　in　some　subtle　way　that　disturbed　and　depressed　her；　she　would　withdraw　from　the　shared　intimacy　with　Natasha。
　At　night　in　bed；　alone；　Irina　would　think　of　her　relationship　with　Natasha。　It　seemed　terribly　unfair　that　her　one　chance　at　true　friendship　should　be　tainted；　so　distorted　by　lies　and　deceit。
　Her　nights　with　Valeri　became　more　fevered；　fueled　by　a　kind　of　desperation　pulled　from　Irina's　very　core。　Their　lovemaking　was　increasingly　wild；　animalistic；　exhausting；　so　that　afterward　Irina　would　plunge　into　the　most　absolute　slumber；　from　which　Valeri　was　obliged　to　shake　her　awake　in　the　morning。
　Then；　over　his　protestations；　she　would　climb　upon　his　naked　body；　spread　her　legs　across　his　loins；　moving　until　she　felt　his　response；　then　engulf　him　with　her　mouth　until　he　arched　off　the　bed；　exploding。
　In　an　orgy　of　self…destruction；　she　could　no　longer　tell　the　difference　between　lust　and　love。　And　Valeri's　groans　of　sexual　arousal　and　release　would　haunt　her　all　day；　echoing　in　her　ears　while　she　watched　him　talking　intimately　with　Natasha　Mayakova；　until　tears　of　hatred　and　self…pity　clouded　her　eyes。
　Irina；　Irina；　Irina。　She　would　recite　her　name　silently　as　if　it　were　a　prayer　or　an　enchantment　that　would　ensure　she　remembered　who　she　really　was。　The　trouble　was；　she　no　longer　knew　who　Irina　Ponomareva　was。　Somewhere　along　the　line　her　identity；　her　self；　had　been　misplaced　or　covered　over　so　thoroughly　that　she　had　forgotten　where　to　look　for　it。
　At　Mars's　apartment；　after　he　fell　asleep　after　their　tepid　love…making；　she　would　stare　at　the　ceiling　and；　before　she　herself　fell　into　a　shallow；　troubled　sleep；　she　would　promise　herself　that　tomorrow　would　be　the　day　when　she　would　confess　everything　to　Natasha；　so　that　they　would　have　an　opportunity　to　start　all　over。
　But　she　awoke　each　morning　knowing　that　she　could　never　go　through　with　it。　What　was　done　was　done。　She　could　never　go　back；　sanitize　the　emotions　that　were　sure　to　be　raised　by　the　truth。　Would　Natasha　forgive　her　for　using　her；　or　would　she　never　want　to　see　her　again？　With　a　profound　sense　of　foreboding；　Irina　knew　that　she　could　not　take　the　chance　to　find　out。　Her　relationship　with　Natasha　was　already　too　precious　for　her　to　jeopardize　it　in　any　way。
　And　yet　she　knew　that　she　was　jeopardizing　it　every　time　she　and　Natasha　were　together；　when　there　was　a　possibility　that　she　might　slip　or　that　someone　she　knew　would　recognize　her　and　use　her　real　name。　Worse；　she　suspected　that　she　hated　Natasha　as　much　as　she　cared　for　her；　despised　her　for　her　relationship　with　Valeri；　the　unknown　nature　of　which　Irina　found　increasingly　maddening。
　Irina　had　begun　to　experience　an　odd　sense　of　fragmentation；　as　if　her　life　had　been　an　eggshell　that　had　abruptly　been　struck　against　a　stone；　turned　into　jagged　bits；　all　with　their　own　structure；　but　each　with　far　less　than　the　whole。　Some　essential　truth　was　missing；　and　had