dk.coldfire-第2部分

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chieved　much　in　her　own　career　as　a　journalist　and　needed　to　be　reminded　now　and　then　that　success　was　attainable。　Unfortunately　the　poems　were　jejune；　dismally　sentimental　celebrations　of　the　natural　world　that　read　like　something　written　by　a　Robert　Frost　manque；　then　filtered　through　the　sensibilities　of　a　Hallmark　editor　in　charge　of　developing　saccarine　cards　for　Grandma's　birthday。　
　Nevertheless　Holly　intended　to　write　an　uncritical　piece。　Over　the　years　she　had　known　far　too　many　reporters　who；　because　of　envy　or　bitterness　or　a　misguided　sense　of　moral　superiority；　got　a　kick　out　of　slanting　and　coloring　a　story　to　make　their　subjects　look　foolish。　
　Except　when　dealing　with　exceptionally　vile　criminals　and　politicians；　she　had　never　been　able　to　work　up　enough　hatred　to　write　that　way…which　was　one　reason　her　career　spiral　had　spun　her　down　through　three　major　newspapers　in　three　large　cities　to　her　current　position　in　the　more　humble　offices　of　the　Portland　Press。　Biased　journalism　was　often　more　colorful　than　balanced　reporting；　sold　more　papers；　and　was　more　widely　mented　upon　and　admired。　But　though　she　rapidly　came　to　dislike　Louise　Tarvohl　even　more　than　the　woman's　bad　poetry；　she　could　work　up　no　enthusiasm　for　a　hatchet　job。　
　〃Only　in　the　wilderness　am　I　alive；　far　from　the　sights　and　sounds　of　civilization；　where　I　can　hear　the　voices　of　nature　in　the　trees；　in　the　brush；　in　the　lonely　ponds；　in　the　dirt。〃　
　Voices　in　the　dirt？　Holly　thought；　and　almost　laughed。　
　She　liked　the　way　Louise　looked：　hardy；　robust；　vital；　alive。　The　woman　was　thirty…five；　Holly's　senior　by　two　years；　although　she　appeared　ten　years　older。　The　crow's…feet　around　her　eyes　and　mouth；　her　deep　laugh　lines；　and　her　leathery　sun…browned　skin　pegged　her　as　an　outdoors　woman。　Her　sun…bleached　hair　was　pulled　back　in　a　ponytail；　and　she　wore　jeans　and　a　checkered　blue　shirt。　
　〃There　is　a　purity　in　forest　mud；〃　Louise　insisted；　〃that　can't　be　matched　in　the　most　thoroughly　scrubbed　and　sterilized　hospital　surgery。〃　
　She　tilted　her　face　back　for　a　moment　to　bask　in　the　warm　sunfall。　
　〃The　purity　of　the　natural　world　cleanses　your　soul。　From　that　renewed　purity　of　soul　es　the　sublime　vapor　of　great　poetry。〃　
　〃Sublime　vapor？〃　Holly　said；　as　if　she　wanted　to　be　sure　that　her　tape　recorder　would　correctly　register　every　golden　phrase。　
　〃Sublime　vapor；〃　Louise　repeated；　and　smiled。　
　The　inner　Louise　was　the　Louise　that　offended　Holly。　She　had　cultivated　an　otherworldly　quality；　like　a　spectral　projection；　more　surface　than　substance。　Her　opinions　and　attitudes　were　insubstantial；　based　less　on　facts　and　insights　than　on　whims…iron　whims；　but　whims　nonetheless…and　she　expressed　them　in　language　that　was　flamboyant　but　imprecise；　overù　blown　but　empty。　
　Holly　was　something　of　an　environmentalist　herself；　and　she　was　dismayed　to　discover　that　she　and　Louise　fetched　up　on　the　same　side　of　some　issues。　It　was　unnerving　to　have　allies　who　struck　you　as　goofy；　it　made　your　own　opinions　seem　suspect。　
　Louise　leaned　forward　on　the　picnic　bench；　folding　her　arms　on　the　redwood　table。　〃The　earth　is　a　living　thing。　It　could　talk　to　us　if　we　were　worth　talking　to；　could　just　open　a　mouth　in　any　rock　or　plant　or　pond　and　talk　as　easily　as　I'm　talking　to　you。〃　
　〃What　an　exciting　concept；〃　Holly　said。　
　〃Human　beings　are　nothing　more　than　lice。〃　
　〃Lice？〃　〃Lice　crawling　over　the　living　earth；〃　Louise　said　dreamily。　
　Holly　said；　〃I　hadn't　thought　of　it　that　way。〃　
　〃God　is　not　only　in　each　butterflyGod　is　each　butterFly；　each　bird；　each　rabbit；　every　wild　thing。　I　would　sacrifice　a　million　human　lives…ten　million　and　more！…if　it　meant　saving　one　innocent　family　of　weasels；　because　God　is　each　of　those　weasels。〃　
　As　if　moved　by　the　woman's　rhetoric；　as　if　she　didn't　think　it　was　ecofascism；　Holly　said；　〃I　give　as　much　as　I　can　every　year　to　the　Nature　Conservancy；　and　I　think　of　myself　as　an　environmentalist；　but　I　see　that　my　consciousness　hasn't　been　raised　as　far　as　yours。〃　
　The　poet　did　not　hear　the　sarcasm　and　reached　across　the　table　to　squeeze　Holly's　hand。　〃Don't　worry；　dear。　You'll　get　there。　I　sense　an　aura　of　great　spiritual　potentiality　around　you。〃　
　〃Help　me　to　understand。　。　。　。　God　is　butterflies　and　rabbits　and　every　living　thing；　and　God　is　rocks　and　dirt　and　water　but　God　isn't　us？〃　〃No。　Because　of　our　one　unnatural　quality。〃　
　〃Which　is？〃　〃Intelligence。〃　
　Holly　blinked　in　surprise。　〃Intelligence　is　unnatural？〃　〃A　high　degree　of　intelligence；　yes。　It　exists　in　no　other　creatures　in　the　natural　world。　That's　why　nature　shuns　us；　and　why　we　subconsciously　hate　her　and　seek　to　obliterate　her。　High　intelligence　leads　to　the　concept　of　progress。　Progress　leads　to　nuclear　weapons；　bio…engineering；　chaos；　and　ultimately　to　annihilation。〃　
　〃God。　。　。　or　natural　evolution　didn't　give　us　our　intelligence？〃　〃It　was　an　unanticipated　mutation。　We're　mutants；　that's　all。　
　Monsters。〃　
　Holly　said；　〃Then　the　less　intelligence　a　creature　exhibits。　。　。〃　
　〃。　。　。　the　more　natural　it　is；〃　Louise　finished　for　her。　
　Holly　nodded　thoughtfully；　as　if　seriously　considering　the　bizarre　proposition　that　a　dumber　world　was　a　better　world；　but　she　was　really　thinking　that　she　could　not　write　this　story　after　all。　She　found　Louise　Tarvohl　so　preposterous　that　she　could　not　pose　a　favorable　article　and　still　hang　on　to　her　integrity。　At　the　same　time；　she　had　no　heart　for　making　a　fool　of　the　woman　in　print。　Holly's　problem　was　not　her　deep　and　abiding　cynicism　but　her　soft　heart；　no　creature　on　earth　was　more　certain　to　suffer　frustration　and　dissatisfaction　with　life　than　a　bitter　cynic　with　a　damp　wad　of　passion　at　her　core。　
　She　put　down　her　pen；　for　she　would　be　making　no　notes。　All　she　wanted　to　do　was　get　away　from　Louise；　off　the　playground；　back　into　the　real　world…even　though　the　real　world　had　always　struck　her　as　just　slightly　less　screwy　than　this　encounter。　But　the　least　she　owed　Tom　Corvey　was　sixty　to　ninety　minutes　of　taped　interview；　which　would　provide　another　reporter　with　enough　material　to　write　the　piece。　
　〃Louise；〃　she　said；　〃in　light　of　what　you've　told　me；　I　think　you're　the　most　natural　person　I've　ever　met。〃　
　Louise　didn't　get　it。　Perceiving　a　pliment　instead　of　a　slight；　she　beamed　at　Holly。　
　〃Trees　are　sisters　to　us；〃　Louise　said；　eager　to　reveal　another　facet　of　her　philosophy；　evidently　having　forgotten　that　human　beings　were　lice；　not　trees。　〃Would　you　cut　off　the　limbs　of　your　sister；　cruelly　section　her　flesh；　and　build　your　house　with　pieces　of　her　corpse？〃　〃No；　I　wouldn't；〃　Holly　said　sincerely。　〃Besides；　the　city　probably　wouldn't　approve　a　building　permit　for　such　an　unconventional　structure。〃　
　Holly　was　safe：　Louise　had　no　sense　of　humor…therefore；　no　capacity　to　be　offended　by　the　wisecrack。　
　While　the　woman　prattled　on；　Holly　leaned　into　the　picnic　table；　feigning　interest；　and　did　a　fast…backward　scan　of　her　entire　adult　life。　She　decided　that　she　had　spent　all　of　that　precious　time　in　the　pany　of　idiots；　fools；　and　crooks；　listening　to　their　harebrained　or　sociopathic　plans　and　dreams；　searching　fruitlessly　for　nuggets　of　wisdom　and　interest　in　their　boobish　or　psychotic　stories。　
　Increasingly　miserable；　she　began　to　brood　about　her　personal　life。　She　had　made　no　effort　to　develop　close　women　friends　in　Portland；　perhaps　because　in　her　heart　she　felt　that　Portland　was　only　one　more　stop　on　her　peripatetic　journalistic　journey。　Her　experiences　with　men　were；　if　anything；　even　more　disheartening　than　her　professional　experiences　with　interviewees　of　both　sexes。　Though　she　still　hoped　to　meet　the　right　man；　get　married；　have　children；　and　enjoy　a　fulfilling　domestic　life；　she　wondered　if　anyone　nice；　sane；　intelligent；　and　genuinely　interesting　would　ever　enter　her　life。　
　Probably　not。　
　And　if　someone　like　that　miraculously　crossed　her　path　one　day；　his　pleasant　demeanor　would　no　doubt　prove　to　be　a　mask；　and　under　the　mask　would　be　a　leering　serial　killer　with　a　chainsaw　fetish。　
　Outside　the　terminal　at　Portland　International　Airport；　Jim　Ironheart　got　into　a　taxi　operated　by　something　called　the　New　Rose　City　Cab　pany；　which　sounded　like　a　corporate　stepchild　of　the　long…forgotten　hippie　era；　born　in　the　age　of　love　beads　and　flower　power。　But　the　cabbie　Frazier　Tooley；　according　to　his　displayed　license…explained　that　Portland　was　called　the　City　of　Roses；　which　bloomed　there　in　multitudes　and　were　meant　to　be　symbols　of　renewal　and　growth。　〃The　same　way；〃　he　raid；　〃that　street　beggars　are　symbols　of　decay　and　collapse　in　New　York；〃　displaying　a　curiously　charming　smugness　that　Jim　sensed　was　shared　by　many　Portlanders。　
　Tooley；　who　looked　like　an　Italian　operatic　tenor　cast　from　the　same　mold　as　Luciano　Pavarotti；　was　not　sure　he　had　understood　Jim's　instructions。　〃You　just　want　me　to　drive　around　for　a　while？〃　〃Yeah。　I'd　like　to　see　some　of　the　city　before　I　check　into　the　hotel。　
　I've　never　been　here　before。〃　
　The　truth　was；　he　didn't　know　at　which　hotel　he　should　stay　or　whether　he　would　be　required　to　do　the　job　soon；　tonight；　or　maybe　tomorrow。　He　hoped　that　he　would　learn　what　was　expected　of　him　if　he　just　tried　to　relax　and　waited　for　enlightenment。　
　Tooley　was　happy　to　oblige…not　with　enlightenment　but　with　a　tour　of　Portland…because　a　large　fare　would　tick　up　on　the　meter；　but　also　because　he　clearly　enjoyed　showing　off　his　city。　In　fact；　it　was　exceptionally　attractive。　Historic　brick　structures　and　nineteenth…century　cast…iron…front　buildings　were　carefully　preserved　among　modern　glass　high　rises。　Parks　full　of　fountains　and　trees　were　so　numerous　that　it　sometimes　seemed　the　city　was　in　a　forest；　and　roses　were　everywhere；　not　as　many　blooms　as　in　the　summer　but　radiantly　colorful。　
　After　less　than　half　an　hour；　Jim　suddenly　was　overe　by　the　feeling　that　time　was　running　out。　He　sat　forward　on　the　rear　seat　and　heard　himself　say：　〃Do　you　know　the　McAlbery　School？〃　〃Sure；〃　Tooley　said。　
　〃What　is　it？〃　〃The　way　you　asked；　I　thought　you　knew。　Private　elementary　school　over　on　the　west　side。〃　
　Jim's　heart　was　beating　hard　and　fast。　〃Take　me　there。〃　
　Frowning　at　him　in　the　rearview　mirror；　Tooley　said；　〃Something