p&c.brimstone-第47部分

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heart　of　paganism…so　had　He　sent　Wayne　P。　Buck　to　New　York。　
　The　bus　stopped；　lurched　again；　everyone's　heads　swaying　in　unison　with　the　movements。　They　were　now　on　some　kind　of　concrete　ramp；　climbing　a　rising　spiral　between　crisscrossed　girders。　It　put　Buck　in　mind　of　Dante's　circles　of　hell。　In　a　moment；　the　bus　plunged　back　into　darkness　and　the　stench　of　diesel；　the　sound　of　air　brakes　hissing　demonically。　It　seemed　they　were　at　the　depot…but　a　depot　such　as　Buck　had　never　seen　or　imagined　in　all　his　born　days。　
　The　bus　ground　to　a　halt。　The　driver　said　something　unintelligible　over　the　public　address　system；　and　there　was　a　great　sigh　of　air　as　the　door　opened。　Buck　exited。　The　others　all　had　to　wait　for　their　baggage；　but　he　was　a　free　man；　without　possessions　or　money；　just　as　it　had　been　six　years　ago　when　he　walked　out　into　the　bright　sunlight　of　Joliet。　
　Without　knowing　where　he　was　going；　he　followed　a　crush　of　people　down　a　series　of　escalators　and　through　an　immense　terminal。　Moments　later　he　found　himself　outdoors；　on　the　pavement　of　a　great　street。　He　stopped　and　looked　around；　feeling　a　rush　of　dread　mingling　with　the　spiritual　vigor。　
　As　I　walked　through　the　wilderness　of　this　world　。　。　。Jesus　had　spent　forty　days　and　nights　in　the　desert　tempted　by　the　devil；　and　verily　this　was　the　desert　of　the　twenty…first　century：　this　wasteland　of　human　souls。　
　He　began　walking；　letting　Jesus　take　him　where　He　would。　Despite　the　crowded　sidewalks；　nobody　seemed　to　notice　him：　the　streams　of　humanity　parted　around　him；　then　flowed　together　again　behind　him；　like　a　river　embracing　a　rock。　He　crossed　a　broad　thoroughfare；　walked　down　a　canyonlike　street　thrown　into　deep　shadow　by　buildings　that　rose　on　both　sides。　Within　a　few　minutes；　he　arrived　at　another　intersection；　even　wider　than　before；　with　roads　ing　in　from　all　sides。　Huge　billboards　and　garish　forty…foot　neon　marquees　announced　he　was　standing　in　Times　Square。　He　looked　skyward。　It　was　a　heady　experience；　surrounded　by　the　mighty　works　of　man；　the　modern…day　glass　and　steel　Towers　of　Babel。　It　was　all　too　easy　to　see　how　one　could　be　seduced　by　such　a　place；　how　quickly　one　could　lose　first　one's　conviction；　then　one's　soul。　He　lowered　his　eyes　again　to　the　traffic；　the　noise；　the　great　rush　and　press　of　humanity。　The　words　of　John　Bunyan　came　to　him　again：You　dwell　in　the　City　of　Destruction：　I　see　it　to　be　so；　and；　dying　there；　sooner　or　later；　you　will　sink　lower　than　the　grave；　into　a　place　that　burns　with　fire　and　brimstone：　be　content；　good　neighbors；　and　go　along　with　me。　
　Lost；　all　lost。　
　But　perhaps　not　all：　here　and　there；　Buck　knew；　walked　those　who　could　still　be　saved；　the　righteous　people　with　the　grace　of　God　in　their　souls。　He　did　not　yet　know　who　they　were；　and　it　was　likely　even　they　didn't　know。Be　content；　good　neighbors；　and　go　along　with　me。　It　was　for　them　he　had　e　to　New　York　City：　these　were　the　ones　he　would　pull　back　from　the　brink。　The　rest　would　be　swept　away　in　the　blink　of　an　eye。　
　For　hours　Buck　walked。　He　could　sense　the　siren…like　call　of　the　city　tugging　at　him：　its　urbane　window　displays；　its　unbelievable　opulence；　its　stretch　limousines。　Buck's　nostrils　filled　with　the　stench　of　rotting　garbage　one　moment；　and　the　next　with　the　scent　of　expensive　perfume　from　some　lynx…eyed　temptress　in　a　tight　dress。　He　was　in　the　belly　of　the　beast；　for　sure。　God　had　entrusted　him　with　a　mission；　God　had　given　him　his　own　forty　days　in　the　desert；　and　he　would　not　fail。　
　He　had　spent　his　last　nickel　on　the　bus　ticket　and　had　not　eaten　at　all　during　the　ride。　Somehow　the　hunger；　the　fasting；　had　sharpened　his　mind。　But　if　he　was　to　do　God's　will；　he　had　to　seek　nourishment　for　his　body。　
　His　wanderings　took　him　to　a　Salvation　Army　soup　kitchen。　He　went　in；　waited　in　line；　sat　silently　with　the　derelicts；　and　ate　a　bowl　of　macaroni　and　cheese　with　a　couple　slices　of　unbuttered　Wonder　bread　and　a　cup　of　coffee。　As　he　ate；　he　slipped　the　shabby　paper　out　of　his　pocket　and　perused　the　soiled　article　yet　again。　It　was　God's　message　to　him；　and　every　time　he　read　it　he　felt　fortified；　refreshed；　determined。　After　his　simple　meal；　he　left　and　began　walking　again；　a　new　spring　in　his　step。　He　passed　a　newsstand　and　paused；　his　eye　catching　the　headline　of　theNew　York　Post　。　
　THE　END　IS　NIGH　
　Satanists；　Pentacostals　and　Prophets　of　Doom　Continue　to　Converge　at　Site　of　Devil　Killing　
　　　
　He　instinctively　shoved　his　hand　in　his　pocket　before　remembering　he　had　no　money。　He　paused。　What　to　do？　This　headline　was；　without　a　doubt；　another　message　from　God。　Nothing　happened　in　this　world　without　significance。　Not　even　the　slightest　sparrow　could　fall　from　the　tree　。　。　。　
　He　needed　money。　He　needed　a　bed　for　the　night。　He　needed　a　change　of　clothes。　God　clothed　the　lilies　of　the　field；　would　He　not　clothe　him？　That　had　always　been　Buck's　philosophy。　
　But　sometimes　God　liked　to　see　a　little　initiative。　
　Buck　looked　up。　He　was　in　front　of　a　huge　building；　guarded　by　two　massive　stone　lions…the　New　York　Public　Library；　the　legend　said。　A　temple　to　Mammon；　no　doubt　filled　with　pornography　and　immoral　books。　He　hastened　around　the　corner。　There；　beside　a　small　but　nicely　manicured　park；　were　a　number　of　people　with　chessboards　set　up　and　ready　for　play。　They　weren't　playing　each　other；　they　seemed　to　be　waiting　for　passersby。　He　approached；　curious。　
　〃Play？〃　one　of　them　asked。　
　Buck　paused。　
　〃Five　dollars；〃　the　man　said。　
　〃For　what？〃　
　〃Game　of　ten…second　chess。　Five　dollars。〃　
　Buck　almost　walked　on。　It　might　be　considered　a　form　of　gambling。　But　then　he　paused。　Was　this；　too；　a　little　help　from　God？　Buck　sensed　these　players　were　good；　they　had　to　be。　But　what　did　he　have　to　lose？　
　He　sat　down。　The　man　immediately　moved　his　queen's　pawn；　and　Buck　countered；　ten　seconds　for　each　move。　
　Ten　minutes　later　Buck　was　sitting　on　a　bench　in　the　park　behind　the　library；　reading　thePost　。　The　article　told　of　small　gatherings　of　people　in　front　of　the　building　where　the　devil　had　taken　the　man　named　Cutforth。　It　even　gave　the　address：　842　Fifth　Avenue。　
　Fifth　Avenue。　The　legendary　Fifth　Avenue。　The　Mephistophelean　heart　of　New　York　City。　It　all　fit　together。　He　tore　out　the　article　and　folded　it　up　with　the　other；　carefully　slipping　them　into　his　shirt　pocket。　
　He　would　not　go　there　now；　that　could　wait。　Like　David；　he　needed　to　gird　his　loins；　prepare　himself　spiritually。　He　had　not　e　to　preach：　he　had　e　to　do　battle　for　the　world。　
　He　checked　his　pocket。　Four　dollars　and　fifty　cents。　Not　nearly　enough　to　find　a　bed　for　the　night。　He　wondered　just　how　God　might　help　him　multiply　that　money；　as　Jesus　had　multiplied　the　loaves　and　the　fishes。　
　There　were　still　a　few　hours　before　sunset。　Jesus　would　help　him；　Buck　knew。　Jesus　would　surely　help　him。　
　　　
　46　
　
　Beckmann's　last　known　place　of　residence；　as　listed　on　thedeath　certificate；　was　not　far　from　the　potter's　field　in　which　he　was　buried。　Pendergast　drove　slowly　past　the　decrepit　building　and　parked　before　a　package　store　a　few　doors　down。　Three　old　alcoholics　sat　on　the　front　stoop；　watching　as　they　got　out　of　the　car。　
　〃Nice　neighborhood；〃　said　D'Agosta；　looking　around　at　the　six…story　brick　tenements　festooned　with　rusting　fire　escapes。　Threadbare　laundry　hung　from　dozens　of　clotheslines　strung　between　the　buildings。　
　〃Indeed。〃　
　D'Agosta　nodded　in　the　direction　of　the　three　rummies；　who　had　gone　back　to　passing　around　a　bottle　of　Night　Train。　〃Wonder　if　those　three　know　anything。〃　
　Pendergast　gestured　for　him　to　proceed。　
　〃What？　Me？〃　
　〃Of　course。　You　are　a　man　of　the　street；　you　speak　their　language。〃　
　〃If　you　say　so。〃　D'Agosta　glanced　around　again；　then　headed　into　the　package　store。　He　returned　a　few　minutes　later　with　a　bottle　in　a　brown　paper　bag。　
　〃A　gift　for　the　natives；　I　see。〃　
　〃I'm　just　taking　a　page　from　your　book。〃　
　Pendergast　raised　his　eyebrows。　
　〃Remember　our　little　journey　underground　during　the　subway　massacre　case？　You　brought　a　bottle　along　as　currency。〃　
　〃Ah；　yes。　Our　tea　party　with　Mephisto。〃　
　Bottle　in　hand；　D'Agosta　ambled　up　to　the　stoop；　pausing　before　the　men。　〃How　are　you　boys　today？〃　
　Silence。　
　〃I'm　Sergeant　D'Agosta；　and　this　is　my　associate；　Special　Agent　Pendergast。　FBI。〃　
　Silence。　
　〃We're　not　here　to　bust　anyone's　balls；　gentlemen。　I'm　not　even　going　to　ask　your　names。　We're　just　looking　for　any　information　on　one　Ranier　Beckmann；　who　lived　here　several　years　back。〃　
　Three　pairs　of　rheumy　eyes　continued　staring　at　him。　One　of　the　men　hawked　up　a　gobbet　of　phlegm　and　deposited　it　gently　between　his　badly　scuffed　shoes。　
　With　a　rustle；　D'Agosta　removed　the　bottle　from　the　paper　bag。　He　held　it　up。　The　light　shone　through　it；　illuminating　pieces　of　fruit　floating　in　an　amber…colored　liquid。　
　The　oldest　wino　turned　to　the　others。　〃Rock　'n'　Rye。　The　cop　has　class。〃　
　〃Beware　of　cops　bearing　gifts。〃　
　D'Agosta　glanced　at　Pendergast；　who　was　looking　on　from　a　few　paces　back；　hands　in　his　pockets。　He　turned　back。　〃Look；　guys；　don't　make　a　fool　out　of　me　in　front　of　the　feds；　okay？　Please。〃　
　The　oldest　man　shifted。　〃Now　that　you've　said　the　magic　word；　have　a　seat。〃　
　D'Agosta　perched　gingerly　on　the　sticky　steps。　The　man　reached　out　a　hand　for　the　bottle；　took　a　swig；　spat　out　a　piece　of　fruit；　passed　it　on。　〃You　too；　friend；〃　he　said　to　Pendergast。　
　〃I　would　prefer　to　stand；　thank　you。〃　
　There　were　some　chuckles。　
　〃My　name's　Jedediah；〃　said　the　oldest　drunk。　〃Call　me　Jed。　You're　looking　for　who　again？〃　
　〃Ranier　Beckmann；〃　said　Pendergast。　
　Two　of　the　drunks　shrugged；　but　after　a　moment；　Jed　nodded　slowly。　〃Beckmann。　Name　rings　a　bell。〃　
　〃He　lived　in　room　4C。　Died　of　cancer　almost　ten　years　ago。〃　
　Jed　thought　another　moment；　took　a　swig　of　the　Rock　'n'　Rye　to　lubricate　the　brain　cells。　〃I　remember　now。　He's　the　guy　who　used　to　play　gin　rummy　with　Willie。　Willie's　gone；　too。　Man；　did　they　argue。　Cancer；　you　say？〃　He　shook　his　head。　
　〃Did　you　know　anything　about　his　life？　Marriage；　former　addresses；　that　sort　of　thing？〃　
　〃He　was　a　college…educated　fellow。　Smart。　Nobody　ever　came　to　visit　him；　didn't　seem　to　have　any　kids　or