p&c.brimstone-第94部分

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ideboard…how　uncharacteristically　heavy　he　felt　on　his　feet！…and　took　out　a　small　bottle　of　Amaro　Bor…ghini；　filled　a　small　glass　with　the　reddish…brown　liquid；　and　returned　to　the　chair。　His　stomach　was　protesting　vociferously；　and　he　took　a　swallow；　then　a　second；　of　the　bitter　liqueur。　And　as　he　did；　he　heard　another　sound；　like　a　footfall；　at　the　door。　
　He　half　rose；　but　felt　weak　and　sank　back。　Naturally；　there　was　nobody　there。　There　couldn't　be。　The　servants　had　all　been　given　a　few　days　off。　It　was　his　imagination　playing　tricks　with　him。　It　was　the　strain　of　the　last　few　days。　He　was　getting　on　in　years　for　business　such　as　this。　
　His　innards　were　almost　boiling　with　indigestion　and　he　drained　the　glass；　shifting　in　his　chair；　trying　to　get　fortable。　The　heat　in　the　room　had　grown　oppressive；　but；　blast　it；　there　was　no　one　to　douse　the　fire。　He　fetched　a　deep；　shuddering　sigh。　He　would　calm　himself；　then　take　out　the　Stormcloud　and　restore　his　previous　mood　with　a　leaping　rendition　of　〃La　Primavera。〃　
　Only　calmness　did　not　e。　He　felt　a　strange　oppression　creep　stealthily　over　him…a　pressure　that　seemed　to　build　slowly；　layer　on　layer；　from　within。　This　was　not　indigestion；　he　was　getting　ill。　He　mopped　his　brow　with　a　handkerchief；　aware　that　his　heart　was　beating　unfortably　fast。　He　had　caught　a　chill　in　the　crypts；　no　doubt；　hefting　those　heavy　bricks；　brought　out　by　his　unwise　second　visit　to　those　clammy；　nitred　depths。　He　would　take　a　holiday；　leave　tomorrow；　in　fact。　The　isle　of　Capraia；　he　told　himself；　would　be　a　perfect　spot　。　。　。　
　He　extended　a　trembling　hand　toward　the　glass　ofamaro　；　but　the　liqueur　suddenly　tasted　wrong；　like　hot　pitch　and　vinegar　in　his　mouth…hot；　even；　in　his　hand。　Burning　hot。　He　rose　with　a　cry；　the　glass　falling　away　and　dashing　to　pieces　against　the　floor。　Fosco　whirled；　stumbled；　righted　himself。　
　Porca　miseria；what　was　happening？　
　He　gasped；　felt　his　eyes　smart；　felt　his　mouth　go　dry；　his　heart　accelerate。　For　a　moment；　he　wondered　if　he　was　having　a　fit　of　some　kind；　or　perhaps　a　heart　attack。　He'd　heard　heart　attacks　often　began　with　a　feeling　just　like　this：　a　feeling　that　something；something；　was　terribly　wrong。　But　there　was　no　localized　pain　to　his　chest　or　arm。　Instead；　the　terrible　oppression　within　grew；　and　still　grew；　until　it　enveloped　him。　His　very　guts　seemed　to　writhe。　He　looked　around　frantically；　but　there　was　nothing…not　the　bottle　of　port；　not　the　violin；　not　the　furniture　or　the　rich　tapestries…nothing　to　give　any　aid　or　explanation。　
　His　insides　felt　as　if　they　were　crawling；　boiling。　He　felt　his　mouth　twitching；　his　eyes　blinking　uncontrollably；　grimacing；　his　fingers　jerking。　The　heat　was　like　being　suffocated　with　a　burning　blanket。　His　skin　felt　as　if　it　was　covered　with　a　blanket　of　bees。　Now　fear　and　heat　rose　within　him　as　one：　an　unendurable；　irresistible　heat　that　had　nothing　to　do　with　the　fire　on　the　hearth…　
　Suddenly　he　knew。　Heknew。　
　〃D'Agosta…！〃　he　choked；　but　his　throat　closed　up　and　no　more　words　came　out。　
　He　whirled　toward　the　closed　door　of　thesalotto　；　staggered　forward；　fell　over　the　side　table　with　a　crash；　rose　to　his　knees。　His　muscles　were　jerking　spasmodically；　but　with　an　enormous　effort　of　will；　he　began　to　crawl　forward。　
　〃Bastardo…！〃It　came　out　like　a　choked　cry。　As　he　did　so；　his　limbs　began　to　take　on　a　life　of　their　own；　twitching　and　jerking　with　a　horrible　violence；　but　he　had　only　a　few　more　feet　to　go；　he　gave　one　superhuman　lurch；　seized　the　door　handle。　It　was　burning　hot；　and　he　felt　his　skin　popping　and　sizzling；　yet　he　clung　tenaciously；　heaved；　turned…locked。　
　With　a　suppressed　shriek　he　sank；　collapsing　at　the　door；　writhing。　The　heat　grew；　and　grew；　like　lava　spreading　itself　through　his　veins。　A　terrible　piercing　whine；　like　the　buzz　of　a　monstrous　gnat；　filled　his　head。　What　was　that　he　smelled　burning？　All　of　a　sudden　the　count　went　rigid。　His　jaws　clamped　together　involuntarily；　grinding　with　such　force　his　teeth　chipped　and　split。　Now；　unbidden；　his　many　sins　and　excesses　paraded　before　him　in　a　terrible　blur。　As　the　heat　continued　to　grow…intolerable　yet　still　increasing；　an　inferno　of　agony　he　could　never　have　imagined　possible…Fosco　felt　his　vision　grow　dim　and　strange。　His　eyes　jerked　around　the　room；　ing　to　rest　on　the　fire；　while　reality　itself　began　to　distort；　fall　away；　and　he　began　to　see　thingsbeyond　。　。　。　
　。　。　。　Oh；　dear　Jesus；　what　is　that　dark　shape　rising　in　the　fire　。　。　。　？　
　And　now；　summoning　every　last　ounce　of　willpower　he　possessed…despite　the　teeth　grinding　into　meal　and　the　blood　that　filled　his　mouth　and　the　swelling　tongue　that　refused　to　move…Fosco　began　to　slur；　in　something　between　a　gargle　and　a　groan；　the　words　of　the　Lord's　Prayer。　
　Pater　noster　。　。　。　
　He　felt　his　skin　blister；　his　oiled　hair　curl　and　smoke。　He　clawed　his　hands　across　the　stone　floor　in　agony；　tearing　away　the　nails　in　his　efforts　to　get　out　the　words：　
　。　。　。　Qui　es　in　coelis　。　。　。　
　Over　the　shrieking　buzz　in　his　ears；　Fosco　could　hear…as　if　rising　from　the　deepest　depths　of　the　earth…the　rich　and　terrible　laughter；　not　of　Sergeant　D'Agosta；　not　of　any　earthly　being　。　。　。　
　。　。　。　Sanctificetur　。　。　。　
　He　tried；　with　the　last　of　a　supreme　effort　of　will；　to　continue　the　prayer；　but　the　subcutaneous　fat　was　boiling　beneath　the　skin　of　his　lips：　
　。　。　。　Sanctiferrrrrrrr　。　。　。　
　And　then　came　the　point　where　no　sound；　not　even　a　scream；　was　possible　to　utter。　
　　　
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　Bryce　Harriman　ducked　into　the　stale；　smoke…fouled　office　ofhis　editor；　Rupert　Ritts。　He　had　been　waiting　for　this　moment　a　long；　long　time；　and　he　was　determined　to　enjoy　it；　drag　it　out　as　long　as　possible。　It　would　be　a　story　he'd　tell　his　kids　and　grandkids；　put　in　his　memoirs。　One　of　the　moments　he'd　savor　the　rest　of　his　life。　
　〃Harriman！〃　Ritts　came　around　from　behind　his　desk…his　idea　of　a　show　of　respect…and　seated　himself　on　one　corner。　〃Take　a　seat。〃　
　Harriman　sat。　Why　not？　Let　Ritts　talk　a　bit　first。　
　〃That　was　quite　a　piece　you　wrote　on　Hayward　and　that　man；　Buck。　I'm　almost　sorry　that　cracker　preacher　got　his　ass　sent　back　to　Oklahoma。　I　hope　he　decides　to　move　back　to　the　Big　Apple　once　his　parole　is　up。〃　He　laughed　and　picked　a　piece　of　paper　from　his　desk。　〃Here's　something　I　bet　you'll　be　interested　to　hear：　newsstand　circ　for　the　week　ending　today。〃　He　waved　the　paper　in　Harriman's　face。　〃Nineteen　percent　above　this　same　time　last　year；　six　percent　above　last　week；　sixty　percent　sell…through。〃　
　Ritts　grinned；　as　if　the　newsstand　circulation　and　sell…through　figures　of　theNew　York　Post　were　the　be…all　and　end…all　of　Harriman's　existence。　Harriman　kicked　back　in　the　chair；　listening；　a　practiced　smile　on　his　face。　
　〃And　look　at　this。　Advertising　revenues　up　three　and　a　half。〃　
　Another　pause　so　that　Harriman　might　absorb　and　glorify　in　the　stupendous　news。　
　Ritts　lit　a　cigarette。　He　snapped　the　lighter　shut；　exhaled。　〃Harriman；　don't　ever　say　I　don't　give　credit　where　credit　is　due。　This　was　your　story　from　beginning　to　end。　You　did　it。　Sure；　I　helped　with　some　ideas　here　and　there；　gave　you　the　benefit　of　my　experience；　nudged　you　in　the　right　direction　once　or　twice…but　this　was　your　story。〃　
　Ritts　paused；　as　if　waiting。　For　what？　Effusive；　genuflecting　thanks？　Harriman　leaned　back　and　listened；　still　smiling。　
　〃Anyway；　as　I　was　saying；you　did　this。　You've　been　noticed；　and　I　meannoticed　；　by　the　powers　on　high。〃　
　Who　was　that？　Harriman　wondered。　The　big　cheese　himself？　That　would　be　a　joke。　The　guy　probably　couldn't　even　get　into　his　father's　club。　
　Now　Ritts　dropped　his　bomb。　〃Next　week；　I　want　you　to　be　my　guest　at　the　annual　News　Corporation　dinner　at　Tavern　on　the　Green。　This　wasn't　just　my　idea…although　I　heartily　approved。　It　was〃…and　now　his　eyes　flashed　upward　as　if　a　heavenly　host　had　issued　the　invitation…〃hisidea。　He　wants　to　meet　you；　shake　your　hand。〃　
　Meet　me；　shake　my　hand。This　was　beautiful。　God；　this　was　beautiful。　He　couldn't　wait　to　tell　his　friends　about　this。　
　〃It's　black　tie…you　got　one　of　those？　If　not；　I　rent　mine　at　a　place　opposite　Bloomingdale's。　Discount　Tux；　best　deal　in　the　city。〃　
　Harriman　could　hardly　believe　his　ears。　What　a　bozo。　Not　evenashamed　to　admit　he　rented　his　tuxes。　〃I　have　one　or　two；　thanks；〃　he　said　coolly。　
　Ritts　looked　at　him　a　little　strangely。　〃You　all　right？　You　do　know　about　the　annual　dinner；　right？　I　mean；　I've　been　in　this　business　thirty　years　and　let　me　tell　you；　this　issomething　special　。　It's　Thursday　evening；　drinks　at　six　in　the　Crystal　Room；　dinner　at　seven。　You　and　a　guest。　Bring　your　squeeze；　if　you　have　one。〃　
　Harriman　sat　forward。　〃I'm　afraid　that　won't　be　possible。〃　
　〃e　alone；　then。　No　problem。〃　
　〃You　don't　understand。　I　can't　e　at　all。　I'm　otherwise　engaged。〃　
　〃What？〃　
　〃I'mbusy　。〃　
　There　was　a　shocked　silence。　And　then　Ritts　was　off　his　perch。　〃You'rebusy　？　Aren't　you　listening？　I'm　talking　about　dinner　withthe　man　himself　！　I'm　talking　about　theNews　Corp。　annual　fucking　dinner　！〃　
　Harriman　rose　and　dusted　his　sleeve；　on　which　Ritts's　ashes　had　fallen　as　he'd　waved　his　cigarette　around　in　excitement。　
　〃I've　accepted　an　appointment　as　a　reporter　at　a　newspaper　called　theNew　York　Times。　Perhaps　you　know　of　it。〃　Harriman　slipped　an　envelope　out　of　his　pocket。　〃My　letter　of　resignation。〃　He　laid　it　on　the　desk；　right　on　the　shiny　place　where　Ritts　usually　perched　his　ass。　
　There　it　was。　Said　and　done。　He'd　drawn　it　out　about　as　long　as　he　could。　There　was　no　point　in　wasting　any　more　time：　he　had　a　new　office　to　fix　up；　a　lot　to　do。　After　all；　Bill　Smithback　would　be　returning　from　his　extended　honeymoon　on　Monday　to　find　the　surprise　of　his　life：　Bryce　Harriman；　associate　reporter；　fellow　colleague；　occupying　the　office　next　door。　
　Now；that　would　be　something。　
　God；　life　was　good。　
　He　turned　and　walked　to　the　door；　turning　just　once　to　get　a　final　look　at　Ritts；　standing　there；　mouth　open；　for　once　with　nothing　to　say。　
　〃See　you　around；　old　chap；〃　Harriman　said。　
　　　
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　The　big　jet　hit　the　tarmac　with　a　jolt；　tipped　back　into　the　air　atan　angle；　then　settled　once　more　onto　the　ground；　thrust　reversers　screaming。　
　As