cb.booksofblood-第25章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　〃No；　no；　I　couldn't。〃
　　〃You　must。　It's　your　triumph　as　much　as　mine。〃　Lichfield　nodded；　and　they　went　out　together　to　take　their　bows　beside　the　pany。
　　
　　In　the　wings　Tallulah　was　at　work。　She　felt　restored　after　her　sleep　in　the　Green　Room。　So　much　unpleasantness　had　gone；　taken　with　her　life。　She　no　longer　suffered　the　aches　in　her　hip；　or　the　creeping　neuralgia　in　her　scalp。　There　was　no　longer　the　necessity　to　draw　breath　through　pipes　encrusted　with　seventy　years〃　muck；　or　to　rub　the　backs　of　her　hands　to　get　the　circulation　going；　not　even　the　need　to　blink。　She　laid　the　fires　with　a　new　strength；　pressing　the　detritus　of　past　productions　into　use：　old　backdrops；　props；　costuming。　When　she　had　enough　bustibles　heaped；　she　struck　a　match　and　set　the　flame　to　them。　The　Elysium　began　to　burn。
　　
　　Over　the　applause；　somebody　was　shouting：　〃Marvellous；　sweethearts；　marvellous。〃　It　was　Diane's　voice；　they　all　recognized　it　even　though　they　couldn't　quite　see　her。　She　was　staggering　down　the　centre　aisle　towards　the　stage；　making　quite　a　fool　of　herself。
　　Silly　bitch；〃　said　Eddie。
　　Whoops；〃　said　Galloway。
　　he　was　at　the　edge　of　the　stage　now；　haranguing　him。
　　Got　all　you　wanted　now；　have　you？　This　your　new　lady…love　is　it？　Is　it？〃　he　was　trying　to　clamber　up；　her　hands　gripping　the　hot　metal　hoods　of　the　footlights。　Her　skin　began　to　singe：　the　fat　was　well　and　truly　in　the　fire。
　　For　God's　sake；　somebody　stop　her；〃　said　Eddie。　But　she　didn't　seem　to　feel　the　searing　of　her　hands；　she　just　laughed　in　his　face。　The　smell　of　burning　flesh　wafted　up　from　the　footlights。　The　pany　broke　rank；　triumph　forgotten。
　　Somebody　yelled：　〃Kill　the　lights！〃　A　beat；　and　then　the　stage　lights　were　extinguished。　Diane　fell　back；　her　hands　smoking。　One　of　the　cast　fainted；　another　ran　into　the　wings　to　be　sick。　Somewhere　behind　them；　they　could　hear　the　faint　crackle　of　flames；　but　they　had　other　calls　on　their　attention。
　　With　the　footlights　gone；　they　could　see　the　auditorium　more　clearly。　The　stalls　were　empty；　but　the　Balcony　and　the　gods　were　full　to　bursting　with　eager　admirers。　Every　row　was　packed；　and　every　available　inch　of　aisle　space　thronged　with　audience。　Somebody　up　there　started　clapping　again；　alone　for　a　few　moments　before　the　wave　of　applause　began　afresh。　But　now　few　of　the　pany　took　pride　in　it。
　　Even　from　the　stage；　even　with　exhausted　and　light　dazzled　eyes；　it　was　obvious　that　no　man；　woman　or　child　in　that　adoring　crowd　was　alive。　They　waved　fine　silk　handkerchiefs　at　the　players　in　rotted　fists；　some　of　them　beat　a　tattoo　on　the　seats　in　front　of　them；　most　just　clapped；　bone　on　bone。
　　Galloway　smiled；　bowed　deeply；　and　received　their　admiration　with　gratitude。　In　all　his　fifteen　years　of　work　in　the　theatre　he　had　never　found　an　audience　so　appreciative。
　　Bathing　in　the　love　of　their　admirers；　Constantia　and　Richard　Lichfield　joined　hands　and　walked　down…stage　to　take　another　bow；　while　the　living　actors　retreated　in　horror。
　　They　began　to　yell　and　pray；　they　let　out　howls；　they　ran　about　like　discovered　adulterers　in　a　farce。　But；　like　the　farce；　there　was　no　way　out　of　the　situation。　There　were　bright　flames　tickling　the　roof…joists；　and　billows　of　canvas　cascaded　down　to　right　and　left　as　the　flies　caught　fire。　In　front；　the　dead：　behind；　death。　Smoke　was　beginning　to　thicken　the　air；　it　was　impossible　to　see　where　one　was　going。　Somebody　was　wearing　a　toga　of　burning　canvas；　and　reciting　screams。　Someone　else　was　wielding　a　fire　extinguisher　against　the　inferno。　All　useless：　all　tired　business；　badly　managed。　As　the　roof　began　to　give；　lethal　falls　of　timber　and　girder　silenced　most。
　　In　the　Gods；　the　audience　had　more　or　less　departed。　They　were　ambling　back　to　their　graves　long　before　the　fire　department　appeared；　their　cerements　and　their　faces　lit　by　the　glow　of　the　fire　as　they　glanced　over　their　shoulders　to　watch　the　Elysium　perish。　It　had　been　a　fine　show；　and　they　were　happy　to　go　home；　content　for　another　while　to　gossip　in　the　dark。
　　
　　The　fire　burned　through　the　night；　despite　the　never　less　than　gallant　efforts　of　the　fire　department　to　put　it　out。　By　four　in　the　morning　the　fight　was　given　up　as　lost；　and　the　conflagration　allowed　its　head。　It　had　done　with　the　Elysium　by　dawn。
　　In　the　ruins　the　remains　of　several　persons　were　discovered；　most　of　the　bodies　in　states　that　defied　easy　identification。　Dental　records　were　consulted；　and　one　corpse　was　found　to　be　that　of　Giles　Hammersmith　（Administrator）；　another　that　of　Ryan　Xavier　（Stage　Manager）　and；　most　shockingly；　a　third　that　of　Diane　Duvall。　〃Star　of　The　Love　Child　burned　to　death〃；　read　the　tabloids。　She　was　forgotten　in　a　week。
　　There　were　no　survivors。　Several　bodies　were　simply　never　found。
　　
　　They　stood　at　the　side　of　the　motorway；　and　watched　the　cars　careering　through　the　night。
　　Lichfield　was　there　of　course；　and　Constantia；　radiant　as　ever。　Galloway　had　chosen　to　go　with　them；　so　had　Eddie；　and　Tallulah。　Three　or　four　others　had　also　joined　the　troupe。
　　It　was　the　first　night　of　their　freedom；　and　here　they　were　on　the　open　road；　travelling　players。　The　smoke　alone　had　killed　Eddie；　but　there　were　a　few　more　serious　injuries　amongst　their　number；　sustained　in　the　fire。　Burned　bodies；　broken　limbs。　But　the　audience　they　would　play　for　in　the　future　would　forgive　them　their　pretty　mutilations。
　　〃There　are　lives　lived　for　love；〃　said　Lichfield　to　his　new　pany；　〃and　lives　lived　for　art。　We　happy　band　have　chosen　the　latter　persuasion。〃
　　〃There　was　a　ripple　of　applause　amongst　the　actors。
　　〃To　you；　who　have　never　died；　may　I　say：　wele　to　the　world！〃　Laughter：　further　applause。
　　The　lights　of　the　cars　racing　north　along　the　motorway　threw　the　pany　into　silhouette。　They　looked；　to　all　intents　and　purposes；　like　living　men　and　women。　But　then　wasn't　that　the　trick　of　their　craft？　To　imitate　life　so　well　the　illusion　was　indistinguishable　from　the　real　thing？　And　their　new　public；　awaiting　them　in　mortuaries；　churchyards　and　chapels　of　rest；　would　appreciate　the　skill　more　than　most。　Who　better　to　applaud　the　sham　of　passion　and　pain　they　would　perform　than　the　dead；　who　had　experienced　such　feelings；　and　thrown　them　off　at　last？
　　The　dead。　They　needed　entertainment　no　less　than　the　living；　and　they　were　a　sorely　neglected　market。
　　Not　that　this　pany　would　perform　for　money；　they　would　play　for　the　love　of　their　art；　Lichfield　had　made　that　clear　from　the　outset。　No　more　service　would　be　done　to　Apollo。
　　〃Now；〃　he　said；　〃which　road　shall　we　take；　north　or　south？〃
　　〃North；〃　said　Eddie。　〃My　mother's　buried　in　Glasgow；　she　died　before　I　ever　played　professionally。　I'd　like　her　to　see　me。〃
　　〃North　it　is；　then；〃　said　Lichfield。　〃Shall　we　go　and　find　ourselves　some　transport？〃　He　led　the　way　towards　the　motorway　restaurant；　its　neon　flickering　fitfully；　keeping　the　night　at　light's　length。　The　colours　were　theatrically　bright：　scarlet；　lime；　cobalt；　and　a　wash　of　white　that　splashed　out　of　the　windows　on　to　the　car　park　where　they　stood。　The　automatic　doors　hissed　as　a　traveller　emerged；　bearing　gifts　of　hamburgers　and　cake　to　the　child　in　the　back　of　his　car。
　　〃Surely　some　friendly　driver　will　find　a　niche　for　us；〃　said　Lichfield。
　　〃All　of　us？〃　said　Galloway。
　　〃A　truck　will　do；　beggars　can't　be　too　demanding；〃　said　Lichfield。　〃And　we　are　beggars　now：　subject　to　the　whim　of　our　patrons。〃
　　〃We　can　always　steal　a　car；〃　said　Tallulah。
　　〃No　need　for　theft；　except　in　extremity；〃　Lichfield　said。　〃Constantia　and　I　will　go　ahead　and　find　a　chauffeur。〃　He　took　his　wife's　hand。
　　〃Nobody　refuses　beauty；〃　he　said。
　　〃What　do　we　do　if　anyone　asks　us　what　we're　doing　here？〃　asked　Eddie　nervously。　He　wasn't　used　to　this　role；　he　needed　reassurance。
　　Lichfield　turned　towards　the　pany；　his　voice　booming　in　the　night：　〃What　do　you　do？〃　he　said；　〃Play　life；　of　course！　And　smile！〃
　　
　　
　　
　　　IN　THE　HILLS；　THE　CITIES
　　
　　
　　IT　WASN'T　UNTIL　the　first　week　of　the　Yugoslavian　trip　that　Mick　discovered　what　a　political　bigot　he'd　chosen　as　a　lover。　Certainly；　he'd　been　warned。　One　of　the　queens　at　the　Baths　had　told　him　Judd　was　to　the　Right　of　Attila　the　Hun；　but　the　man　had　been　one　of　Judd's　ex…affairs；　and　Mick　had　presumed　there　was　more　spite　than　perception　in　the　character　assassination。
　　If　only　he'd　listened。　Then　he　wouldn't　be　driving　along　an　interminable　road　in　a　Volkswagen　that　suddenly　seemed　the　size　of　a　coffin；　listening　to　Judd's　views　on　Soviet　expansionism。　Jesus；　he　was　so　boring。　He　didn't　converse；　he　lectured；　and　endlessly。　In　Italy　the　sermon　had　been　on　the　way　the　munists　had　exploited　the　peasant　vote。　Now；　in　Yugoslavia；　Judd　had　really　warmed　to　his　theme；　and　Mick　was　just　about　ready　to　take　a　hammer　to　his　self…opinionated　head。
　　It　wasn't　that　he　disagreed　with　everything　Judd　said。　Some　of　the　arguments　（the　ones　Mick　understood）　seemed　quite　sensible。　But　then；　what　did　he　know？　He　was　a　dance　teacher。　Judd　was　a　journalist；　a　professional　pundit。
　　He　felt；　like　most　journalists　Mick　had　encountered；　that　he　was　obliged　to　have　an　opinion　on　everything　under　the　sun。　Especially　politics；　that　was　the　best　trough　to　wallow　in。　You　could　get　your　snout；　eyes；　head　and　front　hooves　in　that　mess　of　muck　and　have　a　fine　old　time　splashing　around。　It　was　an　inexhaustible　subject　to　devour；　a　swill　with　a　little　of　everything　in　it；　because　everything；　according　to　Judd；　was　political。　The　arts　were　political。　Sex　was　political。　Religion；　merce；　gardening；　eating；　drinking　and　farting…all　political。
　　Jesus；　it　was　mind…blowingly　boring；　killingly；　love　deadeningly　boring。
　　Worse　still；　Judd　didn't　seem　to　notice　how　bored　Mick　had　bee；　or　if　he　noticed；　he　didn't　care。　He　just　rambled　on；　his　arguments　getting　windier　and　windier；　his　sentences　lengthening　with　every　mile　they　drove。
　　Judd；　Mick　had　decided；　was　a　selfish　bastard；　and　as　soon　as　their　honeymoon　was　over　he'd　part　with　the　guy。
　　
　　It　was　not　until　their　trip；　that　endless；　motiveless　caravan　through　the　graveyards　of　mid…European　culture；　that　Judd　realized　what　a　political　lightweight　he　had　in　Mick。　The　guy　showed　precious　little　interest　in　the　economics　or　the　politics　of　the　countries　they　passed　through。　He　registered　indifference　to　the　full　facts　behind　the　Italian　situation；　and　yawned；　yes；　yawned　when　he　tried　（and　failed）　to　debate　the　Russian　threat　to　world　peace。　He　had　to　face　the　bitter　truth：　Mick　was　a　queen；　there　was　no　other　word　for　him。　All　right；　perhaps　he　didn't　mince　or　wear　jewellery　to　excess；　but　he　was　a　queen　nevertheless；　happy　to　wallow　in　a　dream…world　of　early　Renaissance　frescoes　and　Yugoslavian　icons。　The　plexities；　the　contradictions；　even　the　agonies　that　made　those　cultures　blossom　and　wither　were　just　tiresome　to　him。　His　mind　was　no　deeper　than　his　looks；　he　was　a　well…groomed　nobody。
　　Some　honeymoon。
　　
　　The　road　south　from　Belgrade　to　Novi　Pazar　was；　by　Yugoslavian　standards；　a　good　one。　There　were　fewer　pot…holes　than　on　many　of　the　roads　they'd　travelled；　and　it　was　relatively　straight。　The　town　of　Novi　Pazar　lay　in　the　va