ib.thewaspfactory-第15章

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　　'Za'afac'？'
　　
　　My　God；　they　were　still　talking　about　bikes。
　　
　　'Where…ur　we　takin'　hum　own…yway？'
　　
　　'Ma　mum's。　If　she's　still　up；　she'll　make　us　some　tea。'
　　
　　'Yer　maw's？'
　　
　　'Aye。'
　　
　　'Aw。'
　　
　　It　came　to　me　in　a　flash。　It　was　so　obvious　I　couldn't　imagine　why　I　hadn't　seen　it　before。　I　knew　there　was　no　time　to　lose　and　no　point　in　hesitating…　I　was　going　to　explode　soon…so　I　put　my　head　down　and　broke　free　from　Jamie　and　the　girl；　running　off　down　the　street。　I'd　escape；　do　an　Eric　so　I　could　find　somewhere　nice　and　quiet　for　a　piss。
　　
　　'Frank！'
　　
　　'Aw；　fur　fuck's　sek；　gie's　a　brek；　whit's　ay　up　tae　noo？'
　　
　　The　pavement　was　still　below　my　feet；　which　were　moving　more　or　less　as　they　were　supposed　to。　I　could　hear　Jamie　and　the　girl　running　after　me　shouting；　but　I　was　already　past　the　old　chip　shop　and　the　war　memorial　and　picking　up　speed。　My　distended　bladder　wasn't　helping　matters；　but　it　wasn't　holding　me　back　as　much　as　I'd　feared；　either。
　　
　　'Frank！　e　back！　Frank；　stop！　What's　wrong？　Frank；　ya　crazy　bastard；　you'll　break　your　neck！'
　　
　　'Aw；　le'm　gaw；　zafiez　hied。'
　　
　　'No！　He's　my　friend！　Frank！'
　　
　　I　turned　the　corner　into　Bank　Street；　pounded　down　it　just　missing　two　lamp…posts；　took　a　sharp　left　into　Adam　Smith　Street　and　came　to　McGarvie's　garage。　I　skidded　into　the　forecourt　and　ran　behind　a　pump；　gasping　and　belching　and　feeling　my　head　pound。　I　dropped　my　cords　and　squatted　down；　leaning　back　against　the　five…star　pump　and　breathing　heavily　as　the　pool　of　steaming　piss　collected　on　the　bark…rough　concrete　of　the　fuel　apron。
　　
　　Footsteps　clattered　and　a　shadow　came　from　the　right　of　me。　I　looked　round　to　see　Jamie。
　　
　　'Haw…　ha…ha…'　he　gasped；　putting　one　hand　on　another　pump　to　steady　himself　as　he　bent　over　a　little　and　looked　at　his　feet；　the　other　hand　on　a　knee；　his　chest　heaving。　'Here…ha　here…　ha…here　you…ha…are。　Fffwwaaw。。。。'　He　sat　down　on　the　plinth　supporting　the　pumps　and　stared　at　the　dark　glass　of　the　office　for　a　while。　I　sat；　too；　slumped　against　the　pump；　letting　the　last　drops　fall　free。　I　stumbled　back　and　sat　down　heavily　on　the　plinth；　then　staggered　upright　and　pulled　my　cords　back　up。
　　
　　'What　did　you　do　that　for？'　Jamie　said；　still　panting。
　　
　　I　waved　at　him；　struggling　to　do　my　belt　up。　I　was　starting　to　feel　sick　again；　getting　magnified　wafts　of　pub　smoke　off　my　clothes。
　　
　　'Saw…'　I　started　to　say　'Sorry'；　then　the　word　turned　into　a　heave。　That　anti…social　part　of　my　brain　suddenly　thought　about　the　greasy　eggs　and　bacon　again　and　my　stomach　geysered。　I　doubled　up；　retching　and　heaving；　feeling　my　guts　contract　like　a　balling　fist　inside　me；　involuntary；　alive；　like　a　woman　must　feel　with　a　kicking　child。　My　throat　was　rasped　with　the　force　of　the　jet。　Jamie　caught　me　as　I　almost　fell　over。　I　stood　there　like　a　half…opened　penknife；　splattering　the　forecourt　noisily。　Jamie　shoved　one　hand　down　the　back　of　my　cords　to　keep　me　from　falling　on　my　face；　and　put　the　other　hand　on　to　my　forehead；　murmuring　something。　I　went　on　being　sick；　my　stomach　starting　to　hurt　badly　now；　my　eyes　were　full　of　tears；　my　nose　was　running　and　my　whole　head　felt　like　a　ripe　tomato；　ready　to　burst。　I　fought　for　breath　between　heaves；　snatching　down　flecks　of　vomit　and　coughing　and　spewing　at　the　same　time。　I　listened　to　myself　make　a　horrible　noise　like　Eric　going　crazy　over　the　phone；　and　hoped　that　nobody　was　passing　and　could　see　me　in　such　an　undignified　and　weak　position。　I　stopped；　felt　better；　then　started　again　and　felt　ten　times　worse。　I　moved　to　one　side　with　Jamie　helping　me　and　went　down　on　my　hands　and　knees　on　a　paratively　clean　part　of　the　concrete　where　the　oil　stains　looked　old。　I　coughed　and　spluttered　and　gagged　a　few　times；　then　fell　back　into　Jamie's　arms；　bringing　my　legs　up　to　my　chin　to　ease　the　ache　in　my　stomach　muscles。
　　
　　'Better　now　？'　Jamie　said。　I　nodded。　I　tipped　forward　so　that　I　rested　on　both　buttocks　and　heels；　my　head　between　my　knees。　Jamie　patted　me。　'Just　a　minute；　Frankie　lad。'　I　felt　him　go　off　for　a　few　seconds。　He　came　back　with　some　coarse　paper　towels　from　the　forecourt　dispenser　and　wiped　my　mouth　with　one　bit　and　the　rest　of　my　face　with　another　bit。　He　even　took　them　and　put　them　in　the　litter…bin。
　　
　　Though　I　still　felt　drunk；　my　stomach　ached　and　my　throat　felt　like　a　couple　of　hedgehogs　had　had　a　fight　in　it；　I　did　feel　a　lot　better。　'Thanks；'　I　managed；　and　started　trying　to　stand。　Jamie　helped　me　to　my　feet。
　　
　　'By　God；　what　a　state　to　get　yourself　in；　Frank。'
　　
　　'Aye；'　I　said；　wiping　my　eyes　with　my　sleeve　and　looking　round　to　see　that　we　were　still　alone。　I　clapped　Jamie　on　the　shoulder　a　couple　of　times　and　we　made　for　the　street。
　　
　　We　walked　up　the　deserted　street　with　me　breathing　deeply　and　Jamie　holding　me　by　one　elbow。　The　girl　had　gone；　obviously　enough；　but　I　wasn't　sorry。
　　
　　'Why'd　you　run　off　like　that？'
　　
　　I　shook　my　head。　'Needed　to　go。'
　　
　　'What？'　Jamie　laughed。　'Why　didn't　you　just　say？'
　　
　　'Couldn't。'
　　
　　'Just　'cause　there　was　a　girl　there？'
　　
　　'No；'　I　said；　and　coughed。　'Couldn't　speak。　Too　drunk。'
　　
　　'What？'　laughed　Jamie　。
　　
　　I　nodded。　'Yeah；'　I　said。　He　laughed　again　and　shook　his　head。　We　kept　on　walking　Jamie's　mother　was　still　up　and　she　made　us　some　tea。　She's　a　big　woman　who's　always　in　a　green　housecoat　when　I　see　her　in　the　evenings　after　the　pub　when；　as　often　happens；　her　son　and　I　end　up　at　her　house。　She's　not　too　unpleasant；　even　if　she　does　pretend　to　like　me　more　than　I　know　she　really　does。
　　
　　'Och；　laddie；　you're　not　looking　your　best。　Here；　sit　down　and　I'll　get　some　tea　on　the　go。　Ach；　you　wee　lamb。'　I　was　planted　in　a　chair　in　the　living…room　of　the　council　house　while　Jamie　hung　up　our　jackets。　I　could　hear　him　jumping　in　the　hall。
　　
　　'Thank　you；'　I　croaked；　throat　dry。
　　
　　'There　you　are；　pet。　Now；　do　you　want　me　to　turn　on　the　fire　for　you？　Are　you　too　cold？'
　　
　　I　shook　my　head；　and　she　smiled　and　nodded　and　patted　me　on　the　shoulder　and　padded　off　to　the　kitchen。　Jamie　came　in　and　sat　on　the　couch　next　to　my　chair。　He　looked　at　me　and　grinned　and　shook　his　head。
　　
　　'What　a　state。　What　a　state！'　He　clapped　his　hands　and　rocked　forward　on　the　couch；　his　feet　sticking　out　straight　in　front　of　him。　I　rolled　my　eyes　and　looked　away。　'Never　mind；　Frankie　lad。　A　couple　of　cups　of　tea　and　you'll　be　fine。'
　　
　　'Huh；'　I　managed；　and　shivered。
　　
　　I　left　about　one　o'clock　in　the　morning；　more　sober；　and　awash　with　tea。　My　stomach　and　throat　were　almost　back　to　normal；　though　my　voice　still　sounded　harsh。　I　bade　Jamie　and　his　mother　goodnight　and　walked　on　through　the　outskirts　of　town　to　the　track　heading　for　the　island；　then　down　the　track　in　blackness；　sometimes　using　my　small　torch；　towards　the　bridge　and　the　house。
　　
　　It　was　a　quiet　walk　through　the　marsh　and　dune　land　and　the　patchy　pasture。　Apart　from　the　few　noises　I　made　on　the　path；　all　I　could　hear　was　the　very　occasional　and　distant　roar　of　heavy　trucks　on　the　road　through　town。　The　clouds　covered　most　of　the　sky　and　there　was　little　light　from　the　moon；　and　none　ahead　of　me　at　all。
　　
　　I　remembered　once；　in　the　middle　of　summer　two　years　ago；　when　I　was　ing　down　the　path　in　the　late　dusk　after　a　day's　walking　in　the　hills　beyond　the　town；　I　saw　in　the　gathering　night　strange　lights；　shifting　in　the　air　over　and　far　beyond　the　island。　They　wavered　and　moved　uncannily；　glinting　and　shifting　and　burning　in　a　heavy；　solid　way　no　thing　should　in　the　air。　I　stood　and　watched　them　for　a　while；　training　my　binoculars　on　them　and　seeming；　now　and　again　in　the　shifting　images　of　light；　to　discern　structures　around　them。　A　chill　passed　through　me　then　and　my　mind　raced　to　reason　out　what　I　was　seeing。　I　glanced　quickly　about　in　the　gloom；　and　then　back　to　those　distant；　utterly　silent　towers　of　flickering　flame。　They　hung　there　in　the　sky　like　faces　of　fire　looking　down　on　the　island；　like　something　waiting。
　　
　　Then　it　came　to　me；　and　I　knew。
　　
　　A　mirage；　a　reflection　of　layers　on　air　out　to　sea。　I　was　watching　the　gas…flares　of　oil…rigs　maybe　hundreds　of　kilometres　away；　out　in　the　North　Sea。　Looking　again　at　those　dim　shapes　around　the　flame；　they　did　appear　to　be　rigs；　vaguely　made　out　in　their　own　gassy　glare。　I　went　on　my　way　happy　after　that…indeed；　happier　than　I　had　been　before　I　had　seen　the　strange　apparitions…and　it　occurred　to　me　that　somebody　both　less　logical　and　less　imaginative　would　have　jumped　to　the　conclusion　that　what　they　had　seen　were　UFOs。
　　
　　I　got　to　the　island　eventually。　The　house　was　dark。　I　stood　looking　at　it　in　the　darkness；　just　aware　of　its　bulk　in　the　feeble　light　of　a　broken　moon；　and　I　thought　it　looked　even　bigger　than　it　really　was；　like　a　stone…giant's　head；　a　huge　moonlit　skull　full　of　shapes　and　memories；　staring　out　to　sea　and　attached　to　a　vast；　powerful　body　buried　in　the　rock　and　sand　beneath；　ready　to　shrug　itself　free　and　disinter　itself　on　some　unknowable　mand　or　cue。
　　
　　The　house　stared　out　to　sea；　out　to　the　night；　and　I　went　into　it。
　　
　　
　　　5　：　A　Bunch　of　Flowers
　　
　　
　　I　KILLED　little　Esmerelda　because　I　felt　lowed　it　to　myself　and　to　the　world　in　general。　I　had；　after　all；　accounted　for　two　male　children　and　thus　done　womankind　something　of　a　statistical　favour。　If　I　really　had　the　courage　of　my　convictions；　I　reasoned；　I　ought　to　redress　the　balance　at　least　slightly。　My　cousin　was　simply　the　easiest　and　most　obvious　target。
　　
　　Again；　I　bore　her　no　personal　ill…will。　Children　aren't　real　people；　in　the　sense　that　they　are　not　small　males　and　females　but　a　separate　species　which　will　（probably）　grow　into　one　or　the　other　in　due　time。　Younger　children　in　particular；　before　the　insidious　and　evil　influence　of　society　and　their　parents　have　properly　got　to　them；　are　sexlessly　open　and　hence　perfectly　likeable。　I　did　like　Esmerelda　（even　if　I　thought　her　name　was　a　bit　soppy）　and　played　with　her　a　lot　when　she　came　to　stay。　She　was　the　daughter　of　Harmsworth　and　Morag　Stove；　my　half…uncle　and　half…aunt　by　my　father's　first　marriage；　they　were　the　couple　who　had　looked　after　Eric　between　the　ages　of　three　and　five。　They　would　e　over　from　Belfast　to　stay　with　us　in　the　summers　sometimes；　my　father　used　to　get　on　well　with　Harmsworth；　and　because　I　looked　after　Esmerelda　they　could　have　a　nice　relaxing　holiday　here。　I　think　Mrs　Stove　was　a　little　worried　about　trusting　her　daughter　to　me　that　particular　summer；　as　it　was　the　one　after　I'd　struck　young　Paul　down　in　his　prime；　but　at　nine　years　of　age　I　was　an　obviously　happy　and　well…adjusted　child；　responsible　and　well…spoken　and；　when　it　was　mentioned；　demonstrably　sad　about　my　younger　brother's　demise。　I　am　convinced　that　only　my　genuinely　clear　conscience　let　me　convince　the　adults　around　me　that　I　was　totally　innocent。　I　even　carried　out　a　double…bluff　of　appearing　slightly　guilty　for　the　wrong　reasons；　so　that　adults　told　me　I　shouldn't　blame　myself　because　I　hadn't　been　able　to　warn　Paul　in　time。　I　was　brillia