ib.thewaspfactory-第7章

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ell；　even　though　it　rankled　to　see　Eric；　who　was　the　same　age　as　Blyth；　obviously　in　fear　of　him。
　　
　　So　one　day；　very　hot　and　insecty；　with　a　faint　breeze　ing　in　off　the　sea；　we　were　all　lying　in　the　grass　on　the　flat　area　just　to　the　south　of　the　house。　Paul　and　Blyth　had　fallen　asleep；　and　Eric　was　lying　with　his　hands　behind　his　neck；　staring　drowsily　up　at　the　bright　blue。　Blyth　had　taken　off　the　hollow　plastic　leg　and　left　it　lying　tangled　in　its　straps　and　the　long　grass　blades。　I　watched　Eric　fall　slowly　asleep；　his　head　gently　tipping　to　one　side；　eyes　closing。　I　got　up　and　went　for　a　walk　and　ended　up　at　the　Bunker。　It　hadn't　assumed　the　full　importance　it　later　would　in　my　life；　though　I　already　liked　the　place　and　felt　at　home　in　its　coolness　and　dark。　It　was　an　old　concrete　pillbox　built　just　before　the　last　war　to　house　a　gun　covering　the　firth；　and　it　stuck　in　the　sand　like　a　big　grey　tooth。　I　went　inside　and　found　the　snake。　It　was　an　adder。　I　didn't　see　it　for　ages　because　I　was　too　busy　sticking　an　old　rotten　fence…post　out　through　the　slits　in　the　pillbox；　pretending　it　was　a　gun　and　firing　at　imaginary　ships。　It　was　only　after　I'd　stopped　doing　that　and　gone　into　the　corner　to　have　a　piss　that　I　looked　over　into　the　other　corner　where　there　was　a　pile　of　rusty　cans　and　old　bottles；　there　I　saw　the　jagged　stripes　of　the　sleeping　snake。
　　
　　I　decided　what　I　was　going　to　do　almost　immediately。　I　went　outside　quietly　and　found　a　length　of　driftwood　of　the　appropriate　shape；　came　back　to　the　Bunker；　caught　the　snake　by　the　neck　with　the　piece　of　wood　and　bundled　it　into　the　first　rusty　can　I　could　find　which　still　had　a　lid。
　　
　　I　don't　think　the　snake　had　fully　wakened　up　when　I　caught　it；　and　I　was　careful　not　to　jar　it　as　I　ran　back　to　where　my　brothers　and　Blyth　were　lying　on　the　grass。　Eric　had　rolled　over　and　had　one　hand　under　his　head；　the　other　over　his　eyes。　His　mouth　was　open　slightly　and　his　chest　moved　slowly。　Paul　lay　in　the　sunlight　curled　up　into　a　little　ball；　quite　still；　and　Blyth　was　lying　on　his　stomach；　hands　under　his　cheek；　the　stump　of　his　left　leg　drawn　up　in　the　flowers　and　the　grass；　sticking　out　from　his　shorts　like　some　monstrous　erection。　I　went　closer；　still　clutching　the　rusty　can　in　my　shadow。　The　gable　end　of　the　house　looked　down　on　us　from　about　fifty　metres　away；　windowless。　White　sheets　flapped　feebly　in　the　back　garden。　My　heart　beat　wildly　and　I　licked　my　lips。
　　
　　I　sat　down　by　the　side　of　Blyth；　careful　not　to　let　my　shadow　cross　his　face。　I　put　one　ear　to　the　can　and　held　it　still。　I　couldn't　hear　or　feel　the　snake　stir。　I　reached　for　Blyth's　artificial　leg；　lying　smooth　and　pink　by　the　small　of　his　back　and　in　his　shadow。　I　held　the　leg　to　the　can　and　took　the　lid　away；　sliding　the　leg　over　the　hole　as　I　did　so。　Then　I　slowly　turned　the　can　and　the　leg　the　other　way　up；　so　that　the　can　was　over　the　leg。　I　shook　the　can；　and　felt　the　snake　fall　into　the　leg。　It　didn't　like　it　at　first；　and　moved　and　beat　against　the　sides　of　the　plastic　and　the　neck　of　the　can　while　I　held　it　and　sweated；　listening　to　the　hum　of　the　insects　and　the　rustling　of　the　grass；　staring　at　Blyth　as　he　lay　there　still　and　silent；　his　dark　hair　ruffled　now　and　again　by　the　breeze。　My　hands　shook　and　the　perspiration　ran　into　my　eyes。
　　
　　The　snake　stopped　moving。　I　held　it　longer；　glancing　at　the　house　again。　Then　I　tipped　the　leg　and　the　can　over　until　the　leg　was　lying　at　the　same　angle　on　the　grass　as　it　had　been；　behind　Blyth。　I　took　the　can　carefully　away　at　the　last　moment。　Nothing　happened。　The　snake　was　still　inside　the　leg；　and　I　couldn't　even　see　it。　I　got　up；　walked　backwards　towards　the　nearest　dune；　threw　the　can　way　high　over　the　top　of　it；　then　came　back；　lay　down　where　I'd　been　sitting　earlier；　and　closed　my　eyes。
　　
　　Eric　woke　first；　then　I　opened　my　eyes　as　though　sleepily；　and　we　woke　little　Paul；　and　our　cousin。　Blyth　saved　me　the　trouble　of　suggesting　a　game　of　football　by　doing　it　himself。　Eric；　Paul　and　I　got　the　goalposts　together　while　Blyth　hurriedly　strapped　his　leg　on。
　　
　　Nobody　suspected。　From　the　first　moments；　when　my　brothers　and　I　stood　there　incredulous　as　Blyth　screamed　and　jumped　and　tugged　at　his　leg；　to　the　tearful　farewell　of　Blyth's　parents　and　Diggs　taking　statements　（a　bit　even　appeared　in　the　Inverness　Courier　which　was　picked　up　for　its　curiosity　value　by　a　couple　of　the　Fleet　Street　rags）；　not　one　person　even　suggested　that　it　might　have　been　anything　other　than　a　tragic　and　slightly　macabre　accident。　Only　I　knew　better。
　　
　　I　didn't　tell　Eric。　He　was　shocked　by　what　had　happened　and　genuinely　sorry　for　Blyth　and　his　parents。　All　I　said　was　that　I　thought　it　was　a　judgement　from　God　that　Blyth　had　first　lost　his　leg　and　then　had　the　replacement　bee　the　instrument　of　his　downfall。　All　because　of　the　rabbits。　Eric；　who　was　going　through　a　religious　phase　at　the　time　which　I　suppose　I　was　to　some　extent　copying；　thought　this　was　a　terrible　thing　to　say；　God　wasn't　like　that。　I　said　the　one　I　believed　in　was。
　　
　　At　any　rate；　such　was　the　reason　that　particular　patch　of　ground　got　its　name：　the　Snake　Park。
　　
　　I　lay　in　bed；　thinking　back　on　all　this。　Father　still　hadn't　e　back。　Perhaps　he　was　going　to　stay　out　all　night。　That　was　extremely　unusual；　and　rather　worrying。　Perhaps　he　had　been　knocked　down；　or　had　died　of　a　heart　attack。
　　
　　I've　always　had　a　rather　ambivalent　attitude　towards　something　happening　to　my　father；　and　it　persists。　A　death　is　always　exciting；　always　makes　you　realise　how　alive　you　are；　how　vulnerable　but　so…far…lucky；　but　the　death　of　somebody　close　gives　you　a　good　excuse　to　go　a　bit　crazy　for　a　while　and　do　things　that　would　otherwise　be　inexcusable。　What　delight　to　behave　really　badly　and　still　get　loads　of　sympathy！
　　
　　But　I'd　miss　him；　and　I　don't　know　what　the　legal　position　would　be　about　me　staying　on　here　by　myself。　Would　I　get　all　his　money？　That　would　be　good；　I　could　get　my　motorbike　now　instead　of　having　to　wait。　Jesus；　there'd　be　so　many　things　I　could　do　I　don't　even　know　where　to　start　thinking　about　them。　But　it　would　be　a　big　change；　and　I　don't　know　that　I'm　ready　for　it　yet。
　　
　　I　could　feel　myself　starting　to　slide　off　into　sleep；　I　began　to　imagine　and　see　all　sorts　of　weird　things　behind　my　eyes　：　maze…shapes　and　spreading　areas　of　unknown　colours；　then　fantastic　buildings　and　spaceships　and　weapons　and　landscapes。　I　often　wish　I　could　remember　my　dreams　better。。。。
　　
　　Two　years　after　I　killed　Blyth　I　murdered　my　young　brother　Paul；　for　quite　different　and　more　fundamental　reasons　than　I'd　disposed　of　Blyth；　and　then　a　year　after　that　I　did　for　my　young　cousin　Esmerelda；　more　or　less　on　a　whim。
　　
　　That's　my　score　to　date。　Three。　I　haven't　killed　anybody　for　years；　and　don't　intend　to　ever　again。
　　
　　It　was　just　a　stage　I　was　going　through。
　　
　　
　　　3：　In　the　Bunker
　　
　　
　　My　GREATEST　ENEMIES　are　Women　and　the　Sea。　These　things　I　hate。　Women　because　they　are　weak　and　stupid　and　live　in　the　shadow　of　men　and　are　nothing　pared　to　them；　and　the　Sea　because　it　has　always　frustrated　me；　destroying　what　I　have　built；　washing　away　what　I　have　left；　wiping　clean　the　marks　I　have　made。　And　I'm　not　all　that　sure　the　Wind　is　blameless；　either。
　　
　　The　Sea　is　a　sort　of　mythological　enemy；　and　I　make　what　you　might　call　sacrifices　to　it　in　my　soul；　fearing　it　a　little；　respecting　it　as　you're　supposed　to；　but　in　many　ways　treating　it　as　an　equal。　It　does　things　to　the　world；　and　so　do　I；　we　should　both　be　feared。　Women。。。　well；　women　are　a　bit　too　close　for　fort　as　far　as　I'm　concerned。　I　don't　even　like　having　them　on　the　island；　not　even　Mrs　Clamp；　who　es　every　week　on　a　Saturday　to　clean　the　house　and　deliver　our　supplies。　She's　ancient；　and　sexless　the　way　the　very　old　and　the　very　young　are；　but　she's　still　been　a　woman；　and　I　resent　that；　for　my　own　good　reason。
　　
　　I　woke　the　next　morning；　wondering　if　my　father　had　e　back　or　not。　Without　bothering　to　dress；　I　went　to　his　room。　I　was　going　to　try　the　door；　but　I　could　hear　him　snoring　before　I　touched　the　handle；　so　I　turned　and　went　to　the　bathroom。
　　
　　In　the　bathroom；　after　a　piss；　I　went　through　my　daily　washing　ritual。　First　I　had　my　shower。　The　shower　is　the　only　time　in　any　twenty…four…hour　period　I　take　my　underpants　right　off。　I　put　the　old　pair　in　the　dirty…linen　bag　in　the　airing　cupboard。　I　showered　carefully；　starting　at　my　hair　and　ending　between　my　toes　and　under　my　toenails。　Sometimes；　when　I　have　to　make　precious　substances　such　as　toenail　cheese　or　belly…button　fluff；　I　have　to　go　without　a　shower　or　bath　for　days　and　days；　I　hate　doing　this　because　I　soon　feel　dirty　and　itchy；　and　the　only　bright　thing　about　such　abstinence　is　how　good　it　feels　to　have　a　shower　at　the　end　of　it。
　　
　　After　my　shower；　and　a　brisk　rub…down　with　first　a　face…cloth　and　then　a　towel；　I　trimmed　my　nails。　Then　I　brushed　my　teeth　thoroughly　with　my　electric　toothbrush。　Next　the　shave。　I　always　use　shaving　foam　and　the　latest　razors　（twin…blade　swivel…heads　are　state…of…the…art　at　the　moment）；　removing　the　downy　brown　growth　of　the　previous　day　and　night　with　dexterity　and　precision。　As　with　all　my　ablutions；　the　shave　follows　a　definite　and　predetermined　pattern；　I　take　the　same　number　of　strokes　of　the　same　length　in　the　same　sequence　each　morning。　As　always；　I　felt　a　rising　tingle　of　excitement　as　I　contemplated　the　meticulously　shorn　surfaces　of　my　face。
　　
　　I　blew　and　picked　my　nose　clean；　washed　my　hands；　cleaned　the　razor；　nail…clipper；　shower　and　basin；　rinsed　out　the　flannel　and　bed　my　hair。　Happily　I　didn't　have　any　spots；　so　there　was　nothing　else　required　but　a　final　handwash　and　a　clean　pair　of　underpants。　I　placed　all　my　washing　materials；　towels；　razor　and　so　forth　exactly　where　they　should　be；　wiped　a　little　steam　off　the　mirror　on　my　bathroom　cabinet；　and　returned　to　my　room。
　　
　　There　I　put　on　my　socks；　green　for　that　day。　Then　a　khaki　shirt　with　pockets。　In　the　winter　I'd　have　a　vest　underneath　and　a　green　army　jumper　over　the　shirt；　but　not　in　the　summer。　My　green　cord　trousers　came　next；　followed　by　my　fawn　Kickers　boots；　labels　removed　as　from　everything　I　wear　because　I　refuse　to　be　a　walking　advertisement　for　anybody。　My　bat　jacket；　knife；　bags；　catapult　and　other　equipment　I　took　down　to　the　kitchen　with　me。
　　
　　It　was　still　early；　and　the　rain　I'd　heard　forecast　the　previous　night　was　looking　about　ready　to　drop。　I　had　my　modest　breakfast；　and　I　was　ready。
　　
　　I　went　out　into　the　fresh　damp　morning；　walking　quickly　to　keep　warm　and　get　round　the　island　before　any　rain　started。　The　hills　beyond　the　town　were　hidden　by　cloud；　and　the　sea　was　rough　as　the　wind　freshened。　The　grass　was　heavy　with　dew；　drops　of　mist　bowed　the　unopened　flowers　and　clung　to　my　Sacrifice　Poles；　too；　like　clear　blood　on　the　shrivelled　heads　and　tiny；　desiccated　bodies。
　　
　　A　couple　of　jets　screamed　over　the　island　at　one　point；　two　Jaguars　wing　to　wing　about　one　hundred　metres　up　and　going　fast；　crossing　the　whole　island　in　an　eye…blink　and　racing　out　to　sea。　I　glared　at　them；　then　went　on　my　way。　Once