ib.thewaspfactory-第8章

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　the　whole　island　in　an　eye…blink　and　racing　out　to　sea。　I　glared　at　them；　then　went　on　my　way。　Once　they　made　me　jump；　another　couple　of　them；　a　couple　of　years　ago。　They　came　in　illegally　low　after　bombing　practice　on　the　range　just　down　the　firth；　blasting　over　the　island　so　suddenly　that　I　jumped　while　in　the　delicate　manoeuvre　of　teasing　a　wasp　into　a　jar　from　the　old　tree　stump　near　the　ruined　sheep…pen　at　the　north　end　of　the　island。　The　wasp　stung　me。
　　
　　I　went　into　town　that　day；　bought　an　extra　plastic　model　of　a　Jaguar；　made　the　kit　up　that　afternoon　and　ceremonially　blew　it　to　pieces　on　the　roof　of　the　Bunker　with　a　small　pipe…bomb。　Two　weeks　later　a　Jaguar　crashed　into　the　sea　off　Nairn；　though　the　pilot　ejected　in　time。　I'd　like　to　think　the　Power　was　working　then；　but　I　suspect　it　was　coincidence；　high…performance　jets　crash　so　often　it　was　no　real　surprise　my　symbolic　and　their　real　destruction　came　within　a　fortnight　of　each　other。
　　
　　I　sat　on　the　earth　banking　that　looks　out　over　the　Muddy　Creek　and　ate　an　apple。　I　leaned　back　on　the　young　tree　that　as　a　sapling　had　been　the　Killer。　It　was　grown　now；　and　a　good　bit　taller　than　me；　but　when　I　was　young　and　we　were　the　same　size　it　had　been　my　static　catapult　defending　the　southerly　approaches　to　the　island。　Then；　as　now；　it　looked　out　over　the　broad　creek　and　the　gunmetal…coloured　mud　with　the　eaten…looking　wreck　of　an　old　fishing　boat　sticking　out　of　it。
　　
　　After　the　Tale　of　Old　Saul　I　put　the　catapult　to　another　use；　and　it　became　the　Killer；　scourge　of　hamsters；　mice　and　gerbils。
　　
　　I　remember　that　it　could　whack　a　fist…sized　stone　well　over　the　creek　and　twenty　metres　or　more　into　the　undulating　ground　on　the　mainland；　and　once　I　got　keyed　into　its　natural　rhythm　I　could　send　off　a　shot　every　two　seconds。　I　could　place　them　anywhere　within　a　sixty…degree　angle　by　varying　the　direction　in　which　I　pulled　the　sapling　over　and　down。　I　didn't　use　a　little　animal　every　two　seconds；　they　were　expended　at　a　few　a　week。　For　six　months　I　was　the　best　customer　the　Porteneil　Pet　Shop　had；　going　in　every　Saturday　to　get　a　couple　of　beasts；　and　about　every　month　buying　a　tube　of　badminton　shuttlecocks　from　the　toyshop　as　well。　I　doubt　anybody　ever　put　the　two　together；　apart　from　me。
　　
　　It　was　all　for　a　purpose；　of　course；　little　that　I　do　is　not；　one　way　or　another。　I　was　looking　for　Old　Saul's　skull。
　　
　　I　threw　the　core　of　the　apple　over　the　creek；　it　plopped　into　the　mud　on　the　far　bank　with　a　satisfying　slurp。　I　decided　it　was　time　to　look　into　the　Bunker　properly；　and　set　off　along　the　bank　at　a　jog；　swinging　round　the　southernmost　dune　towards　the　old　pillbox。　I　stopped　to　look　at　the　shore。　There　didn't　seem　to　be　anything　interesting　there；　but　I　remembered　the　lesson　of　the　day　before；　when　I　had　stopped　to　sniff　the　air　and　everything　had　seemed　fine；　then　ten　minutes　later　I　was　wrestling　with　a　kamikaze　rabbit；　so　I　trotted　down　off　the　side　of　the　dune　and　down　to　the　line　of　debris　thrown　up　by　the　sea。
　　
　　There　was　one　bottle。　A　very　minor　enemy；　and　empty。　I　went　down　to　the　water…line　and　threw　the　bottle　out。　It　bobbed；　head　up；　ten　metres　out。　The　tide　hadn't　covered　the　pebbles　yet；　so　I　took　up　a　handful　and　lobbed　them　at　the　bottle。　It　was　close　enough　to　use　the　under…arm　style；　and　the　pebbles　I'd　selected　were　all　of　roughly　the　same　size；　so　my　fire　was　very　accurate：　four　shots　within　splashing　distance　and　a　fifth　which　smashed　the　neck　off　the　bottle。　A　small　victory　really；　because　the　decisive　defeat　of　the　bottles　had　e　about　long　ago；　shortly　after　I　learned　to　throw；　when　I　first　realised　the　sea　was　an　enemy。　It　still　tried　me　out　now　and　again；　though；　and　I　was　in　no　mood　to　allow　even　the　slightest　encroachment　on　my　territory。
　　
　　The　bottle　sunk；　I　returned　to　the　dunes；　went　to　the　top　of　the　one　the　Bunker　lay　half…buried　in；　and　had　a　look　round　with　my　binoculars。　The　coast　was　clear；　even　if　the　weather　wasn't。　I　went　down　to　the　Bunker。
　　
　　I　repaired　the　steel　door　years　ago；　loosening　the　rusted　hinges　and　straightening　the　guides　for　the　bolt。　I　took　out　the　key　to　the　padlock　and　opened　the　door。　Inside　there　was　the　familiar　waxy；　burned　smell。　I　closed　the　door　and　propped　a　piece　of　wood　against　it；　then　stood　for　a　while；　letting　my　eyes　adjust　to　the　gloom　and　my　mind　to　the　feel　of　the　place。
　　
　　After　a　while　I　could　see　dimly　by　the　light　filtering　through　the　sacking　hung　over　the　two　narrow　slits　which　are　the　Bunker's　only　windows。　I　took　off　my　shoulder　bag　and　binoculars　and　hung　them　on　nails　hammered　into　the　slightly　crumbling　concrete。　I　took　up　the　tin　with　the　matches　in　it　and　lit　the　candles；　they　burned　yellowly　and　I　knelt；　clenching　my　fists　and　thinking。　I'd　found　the　candle…making　kit　in　the　cupboard　under　the　stairs　five　or　six　years　ago；　and　experimented　with　the　colours　and　consistencies　for　months　before　hitting　on　the　idea　of　using　the　wax　as　a　wasp…prison。　I　looked　up　then　and　saw　the　head　of　a　wasp　poking　up　from　the　top　of　a　candle　on　the　altar。　The　newly　lit　candle；　blood　red　and　as　thick　as　my　wrist；　contained　the　still　flame　and　the　tiny　head　within　its　caldera　of　wax　like　pieces　of　an　alien　game。　As　I　watched；　the　flame；　a　centimetre　behind　the　wasp's　wax…gummed　head；　freed　the　antennae　from　the　grease　and　they　came　upright　for　a　while　before　they　frazzled。　The　head　started　to　smoke　as　the　wax　dribbled　off　it；　then　the　fumes　caught　light；　and　the　wasp　body；　a　second　flame　within　the　crater；　flickered　and　crackled　as　the　fire　incinerated　the　insect　from　its　head　down。
　　
　　I　lit　the　candle　inside　the　skull　of　Old　Saul。　That　orb　of　bone；　holed　and　yellowing；　was　what　killed　all　those　little　creatures　who　met　their　death　in　the　mud　on　the　far　side　of　the　creek。　I　watched　the　smoky　flame　waver　inside　the　place　where　the　dog's　brains　used　to　be　and　I　closed　my　eyes。　I　saw　the　Rabbit　Grounds　again；　and　the　flaming　bodies　as　they　jumped　and　sped。　I　saw　again　the　one　that　escaped　the　Grounds　and　died　just　before　it　made　it　to　the　stream。　I　saw　the　Black　Destroyer；　and　remembered　its　demise。　I　thought　of　Eric；　and　wondered　what　the　Factory's　warning　was　about。
　　
　　I　saw　myself；　Frank　L。　Cauldhame；　and　I　saw　myself　as　I　might　have　been：　a　tall　slim　man；　strong　and　determined　and　making　his　way　in　the　world；　assured　and　purposeful。　I　opened　my　eyes　and　gulped；　breathing　deeply。　A　fetid　light　blazed　from　Old　Saul's　sockets。　The　candles　on　either　side　of　the　altar　flickered　with　the　skull…flame　in　a　draught。
　　
　　I　looked　round　the　Bunker。　The　severed　heads　of　gulls；　rabbits；　crows；　mice；　owls；　moles　and　small　lizards　looked　down　on　me。　They　hung　drying　on　short　loops　of　black　thread　suspended　from　lengths　of　string　stretched　across　the　walls　from　corner　to　corner；　and　dim　shadows　turned　slowly　on　the　walls　behind　them。　Around　the　foot　of　the　walls；　on　plinths　of　wood　or　stone；　or　on　bottles　and　cans　the　sea　had　surrendered；　my　collection　of　skulls　watched　me。　The　yellow　brain…bones　of　horses；　dogs；　birds；　fish　and　horned　sheep　faced　in　towards　Old　Saul；　some　with　beaks　and　jaws　open；　some　shut；　the　teeth　exposed　like　drawn　claws。　To　the　right　of　the　brick；　wood　and　concrete　altar　where　the　candles　and　the　skull　sat　were　my　small　phials　of　precious　fluids；　to　the　left　rose　a　tall　set　of　clear　plastic　drawers　designed　to　hold　screws；　washers；　nails　and　hooks。　Each　drawer；　not　much　larger　than　a　small　matchbox；　held　the　body　of　a　wasp　which　had　been　through　the　Factory。
　　
　　I　reached　over　for　a　large　tin　on　my　right；　prised　the　tight　lid　off　with　my　knife　and　used　a　small　teaspoon　inside　to　place　some　of　the　white　mixture　from　the　tin　on　to　a　round　metal　plate　in　front　of　the　old　dog's　skull。　Then　I　took　the　oldest　of　the　wasp　cadavers　from　its　little　tray　and　tipped　it　on　to　the　white　pile　of　granules。　I　replaced　the　sealed　tin　and　the　plastic　drawer　and　lit　the　tiny　pyre　with　a　match。
　　
　　The　mixture　of　sugar　and　weedkiller　sizzled　and　glared；　the　intense　light　seared　through　me　and　clouds　of　smoke　rolled　up　and　around　my　head　as　I　held　my　breath　and　my　eyes　watered。　In　a　second　the　blaze　was　over；　the　mixture　and　the　wasp　a　single　black　lump　of　scarred　and　blistered　debris　cooling　from　a　bright　yellow　heat。　I　closed　my　eyes　to　inspect　the　patterns；　but　only　the　burning　after…image　remained；　fading　like　the　glow　on　the　metal　plate。　It　danced　about　briefly　on　my　retinas；　then　disappeared。　I　had　hoped　for　Eric's　face；　or　some　further　clue　about　what　was　going　to　happen；　but　I　got　nothing。
　　
　　I　leaned　forward；　blew　out　the　wasp　candles；　right　then　left；　then　blew　through　one　eye　and　extinguished　the　candle　inside　the　dog　skull。　Still　glare…blind；　I　felt　my　way　to　the　door　through　the　dark　and　the　smoke。　I　went　out；　letting　the　smoke　and　fumes　free　into　the　damp　air；　coils　of　blue　and　grey　curled　off　my　hair　and　clothes　as　I　stood　there；　breathing　deeply。　I　closed　my　eyes　for　a　bit；　then　went　back　into　the　Bunker　to　tidy　up。
　　
　　I　closed　the　door　and　locked　it。　I　went　back　to　the　house　for　lunch　and　found　my　father　chopping　driftwood　in　the　back　garden。
　　
　　'Good　day；'　he　said；　wiping　his　brow。　It　was　humid　if　not　particularly　warm；　and　he　was　stripped　to　the　vest。
　　
　　'Hello；'　I　said。
　　
　　'Were　you　all　right　yesterday？'
　　
　　'I　was。'
　　
　　'I　didn't　get　back　till　late。'
　　
　　'I　was　asleep。'
　　
　　'I　thought　you　might　be。　You'll　be　wanting　some　lunch。'
　　
　　'I'll　make　it　today；　if　you　want。'
　　
　　'No；　that's　all　right。　You　can　chop　the　wood　if　you　have　a　mind　to。　I'll　make　lunch　for　us。'　He　put　the　axe　down　and　wiped　his　hands　on　his　trousers；　eyeing　me。　'Was　everything　quiet　yesterday？'
　　
　　'Oh；　yes；'　I　nodded；　standing　there。
　　
　　'Nothing　happened？'
　　
　　'Nothing　special；'　I　assured　him；　putting　down　my　gear　and　taking　my　jacket　off。　I　took　up　the　axe。　'Very　quiet；　in　fact。'
　　
　　'Good；'　he　said；　apparently　convinced；　and　went　into　the　house。　I　started　swinging　the　axe　at　the　lumps　of　driftwood。
　　
　　After　lunch　I　went　into　town；　taking　Gravel　my　bike　and　some　money。　I　told　my　father　I'd　be　back　before　dinner。　It　started　to　rain　when　I　was　halfway　to　Porteneil；　so　I　stopped　to　put　on　my　ka…gool。　The　going　was　heavy　but　I　got　there　without　mishap。　The　town　was　grey　and　empty　in　the　dull　afternoon　light；　cars　swished　through　on　the　road　going　north；　some　with　their　headlights　on；　making　everything　else　seem　even　dimmer。　I　went　to　the　gun　and　tackle　shop　first；　to　see　old　Mackenzie　and　take　another　of　his　American　hunting…catapults　off　him；　and　some　air…gun　pellets；　too。
　　
　　'And　how　are　you　today；　young　man？'
　　
　　'Very　well；　and　yourself？'
　　
　　'Och；　not　too　bad；　you　know；'　he　said；　shaking　his　grey　head　slowly；　his　yellowed　eyes　and　hair　rather　sickly　in　the　electric　light　of　the　shop。　We　always　say　the　same　things　to　each　other。　Often　I　stay　longer　in　the　shop　than　I　mean　to　because　it　smells　so　good。
　　
　　'And　how's　that　uncle　of　yours　these　days？　I　haven't　seen　him　for…oh；　a　while。'
　　
　　'He's　well。'
　　
　　'Oh；　good；　good；'　Mr　Mackenzie　said；　screwing　up　his　eyes　with　a