gns.throwback-第46部分

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　　And　when　finally　he　came　to　her　the　light　was　gone　and　she　could　not　see　him；　only　feel　him。　Strong　smooth　flesh　that　rubbed　against　her　own；　kissing　her　passionately　and　thrusting　his　tongue　into　her　mouth。　Sensuous　fingertips　doing　things　to　her　that　Kuz　had　never　done。　Dominant　yet　gentle；　loving　her。
　　
　　She　sobbed　aloud　when　finally　he　rolled　in　between　her　legs　and　even　then　he　took　his　time　entering　her。　She　soared；　drifted　along　in　an　ecstatic　flight。　And　still　she　did　not　see　his　face　clearly。　She　clung　to　him；　tried　to　stop　him　leaving　her；　determined　to　go　wherever　he　went。　But；　as　usual；　he　slipped　from　her　grasp　and　then　he　was　gone　into　the　shadows　of　her　mind；　leaving　only　a　dim　memory　behind。　But　he　would　e　again　surely；　he　always　did。　And　next　time　。　。　。
　　
　　Jackie　was　vaguely　aware　that　she　was　not　alone　in　the　room；　her　senses　picking　up　movements；　conscious　of　them　even　as　she　slept。　Stirring；　trying　to　recollect。　He　had　e　back！　Her　pulses　raced　but　she　did　not　open　her　eyes　immediately　because　she　would　not　see　him　clearly。　He　would　be　standing　in　a　shadowy　corner　or　else　looking　out　of　the　window　with　his　back　to　her。
　　
　　Her　sleep　receded　and　now　every　sense　was　alert。　Positive　movements；　footsteps；　he　was　attending　to　some　chore　or　other。　Perhaps　if　she　squinted　through　half…closed　eyes　she　would　surprise　him；　catch　him　unawares　before　he　had　a　chance　to　hide　his　features　from　her　again。
　　
　　She　trembled；　tensed；　experienced　a　sense　of　guilt。　She　was　not　meant　to　see　and　yet　she　was　determined。　Candlelight；　she　had　slept　longer　than　she　had　thought　and　it　was　already　dark　outside。　Her　slitted　eyes　followed　the　wan　circle　of　yellow　light…saw　him！
　　
　　She　suppressed　a　groan　of　disappointment；　he　had　his　back　to　her　as　usual；　was　kneeling　before　the　fireplace　with　an　armful　of　kindling　wood；　laying　sticks　on　the　newspaper。　He　wore　a　blue　anorak　and　the　hood　was　still　pulled　up；　the　wet　snow　on　it　melting　and　dripping　on　to　the　floor。　Muddy　Wellington　boots　had　left　a　trail　of　footprints　from　the　back　door。
　　
　　A　matchbox　rattled；　a　rasping　noise；　and　a　bright　flame　was　applied　to　the　paper；　hungrily　devouring　it；　the　sticks　crackling　and　hissing；　A　puff　of　smoke　billowed　back；　made　him　cough。　A　fit　of　coupling；　a　handkerchief　clutched　to　his　mouth。　A　sound　that　frightened　Jackie　because　it　was　reminiscent　of　that　woman's　coughing　earlier。
　　
　　Her　alarm　blended　into　disappointment　as　the　man。　turned　away　from　the　fire　and　she　saw　his　features　clearly　for　the　first　time。　It　was　not　him。　Too　old；　so　gaunt；　no　way　was　it　the　lover　who　haunted　her　dreams　and　fantasies。
　　
　　'Hallo；'　he　nodded；　not　in　the　least　surprised；　as　though　he　had　quite　expected　to　find　her　lying　there　on　the　sofa。　He　pushed　his　hood　back　and　she　noted　the　receding　hairline；　the　balding　crown。　'Now　that　I've　found　some　wood　we　can　have　a　fire。　We'll　soon　get　warm。'
　　
　　She　smiled；　hoped　her　anguish　didn't　show。　She　also　hoped　that　he　would　not　make　any　demands　on　her　although　she　would　have　traded　anything　and　everything　she　had　to　offer　for　food　and　shelter。
　　
　　'Rod。'　He　tapped　his　chest；　gave　another　deep　rumbling　cough。　'Rod　Savage。1
　　
　　'Jac。'　She　pointed　to　herself；　smiled　again。　They　would　have　to　overe　the　language　barrier。　She　had　coped　with　Phil　Winder。　Somehow　her　vocal　chords　were　incapable　of　producing　this　new　language　and　even　when　she　understood　certain　sounds　she　was　unable　to　repeat　them　except　in　a　barely　articulate　nasal　tone。
　　
　　'Pleased　to　meet　you；　Jac。'　Rod　Savage　obviously　weled　the　opportunity　to　talk　to　somebody　even　if　they　did　not　understand。　Talking　to　oneself　got　exceedingly　boring　after　several　weeks。　'I　expect　you'd　like　some　tea。'　He　took　off　his　anorak；　began　opening　some　cans；　sardines　and　spaghetti。　A　packet　of　Ryvita　that　was　no　longer　crisp；　spread　with　peanut　butter。　He　boiled　the　kettle；　made　some　tea。
　　
　　Jackie　ate　ravenously；　gave　up　trying　to　master　the　art　of　using　a　fork。　Her　panion　did　not　seem　to　notice。
　　
　　She　watched　him　carefully　as　she　ate。　Certainly　he　was　not　well；　his　features　shiny　with　sweat　even　though　the　blazing　fire　had　not　yet　had　a　chance　to　warm　the　room。　Periodically　his　eyes　seemed　to　film　over；　cleared　again。　And　always　that　hacking　cough。
　　
　　'Damned　typewriter's　broken。'　He　pushed　his　empty　plate　away。　'Carriage　spring；　I　think。　No　chance　of　getting　it　repaired　and　I'm　not　mechanically　minded　so　I'll　have　to　write　the　rest　of　my　〃History　of　the　New　Britain〃　in　longhand。　Don't　expect　it　will　ever　get　published　anyway　because　there's　nobody　left　to　publish　it。'　He　tried　to　laugh；　surrendered　to　another　fit　of　coughing。
　　
　　
　　Jackie　noticed　that　when　the　handkerchief　came　away　from　his　mouth　it　was　spottled　with　scarlet。
　　
　　'I'm　ill；　y'know。'　Clipped　hurried　speech　as　though　he　had　got　an　awful　lot　to　say　and　was　afraid　he　would　not　get　time　to　finish　speaking。　'Had　it　a　fortnight　now。　Some　days　it's　not　too　bad；　like　today；　other　days　it's　pretty　chronic。　Pneumonia　probably；　came　on　when　the　weather　changed。　Maybe　I'll　rest　up　for　a　few　days。'　He　spread　his　arms；　spoke　more　directly。　'You're　wele　to　stay　here　as　long　as　you　like。　Get　it？　You。。。　stay。。。　here　。。。'
　　
　　She　nodded。　Phil　Winder　had　taught　her　how　to　wash　dishes　and　she　would　repay　this　strange　man　for　his　hospitality。　He　wouldn't　expect　anything　else；　he　was　too　ill。
　　
　　'Say；　that's　cute；　real　cute。'　He　watched　her　at　the　sink　from　the　armchair。　'Never　thought　you　lot　would　be　able　to　master　household　chores。　Have　to　make　a　note　of　that。　I'll　sub…title　it　〃How　I　lived　with　a　trained　throwback〃。'　He　laughed　and　coughed　again。
　　
　　'Got　you　lot　all　worked　out。'　Rod　Savage　talked　incessantly　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　it　was　a　strain。　'For　weeks　now　you've　been　gathering　in　the　hills。　Couldn't　understand　it；　anybody　with　any　sense　would　stick　to　the　valleys　and　lowlands　with　winter　ing　on。　Then　I　hit　on　it。　The　old　Iron　Age　trade　route　starts　from　here；　I　found　an　old　book　about　it；　the　route　marked　on　a　map。　Through　these　hills；　heading　south。　Not　that　you've　got　anything　to　trade　or　anybody　to　trade　with　but　old　instincts　die　hard。　You're　massing　for　the　great　trek　south。　You　need　a　warmer　climate　and　that's　where　you're　going；　but　if　you　ask　me　you've　left　it　too　damned　late'
　　
　　Jackie　slept　on　the　sofa　that　night；　lay　and　listened　to　the　wind　howling；　buffeting　the　cottage；　driving　the　snow　against　the　walls；　building　up　deep　drifts。　And　hour　after　hour　Rod　Savage　lay　and　coughed。　She　heard　him　turning　restlessly　in　his　bed　directly　above　the　tiny　living…room；　remembered　that　woman　who　had　had　to　be　carried；　and　the　body　in　the　snow。
　　
　　She　dozed　uneasily。　Tonight　her　lover　did　not　e；　she　called　out　for　him；　willed　him　to　join　her；　but　he　never　came。　Strange　dreams　of　a　land　where　everybody　except　herself　was　dead；　the　hills　and　forests　littered　with　bodies　where　the　fevered　coughing　illness　had　taken　its　toll。
　　
　　Only　she　remained；　alone　in　a　dead　hell；　wanting　to　die　but　living；　forced　to　walk　the　silent　land　in　search　of　a　will…o'…the…wisp　that　no　longer　came　to　taunt　her。　A　land　of　cold　and　hunger　and　thirst。
　　
　　When　finally　she　awoke　she　was　not　sure　whether　it　was　light　or　not；　went　to　the　window　and　rubbed　a　patch　in　the　condensation。　A　virgin　white　curtain　of　snow　covered　the　outside　of　the　glass　pane。　She　turned　back　in　despair；　wondered　if　she　could　find　sticks　and　paper　with　which　to　light　a　fire。
　　
　　The　wind　had　dropped。　Suddenly　she　was　aware　of　the　total　stillness；　the　cloying　silence。　And　with　it　came　a　feeling　bordering　on　panic。　Rod　Savage　was　no　longer　turning　restlessly　in　his　bed　upstairs　and　coughing　incessantly。　No　sound　came　from　above。
　　
　　And　that　was　when　Jackie's　dream　came　back　to　her；　of　a　land　where　everybody　except　herself　was　dead。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWENTY…THREE
　　
　　SYLVIA　HAD　found　the　village　within　an　hour　or　so　of　leaving　the　cottage；　had　e　upon　it　suddenly　in　the　thick　hill…fog。　She　could　have　drawn　back；　fled　before　the　occupants　caught　sight　of　her。　But　she　didn't。
　　
　　She　walked　slowly；　dazedly　into　the　settlement。　The　snow　was　falling　steadily；　a　refreshing　wind　threatening　to　whip　it　into　a　blizzard。　A　strange　atmosphere　which　she　sensed　immediately；　a　kind　of　bustle　of　activity　which　had　suddenly　e　to　a　stop。　Loaded　litters；　the　snow　already　beginning　to　cover　them　with　a　white　film；　a　cluster　of　men　who　eyed　her　with　a　mixture　of　curiosity　and　apathy。　We　were　about　to　leave　but　we've　changed　our　minds。　Who　are　you　and　what　are　you　doing　here？
　　
　　They　were　all　packed　up　and　ready　to　go。　Where　to？　Sylvia　came　to　a　halt　before　the　group；　eyed　them　question…ingly；　felt　she　had　to　say　something。　They　would　not　understand；　but　it　didn't　matter。　Thinking；　talking；　was　being　increasingly　difficult；　her　brain　fogged　and　sluggish。
　　
　　'My　name's　Sylvia。　My　husband's　dead。'　Grief　that　had　been　threatening　like　thunderheads　on　the　horizon　suddenly　hit　her。　Unrestricted　sobs。　One　of　them　pointed　to　the　nearest　dwelling…place。　Go　in　there；　woman；　out