19 - The Taint_玖贝云文库

You are kind to indulge an old woman like this. Here am I, going on. I don't get to talk very often

- it's a treat, I must say. I'm a little out the way here in Archway, but it's a lot cheaper than

further in. Still, as you get older... as your friends move away or lose touch, it's talking you

miss most, isn't it? Can't expect Fitz - he's my boy, he's twenty-seven - to stay in the whole time,

talking to an old duffer like me; not when he's his age and I'm mine.

It's my own fault, I know. I had him at thirty-eight; the doctors warned me of all the risks when we

found out, said I was too old, and with my history... IVe not been a well person, really. Up and

down, you know, and what with a baby on the way too... But I had Otto then, and we so wanted a

child. My husband, yes, that's right. I can see you've been reading my notes, haven't you! No

secrets from you, then... Yes, Dr Greenish told me you might call.

Well... if you like. I'll tell you about the dreams, yes. Haven't been asked about them - haven'thad

them for a few years now, touch wood. Yes, the floating dreams - I know what you meant. I got that

feeling of rising above myself, you know, looking at myself there in the bed. 'Course, they said it

was the treatment, but it was before the treatment, the first one. Saw myself sleeping, and a right

old sight I looked too, with my hairnet, no slap on, in the middle of the night! What he ever saw in

me I'll never know. Patience of Job, that man... Yes, my husband. Sorry, the dream; you've got me

talking, you see! I warned you, didn't I?

So I'd always start by looking at myself on the bed, then I'd just keep drifting up, through the

ceiling, past Fitzie's room - oh, and the things I'd see him doing some nights, you'd blush, you

really would - out into the sky, into the stars. Never felt cold, or anything really, for someone

flying through the air in a nightdress. Silly, really, but I'd just keep on going, up and up, until

there were no more stars, just skies - different skies, some black, some dark blue, some hazy with

light from somewhere... And I'd just drift through them, for ages, just drift. It was always ever so

calm, that part of the dream.

Then I'd always feel something was there with me. I'd feel frightened, scared, so different to how I

felt before, but, though it always happened the same way, I'd never lose that feeling of calm while

the skies changed around me. Yes, like I could never be aware of what was to come, I suppose.

Anyway, I'm there, and this rock arrives, eventually. Starts off really small, but it's big, it's a

huge big rock. Then it turns and I can see it's got an entrance - it's like... Yes, that's right,

just like a cave, like someone's taken a cave out of a mountainside and put it in the sky. And it

comes towards me, and the sky's just one colour now and there's nowhere else to go, and I'm scared

so I go inside it. I stop floating then, I have to walk. It's all crunchy under my feet. Rocks and

crystals, sparkling in your eyes even when you shut them. The cave roof is all bright, warm and

yellow...

Then it gets darker and it's like there's a church inside, rows and rows of people singing some sort

of hymn. Strange people: they're all tall, dressed in black robes. Their words are funny... No, not

foreign, but like they're... Oh, I don't know, it's like this is their way of crying or

something.They don't feel things the way we do, and I know I've got to be quiet, very quiet, or

they'll find me, and I don't know what they'll do then.

So I stay at the back and listen, and look around.And there's a face; well, it's sort of like a

face. It's got little horns, slitty little eyes, and it's sticking out from the stone above them

like it's laughing at them, but it's not got a mouth. Just a round sort of bump there, like a big

fat ring with no hole in it. It's getting bigger, and I think they haven't noticed that it's filling

the whole ceiling now and I wonder if I should tell them. But then I realise theydo know, that

that's what they're singing about, that's what they're crying for. The ring gets a hole in it and

everyone gets sucked up inside, except me.

I'm back in my bed, but it's inside the cave. It stinks of hellfire and it's full of bodies like

butchers' offcuts, and there are little demons, little devils there, jumping about from body to

body, drinking from them. And I scream and scream and I see my great-great-granddad from the

scrapbook. He's looking at me... Yes.Yes, I'll be all right again in a minute. Haven't really

thought about this in a long time.

Youhaven't ! Have you really? And a cave just like that one?Thatis funny, isn't it? You'd think a

dream like that...

I suppose so... You're right, it is interesting. I always got sick, though. The longer the dreams

went on, the harder it was to wake back up from them. Used to be scared to go to sleep sometimes,

after they let me back out... Otto had gone by then, poor love, and my Fitz would come home roughed

up day after day.They used to call me and him all sorts of names, you know, the kids and the mums.

Every name under the sun, and some that weren't. like they were scared.

When I got ill the third time, poor Fitzie was put in care. It was hard for him - he's a sensitive

boy. Oh, yes, he's a tonic, but it's the talking I miss, you know. Still, I can't expect him to sit

in every night and talk to an old dear like me, can I? No! No, you're right, it must have its fling.

What? Oh, I couldn't, really... Yes, I suppose it would be company... But I don't know if... Oh, you

can't send a driver for me, Dr Roley, goodness, I'll get the bus... No, that's no trouble.

Oh.goodness, well... Well, I suppose... Oh, Dr Roley, you are good, indulging an old lady like this.

THE TAINT

2.1

Life was a never-ending series of dramas, some big, some small. The same dramas, experienced again

and again by different people all through history. Only the trappings and circumstances changed. You

got a job.You bought a house.You met someone.You got married and moved intotheir house.You had an

affair.You got the wrong person pregnant and they married your best friend. You wishedyou could

marry your best friend.

Whatever, the point of it was that life was essentially a tried and tested series of dramas, with

only a finite number of responses. People coped, or they were swamped.They made the wrong moves,

took the right choices, made things worse and sank ever deeper or rose above their despair. Millions

of people had proved this to be the measure of life, and proved also that the measure of the man was

in how he lived it.

Why, thought Fitz Kreiner, wasn't I born one of them?

If this was a drama, it wasn't a good, solid BBC effort, with all the posh voices and the weighty

values. He felt stuck in a commercial break in his life drama. It could well be one of ITV's

salaciousArmchair Theatre programmes, and that would be wonderful, but he hadn't been paying proper

attention and he'd never know until the damned bloody thing started again. In the meantime,Come to

Roley's Gardens of Paradise was the only word from his life's sponsor. Roll up, roll up and buy a

shrub, or an earthenware pot of the highest quality. A potted plant for your home from our

nurseries. Make it a part of your landscape, stage domestics round it. Live your life and its

dramas, and Fitz here will hang around outside, helping to make it prettier for you.

What made it worse was that the opportunities for life's back-from-the-break signature tune to kick

in had never seemed greater. Since Dr Roley - underweight and overprotected son of the late Quentin

Roley, millionaire nurseries tycoon and spectral sponsor of Fitz's current existence - had taken in

Fitz's old mum for his studies, he'd had his own gaff for the first time in his life. Space.

Freedom. Even a bit of cash in his pocket. Looking after number one for a change, instead ofher the

whole time. He'd done his best for her, of course, done his stir; and now Roley was actuallypaying

for the pleasure of putting her up! Fitz had never figured there was much cash potential in having a

mum who was barking, but... Well, he wasn't going to argue. And the old dear had never been happier.

Fitz sighed, and lit up a cigarette. That was meant to be end of Act One, he thought, pushing a hand

through his unkempt, dark hair. Not the big finale.

A girl walked past, attractive, brunette, with a perfectly sculpted bob.A snub nose, wide eyes and

bright-red lips.A tight sweater and a blue skirt. She glanced at him. Fitz straightened up and

smiled a smile that intimated he knew a secret or two, that he was, perhaps, not all he appeared to

be, leaning casually against a picnic table in the grounds of a stately home in West Wycombe. That

he was so much more than...

The girl walked past without a second look and on to the hanging-basket section.

Bugger, thought Fitz. Another bloody advert for what I'm missing out on. How about giving me the

chance to go get some for myself?

He glanced at his watch.Ten to ten.The day stretched ahead before him without relief. Good of Roley

Jnr to fix him up with work here to keep an eye on the old lady, but... Why couldn't Daddy have been

an art dealer? Or run a top model agency? Or have been the owner of an internationally renowned

casino?

Yeah, that would do: Fitz Kreiner, croupier and card sharp, shaping the dramas in the tortuous lives

of the world's most exclusive clientele. He'd see it all... Bankruptcy. Lucky streaks. Lifestyles on

the line in the throw of a dice. And him, in white tuxedo and black tie, indomitable and aloof. Even

so, looking over at the slinky girls draped on the arms of these would-be winners, a man not

entirely averse to getting his hands dirty once in a while... A blonde caught his eye. That mink

stole she wore spoke of a habit her loser boyfriend couldn't afford to support after the way Fitz

had dealt 'em out tonight. She smiled back at him, a knowing look in her eye.

'Go and put more compost on the pot plants, Fitz,' called the dispassionate voice of Mrs Simms, his

supervisor. 'And put that cigaretteout . How many times do you need telling?'

But no, thought Fitz, he set up a collection of plant nurseries.Thank you, Quentin Roley, and your

mad professor son.

Fitz sneaked a final drag on his cigarette and then smiled an apology at Mrs Simms, who merely

grimaced in response. Compost, he thought to himself, and sighed. Those dramas keep on coming.Where

was I? Oh yeah, getting my hands dirty. Right. Soap ad, then... He slouched off, away from Mrs

Simms's disapproving gaze. 'Roll on Act Two, God,' he muttered. 'Please ...'

He decided to approach the pot plants via the hanging-basket department, keeping an eye out for the

blue skirt and the sweater.

***

In a nearby glade bright with sunshine, birds clattered from the trees as a mechanical grating and

wheezing cut through the tranquillity. Finally, with a reverberating thud, a police box appeared.

The weathered blue doors were flung open and a man emerged, whistling noisily. 'Come on, Sam!' he

shouted, peering back into the box as if he'd lost something.

'Is it sunny?' a clear, female voice came back as if from some way away. Had anyone been watching

they may well have wondered how such a small box could contain such odd acoustics.

'It's a beautiful day, quite beautiful.' The man sniffed the air appreciatively. He had light-brown

hair that hung in lazy curls, a long pale face with thin lips that made him appear quite

supercilious at first glance. His eyes were a pale blue, sad-looking, but, as he smiled, his whole

face lit up like a child's at Christmas.

'What are you grinning at, then?' The young woman who had shouted earlier, Sam, had peeked out

behind him. She was wearing a pale-green dress, sleeveless with a high neckline. It came down to

just above her knees, while her black suede boots came to just below them.

The man said nothing.

'Doctor?' She tugged on his long, bottle-green velvet coat.

'It's sunny,' replied the Doctor.

'It's not Benidorm,' said Sam.

'It's England.'

Sam looked around her as the birds flew cautiously back into the trees. 'Been a long time,' she

said. It had been years since she'd first started travelling with the Doctor, three of them spent

without him on the alien equivalent of Skid Row. Ever since then (about six months ago now by her

trusty awkwardly-beeping-at-the-wrong-moment digital watch) the Doctor - or the TARDIS, or perhaps

the pair in collusion - had seemed careful to avoid her home planet.They had spent a long time

apart, and she couldn't help thinking that perhaps her friend had been a little worried that she'd

be vanishing off home the first chance she'd got. She'd not been back to Earth for years.

And now here she was. England, twentieth century, home. Sam had to admit it was something of an

anticlimax.

'I guess you can't go home again after all,' she said, sadly.

"This isn't your home,' replied the Doctor. 'If anything, it's more mine than yours.'

'It's not 1997?'

'It's 1963.1 spent quite some time here, a long time ago.'

Sam felt a sudden sense of relief. Her parents would be kids in this time. She wouldn't have to

agonise over calling, explaining, letting them see how she'd changed. They wouldn't even meet for

another ten years.

She smiled.'So - the Swinging Sixties!'

The Doctor smiled back. "They've embarked on a degree of motion, yes.'

'Well, let's move with them, man.' Linking arms with the Doctor, she steered them out of the glade

and on to a path.'So you've lived here before, have you? I bet you were a real hip swinging cat,

weren't you?'

'Sam, Sam, Sam, please...' said the Doctor, shaking his head. 'You really are exaggerating the idiom

of the period.'They left the glade behind them in sunny stillness once more.'And anyway,! was more

an arthritic old buzzard than any cat you might happen to mention...'

A few moments later, a man shambled into the clearing, crazed eyes staring about him.The birds

flapped noisily away from their branches once more in alarm.The man slumped heavily against the

police box, a thick string of dribble escaping from his grinding teeth as he looked wildly around

him.

Breathing raggedly and deeply, he took the same path out of the clearing.

***

Sam tutted. 'A garden centre. Back on Earth for the first time in centuries and you take us to a

garden centre.'

The Doctor looked a little embarrassed. 'Well, it's set in very attractive grounds.'

Sam said nothing. She was looking around her at the people strolling by, at the fashions she thought

of as retro chic being worn for real with no affectation. Her travels in the TARDIS often left her

feeling she was on a huge film set. It was quite pleasant to feel like she'd moved off the

Terminator back lot and found herself onSummer Holiday .

She looked at the Doctor's own outfit, his starched wing-collar shirt and cravat, his Edwardian

breeches. For the first time in a very long while she found herself feeling a little embarrassed to

be seen with him.

Still, she thought, who gives a toss?

'Oh,look !' With a stifled gasp that couldVe been of pain or delight, the Doctor suddenly rushed

over to a flower bed. Sam watched him, completely engrossed in a world of his own. How many times

had she felt he was just like a kid playing in the biggest playground there was? Sometimes she felt

it was she who was looking after him on their adventures, not the other way around. He'd probably

spotted a ladybird or something.

'I'm going to walk around the park here, or whatever it is,' she called over. She received no reply

as the Doctor continued fussing to himself over whatever he had found. 'If you get lost without me,

wait for me at the lost-child desk, OK?'

'Mm, mm,' said the Doctor vaguely, nodding without looking round.

Sam shrugged and smiled as she pulled aside some conifer branches and stepped back into the

sunlight.

***

'It's like something, you know, out of R.J.Tolkien.'

Fitz regarded the large woman as she proudly patted the head of her newly wrapped garden gnome, his

face blank. First compost, now an ignorant old biddy who wouldn't go away. She'd spent the last ten

minutes making snide remarks about his appearance, his goods and possibly his morals, and now

expected to have a friendly chat with him just because she'd bought something.

The woman was still looking at him, and it took him a few moments to realise he was meant to

respond. He pulled back his lips in an attempt at a smile, but it rapidly twisted into a noisy yawn.

'You mean J.R.R.,' he got out, as the yawn died away.

'I'm sorry?'

Fitz sighed.Tourists.They weren't too good with accents, he'd come to realise, particularly his

French one, which he was employing to divert himself today. He tried again. 'I think you mean J... R

-'

The woman squealed with delight, her fat face furrowing into a grin bigger than anything in England.

'You mean there's an R.J.Tolkien Junior? How neat!'

Fitz kept his face deadpan and lit up a cigarette.'RJ. conceived him in France. He slept with a

beggar woman in the Boulevard Saint Germane. The only tooth in her head was made of gold, and they

pawned it to buy diapers.' At the woman's gasp of appropriate astonishment, Fitz leaned forward

conspiratorially. 'The woman's name was Frodo.'

The woman gasped.'You're kidding me!'

Fitz exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke into the woman's grimace. 'There are many women called Frodo in

France. It was my own mother's middle name.'

'I have got to visit your country!'

Fitz nodded with a smile, and pushed away a clump of straggly brown hair from his eyes aa he pulled

out a brown paper bag from under the counter. 'You old bag, you're so ugly...' he muttered.

The woman's face hardened.'What did you say?'

Fitz looked up,his grey eyes wide and innocent.'This bag. It fits him snugly. Au revoir !'

The woman took the proffered parcel with a confused smile and waddled off along the leafy path in

the direction of the tea rooms.

'People,' sighed Fitz lazily, watching her go."They're all so... stupid!

'That's a gross generalisation, surely,' came a polite, quiet voice that somehow made Fitz spin

round as if he'd been given an order.'I'd like this begonia, please.'

The man was looking at him.There seemed something slightly aloof about his manner, about his whole

bearing; a sense of detachment from the quiet and the greenery about them. Only the eyes seemed

definite, anchored on to his own as if peering inside him.

'This begonia?' Fitz broke eye contact and studied the plant.'But it's nearly dead.'

The man smiled, and Fitz wondered, looking at the stranger's strange clothes and shoulder-length

hair, if this man was some kind of dropout himself.

'I know,' said the man. 'I intend to rescue it.'

'Rescue it?'

'Indeed. You could call it a calling.'

Fitz regarded him with his long-practised look of studied boredom. 'A calling.'

'Oh, you just did. Do you simply like my turn of phrase, or were you raised by parrots?'

Fitz realised with a surge of annoyance that his own act was being turned back on him. 'One and six

for the begonia,' he muttered with a puff of a cigarette smoke.

'One and six,' sighed the stranger. 'The price of compassion.' The man's face crumpled into a

sorrowful frown as he checked the pockets of his dark-green velvet jacket. 'I don't have one and

six. Would tuppence suffice?'

'Can't do that,' said Fitz, vaguely, the hint of a jobsworth smile on his lips and glancing about to

see if anyone else was in sight. He noticed some old women strolling towards his stall and found

himself looking forward to the boredom of their presence.

'Oh please,' begged the strange man, looking longingly at the begonia.

'One and six or it goes back.'

'But I only want to help it -'The man broke off and stared at him, suddenly baffled.'Why are you

putting on that French accent?'

Fitz felt his face redden as the old women approached closer. He affected anger as the cause for

this rush of his dubiously Gallic blood. 'How dare you -'

'On peut apprendre d'un grand homme meme lorqu'il se tait ,' said the stranger, suddenly, before

looking at him expectantly.

Fitz realised he was expected to reply. Or had that been gibberish? He opened his mouth mechanically

a couple of times as he thought desperately how to regain control of the situation. Finally he

straightened up, stubbed out the cigarette, smiled at the old ladies now queuing patiently behind

this loony, and with accent and dignity only barely intact, glared at the man with the infuriatingly

bright smile.

'All right.' Fitz held out his hand. 'Tuppence.'

***

Sam could see a large, imposing mansion some way off. She was clearly in its grounds, and wondered

if she was trespassing. It was too warm a day to feel too worried, though. She'd be able to give

anyone who was bothered enough flannel to get out of it and back to the Doctor. Piece of cake.

' "What do you do, when you need to use the loo, in an English country garden..."' She grinned

broadly as she stopped singing. She felt so relaxed, safe,for the first time in weeks.Earth . It was

comforting, now, the word, when it had been worrying her for months.

Then she saw a man running towards her, moaning and yelling. Her first thought was of some cartoon

gamekeeper, furious at this intrusion on his property. Then she just felt scared. As he got closer

she could see froth in his mouth. His pale shirt was wet through, his hair was unkempt and his eyes

were wild and staring. Something was wrong. He looked like a nutter.

And he was showing no sign of slowing down.

'Here we go, then,' muttered Sam, turning on her heel and sprinting back towards the gap in the

conifers.

***

'Thank you for your help,' said the oddly dressed man, sweetly, picking up his pathetic begonia.

Fitz forced a smile. "That is fine,' he said, although his put-on accent now sounded ridiculous even

to his own ears. He was still red in the face. Still, at least the old dears queuing behind seemed

more interested in their rubber plants.

'I do hope you enjoy your stay in this country,' the man added, clearly enjoying

himself.'Whereabouts in France are you from?'

Fitz winced inwardly. 'Toulouse,' he muttered.

'Oh,Toulouse!' remarked the old lady behind this nuisance.'I went there last year on my holidays!'

'It's splendid there, isn't it?' said the stranger, nodding enthusiastically.'I know it very

well.Tell me, whereabouts in Toulouse are you from, Mr -'

Suddenly there were screams from somewhere behind them. Fitz spun round but the view was hidden by a

huge display of rose bushes and climbers. Turning back to his tormentor, he saw the man was already

sprinting off towards the sound of the disturbance, leaving the bewildered old woman clutching his

begonia as well as her rubber plant.

Just as the stranger reached the display, a blonde, skinny legs and a green dress, piled through the

roses at speed. Swerving at similar speed to avoid her, the stranger spun and fell backwards into

some aspidistras. Behind the blonde came a snarling man, in a real state by the look of him, jumping

over the startled figure at his feet. Had the girl nicked something off him, or -

'Get out the way,' snapped Fitz at the old women, his French accent forgotten.'Move it,come on!'He

tried to shepherd the old dears away, waving his arms at them.The blonde had reached his desk, had

swung herself round it, was facing him. She looked worn out - not bad-looking, though.There was a

cry: the old woman had fallen over, while her mate was tottering off calling for the police. He

looked back at the blonde. She was trying to say something but she was out of breath, pointing

behind him, andof course , the mad fella was-

Coming straight at him.

Fitz didn't even have time to cry out as he turned round. The man cannoned into him, crashing into

the cash desk and carrying Fitz right over the top of it with him. He saw the man's eyes rolling,

felt drool on his face as his attacker spasmed in a wild assault. Fitz was surprised he couldn't

actually feel any pain - in fact, he felt very calm and detached considering a raving loony was

punching and kicking him.

'Let go!' Fitz finally managed to gasp at the man. 'Let go, for God's sake!'Then he realised the man

couldn't because Fitz was holdinghim, round the waist. He yelled as he realised and let the man go,

but by then the begonia guy had grabbed hold of the struggling nutter, and was pulling him over to

some grass, trying to calm him down, muttering soothing words that Fitz couldn't quite catch.

The blonde was looking at him, offering out a hand to help him up, still puffing and panting. In

fact, he found himself watching her chest rising and falling under the green fabric for some time,

dazed.

'I'm Fitz; he said.

'Sam.'

'I like your dress, Sam,' Fitz said distantly, at length.

'And what do you think of my tits?' said Sam, raising an eyebrow.

Fitz reddened. 'Sorry,' he added hastily. 'I'm just in shock.'

'Right.You'd better stay there, then,' the girl muttered, going over to check that the old woman was

all right.'I fouled up, Doctor,' she called over to Begonia Man. 'Stupid of me. I led him here, into

all those people.'

'Is the old woman all right?' Sam's doctor asked as he peered into the eyes of the loony who was now

lying flat on his back on the grass, whimpering.

'OK, I think.'

'And my begonia?'

'Yours, is it? Unlucky. Squashed flat.'

'Oh.'The Doctor looked over at Fitz, his face anxious.'No chance of a refund, I take it?'

Fitz shook his head in disbelief. The world had gone mad. Attempting to sit up, he suddenly realised

how much he hurt.'No one ask me if I'm all right, will you?' he moaned.

'Oh, how could you not be?' said the Doctor, with an innocent smile.'Anyone from Toulouse is all

right with me.'

19 - The Taint

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: