《The English Patient》第56章

ed；　in　a　cave　in　the　gilf　kebir；　at　uweinat；　north　of　the　ain　dua　well。　she　needed　water。　she　needed　food。　i　would　go　back　with　them　to　guide　them。　i　said　all　i　wanted　was　a　jeep。　one　of　their　damn　jeeps。。。　perhaps　i　seemed　like　one　of　those　mad　desert　prophets　after　the　journey；　but　i　don’t　think　so。　the　war　was　beginning　already。　they　were　just　pulling　spies　in　out　of　the　desert。　everyone　with　a　foreign　name　who　drifted　into　these　small　oasis　towns　was　suspect。　she　was　just　seventy　miles　away　and　they　wouldn’t　listen。　some　stray　english　outfit　in　el　taj。　i　must　have　gone　berserk　then。　they　were　using　these　wicker　prisons；　size　of　a　shower。　i　was　put　into　one　and　moved　by　truck。　i　was　flailing　around　in　there　until　i　fell　off　onto　the　street；　still　in　it。　i　was　yelling　katharine’s　name。　
yelling　the　gilf　kebir。　whereas　the　only　name　i　should　have　yelled；　dropped　like　a　calling　card　into　their　hands；　was　clifton’s。　
“they　hauled　me　up　into　the　truck　again。　i　was　just　another　possible　second…rate　spy。　just　another　international　bastard。” caravaggio　wants　to　rise　and　walk　away　from　this　villa；　the　country；　the　detritus　of　a　war。　he　is　just　a　thief。　what　cara…vaggio　wants　is　his　arms　around　the　sapper　and　hana　or；　better；　people　of　his　own　age；　in　a　bar　where　he　knows　everyone；　where　he　can　dance　and　talk　with　a　woman；　rest　his　head　on　her　shoulder；　lean　his　head　against　her　brow；　whatever；　but　he　knows　first　he　must　get　out　of　this　desert；　its　architecture　of　morphine。　he　needs　to　pull　away　from　the　invisible　road　to　el　taj。　
this　man　he　believes　to　be　almasy　has　used　him　and　the　morphine　to　return　to　his　own　world；　for　his　own　sadness。　it　no　longer　matters　which　side　he　was　on　during　the　war。　
but　caravaggio　leans　forward。　
“i　need　to　know　something。”　“what？”　“i　need　to　know　if　you　murdered　katharine　clifton。　that　is；　if　you　murdered　clifton；　and　in　so　doing　killed　her。”　“no。　i　never　even　imagined　that。”“the　reason　i　ask　is　that　geoffrey　clifton　was　with　british　intelligence。　he　was　not　just　an　innocent　englishman；　i’m　afraid。　your　friendly　boy。　as　far　as　the　english　were　concerned；　he　was　keeping　an　eye　on　your　strange　group　in　the　egyptian…libyan　desert。　they　knew　the　desert　would　someday　be　a　theatre　of　war。　he　was　an　aerial　photographer。　his　death　perturbed　them；　still　does。　they　still　raise　the　question。　and　intelligence　knew　about　your　affair　with　his　wife；　from　the　beginning。　even　if　clifton　didn’t。　they　thought　his　death　may　have　been　engineered　as　protection；　hoisting　up　the　drawbridge。　they　were　waiting　for　you　in　cairo；　but　of　course　you　turned　back　into　the　desert。　later；　when　i　was　sent　to　italy；　i　lost　the　last　part　of　your　story。　i　didn’t　know　what　had　happened　to　you。”　“so　you　have　run　me　to　earth。”　“i　came　because　of　the　girl。　i　knew　her　father。　the　last　person　i　expected　to　find　here　in　this　shelled　nunnery　was　count　ladislaus　de　almasy。　quite　honestly；　i’ve　bee　more　fond　of　you　than　most　of　the　people　i　worked　with。” the　rectangle　of　light　that　had　drifted　up　caravaggio’s　chair　was　framing　his　chest　and　head　so　that　to　the　english　patient　the　face　seemed　a　portrait。　in　muted　light　his　hair　appeared　dark；　but　now　the　wild　hair　lit　up；　bright；　the　bags　under　his　eyes　washed　out　in　the　pink　late　daylight。　
he　had　turned　the　chair　around　so　he　could　lean　forward　on　its　back；　facing　almasy。　words　did　not　emerge　easily　from　caravaggio。　he　would　rub　his　jaw；　his　face　creasing　up；　the　eyes　closed；　to　think　in　darkness；　and　only　then　would　he　blurt　out　something；　tearing　himself　away　from　his　own　thoughts。　it　was　this　darkness　that　showed　in　him　as　he　sat　in　the　rhomboid　frame　of　light；　hunched　over　a　chair　beside　almasy’s　bed。　one　of　the　two　older　men　in　this　story。　
“i　can　talk　with　you；　caravaggio；　because　i　feel　we　are　both　mortal。　the　girl；　the　boy；　they　are　not　mortal　yet。　in　spite　of　what　they　have　been　through。　hana　was　greatly　distressed　when　i　first　met　her。”　“her　father　was　killed　in　france。”　“i　see。　she　would　not　talk　about　it。　she　was　distant　from　everybody。　the　only　way　i　could　get　her　to　municate　was　to　ask　her　to　read　to　me。。。　do　you　realize　neither　of　us　has　children？”　then　pausing；　as　if　considering　a　possibility。　
“do　you　have　a　wife？”　almasy　asked。　
caravaggio　sat　in　the　pink　light；　his　hands　over　his　face　to　erase　everything　so　he　could　think　precisely；　as　if　this　was　one　more　gift　of　youth　that　did　not　e　so　easily　to　him　any　longer。　
“you　must　talk　to　me；　caravaggio。　or　am　i　just　a　book？　something　to　be　read；　some　creature　to　be　tempted　out　of　a　loch　and　shot　full　of　morphine；　full　of　corridors；　lies；　loose　vegetation；　pockets　of　stones。”　“thieves　like　us　were　used　a　great　deal　during　this　war。　we　were　legitimized。　we　stole。　then　some　of　us　began　to　advise。　
we　could　read　through　the　camouflage　of　deceit　more　naturally　than　official　intelligence。　we　created　double　bluffs。　whole　campaigns　were　being　run　by　this　mixture　of　crooks　and　intellectuals。　i　was　all　over　the　middle　east；　that’s　where　i　first　heard　about　you。　you　were　a　mystery；　a　vacuum　on　their　charts。　turning　your　knowledge　of　the　desert　into　german　hands。”　“too　much　happened　at　el　taj　in　；　when　i　was　rounded　up；　imagined　to　be　a　spy。”　“so　that’s　when　you　went　over　to　the　germans。”　silence。　
“and　you　still　were　unable　to　get　back　to　the　cave　of　swimmers　and　uweinat？”　“not　till　i　volunteered　to　take　eppler　across　the　desert。”　“there　is　something　i　must　tell　you。　to　do　with　；　when　you　guided　the　spy　into　cairo
。。”　“operation　salaam。”　“yes。　when　you　were　working　for　rommel。”　“a　brilliant　man。。。。　what　were　you　going　to　tell　me？”　“i　was　going　to　say；　when　you　came　through　the　desert　avoiding　allied　troops；　travelling　with　eppler—it　was　heroic。　from　gialo　oasis　all　the　way　to　cairo。　only　you　could　have　gotten　rommel’s　man　into　cairo　with　his　copy　of　rebecca。”　“how　did　you　know　that？”　“what　i　want　to　say　is　that　they　did　not　just　discover　eppler　in　cairo。　they　knew　about　the　whole　journey。　a　german　code　had　been　broken　long　before；　but　we　couldn’t　let　rommel　know　that　or　our　sources　would　have　been　discovered。　so　we　had　to　wait　till　cairo　to