《The English Patient》第63章

e　ancient　dog　frozen　in　white　ash。　
the　scarlet　sapper　light　strapped　to　his　left　arm　is　turned　on　as　he　walks；　the　only　source　of　light　on　the　strada　carbonara。　he　is　exhausted　from　the　night　search；　and　now　there　seems　little　to　do。　each　of　them　has　a　radiophone；　but　it　is　to　be　used　only　for　an　emergency　discovery。　it　is　the　terrible　silence　in　the　empty　courtyards　and　the　dry　fountains　that　makes　him　most　tired。　
at　one　p。m。　he　traces　his　way　towards　the　damaged　church　of　san　giovanni　a　carbonara；　where　he　knows　there　is　a　chapel　of　the　rosary。　he　had　been　walking　through　the　church　a　few　evenings　earlier　when　lightning　filled　the　darkness；　and　he　had　seen　large　human　figures　in　the　tableau。　an　angel　and　a　woman　in　a　bedroom。　darkness　replaced　the　brief　scene　and　he　sat　in　a　pew　waiting；　but　there　was　to　be　no　more　revelation。　
he　enters　that　corner　of　the　church　now；　with　the　terracotta　figures　painted　the　colour　of　white　humans。　the　scene　depicts　a　bedroom　where　a　woman　is　in　conversation　with　an　angel。　the　woman’s　curly　brown　hair　reveals　itself　under　the　loose　blue　cape；　the　fingers　of　her　left　hand　touching　her　breastbone。　when　he　steps　forward　into　the　room　he　realizes　everything　is　larger　than　life。　his　own　head　is　no　higher　than　the　shoulder　of　the　woman。　the　angel’s　raised　arm　reaches　fifteen　feet　in　height。　still；　for　kip；　they　are　pany。　it　is　an　inhabited　room；　and　he　walks　within　the　discussion　of　these　creatures　that　represent　some　fable　about　mankind　and　heaven。　
he　slips　his　satchel　from　his　shoulder　and　faces　the　bed。　he　wants　to　lie　on　it；　hesitating　only　because　of　the　presence　of　the　angel。　he　has　already　walked　around　the　ethereal　body　and　noticed　the　dusty　light　bulbs　attached　to　its　back　beneath　the　dark　coloured　wings；　and　he　knows　in　spite　of　his　desire　that　he　could　not　sleep　easily　in　the　presence　of　such　a　thing。　there　are　three　pairs　of　stage　slippers；　a　set　designer’s　subtlety；　peeking　out　from　under　the　bed。　it　is　about　one…forty。　
he　spreads　his　cape　on　the　floor；　flattens　the　satchel　into　a　pillow　and　lies　down　on　the　stone。　most　of　his　childhood　in　lahore　he　slept　on　a　mat　on　the　floor　of　his　bedroom。　and　in　truth　he　has　never　gotten　accustomed　to　the　beds　of　the　west。　a　pallet　and　an　air　pillow　are　all　he　uses　in　his　tent；　whereas　in　england　when　staying　with　lord　suffolk　he　sank　claustro…phobically　into　the　dough　of　a　mattress；　and　lay　there　captive　and　awake　until　he　crawled　out　to　sleep　on　the　carpet。　
he　stretches　out　beside　the　bed。　the　shoes　too；　he　notices；　are　larger　than　life。　the　feet　of　amazonians　slip　into　them。　above　his　head　the　tentative　right　arm　of　the　woman。　beyond　his　feet　the　angel。　soon　one　of　the　sappers　will　turn　on　the　city’s　electricity；　and　if　he　is　going　to　explode　he　will　do　so　in　the　pany　of　these　two。　they　will　die　or　be　secure。　there　is　nothing　more　he　can　do；　anyway。　he　has　been　up　all　night　on　a　final　search　for　caches　of　dynamite　and　time　cartridges。　walls　will　crumble　around　him　or　he　will　walk　through　a　city　of　light。　at　least　he　has　found　these　parental　figures。　he　can　relax　in　the　midst　of　this　mime　of　conversation。　
he　has　his　hands　under　his　head；　interpreting　a　new　toughness　in　the　face　of　the　angel　he　didn’t　notice　before。　the　white　flower　it　holds　has　fooled　him。　the　angel　too　is　a　warrior。　in　the　midst　of　this　series　of　thoughts　his　eyes　close　and　he　gives　in　to　tiredness。　
he　is　sprawled　out　with　a　smile　on　his　face；　as　if　relieved　finally　to　be　sleeping；　the　luxuriousness　of　such　a　thing。　the　palm　of　his　left　hand　facedown　on　the　concrete。　the　colour　of　his　turban　echoes　that　of　the　lace　collar　at　the　neck　of　mary。　
at　her　feet　the　small　indian　sapper；　in　uniform；　beside　the　silippers。　there　seems　to　be　no　time　here。　each　of　them　has　selected　the　most　fortable　of　positions　to　forget　time。　so　we　will　be　remembered　by　others。　in　such　smiling　fort　when　we　trust　our　surroundings。　the　tableau　now；　with　kip　at　the　feet　of　the　two　figures；　suggests　a　debate　over　his　fate。　the　raised　terra…cotta　arm　a　stay　of　execution；　a　promise　of　some　great　future　for　this　sleeper；　childlike；　foreign…born。　the　three　of　them　almost　at　the　point　of　decision；　agreement。　
under　the　thin　layer　of　dust　the　angel’s　face　has　a　powerful　joy。　attached　to　its　back　are　the　six　light　bulbs；　two　of　which　are　defunct。　but　in　spite　of　that　the　wonder　of　electricity　suddenly　lights　its　wings　from　underneath；　so　that　their　blood…red　and　blue　and　goldness　the　colour　of　mustard　fields　shine　animated　in　the　late　afternoon。　
wherever　hana　is　now；　in　the　future；　she　is　aware　of　the　line　of　movement　kip’s　body　followed　out　of　her　life。　her　mind　repeats　it。　the　path　he　slammed　through　among　them。　when　he　turned　into　a　stone　of　silence　in　their　midst。　she　recalls　everything　of　that　august　day—what　the　sky　was　like；　the　objects　on　the　table　in　front　of　her　going　dark　under　the　thunder。　
she　sees　him　in　the　field；　his　hands　clasped　over　his　head；　then　realizes　this　is　a　gesture　not　of　pain　but　of　his　need　to　hold　the　earphones　tight　against　his　brain。　he　is　a　hundred　yards　away　from　her　in　the　lower　field　when　she　hears　a　scream　emerge　from　his　body　which　had　never　raised　its　voice　among　them。　he　sinks　to　his　knees；　as　if　unbuckled。　stays　like　that　and　then　slowly　gets　up　and　moves　in　a　diagonal　towards　his　tent；　enters　it；　and　closes　the　flaps　behind　him。　there　is　the　dry　crackle　of　thunder　and　she　sees　her　arms　darken。　
kip　emerges　from　the　tent　with　the　rifle。　he　es　into　the　villa　san　girolamo　and　sweeps　past　her；　moving　like　a　steel　ball　in　an　arcade　game；　through　the　doorway　and　up　the　stairs　three　steps　at　a　time；　his　breath　metronomed；　the　hit　of　his　boots　against　the　vertical　sections　of　stairs。　she　hears　his　feet　along　the　hallway　as　she　continues　to　sit　at　the　table　in　the　kitchen；　the　book　in　front　of　her；　the　pencil；　these　objects　frozen　and　shadowed　in　the　pre…storm　light。　
he　enters　the　bedroom。　he　stands　at　the　foot　of　the　bed　where　the　english　patient　lies。　hello；　sapper。　
the　rifle　stock　is　against　his　chest；　its　sling　braced　against　his　triangled　arm。　
what　was　going　on　outside？
kip　looks　condemned；　separate　from　the