《The English Patient》第67章

ntly　turn　and　toss　thee　like　a　ball　into　a　large　country。”　he　was　riding　deeper　into　thick　rain。　because　he　had　loved　the　face　on　the　ceiling　he　had　loved　the　words。　as　he　had　believed　in　the　burned　man　and　the　meadows　of　civilisation　he　tended。　isaiah　and　jeremiah　and　solomon　were　in　the　burned　man’s　bedside　book；　his　holy　book；　whatever　he　had　loved　glued　into　his　own。　he　had　passed　his　book　to　the　sapper；　and　the　sapper　had　said　we　have　a　holy　book　too。　
the　rubber　lining　on　the　goggles　had　cracked　during　the　past　months　and　the　rain　now　began　filling　each　pocket　of　air　in　front　of　his　eyes。　he　would　ride　without　them；　the　shush　shush　a　permanent　sea　in　his　ears；　and　his　crouched　body　stiff；　cold；　so　there　was　only　the　idea　of　heat　from　this　machine　he　rode　so　intimately；　the　white　spray　of　it　as　he　slid　through　villages　like　a　slipping　star；　a　half…second　of　visitation　when　one　could　make　a　wish。　“for　the　heavens　shall　vanish　away　like　smoke　and　the　earth　shall　wax　old　like　a　garment。　and　they　that　dwell　therein　shall　die　in　like　manner。　for　the　moth　shall　eat　them　up　like　a　garment；　and　the　worms　shall　eat　them　like　wool。”　a　secret　of　deserts　from　uweinat　to　hiroshima。　
he　was　removing　the　goggles　as　he　came　out　of　the　curve　and　onto　the　bridge　over　the　ofanto　river。　and　with　his　left　arm　up　holding　the　goggles　free　he　began　to　skid。　he　dropped　them　and　calmed　the　bike　but　was　not　prepared　for　the　iron　bounce　onto　the　lip　of　the　bridge；　the　bike　lying　down　to　the　right　underneath　him。　he　was　suddenly　sliding　with　it　along　the　skin　of　rainwater　down　the　centre　of　the　bridge；　blue　sparks　from　the　scratching　metal　around　his　arms　and　face。　
heavy　tin　flew　off　and　shouldered　past　him。　then　he　and　the　bike　veered　to　the　left；　there　was　no　side　to　the　bridge；　and　they　hurtled　out　parallel　to　the　water；　he　and　the　bike　sideways；　his　arms　flung　back　above　his　head。　the　cape　released　itself　away　from　him；　from　whatever　was　machine　and　mortal；　part　of　the　element　of　air。　
the　motorbike　and　the　soldier　stilled　in　midair；　then　pivoted　down　into　the　water；　the　metal　body　between　his　legs　as　they　slammed　into　it；　jarring　a　white　path　through　it；　disappearing；　the　rain　too　entering　the　river。　“he　will　toss　thee　like　a　ball　into　a　large　country。” how　did　patrick　end　up　in　a　dove…cot；　clara？　his　unit　had　left　him；　burned　and　wounded。　so　burned　the　buttons　of　his　shirt　were　part　of　his　skin；　part　of　his　dear　chest。　that　i　kissed　and　you　kissed。　and　how　was　my　father　burned？　he　who　could　swerve　like　an　eel；　or　like　your　canoe；　as　if　charmed；　from　the　real　world。　in　his　sweet　and　plicated　innocence。　he　was　the　most　unverbal　of　men；　and　i　am　always　surprised　women　liked　him。　we　tend　to　like　a　verbal　man　around　us。　we　are　the　rationalists；　the　wise；　and　he　was　often　lost；　uncertain；　unspoken。　
he　was　a　burned　man　and　i　was　a　nurse　and　i　could　have　nursed　him。　do　you　understand　the　sadness　of　geography？　i　could　have　saved　him　or　at　least　been　with　him　till　the　end。　i　know　a　lot　about　burning。　how　long　was　he　alone　with　doves　and　rats？
with　the　last　stages　of　blood　and　life　in　him？　doves　over　him。　the　flutter　when　they　thrashed　around　him。　unable　to　sleep　in　the　darkness。　he　always　hated　darkness。　and　he　was　alone；　without　lover　or　kin。　
i　am　sick　of　europe；　clara。 want　to　e　home。　to　your　small　cabin　and　pink　rock　in　georgian　bay。　i　will　take　a　bus　up　to　parry　sound。　and　from　the　mainland　send　a　message　over　the　shortwave　radio　out　towards　the　pancakes。　and　wait　for　you；wait　to　see　the　silhouette　of　you　in　a　canoe　ing　to　rescue　me　from　this　place　we　all　entered；　betraying　you。　how　did　you　bee　so　smart？　how　did　you　bee　so　determined？　how　were　you　not　fooled　like　us？　you　that　demon　for　pleasure　who　became　so　wise。　the　purest　among　us；　the　darkest　bean；　the　greenest　leaf。　
hana the　sapper’s　bare　head　es　out　of　the　water；　and　he　gasps　in　all　the　air　above　the　river。　
caravaggio　has　made　a　one…strand　bridge　with　hemp　rope　down　to　the　roof　of　the　next　villa。　the　rope　is　tightened　at　this　end　round　the　waist　of　the　statue　of　demetrius　and　then　secured　to　the　well。　the　rope　barely　higher　than　the　tops　of　the　two　olive　trees　along　his　path。　if　he　loses　his　balance　he　will　fall　into　the　rough　dusty　arms　of　the　olive。　
he　steps　onto　it；　his　socked　feet　gripping　the　hemp。　how　valuable　is　that　statue？　he　once　asked　hana　casually；　and　she　told　him　the　english　patient　had　said　all　statues　of　demetrius　were　worthless。　
she　seals　the　letter　and　stands　up；　moves　across　the　room　to　close　the　window；　and　at　that　moment　lightning　slips　through　the　valley。　she　sees　caravaggio　in　midair　halfway　across　the　gorge　that　lies　like　a　deep　scar　alongside　the　villa。　she　stands　there　as　if　in　one　of　her　dreams；　then　climbs　into　the　window　alcove　and　sits　there　looking　out。　
every　time　there　is　lightning；　rain　freezes　in　the　suddenly　lit　night。　she　sees　the　buzzard　hawks　flung　up　into　the　sky；　looks　for　caravaggio。　
he　is　halfway　across　when　he　smells　the　rain；　and　then　it　begins　to　fall　all　over　his　body；　clinging　to　him；　and　suddenly　there　is　the　greater　weight　of　his　clothes。　
she　puts　her　cupped　palms　out　of　the　window　and　bs　the　rain　into　her　hair。　
the　villa　drifts　in　darkness。　in　the　hallway　by　the　english　patient’s　bedroom　the　last　candle　burns；　still　alive　in　the　night。　
whenever　he　opens　his　eyes　out　of　sleep；　he　sees　the　old　wavering　yellow　light。　
for　him　now　the　world　is　without　sound；　and　even　light　seems　an　unneeded　thing。　he　will　tell　the　girl　in　the　morning　he　wants　no　candle　flame　to　acpany　him　while　he　sleeps。　
around　three　a。m。　he　feels　a　presence　in　the　room。　he　sees；　for　a　pulse　of　a　moment；　a　figure　at　the　foot　of　his　bed；　against　the　wall　or　painted　onto　it　perhaps；　not　quite　discernible　in　the　darkness　of　foliage　beyond　the　candlelight。　he　mutters　something；　something　he　had　wanted　to　say；　but　there　is　silence　and　the　slight　brown　figure；　which　could　be　just　a　night　shadow；　does　not　move。　a　poplar。　a　man　with　plumes。　a　swimming　figure。　and　he　would　not　be　so　lucky；　he　thinks；　to　speak　to　the　young　sapper　again。　
he　stays　awake　in　any　case　this　night；　to　see　if　the　figure　moves　towards　h