p&c.brimstone-第25部分

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transmitter　of　several　tons　to　generate　a　beam　that　intense。〃　
　〃Quite　so。　What　do　you　think；　Doctor；　of　the　theory　being　pushed　by　theNew　York　Post　？〃　
　Dienphong　paused　briefly　at　this　sudden　change　of　tack。　〃I　am　not　in　the　habit　of　taking　my　theories　from　the　pages　of　thePost　。〃　
　〃They've　published　speculation　that　the　devil　took　his　soul。〃　
　There　was　a　brief　silence；　and　then　there　was　a　smattering　of　nervous　chuckles。　Pendergast　was　evidently　making　a　joke。　Or　was　he？　He　didn't　seem　to　be　laughing。　
　〃Mr。　Pendergast；　that's　a　theory　I　don't　subscribe　to。〃　
　〃No？〃　
　Dienphong　smiled。　〃I　am　a　Buddhist。　The　only　devil　we　believe　in　is　the　one　inside　the　human　heart。〃　
　　　
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　Not　much　scanning　of　the　crowd　streaming　into　the　Metropolitan　Opera　Housewas　needed　to　locate　Count　Isidor　Fosco：　his　huge　presence；　striking　a　dramatic　pose　beside　the　Lincoln　Center　fountain；　was　unmistakable。　Pendergast　drifted　toward　him　with　the　crowd。　All　around；　men　in　tuxedos　and　women　in　pearl　necklaces　were　babbling　excitedly。　It　was　opening　night　at　the　Metropolitan　Opera；　and　the　program　was　Donizetti'sLucrezia　Borgia。　The　count　was　wearing　white　tie　and　tails；　beautifully　tailored　to　his　enormously　fat　figure。　The　cut　was　old…fashioned；　and　in　place　of　the　usual　white　waistcoat；　Fosco　was　sporting　one　in　gorgeous　Hong　Kong　silk　brocaded　in　white　and　dove　gray。　A　gardenia　was　stuck　in　his　buttonhole；　his　handsome　face　was　patted　and　shaved　and　powdered　to　pink　perfection；　and　his　thick　mane　of　gray　hair　was　brushed　back　into　leonine　curls。　His　small；　plump　hands　were　perfectly　fitted　in　gray　kid　gloves。　
　〃My　dear　Pendergast；　I　washoping　you'd　e　in　white　tie！〃　Fosco　said；　rejoicing。　〃I　cannot　understand　why　people　dress　down　so　barbarously　on　a　night　such　as　this。〃　He　waved　a　dismissive　hand　at　the　tuxedoed　patrons　streaming　past　them　into　the　hall。　〃There　are　only　three　occasions　left　to　truly　dress　up　in　these　dark　days：　at　one's　nuptials；　at　one's　funeral；　and　at　opening　night　at　the　opera。　By　far　the　happiest　of　these　three　is　the　last。〃　
　〃That　depends　on　your　point　of　view；〃　said　Pendergast　dryly。　
　〃You　are　happily　married；　then？〃　
　〃I　was　referring　to　the　other　occasion。〃　
　〃Ah！〃　Fosco　laughed　silently。　〃You　are　right；　Pendergast。　I've　never　seen　a　more　contented　smile　on　some　people　than　at　their　own　wake。〃　
　〃I　was　referring　to　the　deceased's　heirs。〃　
　〃You　wicked　fellow。　Shall　we　go　inside？　I　hope　you　don't　mind　sitting　in　the　pit…I　avoid　the　boxes　because　the　acoustics　are　muddy。　We　have　tickets　for　row　N；　center　right；　which　I　have　found　from　experimentation　to　be　the　acoustical　sweet　spot　in　this　hall；　particularly　seats　twenty…three　through　thirty…one。　But　look；　there　go　the　houselights：　we　had　better　sit　down。〃　And　with　his　giant　head　held　erect；　chin　raised；　Fosco　moved　swiftly　through　the　milling　crowd；　which　parted　instinctively。　For　his　part；　Fosco　looked　neither　to　the　right　nor　to　the　left　as　they　moved　through　the　central　doors；　brushing　past　several　ushers　offering　programs　and　sweeping　down　the　central　aisle　to　row　N。　Fosco　waited　at　the　end　of　the　row；　gesturing　a　dozen　people　out　of　their　seats　and　into　the　far　aisle　so　he　could　make　his　way　undisturbed。　The　count　had　purchased　three　seats　for　himself；　and　he　seated　himself　in　the　center　one；　stretching　his　arms　on　the　upturned　seats　on　either　side。　
　〃Forgive　me　if　we　don't　sit　jowl…to…jowl；　my　dear　Pendergast。　My　corpulence　demands　its　space　and　will　not　be　reined　in。〃　He　slipped　a　small　pair　of　bejeweled；　pearl…inlaid　opera　glasses　out　of　his　waistcoat　and　placed　them　on　the　empty　seat　next　to　him。　A　more　powerful　brass　spyglass　also　made　an　appearance　and　was　arranged　on　the　other　seat。　
　The　great　house　was　filling　up；　and　there　was　an　air　of　excitement。　From　the　orchestra　pit　came　the　murmur　of　instruments　tuning；　playing　snatches　of　the　opera　to　e。　
　Fosco　leaned　toward　Pendergast；　placing　a　neat　gloved　hand　on　his　arm。　〃No　one　who　loves　music　can　fail　to　be　moved　byLucrezia　Borgia　。　But　wait…what　is　this？〃　He　peered　more　closely　at　Pendergast。　〃You　are　not　wearing　earplugs；　are　you；　sir？〃　
　〃Not　plugs；　no。　These　merely　attenuate　the　sound…my　hearing　is　exceptionally　acute；　and　any　volume　above　a　normal　conversation　is　quite　painful　to　me。　Fear　not；　the　music　will　get　through　all　too　well；　I　assure　you。〃　
　〃All　too　well；　you　say！〃　
　〃Count　Fosco；　I　thank　you　for　this　invitation。　But　as　I　warned　you　once；　I　have　yet　to　meet　an　opera　I　liked。　Pure　music　and　vulgar　spectacle　are　fundamentally　inpatible。　Beethoven's　string　quartets　are　by　far　my　preference…and　even　those；　to　be　honest；　I　enjoy　for　their　intellectual　content　more　than　their　musical。〃　
　Fosco　winced。　〃What；　may　I　ask；　is　wrong　with　spectacle？〃　He　spread　his　hands。　〃Isn't　life　itself　a　spectacle？〃　
　〃All　the　color；　noise；　flash；　the　embonpoint　diva　prowling　the　stage；　shrieking　and　howling　and　throwing　herself　from　the　ramparts　of　some　castle…it　distracts　the　mind　from　the　music。〃　
　〃But　that　is　exactly　what　opera　is！　A　feast　of　sightand　sound。　There　is　humor！　There　is　tragedy！　There　are　soaring　heights　of　passion　and　depths　of　cruelty！　There　is　love　and　betrayal！〃　
　〃You　are　making　my　points　even　better　than　I　could；　Count。〃　
　〃Your　mistake；　Pendergast；　is　to　think　of　opera　as　solelymusic　。　It　is　more　than　music。　It　islife　！　You　must　abandon　yourself　to　it；　throw　yourself　at　its　mercy。〃　
　Pendergast　smiled。　〃I　am　afraid；　Count；　I　never　abandon　myself　to　anything。〃　
　Fosco　patted　his　arm。　〃You　may　have　a　French　name；　but　you　have　an　English　heart。　The　English　can　never　step　outside　themselves。　Wherever　they　go　they　feel　self…conscious。　That　is　why　the　English　make　excellent　anthropologists　but　dreadful　posers。〃　Fosco　snorted。　〃Purcell。Britten。　〃　
　〃You're　forgetting　Handel。〃　
　〃A　transplanted　German。〃　Fosco　chuckled。　〃I　am　glad　to　have　you　here；　Pendergast；　and　Ishall　show　you　the　error　of　your　ways。〃　
　〃Speaking　of　that；　how　did　you　know　where　to　deliver　the　invitation？〃　
　The　count　turned　a　triumphant　smile　on　Pendergast。　〃It　was　quite　simple。　I　went　to　the　Dakota　and　made　inquiries　there。〃　
　〃They　are　under　strict　orders　not　to　divulge　my　other　addresses。〃　
　〃But　they　were　no　match　for　Fosco！　I've　always　been　interested　in　this　profession　of　yours。　I　read　all　of　Sir　Arthur　Conan　Doyle　in　my　youth。　Dickens；　Poe。　And　the　sublime　Wilkie　Collins！　Have　you　readThe　Woman　in　White　？〃　
　〃Naturally。〃　
　〃A　tour　de　force！　In　my　next　life；　perhaps；　I'll　choose　to　be　a　detective。　Being　a　count　from　an　ancient　family　is　rather　boring。〃　
　〃The　two　are　not　mutually　exclusive。〃　
　〃Well　put！　We　have　all　kinds　of　detectives　these　days；　everyone　from　English　lords　to　Navajo　policemen。　Why　not　a　count　from　the　lineage　of　Dante　and　Beatrice？　I　must　confess；　this　case　with　Grove　fascinates　me；　and　not　only　because　I　was　a　guest　at　the…dare　I　say？…last　supper。　One　week　ago　tonight；　alas。　I　feel　for　the　poor　man；　naturally；　but　it　is　a　rather　delicious　mystery。　I　am　at　your　assistance　in　the　matter。〃　
　〃I　thank　you；　but　I　must　confess　it's　unlikely　I'll　need　your　assistance。〃　
　〃Quite　right！　I　am　speaking　now…if　I　may…as　a　friend。　I　only　wish　to　offer　you　my　services　as　someone　with　a　particular　knowledge　of　art　and　music；　and　perhaps　society。　And　in　that　last　regard；　I'd　like　to　think　I've　already　been　helpful　with　the　question　of　the　dinner　party。〃　
　〃You　were。〃　
　〃Thank　you。〃　The　count　patted　his　gloved　hands　together；　as　excited　as　a　small　boy。　
　The　lights　darkened。　A　hush　fell　on　the　house。　Fosco　turned　his　attention　to　the　stage；　practically　wriggling　with　excitement。　The　concertmaster　appeared　and　sounded　the　A；　the　orchestra　tuned　to　it；　then　all　fell　silent。　The　conductor　came　out　to　a　thunderous　burst　of　applause。　Taking　his　position　at　the　podium；　he　raised　his　baton；　brought　it　sharply　down；　and　the　overture　began。　
　Fosco　listened　with　rapt　attention；　smiling　and　nodding　his　head　from　time　to　time；　not　a　note　of　Donizetti's　luxurious　music　lost　on　him。　When　the　curtain　rose　on　the　first　act；　a　murmur　and　scattered　applause　filled　the　hall；　a　look　of　annoyance　darkened　Fosco's　face　as　he　cast　a　disapproving　glance