【时间旅行者的妻子】82

That’s all I need to hear. I draw the gun and step to Clare’s side. I point it at the guy’s chest.
　“Hi, Jason,” Clare says. “I thought you might like to come out with us.”
　He does the same thing I would do, drops and rolls out of range, but he doesn’t do it fast enough. I’m in the door and I take a flying leap onto his chest and knock the wind out of him. I stand up, put my boot on his chest, point the gun at his head. C’est magnifique mais ce n’estpas la guerre. He looks kind of like Tom Cruise, very pretty, all-American. “What position does he play?” I ask Clare.
　“Halfback.”
　“Hmm. Never would of guessed. Get up, hands up where I can see them,” I tell him cheerfully. He complies, and I walk him out the door. We are all standing 1 in the driveway. I have an idea. I send Clare back into the house for rope; she comes out a few minutes later with scissors and duct tape.
　“Where do you want to do this?”
　“The woods.”
　Jason is panting as we march him into the woods. We walk for about five minutes, and then I see a little clearing with a handy young elm at the edge of it. “How about this, Clare?”
　“Yeah.”
　I look at her. She is completely impassive, cool as a Raymond Chandler murderess. “Call it, Clare.”
　“Tie him to the tree.” I hand her the gun, jerk Jason’s hands into position behind the tree, and duct tape them together. There’s almost a full roll of duct tape, and I intend to use all of it. Jason is breathing strenuously 2, wheezing 3. I step around him and look at Clare. She looks at Jason as though he is a bad piece of conceptual art. “Are you asthmatic?”
　He nods. His pupils are contracted into tiny points of black. “I’ll get his inhaler,” says Clare. She hands the gun back to me and ambles 4 off through the woods along the path we came down. Jason is trying to breathe slowly and carefully. He is trying to talk.
　“Who...are you?” he asks, hoarsely 5.
　“I’m Clare’s boyfriend. I’m here to teach you manners, since you have none.” I drop my mocking tone, and walk close to him, and say softly, “How could you do that to her? She’s so young. She doesn’t know anything, and now you’ve completely fucked up everything...”
 

 “我开车带你去。”她说。
　　屋子里的人看不见车道的尽头，克莱尔让我上了她的菲亚特。尽管是个阴暗的下午，她还是戴了副墨镜。她涂了口红，头发扎在脑袋后面，看上去比十六岁成熟得多，像是从《后窗》里走出来的女主角，如果再是一头金发，那就更加神似了。我们飞速驶过秋天的树林，谁也没有心思留意那缤纷的色彩。克莱尔在那间小屋里遭受的一切，像永远循环的录像带在我脑海中不停地回放。
　　“他块头有多大？”
　　克莱尔想了想，“大概比你高几厘米，但比你重多了，重二十几公斤吧。”
　　“天啊！”
　　“我带了这个。”克莱尔在包里摸了一阵，掏出一把手枪。
　　“克莱尔！”
　　“这是爸爸的。”
　　我迅速地思索，“克莱尔，这个主意很不好。我现在非常生气，真的会开枪的，但这样做太蠢了。哦，你等着，”我把枪从她手中取过来，推开弹膛，把卸下的子弹一一放进她包里，“放着，这样更好。这个主意棒极了，克莱尔。”她将信将疑地看着我。我把枪放进大衣口袋里，“你是希望我匿名修理他，还是希望让他知道是你的主意？”
　　“我希望我能在旁边看。”
　　“噢！”
　　她把车开进一处私家车道，停下。“我希望把他带到什么地方去，然后你尽情地整他，我就在一旁看着。我要让他吓得屁滚尿流。”
　　我叹了口气，“克莱尔，我很少干这种事情。我打架通常是出于，比如说，自卫。”
　　“求你了。”她的语气十分干脆。
　　“没问题。”我们沿着车道往下开，停在一座崭新的仿殖民建筑风格的大房子前，四周没有别的车，二楼打开的窗户中传出范·海伦③范·海伦（Van Halen）,1973年成立，世界著名的重金属乐队，它的每一张专辑几乎都是白金唱片。的吉他曲。我们走到前门，克莱尔按响了门铃，我则闪到一旁。不一会音乐声戛然而止，然后是沉重的下楼脚步声。门开了，过了一会儿，一个低沉的声音说，“什么？你回来还想再来？”这正是我要的，我拔出枪，踏近一步，站在克莱尔身边，枪口正对这个家伙的胸膛。
　　“嗨，杰森。我想，你现在也许有兴趣跟我们出去走一趟。”
　　如果是我，也会和他有一样的反应，蹲下，翻身滚到射程之外。不过他显然动作不够快，我堵在门口，飞身一跃扑到他身上，狠揍了他一顿。我站起身，一脚把靴子踩在他胸口，枪口顶住他的脑袋。真精彩，可惜不是战斗。④这是一句著名的法文，引自克里米亚战争时法军司令在联军败仗后对联军司令说的一句话。他看上去有点像汤姆·克鲁斯，很帅，典型的美国人。“他在球队是踢什么位置的？”我问克莱尔。
　　“中位。”
　　“嗯，倒真看不出来啊。起来，手举到我能看见的地方。”我用愉快的口吻命令他。他服从了，我押着他出了门。我们三人站在车道上，我有了主意，便叫克莱尔进屋去找根绳子，几分钟后，她出来了，还拿着剪刀和胶带。
　　“你想去哪儿弄？”
　　“树林。”
　　我们押着他进了树林，杰森开始大口喘气。走了大约五分钟，我看到前面有块空地，角落里还有一棵小榆树。“克莱尔，这里怎么样？”
　　“好！”
　　我看着她，她完全无动于衷，冷漠得犹如雷蒙德·钱德勒⑤雷蒙德·钱德勒（Raymand Chandler, 1888—1959），美国推理小说家，他的叙述乍看起来像质朴的通俗小说，却又藏着艺术小说的深刻。笔下的女杀手。“吩咐吧，克莱尔。”
　　“把他绑到树上去。”我把枪递给她，将杰森的双手硬拉到树后，然后用胶带绑住它们。那几乎是一整卷的胶带，我打算全部用完。杰森开始艰难地喘着粗气，我绕他转了一圈，看了看克莱尔。她盯着他，像是看一件拙劣的观念艺术品⑥观念艺术强调艺术的目的在于观众直接参与创作活动，因此艺术家会将未完成的作品展览出来，让观众在欣赏的过程中，在自我的脑海中把作品创作完成。，“你有哮喘病？”
　　他点点头，瞳孔缩小成两个微小的黑点。“我去拿吸入器，”克莱尔说着，把枪重新交给了我，然后缓缓地沿我们来时的小路往回走。杰森缓慢小心地呼吸着，试图和我说话。
　　“你……是谁？”他哑哑地问。
　　“我是克莱尔的男朋友，我来这儿要教你一些做人的礼貌，因为你根本就没有。”我放下此前伪装的腔调，走近他，轻声说：“你怎么能那样对她呢？她那么小。她懂什么啊，事情搞到这一步，都是你一手造成的……”