rl.thebourneidentity-第5部分

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ed　the　living…room。　It　was　simply　easier；　the　living…room　served　as　Washburn's　waiting　area　and　there　were　still　a　few　patients　with　cuts　and　gashes　to　be　repaired。　They　were　sitting　in　chairs　looking　frightened；　wondering　what　le　medecin's　condition　would　be　that　morning。　Actually；　it　wasn't　bad。　Geoffrey　Washburn　still　drank　like　a　mad　Cossack；　but　these　days　he　stayed　on　his　horse。　It　was　as　if　a　reserve　of　hope　had　been　found　in　the　recesses　of　his　own　destructive　fatalism。　And　the　man　with　no　memory　understood；　that　hope　was　tied　to　a　bank　in　Zurich's　Bahnhof…strasse。　Why　did　the　street　e　so　easily　to　mind？　The　bedroom　door　opened　and　the　doctor　burst　in；　grinning；　his　white　coat　stained　with　his　patient's　blood。
　'I　did　it　I'　he　said；　more　triumph　in　his　words　than　clarification。　'I　should　open　my　own　hiring　hall　and　live　on　missions。　It'd　be　steadier。'
　'What　are　you　talking　about？'
　'As　we　agreed；　it's　what　you　need。　You've　got　to　function　on　the　outside；　and　as　of　two　minutes　ago　Monsieur　Jean…Pierre　No…Name　is　gainfully　employed！　At　least　for　a　week。'
　'How　did　you　do　that？　I　thought　there　weren't　any　openings。'　'What　was　about　to　be　opened　was　Claude　Lamouche's　infected　leg。　I　explained　that　my　supply　of　local　anaesthetic　was　very；　very　limited。　We　negotiated；　you　were　the　bartered　coin。'
　'A　week？'
　'If　you're　any　good；　he　may　keep　you　on。'　Washburn　paused。　'Although　that's　not　terribly　important；　is　it？'
　'I'm　not　sure　any　of　this　is。　A　month　ago；　maybe；　but　not　now。　I　told　you。　I'm　ready　to　leave。　I'd　think　you'd　want　me　to。　I　have　an　appointment　in　Zurich。'
　'And　I'd　prefer　you　function　the　very　best　you　can　at　that　appointment　My　interests　are　extremely　selfish；　no　remissions　permitted。'
　'I'm　ready。'
　'On　the　surface；　yes。　But　take　my　word　for　it；　it's　vital　that　you　spend　prolonged　periods　of　time　on　the　water；　some　of　it　at　night。　Not　under　controlled　conditions；　not　as　a　passenger；　but　subjected　to　reasonably　harsh　conditions　…　the　harsher　the　better；　in　fact。'
　'Another　test？'
　'Every　single　one　I　can　devise　in　this　primitive　hole　of　Port　Noir。　If　I　could　conjure　up　a　storm　and　a　minor　shipwreck　for　you；　I　would。　On　the　other　hand；　Lamouche　is　something　of　a　storm　himself；　he's　a　difficult　man。　The　swelling　in　his　leg　will　go　down　and　he'll　resent　you。　So　will　others；　you'll　have　to　replace　someone。'
　Thanks　a　lot'
　'Don't　mention　it　We're　bining　two　stresses。　At　least　one　or　two　nights　on　the　water；　if　Lamouche　keeps　to　schedule　…that's　the　hostile　environment　which　contributed　to　your　hysteria　…　and　exposure　to　resentment　and　suspicion　from　men　around　you　…　symbolic　of　the　initial　stress　situation。'
　Thanks　again　Suppose　they　decide　to　throw　me　overboard？　That'd　be　your　ultimate　test；　I　suppose；　but　I　don't　know　how　much　good　it　would　do　if　I　drowned。'
　'Oh；　there'll　be　nothing　like　that；'　said　Washburn；　scoffing。
　'I'm　glad　you're　so　confident。　I　wish　I　were。'
　'You　can　be。　You　have　the　protection　of　my　absence。　I　may　not　be　Barnard　or　DeBakey；　but　I'm　all　these　people　have。　They　need　me；　they　won't　risk　losing　me。'
　'But　you　want　to　leave。　I'm　your　passport　out！'
　'In　ways　unfathomable；　my　dear　patient。　e　on；　now。　Lamouche　wants　you　down　at　the　dock　so　you　can　familiarize　yourself　with　his　equipment。　You'll　be　setting　out　at　four　o'clock　tomorrow　morning。　Consider　how　beneficial　a　week　at　sea　will　be。　Think　of　it　as　a　cruise。'
　There　had　never　been　a　cruise　like　it。　The　skipper　of　the　filthy；　oil…soaked　fishing　boat　was　a　foul…mouthed　rendering　of　an　insignificant　Captain　Bligh；　the　crew　a　quartet　of　misfits　who　were　undoubtedly　the　only　men　on　Port　Noir　willing　to　put　up　with　Claude　Lamouche。　The　regular　fifth　member　was　a　brother　of　the　chief　netman；　a　fact　impressed　on　the　man　called　Jean…Pierre　within　minutes　after　leaving　the　harbour　at　four　o'clock　in　the　morning。
　'You　take　food　from　my　brother's　table！'　whispered　the　netman　angrily　between　rapid　puffs　on　an　immobile　cigarette。　'From　the　stomachs　of　his　children。'
　'It's　only　for　a　week；'　protested　Jean…Pierre。　It　would　have　been　easier　…　far　easier　…　to　offer　to　reimburse　the　unemployed　brother　from　Washburn's　monthly　stipend　but　the　doctor　and　his　patient　had　agreed　to　refrain　from　such　promises。
　'I　hope　you're　good　with　the　nets！'
　He　was　not。
　There　were　moments　during　the　next　seventy…two　hours　when　the　man　called　Jean…Pierre　thought　the　alternative　of　financial　appeasement　was　warranted。　The　harassment　never　stopped；　even　at　night　…　especially　at　night。　It　was　as　though　eyes　were　trained　on　him　as　he　lay　on　the　infested　deck　mattress；　waiting　for　him　to　reach　the　brinks　of　sleep。
　'You！　Take　the　watch！　The　mate　is　sick。　You　fill　in！'
　'Get　up！　Philippe　is　writing　his　memoirs！　He　can't　be　disturbed。'
　'On　your　feet！　You　tore　a　net　this　afternoon。　We　won't　pay　for　your　stupidity。　We've　all　agreed。　Mend　it　now！'
　'　The　nets。'
　If　two　men　were　required　for　one　flank；　his　two　arms　took　the　place　of　four。　If　he　worked　beside　one　man；　there　were　abrupt　hauls　and　releases　that　left　him　with　the　full　weight；　a　sudden　blow　from　an　adjacent　shoulder　sending　him　crashing　into　the　gunwale　and　nearly　over　the　side。
　And　Lamouche。　A　limping　maniac　who　measured　each　kilometre　of　water　by　the　fish　he　had　lost。　His　voice　was　a　grating；　static…prone　bullhorn。　He　addressed　no　one　without　an　obscenity　preceding　his　name；　a　habit　the　patient　found　increasingly　maddening。　But　Lamouche　did　not　touch　Washburn's　patient；　he　was　merely　sending　the　doctor　a　message：　Don't　ever　do　this　to　me　again。　Not　where　my　boat　and　my　fish　are　concerned。
　Lamouche's　schedule　called　for　a　return　to　Port　Noir　at　sundown　on　the　third　day；　the　fish　to　be　unloaded；　the　crew　I　given　until　four　the　next　morning　to　sleep；　fornicate；　get　drunk；　or；　with　luck；　all　three。　As　they　came　within　sight　of　land；　it　happened。
　The　nets　were　being　doused　and　folded　at　midships　by　the　netman　and　his　first　assistant。　The　unwele　crewman　they　cursed　as　Jean…Pierre　Sangsue　scrubbed　down　the　deck　with　a　long…handled　brush。　The　two　remaining　crew　heaved　buckets　of　sea　water　in　front　of　the　brush；　more　often　than　not　drenching　the　leech　with　truer　aim　than　the　deck。
　A　bucketful　was　thrown　too　high；　momentarily　blinding　Washburn's　patient；　causing　him　to　lose　his　balance。　The　heavy　brush　with　its　metal…like　bristles　flew　out　of　his　hands；　its　head　up…ended；　the　sharp　bristles　making　contact　with　the　kneeling　netman's　thigh。
　Sacro　diable！'
　'Je　regrate；'　said　the　offender　casually；　shaking　the　water　from　his　eyes。
　'The　hell　you　are！'　shouted　the　netman。
　'I　said　I　was　sorry；'　replied　the　man　called　Jean…Pierre。　'Tell　your　friends　to　wet　the　deck；　not　me。'
　'My　friends　don't　make　me　the　object　of　their　stupidity！'
　'They　were　the　cause　of　mine　just　now。'
　The　netman　grabbed　the　handle　of　the　brush；　got　to　his　feet；　and　held　it　out　like　a　bayonet。　'You　want　to　play；　leech？'
　'e　on；　give　it　to　me。'
　'With　pleasure；　leech。　Here！'　The　netman　shoved　the　brush　forward；　downward；　the　bristles　scraping　the　patient's　chest　and　stomach；　penetrating　the　cloth　of　his　shirt。
　Whether　it　was　the　contact　with　the　scars　that　covered　his　previous　wounds；　or　the　frustration　and　anger　resulting　from　three　days　of　harassment；　the　man　would　never　know。　He　only　knew　he　had　to　respond。　And　his　response　was　as　alarming　to　him　as　anything　he　could　imagine。
　He　gripped　the　handle　with　his　right　hand；　jamming　it　back　into　the　netman's　stomach；　pulling　it　forward　at　the　instant　of　impact；　simultaneously；　he　shot　his　left　foot　high　off　the　deck；　ramming　it　into　the　netman's　throat。
　'Tao！'　The　guttural　whisper　came　from　his　lips　involuntarily；　he　did　not　know　what　it　meant。
　Before　he　could　understand；　he　had　pivoted；　his　right　foot　now　surging　forward　like　a　battering　ram；　crashing　into　the　netman's　left　kidney。
　'Che…sah！'　he　whispered。
　The　netman　recoiled；　then　lunged　towards　him　in　pain　and　fury；　his　hands　outstretched　like　claws。　'Pig！'
　The　patient　crouched；　shooting　his　right　hand　up　to　grip　the　netman's　left　forearm；　yanking　it　downwards；　then　rising；　pushing　his　victim's　arm　up；　twisting　it　at　its　highest　arc　clockwise；　yanking　again；　finally　releasing　it　while　jamming　his　heel　into　the　small　of　the　netman's　back。　The　Frenchman　sprawled　forward　over　the　nets；　his　head　smashing　into　the　wall　of　the　gunwale。
　'Mee…sah！'　Again　he　did　not　know　the　meaning　of　his　silent　cry。
　A　crewman　grabbed　his　neck　from　the　rear。　The　patient　crashed　his　left　fist　into　the　pelvic　area　behind　him；　then　bent　forward；　gripping　the　elbow　to　the　right　of　his　throat。　He　lurched　to　his　left；　his　assailant　was　lifted　off　the　ground；　his　legs　spiralling　in　the　air　as　he　was　thrown　across　the　deck；　his　face　impaled　between　the　wheels　of　a　winch。
　The　two　remaining　men　were　on　him；　fists　and　knees　pummelling　him；　as　the　captain　of　the　fishing　boat　repeatedly　screamed　his　warnings。
　'Le　medecin！　Rappelons　le　medecin！　Doucement！　The　doctor！　Remember　the　doctor！　Easy！'
　The　words　were　as　misplaced　as　the　captain's　appraisal　of　what　he　saw。　The　patient　gripped　the　wrist　of　one　man；　bending　it　down；　twisting　it　counterclockwise　in　one　violent　movement；　the　man