The Ghost(英文版)-第4部分

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d…historical　figure；　and　his　autobiography　is　going　to　be　a　world　publishing　event。　A　piece　of　history；　in　fact。　It　shouldn’t　be　approached　like　a”—he　ransacked　his　well…stocked　mind　for　a　suitable　analogy　but　finished　lamely—“a　feature　for　a　celebrity　magazine。”

　　There　was　another　silence。　Beyond　the　tinted　windows　the　traffic　was　backing　up　along　the　motorway。　Rainwater　rippled　the　gleam　of　the　stationary　headlights。　London　still　hadn’t　returned　to　normal　after　the　bomb。

　　“It　seems　to　me；”　said　Maddox；　in　the　same　slow；　quiet　voice；　his　big　pink　mannequin’s　hands　still　resting　on　the　table；　“that　I　have　entire　warehouses　full　of　‘world　publishing　events’　that　I　somehow　can’t　figure　out　how　to　get　off　my　hands。　And　a　heck　of　a　lot　of　people　read　celebrity　magazines。　What　do　you　think；　Sid？”

　　For　a　few　seconds　Kroll　merely　carried　on　smiling　to　himself　and　doodling。　I　wondered　what　he　found　so　funny。　“Adam’s　position　on　this　is　very　straightforward；”　he　said　eventually。　（Adam：　he　tossed　the　first　name　as　casually　into　the　conversation　as　he　might　a　coin　into　a　beggar’s　cap。）　“He　takes　this　book　very　seriously—it’s　his　testament；　if　you　will。　He　wants　to　meet　his　contractual　obligations。　And　he　wants　it　to　be　a　commercial　success。　He’s　therefore　more　than　happy　to　be　guided　by　you；　John；　and　by　Marty　also；　within　reason。　Obviously；　he’s　still　very　upset　by　what　happened　to　Mike；　who　was　irreplaceable。”

　　“Obviously。”　We　all　made　the　appropriate　noises。

　　“Irreplaceable；”　he　repeated。　“And　yet—he　has　to　be　replaced。”　He　looked　up；　pleased　with　his　drollery；　and　at　that　instant　I　knew　there　was　no　horror　the　world　could　offer—no　war；　no　genocide；　no　famine；　no　childhood　cancer—to　which　Sidney　Kroll　would　not　see　the　funny　side。　“Adam　can　certainly　appreciate　the　benefits　of　trying　someone　entirely　different。　In　the　end；　it　all　comes　down　to　a　personal　bond。”　His　spectacles　flashed　in　the　strip　lights　as　he　scrutinized　me。　“Do　you　work　out；　maybe？”　I　shook　my　head。　“Pity。　Adam　likes　to　work　out。”

　　Quigley；　still　reeling　from　Maddox’s　put…down；　attempted　a　comeback。　“Actually；　I　know　quite　a　good　writer　on　theGuardian　who　uses　a　gym。”

　　“Maybe；”　said　Rick；　after　an　embarrassed　pause；　“we　could　run　over　how　you　see　this　working　practically。”

　　“First　off；　we　need　it　wrapped　up　in　a　month；”　said　Maddox。　“That’s　Marty’s　view　as　well　as　mine。”

　　“A　month？”　I　repeated。　“You　want　the　book　in　a　month？”

　　“A　completed　manuscript　does　exist；”　said　Kroll。　“It　just　needs　some　work。”

　　“A　lot　of　work；”　said　Maddox　grimly。　“Okay。　Taking　it　backward：　we　publish　in　June；　which　means　we　ship　in　May；　which　means　we　edit　and　we　print　in　March　and　April；　which　means　we　have　to　have　the　manuscript　in…house　at　the　end　of　February。　The　Germans；　French；　Italians；　and　Spanish　all　have　to　start　translating　right　away。　The　newspapers　need　to　see　it　for　the　serial　deals。　There’s　a　television　tie…in。　Publicity　tour’s　got　to　be　fixed　well　in　advance。　We　need　to　book　space　in　the　stores。　So　the　end　of　February—that’s　it；　period。　What　I　like　about　your　résumé；”　he　said；　consulting　a　sheet　of　paper　on　which　I　could　see　all　my　titles　listed；　“is　that　you’re　obviously　experienced　and　above　all　you’re　fast。　You　deliver。”

　　“Never　missed　once；”　said　Rick；　putting　his　arm　round　my　shoulders　and　squeezing　me。　“That’s　my　boy。”

　　“And　you’re　a　Brit。　The　ghost　definitely　has　to　be　a　Brit；　I　think。　To　get　the　jolly　old　tone　right。”

　　“We　agree；”　said　Kroll。　“But　everything　will　have　to　be　done　in　the　States。　Adam’s　completely　locked　in　to　a　lecture　tour　there　right　now；　and　a　fund…raising　program　for　his　foundation。　I　don’t　see　him　coming　back　to　the　UK　till　March　at　the　earliest。”

　　“A　month　in　America；　that’s　fine—yes？”　Rick　glanced　at　me　eagerly。　I　could　feel　him　willing　me　to　say　yes；　but　all　I　was　thinking　was：　a　month；　they　want　me　to　write　a　book　in　a　month…

　　I　nodded　slowly。　“I　suppose　I　can　always　bring　the　manuscript　back　here　to　work　on。”

　　“The　manuscript　stays　in　America；”　said　Kroll　flatly。　“That’s　one　of　the　reasons　Marty　made　the　house　on　the　Vineyard　available。　It’s　a　secure　environment。　Only　a　few　people　are　allowed　to　handle　it。”

　　“Sounds　more　like　a　bomb　than　a　book！”　joked　Quigley。　Nobody　laughed。　He　rubbed　his　hands　unhappily。　“You　know；　I　will　need　to　see　it　myself　at　some　point。　I　am　supposed　to　be　editing　it。”

　　“In　theory；”　said　Maddox。　“Actually　we　need　to　talk　about　that　later。”　He　turned　to　Kroll。　“There’s　no　room　in　this　schedule　for　revisions。　We’ll　need　to　revise　as　we　go。”

　　As　they　carried　on　discussing　the　timetable；　I　studied　Quigley。　He　was　upright　but　motionless；　like　one　of　those　victims　in　the　movies　who　get　stuck　with　a　stiletto　while　standing　in　a　crowd　and　die　without　anyone　noticing。　His　mouth　opened　and　closed　ever　so　slightly；　as　if　he　had　a　final　message　to　impart。　Yet　even　at　the　time　I　realized　he’d　asked　a　perfectly　reasonable　question。　If　he　was　the　editor；　why　shouldn’t　he　see　the　manuscript？　And　why　did　it　have　to　be　held　in　a　“secure　environment”　on　an　island　off　the　eastern　seaboard　of　the　United　States？　I　felt　Rick’s　elbow　in　my　ribs　and　realized　Maddox　was　talking　to　me。

　　“How　soon　can　you　get　over　there？　Assuming　we　go　with　you　rather　than　one　of　the　others—how　fast　can　you　move？”

　　“It’s　Friday　today；”　I　said。　“Give　me　a　day　to　get　ready。　I　could　fly　Sunday。”

　　“And　start　Monday？　That　would　be　great。”

　　Rick　said；　“You　won’t　find　anyone　who　can　move　quicker　than　that。”

　　Maddox　and　Kroll　looked　at　one　another　and　I　knew　then　that　I　had　the　job。　As　Rick　said　afterward；　the　trick　is　always　to　put　yourself　in　their　position。　“It’s　like　interviewing　a　new　cleaner。　Do　you　want　someone　who　can　give　you　the　history　of　cleaning　and　the　theory　of　cleaning；　or　do　you　want　someone　who’ll　just　get　down　and　clean　your　fucking　house？　They　chose　you　because　they　think　you’ll　clean　their　fucking　house。”

　　“We’ll　go　with　you；”　said　Maddox。　He　stood　and　reached　over　and　shook　my　hand。　“Subject　to　reaching　a　satisfactory　agreement　with　Rick　here；　of　course。”

　　Kroll　added；　“You’ll　also　have　to　sign　a　nondisclosure　agreement。”

　　“No　problem；”　I　said；　also　getting　to　my　feet。　That　didn’t　bother　me。　Confidentiality　clauses　are　standard　procedure　in　the　ghosting　world。　“I　couldn’t　be　happier。”

　　And　I　couldn’t　have　been。　Everyone　except　Quigley　was　smiling；　and　suddenly　there　was　a　kind　of　all…boys；　locker…room…after…the…match　kind　of　feeling　in　the　air。　We　chatted　for　a　minute　or　so；　and　that　was　when　Kroll　took　me　to　one　side　and　said；　very　casually；　“I’ve　something　here　you　might　care　to　take　a　look　at。”

　　He　reached　under　the　table　and　pulled　out　a　bright　yellow　plastic　bag　with　the　name　of　some　fancy　Washington　clothes　store　printed　on　it　in　curly　black　copperplate。　My　first　thought　was　that　it　must　be　the　manuscript　of　Lang’s　memoirs　and　that　all　the　stuff　about　a　“secure　environment”　had　been　a　joke。　But　when　he　saw　my　expression；　Kroll　laughed　and　said；　“No；　no；　it’s　notthat　。　It’s　just　a　book　by　another　client　of　mine。　I’d　really　appreciate　your　opinion　if　you　get　a　chance　to　look　at　it。　Here’s　my　number。”　I　took　his　card　and　slipped　it　into　my　pocket。　Quigley　still　hadn’t　said　a　word。

　　“I’ll　give　you　a　call　when　we’ve　settled　the　deal；”　said　Rick。

　　“Make　them　howl；”　I　told　him；　squeezing　his　shoulder。

　　Maddox　laughed。　“Hey！　Remember！”　he　called　as　Quigley　showed　me　out　of　the　door。　He　struck　his　big　fist　against　his　blue…suited　chest。　“Heart！”

　　As　we　went　down　in　the　lift；　Quigley　stared　at　the　ceiling。　“Was　it　my　imagination；　or　did　I　just　get　fired　in　there？”

　　“They　wouldn’t　let　you　go；　Roy；”　I　said　with　all　the　sincerity　I　could　muster；　which　wasn’t　much。　“You’re　the　only　one　left　who　can　remember　what　publishing　used　to　be　like。”

　　“‘Let　you　go；’”　he　said　bitterly。　“Yes；　that’s　the　modern　euphemism；　isn’t　it？　As　if　it’s　a　favor。　You’re　clinging　to　the　edge　of　a　cliff　and　someone　says；　‘Oh；　I’m　terribly　sorry；　we’re　going　to　have　to　let　you　go。’”

　　A　couple　on　their　lunch　break　got　in　at　the　fourth　floor　and　Quigley　was　silent　until　they　got　off　to　go　to　the　restaurant　on　the　second。　When　the　doors　closed；　he　said；　“There’s　something　not　right　about　this　project。”

　　“Me；　you　mean？”

　　“No。　Before　you。”　He　froy　finger　on　it。　The　way　no　one’s　allowed　to　see　anything；　for　a　start。　And　that　fellow　Kroll　makes　me　shiver。　And　poor　old　Mike　McAra；　of　course。　I　met　him　when　we　signed　the　deal　two　years　ago。　He　didn’t　strike　me　as　the　suicidal　type。　Rather　the　reverse。　He　was　the　sort　who　specializes　in　making　other　people　want　to　kill　themselves；　if　you　know　what　I　mean。”

　　“Hard？”

　　“Hard；　yes。　Lang　would　be　smiling　away；　and　there　would　be　this　thug　next　to　him　with　eyes　like　a　snake’s。　I　suppose　you’ve　got　to　have　someone　like　that　when　you’re　in　Lang’s　position。”

　　We　reached　the　ground　floor　and　stepped　out　into　the　lobby。　“You　can　pick　up　a　taxi　round　the　corner；”　said　Quigley；　and　for　that　one　small；　mean　gesture—leaving　me　to　walk　in　the　rain　rather　than　calling　me　a　cab　on　the　company’s　account—I　hoped　he’d　rot。　“Tell　me；”　he　said　suddenly；　“when　did　it　become　fashionable　to　be　stupid？　That’s　the　thing　I　really　don’t　understand。　The　Cult　of　the　Idiot。　The　Elevation　of　the　Moron。　Our　two　biggest…selling　novelists—the　actress　with　the　tits　and　that　ex…army　psycho—have　never　written　a　word　of　fiction。　Did　you　know　that？”

　　“You’re　talking　like　an　old　man；　Roy；”　I　told　him。　“People　have　been　complaining　that　standards　are　slipping　ever　since　Shakespeare　started　writing　comedies。”

　　“Yes；　but　now　it’s　really　happened；　hasn’t　it？　It　was　never　like　this　before。”

　　I　knew　he　was　trying　to　goad　me—the　ghostwriter　to　the　stars　off　to　produce　the　memoirs　of　an　ex–prime　minister—but　I　was　too　full　of　myself　to　care。　I　wished　him　well　in　his　retirement　and　set　off　across　the　lobby　swinging　that　damned　yellow　plastic　bag。

　　IT　MUST　HAVE　TAKENme　half　an　hour　to　find　a　ride　back　into　town。　I　had　only　a　very　hazy　idea　of　where　I　was。　The　roads　were　wide；　the　houses　small。　There　was　a　steady；　freezing　drizzle。　My　arm　was　aching　from　carrying　Kroll’s　manuscript。　Judging　by　the　weight；　I　reckoned　it　must　have　been　close　on　a　thousand　pages。　Who　was　his　client？　Tolstoy？　Eventually　I　stopped　at　a　bus　shelter　in　front　of　a　greengrocer’s　and　a　funeral　parlor。　Wedged　into　its　metal　frame　was　the　card　of　a　minicab　firm。

　　The　journey　home　took　almost　an　hour　and　I　had　plenty　of　time　to　take　out　the　manuscript　and　study　it。　The　book　was　calledOne　Out　of　Many　。　It　was　the　memoir　of　some　ancient　U。S。　senator；　famous　only　for　having　kept　on　breathing　for　about　a　hundred　and　fifty　years。　By　any　normal　measure　of　tedium　it　was　off　the　scale—up；　up；　and　away；　beyond　boring　into　some　oxygen…starved　stratosphere　of　utter　nullity。　The　car　was　overheated　and　smelled　of　stale　takeaways。　I　began　to　f