The Destructors

第三天早晨，一个驾驶员来停车场开车。他发动了引擎，车子向前开

去， 但他觉得后面有什么东西在拉车子。接着他听到东西的倒塌声。

等他从驾驶室出来时，< /p>

他惊呆了，

旁边的房子没有了，

只有一片 废墟。

【作品欣赏】

1

It was on the eve of August Bank holiday that the latest recruit became

the leader of the Wormsley Common Gang. No one was surprised except

Mike, but Mike at the age of nine was surprised by everything. ?

If you

don?t

shut

your

mouth,?

somebody

once

said

to

him,

?you?ll

get

a

frog

down

it.?

After

that

Mike

had

kept

his

teeth

clamped

except

when

the

surprise was too great.

The

new

recruit

had

been

with

the

gang

since

the

beginning

of

the

summer holidays, and there were possibilities about his brooding silence

that all recognized. He never wasted a word even to tell his name until

that

was

required

of

him

by

the

rules.

When

he

said

?Trevor?

it

was

a

statement of fact, not as it would have been with the others a statement of

shame

or

defiance.

The

gang

met

every

morning

in

an

impromptu

car

park,

the

site

of

the

last

bomb

of

the

first

blitz.

The

leader,

who

was

known as Blackie, claimed to have heard it fall, and no one was precise

enough in his dates to point out he would have been one year old and fast

asleep on the down platform of Wormsley Common Underground station.

On one side of the car park leant the first occupied house, No.3. T, whose

words

were

almost

confined

to

voting

?Yes?

or

?No?

to

the

plan

of

operations proposed each day by Blackie, once startled the whole gang by

saying broodingly,

?Wren built that house, father says.?

?Who?s Wren??

?The man who built ?s.?

?Who cares?? Blackie said. ?It?s only Old Misery?s.?

Old Misery

–

whose real name was Thomas

–

had once been a builder

and decorator. He lived alone in the crippled house, doing for himself.

?Been to the loo?, one of the boys said, for it was common knowledge that

since

the

bombs

fell

something

had

gone

wrong

with

the

pipes

of

the

house and Old Misery was too mean to spend money on the property. The

loo

was

a

wooden

shed

at

the

bottom

of

the

narrow

garden

with

a

star- shaped hole in the door: it had escaped the blast which had smashed

the house next door and sucked out the window-frames of No.3.

The next time the gang became aware of was more surprising.

Blackie, Mike and a thin yellow boy, who for some reason was called by

his

surname

Summers,

met

him

on

the

common

coming

back

from

the

market. stopped them. He said glumly

, ?You belong to the lot

that play in the car park??

Mike was about the answer when Blackie stopped him. As the leader had

responsilities, ?Suppose we are?? he said ambiguously.

?I got some chocolates,? Mr. Thomas said. ?Don?t like ?em myself. Here

you

are

.

Not

enough

to

go

round,

I

don?t

suppose,

There

never

is,?

he

added with sombre conviction. He handed over three packets of Smarties.

The gang were puzzled and perturbed by this action and tried to explain it

away.

?Bet

someone

dropped

them

and

he

picked

?em

up,?

somebody

suggested.

?Pinched ?em and then got in a bleeding funk,? another thought aloud.

?It?s a bribe,? Summers said. ?He wants us to stop bouncing balls on his

wall.?

?We?ll show him we don?t take bribes,? Blackie said, and they sacrificed

the

whole morning to the game of bouncing that only Mike was young

enough to enjoy. There was no sign from Mr Thomas.

Next day T astonished them all. He was late at the rendezvous, and the

voting

for

that

day?s

exploit

took

place

without

him.

At

Blackie?s

suggestion the gang was to disperse in pairs, take buses at random and see

how

many

free

rides

could

be

snatched

from

unwary

conductors

(the

operation

was

to

be

carried

out

in

pairs

to

avoid

cheating).

They

were

drawing lots for their companions when T arrived.

?Where you been, T?? Blackie asked.

?I?ve been

there

? T said.

?Where??

?At Old Misery?s.?

?At Old Misery?s?? Blackie said. He had a sensation that T was treading

on dangerous ground. He asked hopefully, ?Did you break in??

?No. I rang the bell.?

?And what did he do??

?He showed it me.?

?Pinch anything??

?No?

?What did you do it for then??

T said, ?It?s a beautiful house.?

?What do you mean, a beautiful house?? Blackie asked with scorn.

?It?s got a staircase two hundred years old like a corkscrew. Nothing

holds

it up.?

?What do you mean, nothing holds it up. Does it float??

?It?s to do with opposite forces, Old Misery said.?

?What else??

?There?s panelling.?

?Like in the Blue Boar??

?Two hundred years old.?

?Is Old Misery two hundred years old??

Mike laughed suddenly and then was quiet again. The meeting was in a

serious mood. For the first time since T. had strolled into the car park on

the first day of the holidays his position was in danger. It only needed a

single use of his real name and the gang would be at his heels.

?What did you do it for?? Blackie asked. He was just, he had no jealousy,

he

was

anxious

to

retain

T

in

the

gang

if

he

could.

It

was

the

word

?beautiful? that worried him –

that belonged to a class world that you culd

still see parodied at the Wormsley Common Empire by a man wearing a

top hat and

a

monocle,

with

a haw-haw accent

He

was

tempted

to say,

?My dear Trevor, old chap,? and unleash his hell bounds. ?If you?d broken

in,? he said sadly –

that indeed would have been an exploit worthy of the

gang.

?This was better,? T said. ?I found out things.?

?What things??

?Old Misery?s going to be away all tomorrow and Bank Holiday.?

Blackie said with relief, ?You mean we could break in??

?And pinch things?? somebody asked.

?I don?t want to pinch anything,? T said. ?I?ve got a better idea.?

?What is it??

T raised eyes; ?We?ll pull it down.? –

?We?ll destroy it.?

Blackie

gave

a

single

hoot

of

laughter

and

then,

like

Mike,

fell

quiet,

daunted by the serious implacable gaze. ?What?d the police be doing

all

the time?? he said.

?They?d never know. We?d do it from inside. I?ve found a way in. We?d

be

like

worms,

don?t

you

see,

in

an

apple.

When

we

came

out

again

there?d be nothing there –

nothing but just walls, and then we?d make the

walls fall down

–

som

ehow.?

?We?d go to jug,? Blackie said.

?Who?s to prove? And anyway we wouldn?t have pinched anything.? He

added without the smallest flicker of glee, ?There wouldn?t be anything to

pinch after we?d finished.?

?I?ve never heard of going to prison for breaking things,? Summers said.

?There wouldn?t be time,? Blackie said. I?ve seen housebreakers at work.?

?There are twelve of us,? T said. ?We?d organize.?

?None of us know how…?

?I

know,?

T

said.

He

looked

across

at

Blackie.

?Have

you

got

a

better

plan??

?Today,? Mike said tactlessly, ?we?re pinching free rides…?

?Free rides,? T said. ?You can stand down, Blackie, if you?d rather…?

?The gang?s got to vote.?

?Put it up then.?

Blackie

said

uneasily.

?It?s

proposed

that

tomorrow

and

Monday

we

destroy Old Misery?s house.?

?Here, here,? said a fat boy called Joe.

?Who?s in favour??

T said, ?It?s carried.?

?How do we start?? Summers asked.

?He?ll tell you.? Blackie said. It was the end of his leadership. He went

away to the back of the car park and began to kick a stone, dribbling it

this way and that. There was only one old Morris in the park, for few cars

were

left

there except

lorries;

without

an attendant there

was

no safety.

He

took

a

flying

kick

at

the

car

and

scaraped

a

little

paint

off

the

rear

mudguard. Beyond, paying no more attention to him than to a stranger,

the gang had gathered round T; Blackie was dimly aware of the fickleness

of favour. He thought of going home, of never returning, of letting them

all discover the hollowness of T?s leadership, but suppo

se after all what T

proposed was possible

–

nothing like it had ever been done before. The

fame of the Wormsley Common car park gang would surely reach around

London.

There

would

be

headlines

in

the

papers.

Even

the

grown-up

gangs

who

ran

the

betting

at

the

all-in

wrestling

and

the

barrow- boys

would hear with respect of how Old Misery?s house had been destroyed.

Driven by the pure, simple and altruistic ambition of fame for the gang,

Blackie came back to where T stood in the shadow of Misery?s wall.

T was giving his orders with decision; it was as though this plan had been

with him all his life, pondered through the seasons now in his fifteenth

year crystallized with the pain of puberty. ?You,? he said to Mike, ?bring

some big nails, the biggest you can find, and a hammer. Anyone else who

can better bring a hammer and a screwdriver. We?ll need plenty of them.

Chisels too. We can?t have too many chisels. Can anybody bring a saw??

?I can,? Mike said.

?Not a child?s saw,? T said. ?A real saw.?

Blackie realized he had raised his hand like any ordinary member of the

gang.

?Right, you bring one, Blackie. But now there?s a difficulty. We want a

hacksaw.?

?What?s a hacksaw?? someone asked.

?You can get?em at Woolworth?s.? Summers said.

The

fat

boy

called

Joe

said

gloo

mily,

?I

knew

it

would

end

in

a

collection.?

?I?ll get one myself,? T said. ?I don?t want your money. But I can?t buy a

sledge-

hammer.?

Blackie

said,

?They

are

working

on

No.15.

I

know

where

they?ll

leave

their stuff for Bank Holiday.?

?Then that?s all,? T

said. ?We meet here at nine sharp.?

?I?ve got to go to church,? Mike said.

?Come over the wall and whistle. We?ll let you in.?

2

On Sunday morning all were punctual except Blackie, even Mike. Mike

had

had

a

stroke

of

luck.

His

mother

felt

ill,

his

father

was

tired

after

Saturday

night,

and

he

was

told

to

go

to

church

alone

with

many

warnings of what would happen if he strayed. Blackie had had difficulty

in smuggling out the saw, and then in finding the sledge-hammer at the

back

of

No.15.

He

approached the

house

from

a

lane

at

the

rear

of the

garden,

for

fear of

the

policeman?s

beat along

the

main

road.

The

tired

evergreens kept off a stormy sun; another wet Bank Holiday was being

prepared

over

the

Atlantic,

beginning

in

swirls

of

dust

under

the

trees.

Black

ie climbed the wall into Misery?s garden.

There was no sign of anybody anywhere. The loo stood like a tomb in a

neglected graveyard. The curtains were drawn. The house slept. Blackie

lumbered nearer the saw and the sledge- hammer. Perhaps after all nobody

had turned up; the plan had been a wild invention; they had woken wiser.

But when he came close to the back door he could hear a confusion of

sound hardly louder than a hive in swarm; a clickety-clack, a bang bang

nbag, a scraping, a creaking, a sudden pain

ful crack. He thought; it?s true,

and whistled.

They

opened

the

backdoor

to

him

and

he

came

in.

He

had

at

once

the

impression

of

organization,

very

different

from

the

old

happy-go- lucky

ways under his leadership. For a while he wandered up and down stairs

looking for T. Nobody addressed him; he had a sense of great urgency,

and already he could begin to see the plan. The interior of the house was

being

carefully

demolished

without

touching

the

outer

walls.

Summers

with hammer and chisel was ripping out the skirting-boards in the ground

floor dining room; he had already smashed the panels of the door. In the

same

room

Joe

was

heaving

up

the

parquet

blocks,

exposing

the

soft

wood floor-boards over the cellar. Coils of wire came out of the damage

skirting and Mike sat happily on the floor clipping the wires.

On

the

curved

stairs

two

of

the

gang

were

working

hard

with

an

inadequate

child?s

saw

on

the

banisters

–

when

they

saw

Blackie?s

big

saw they signalled for it wordlessly. When he next saw them a quarter of

the

banisters

had

been

dropped

into

the

hall.

He

found

T

at

last

in

the

bathroom

–

he

sat

moodily

in

the

least

cared-for

room

in

the

house,

listening to the sounds coming up from below.

?You?ve really done it.? Blackie said with awe. ?What?s going to happen??

?We?ve

only

just

begun.?

T

said.

He

looked

at

the

sledge

-hammer

and

gave

his

instructions.

?You

stay

here

and

break

the

bath

and

the

wash-

basin. Don?t bother about the pipes. They come later.?

Mike appeared at the door. ?I?ve finished the wire, T,? he s

aid.

?Good. You?ve just got to go wandering round now. The kitchen?s in the

basement. Smash all the china and glass and bottles you can lay hold of.

Don?t turn on the taps –

we don?t want a flood –

yet. Then go into all the

rooms and turn out drawers. If they are

locked get one of the others to

break

them

open.

Tear

up

any

papers

you

find

and

smash

all

the

ornaments.

Better

take

a

carving- knife

with

you

from

the

kitchen.

The

bedroom?s opposite here. Open the pillows and tear up the sheets. That?s

enough for

the moment. And you, Blackie, when you?ve finished in here

crack the plaster in the passage up with your sledge-hammer.

?What are you going to do?? Blackie asked.

?I?m looking for something special.? T said.

It was nearly lunch time before Blackie had finished and went in search

of T. Chaos had advanced. The kitchen was a shambles of broken glass

and china. The dining room was stripped of parquet, the skirting was up,

the door had been taken off its hinges, and the destroyers had moved up a

floor.

Streaks

of

light

came

in

through

the

closed

shuters

where

they

worked

with

the

seriousness

of

creators

–

and

destruction

after

all

is

a

form of creation. A kind of imagination had seen this house as it had now

become.

Mike said, ?I?ve got to go home for dinner.?

?Who

else??

T

asked,

but

all

the

others

on

one

excuse

or

another

had

brought provisions with them.

They

squatted

in

the

ruins

of

the

room

and

swapped

unwanted

sandwiches. Half an hour for lunch and they were at work again. By the

time Mike returned, they were on the top floor, and by six the superficial

damage

was

completed.

The doors

were all off,

all the

skirtings

raised,

the furniture pillaged and ripped and smashed

–

no one could have slept

in the house except on a bed of broken plaster. T gave his orders

–

eight

o?clock next morning, and to escape notice they climbed singly over the

garden wall, into the car park. Only Blackie and T were left; the light had

nearly gone, and when they touched a switch, nothing worked

–

Mike had

done his job thoroughly.

?Did you find anything special?? Blackie asked.

T nodded. ?Come over here.? He said, ?and look?. Out of both pockets he

drew bundles of pound notes. ?Old Misery?s savings.? He said.

?What are you going to do? Share them??

?We

aren?t

thieves.?

T

said

?Nobody?

s

going

to

steal

anything

from

this

house. I keep these for you and me

–

a celebration.? He knelt down on the

floor and counted them out

–

there were seventy in all. ?We?ll burn them,?

he said, ?one by one,? and taking it in turns they held a note upwards

and

lit the top corner, so that the flame burnt slowly towards their fingers. The

grey ash floated above them and fell on their heads like age. ?I?d like to

see Old Misery?s face when we are through,? T said.

?You hate him a lot?? Blackie asked.

?Of course

I don?t hate him,? T said. ?There?d be no fun if I hated him.?

The

last

burning

note

illuminated

his

brooding

face.

?All

this

hate

and

love,? he said, ?it?s soft, it?s hooey. There?s only things, Blackie,? and he

looked

round

the

room

crowded

with

the

unfamiliar

shadows

of

half

things,

broken

things,

former

things.

?I?ll

race

you

home,

Blackie,?

he

said.

3

Next morning the serious destruction started. Two were missing

–

Mike

and

another

boy

whose

parents

were

off

to

Southend

and

Brighton

in

spite

of

the

slow

warm

drops

that

had

begun

to

fall

and

the

rumble

of

thunder in the estuary like the first guns of the old blitz. ?We?ve got to

hurry? T said.

Summers

was

restive.

?Haven?t

we

done

enough??

he

said.

?I?ve

been

given a bob for slot machines. This is like

work.?

?We?ve

hardly

started,?

T

said.

?Why,

there?s

all

the

floors

left

and

the