It looked as if the run was going to take him dangerously close to the skirts of the peak. Something was nagging8 at his mind, a tiny memory. What was it? It was something unpleasant. Yes, by God! The last flag! It had been black. He was on the Black Run, the one closed because of avalanche9 danger! God! Well, he'd had it now. No time to try and get back on the Red Run. And anyway the Red had a long stretch close to the cables. He'd just have to chance it. And what a time to chance it, just after a heavy fall of new snow, and with all these detonations10 to loosen up the stuff! When there was danger of an avalanche, guides forbade even speech! Well, to hell with it! Bond zoomed11 on across the great unmarked slope, got to the next flag, spotted12 the next, away down the mountain side towards the tree line. Too steep to schuss! He would just have to do it in S's.
And then the bastards13 chose to fire off three more flares followed by a stream of miscellaneous rockets that burst prettily15 among the stars. Of course! Bright idea! This was for the sake of watchers in the valley who might be inquisitive16 about the mysterious explosions high up the mountain. They were having a party up there, celebrating something. What fun these rich folk had, to be sure! And then Bond remembered. But of course! It was Christmas Eve! God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing ye dismay! Bond's skis hissed17 an accompaniment as he zigzagged18 fast down the beautiful snow slope. White Christmas! Well, he'd certainly got himself that!
But then, from high up above him, he heard that most dreaded19 of all sounds in the high Alps, that rending20, booming crack! The Last Trump21! Avalanche!
The ground shook violently under Bond's skis and the swelling22 rumble23 came down to him like the noise of express trains roaring through a hundred tunnels. God Almighty24, now he really had had it! What was the rule? Point the skis straight downhill! Try and race it! Bond pointed25 his skis down towards the tree line, got down in his ugly crouch26 and shot, his skis screaming, into white space.
Keep forward, you bastard14! Get your hands way in front of you! The wind of his speed was building up into a great wall in front of him, trying to knock him off balance. Behind him the giant roar of the mountain seemed to be gaining. Other, smaller cracks sounded high up among the crags. The whole bloody27 mountain was on the move! If he beat the gigantic mass of hurtling snow to the tree line, what comfort would he find there? Certainly no protection until he was deep in the wood. The avalanche would snap perhaps the first hundred yards of firs down like match-sticks. Bond used his brain and veered28 slightly left-handed. The opening, the glade29 cut for the Black Run, would surely be somewhere below the last flag he had been aiming for. If it wasn't, he was a dead duck!
Now the wild schuss was coming to an end. The trees were rushing towards him. Was there a break in the bloody black line of them? Yes! But more to the left. Bond veered, dropping his speed, gratefully, but with his ears strained to gauge30 the range of the thunder behind and above him. It couldn't be far from him. The shudder31 in the ground had greatly increased and a lot of the stuff would also find the hole through the trees, funnel32 itself in and pursue him even down there! Yes! There was the flag! Bond hurtled into a right-hand Christie just as, to his left, he heard the first trees come crashing down with the noise of a hundred monster crackers33 being pulled - Christmas crackers! Bond flung himself straight down the wide white glade between the trees. But he could hear that he was losing! The crashing of the trees was coming closer. The first froth of the white tide couldn't be far behind his heels! What did one do when the avalanche hit? There was only one rule. Get your hands to your boots and grip your ankles. Then, if you were buried, there was some hope of undoing34 your skis, being able, perhaps, to burrow35 your way to the surface - if you knew in your tomb where the surface lay! If you couldn't go down like a ball, you would end up immovable, a buried tangle36 of sticks and skis at all angles. Thank God the opening at the end of the glade, the shimmer37 of the last, easily sloping fields before the finish, was showing up! The crackling roar behind him was getting louder! How high would the wall of snow be? Fifty feet? A hundred? Bond reached the end of the glade and hurled38 himself into a right-hand Christie. It was his last hope, to get below the wide belt of trees and pray that the avalanche wouldn't mow39 down the lot of them. To stay in the path of the roaring monster at his heels would be suicide!
The Christie came off, but Bond's right ski snarled40 a root or a sapling and he felt himself flying through space. He landed with a crash and lay gasping41, all the wind knocked out of him. Now he was done for! Not even enough strength to get his hands to his ankles! A tremendous buffet42 of wind hit him and a small snow-storm covered him. The ground shook wildly and a deep crashing roar filled his ears. And then it had passed him and given way to a slow, heavy rumble. Bond brushed the snow out of his eyes and got unsteadily to his feet, both skis loose, his goggles43 gone. Only a cricket pitch away, a great torrent44 of snow, perhaps twenty feet high, was majestically45 pouring out of the wood and down into the meadows. Its much higher, tumbling snout, tossing huge crags of broken snow around it, was already a hundred yards ahead and still going fast. But, where Bond stood, it was now silent and peaceful except for the machine-gunfire crackling of the trees as they went down in the wood that had finally protected him. The crackling was getting nearer! No time to hang about! But Bond took off one sodden46 glove and dug into his trouser pocket. If ever he needed a drink it was now! He tilted47 the little flask48 down his throat, emptied it, and threw the bottle away. Happy Christmas! he said to himself, and bent49 to his bindings.
He got to his feet and, rather light-headed but with the wonderful glow of the Enzian in his stomach, started on the last mile of finishing schuss across the meadows to the right, away from the still hurtling river of snow. Blast! There was a fence across the bottom of the meadows! He would have to take the normal outlet50 for the runs beside the cable station. It looked all right. There was no sign of the gondola, but he could now hear the song of the cables. Had the downcoming car reversed back up to Piz Gloria, assuming him to have been killed by the avalanche? There was a large black saloon car in the forecourt to the cable station, and lights on in the station, but otherwise no sign of life. Well, it was his only way to get off the run and on to the road that was his objective. Bond schussed easily downwards51, resting his limbs, getting his breath back.
The sharp crack of a heavy-calibre pistol and the phut as the bullet hit the snow beside him pulled him together. He jinked sideways and glanced quickly up to the right, where the shot had come from. The gun blazed again. A man on skis was coming fast after him. One of the guides! Of course! He would have taken the Red Run. Had the other followed Bond on the Black? Bond hoped so, gave a deep sigh of anger, and put on all the speed he could, crouching52 low and jinking occasionally to spoil the man's aim. The single shots kept on coming. It was going to be a narrow shave who got to the end of the run first!
Bond studied the finishing point that was now coming at him fast. There was a wide break in the fence to let the skiers through, a large parking place in front of the cable station, and then the low embankment that protected the main line of the Rhatische Bahn up to Pontresina and the Bernina Pass. On the other side of the rails the railway embankment dropped into the road from Pontresina to Samaden, the junction53 for St Moritz, perhaps two miles down the valley.
Another shot kicked up the snow in front of him. That was six that had gone. With any luck the man's pistol was empty. But that wouldn't help much. There was no stuffing left in Bond for a fight.
Now a great blaze of light showed coming up the railway line, and, before it was hidden by the cable station, Bond identified an express and could just hear the thudding of its electro-diesels. By God, it would just about be passing the cable station as he wanted to get across the track! Could he make it - take a run at the low embankment and clear it and the lines before the train got there? It was his only hope! Bond dug in with his sticks to get on extra speed. Hell! A man had got out of the black car and was crouching, aiming at him. Bond jinked and jinked again as fire bloomed from the man's hand. But now Bond was on top of him. He thrust hard with the rapier point of a ski-stick and felt it go through clothing. The man gave a scream and went down. The guide, now only yards behind, yelled something. The great yellow eye of the diesel54 glared down the tracks, and Bond caught a sideways glimpse of a huge red snow-fan below the headlight that was fountaining the new snow to right and left of the engine in two white wings. Now! He flashed across the parking place, heading straight at the mound55 of the embankment and, as he hit, dug both his sticks in to get his skis off the ground, and hurled himself forward into the air. There was a brief glimpse of steel rails below, a tremendous thudding in his ears, and a ferocious56 blast, only yards away, from the train's siren. Then he crashed on to the icy road, tried to stop, failed, and fetched up in an almighty skid57 against the hard snow wall on the other side. As he did so, there came a terrible scream from behind him, a loud splintering of wood, and the screech58 of the train's brakes being applied59.
At the same time, the spray from the snow-fan, that had now reached Bond, turned pink!
Bond wiped some of it off his face and looked at it. His stomach turned. God! The man had tried to follow him, had been too late or had missed his jump, and had been caught by the murderous blades of the snow-fan! Mincemeat! Bond dug a handful of snow off the bank and wiped it over his face and hair. He rubbed more of it down his sweater. He suddenly realized that people were pulling down the windows in the brilliantly-lit train above him. Others had got down on the line. Bond pulled himself together and punted off down the black ice of the road. Shouts followed him - the angry bawls60 of Swiss citizens. Bond edged his skis a little against the camber of the road and kept going. Ahead of him, down the black gulch61 of the road, in his mind's eye, the huge red propeller62 whirred, sucking him into its steel whirlpool. Bond, close to delirium63, slithered on towards its bloody, beckoning64 vortex.
* * *
Bond, a grey-faced, lunging automaton65, somehow stayed upright on the two miles of treacherous66 Langlauf down the gentle slope to Samaden. Once a passing car, its snow-chains clattering67, forced him into the bank. He leaned against the comforting soft snow for a moment, the breath sobbing68 in his throat. Then he drove himself on again. He had got so far, done so well! Only a few more hundred yards to the lights of the darling, straggling little paradise of people and shelter!
The slender campanile of the village church was floodlit and there was a great warm lake of light on the left of the twinkling group of houses. The strains of a waltz came over the still, frozen air. The skating-rink! A Christmas Eve skaters' ball. That was the place for him! Crowds! Gaiety! Confusion! Somewhere to lose himself from the double hunt that would now be on - by SPECTRE and the Swiss police, the cops and the robbers hand in hand!
Bond's skis hit a pile of horse's dung from some merrymaker's sleigh. He lurched drunkenly into the snow wall of the road and righted himself, cursing feebly. Come on! Pull yourself together! Look respectable! Well, you needn't look too respectable. After all, it's Christmas Eve. Here were the first houses. The noise of accordion69 music, deliciously nostalgic, came from a Gasthaus with a beautiful iron sign over its door. Now there was a twisty, uphill bit - the road to St Moritz. Bond shuffled70 up it, placing his sticks carefully. He ran a hand through his matted hair and pulled the sweat-soaked handkerchief down to his neck, tucking the ends into his shirt collar. The music lilted down towards him from the great pool of light over the skating-rink. Bond pulled himself a little more upright. There were a lot of cars drawn71 up, skis stuck in mounds72 of snow, luges and toboggans, festoons of paper streamers, a big notice in three languages across the entrance:' Grand Christmas Eve Ball! Fancy Dress! Entrance 2 Francs! Bring all your friends! Hooray!'
Bond dug in his sticks and bent down to unlatch his skis. He fell over sideways. If only he could just lie there, go to sleep on the hard, trodden snow that felt like swansdown! He gave a small groan73 and heaved himself gingerly into a crouch. The bindings were frozen solid, caked, like his boots, with ice. He got one of his sticks and hacked74 feebly at the metal and tried again. At last the latches75 sprang and the thongs76 were off. Where to put the bloody things, hide their brilliant red markings? He lugged77 them down the trodden path towards the entrance, gay with fairy lights, shoved the skis and the sticks under a big saloon car, and staggered on. The man at the ticket-table was as drunk as Bond seemed.
He looked up Wearily: 'Zwo Franken. Two francs. Deux francs.' The routine incantation was slurred78 into one portmanteau word. Bond held on to the table, put down the coins, and got his ticket. The man's eyes focused. 'The fancy dress, the travesti, it is obligatoire.' He reached into a box by his side and threw a black and white domino-mask on the table. 'One franc.' He gave a lop-sided smile. 'Now you are the gangster79, the spy. Yes?'
'Yeah, that's right.' Bond paid and put on the mask. He reluctantly let go of the table and wove through the entrance. There were raised tiers of wooden benches round the big square rink. Thank God for a chance to sit down! There was an empty seat on the aisle80 in the bottom row at rink level. Bond stumbled down the wooden steps and fell into it. He righted himself, said ' Sorry,' and put his head in his hands. The girl beside him, part of a group of harlequins, Wild Westerners, and pirates, drew her spangled skirt away, whispered something to her neighbour. Bond didn't care. They wouldn't throw him out on a night like this. Through the loud-speakers the violins sobbed81 into 'The Skaters' Waltz'. Above them the voice of the MC called, 'Last dance, ladies and gentlemen. And then all out on to the rink and join hands for the grand finale. Only ten minutes to go to midnight! Last dance, ladies and gentlemen. Last dance!' There was a rattle82 of applause. People laughed excitedly.
God in Heaven! thought Bond feebly. Now this! Won't anybody leave me alone? He fell asleep.
Hours later he felt his shoulder being shaken. ' On to the rink, sir. Please. All on to the rink for the grand finale. Only a minute to go.' A man in purple and gold uniform was standing83 beside him, looking down impatiently.
'Go away,' said Bond dully. Then some inner voice told him not to make a scene, not to be conspicuous84. He struggled to his feet, made the few steps to the rink, somehow stood upright. His head lowered, like a wounded bull, he looked to left and right, saw a gap in the human chain round the rink, and slid gingerly towards it. A hand was held out to him and he grasped it thankfully. On the other side someone else was laying to get hold of his free hand. And then there came a diversion. From right across the rink, a girl in a short black skating-skirt topped by a shocking-pink fur-lined parka, sped like an arrow across the ice and came to a crash-stop in front of Bond. Bond felt the ice particles hit his legs. He looked up. It was a face he recognized - those brilliant blue eyes, the look of authority now subdued85 beneath golden sunburn and a brilliant smile of excitement. Who in hell?
The girl slipped in beside him, seized his right hand in her left, joined up on her right. 'James' - it was a thrilling whisper - 'oh, James. It's me! Tracy! What's the matter with you? Where have you come from?'
'Tracy,' said Bond dully. 'Tracy. Hold on to me. I'm in bad shape. Tell you later.'
Then Auld86 Lang Syne87 began and everyone swung linked hands in unison88 to the music.
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1
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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2
magnesium
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| n.镁 | |
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3
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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4
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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7
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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8
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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9
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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10
detonations
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| n.爆炸 （声）( detonation的名词复数 ) | |
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11
zoomed
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| v.（飞机、汽车等）急速移动( zoom的过去式 )；（价格、费用等）急升，猛涨 | |
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12
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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13
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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14
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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15
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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17
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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18
zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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20
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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21
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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22
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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23
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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24
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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26
crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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27
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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28
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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29
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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30
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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31
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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32
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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33
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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34
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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35
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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36
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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37
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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38
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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39
mow
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| v.割（草、麦等），扫射，皱眉；n.草堆，谷物堆 | |
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40
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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41
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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42
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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43
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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44
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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45
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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46
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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47
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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48
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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49
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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50
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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51
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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52
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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53
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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54
diesel
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| n.柴油发动机，内燃机 | |
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55
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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56
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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57
skid
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| v.打滑 n.滑向一侧；滑道 ，滑轨 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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bawls
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的第三人称单数 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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gulch
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| n.深谷，峡谷 | |
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propeller
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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accordion
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| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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71
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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latches
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| n.（门窗的）门闩( latch的名词复数 )；碰锁v.理解( latch的第三人称单数 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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thongs
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| 的东西 | |
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lugged
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| vt.用力拖拉（lug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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slurred
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| 含糊地说出( slur的过去式和过去分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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gangster
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| n.匪徒，歹徒，暴徒 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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