“Why?” The word hung in the air like a leaden rain cloud until he added, “I mean, you left seven years ago, got remarried…” He stopped, suddenly aware of her hands, hands that had once given him such pleasure, but were now twisting in her lap, knuckles squeezed white. “What is it?”
“We’re…not married anymore. He’s dead.”
The words came out of her mouth flat, smooth like finished cement. Naat was surprised that her statement seemed to numb him. He had once been jealous of her affairs, angry at her eventual betrayal, but this news didn’t make his stomach tremble, didn’t make his heart quiver. He wondered if he was really awake yet. “So, what happened?”
“It was one of the Wester bombs. Middle of the night. We were still up; we were…arguing. Part of the roof caved in. Somehow, all the pieces missed me, but he was…crushed.” She had relaxed her fingers. Colour was returning.
He knew he should express sympathy for her loss, give her the kind of reassurance that had once come so easily, but his tongue was deadened, his brain still anesthetised by the wailing klaxons announcing the early morning bomb-raid, his thoughts scrambled after spending the better part of two hours huddled in the dark of the cellar. Eventually he asked, “What were you arguing about?”
Teea turned toward the window, the emerging sun beginning to swallow the night shadows on the Wall. “He really hated the Westers.”
“I suppose it’s normal to hate the people who are lobbing bombs at us.”
She turned toward Naat, her face striated, tense. “You don’t understand. He didn’t just hate them as enemies. He hated them as people. He wanted to hurt them, make them suffer. He talked endlessly about ways he would inflict pain on any Wester he could ever get his hands on. His thoughts were sick, sadistic. I had never seen this in him before. It scared me.
“为什么?”这个词挂在空中，就像是一片沉闷的雨云。接着他补充说，“我的意思是，你七年前离开，结婚……”他停下来，突然意识到她的手、那曾经给他如此快乐的手，正在她的大腿上攥着、拧着，指关节处都压白了。“怎么回事？”
“我们……没有婚姻了。他死了。”
话从她嘴里说出来平平的，光滑得就像打磨过的水泥地面。纳特很惊讶，她的话似乎对他有麻木功能。他曾经嫉妒她和别的男人有染,愤怒她最终的背叛,但这个消息并没有让他的胃抽搐,并没有让他的心颤抖。他想知道他是不是真的醒着。“那么，发生了什么事？”
“是一枚威斯特人的炸弹。半夜里。我们还没睡；我们还在……争论。屋顶的一部分坍塌下来。不知何故，我没有被砸着，但他却被压碎了。”她松开了手，关节处的颜色恢复正常。
他知道，他应该对她的损失表达同情,给她宽慰，那是他以前轻而易举就能做到的,但他的舌头像死了一样，大脑像是被一大早尖叫的炸弹报警喇叭震得失去了知觉。虽然在黑暗的地窖里卷缩了两小时还不赖，但思想还是一片混乱。最终，他问道：“你们争论什么?”
提娅转头看着窗外。太阳正在升起，慢慢吞噬着那堵墙上夜的阴影。“他真的恨威斯特人。”
“我想这很正常。他们正在向我们丢炸弹。”
她转向纳特，脸上开始出现皱褶,表情紧张。“你不明白。他恨的是那个民族,而不仅仅因为他们是敌人。他想要伤害他们，让他们遭受损失。他没完没了地谈论一些折磨威斯特人的方法，只要他能上手。他的思想是病态的、虐待狂式的。以前我从未在他身上见过这一点。它让我害怕。
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