（外文电子版资料）George Alec Effinger - Marid and the Trail of Blood.pdfVIP

Mar卯d and the Trail of Blood (v1.1) George Alec Effinger, 1995 There is a saying: The Budayeen hides from the light. You can interpret that any way you like, but Im dissolute enough to know exactly what it means. Theres a certain time of day that always makes me feel as if my blackened soul were just then under the special scrutiny of Allah in Paradise. It happens in the gray winter mornings just at dawn, when Ive spent the entire night drinking in some awful hellhole. When I finally decide its time to go home and I step outside, instead of the cloaking forgiveness of darkness, there is bright, merciless sun shining on my aching head. It makes me feel filthy and a little sick, as if Id been wallowing in a dismal gutter all night. I know I can get pretty goddamn wiped out, but I dont believe Ive ever sunk to wallowing; at least, I dont remember it if I did. And all the merchants setting up their stalls in the souks, all the men and women rising for morning prayers, they all glare at me with that special expression: they know exactly where Ive been. They know Im drunk and irredeemable. They give freely of contempt that theyve been saving for a long time for someone as depraved and worthless as me. This is not even to mention the disapproving expression on Youssefs face last Tuesday, when he opened the great wooden front door at home. Or my slave, Kmuzu. Both of them knew enough not to say a word out loud, but I got the full treatment from their attitudes, particularly when Kmuzu started slamming down the breakfast things half an hour later. As if I could stand to eat. All I wanted to do was collapse and sleep, but no one in the household would allow it. It was part of my punishment. So thats how this adventure began. I reluctantly ate a little