白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第43章

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ake　contacts；　how　to　make　your　way　in　the　world。　Never　mind　the　military…industrial　plex。　The　real　power　is　wielded　every　day；　in　these　little　challenges　and　intimidations；　by　people　just　like　us。〃
　　I　gulped　down　my　dessert　and　slipped　away　from　the　table。　Outside　I　waited　for　Murray。　When　he　emerged　I　held　his　arm　just…above　the　elbow　and　we　walked　across　campus　like　a　pair　of　European　senior　citizens；　heads　bowed　in　conversation。
　　〃How　do　you　listen　to　that？〃　I　said。　〃Death　and　disease。　Do　they　talk　like　that　all　the　time？〃
　　〃When　I　covered　sports；　I　used　to　get　together　with　the　other　writers　on　the　road。　Hotel　rooms；　planes；　taxis；　restaurants。　There　was　only　one　topic　of　conversation。　Sex　and　death。〃
　　〃That's　two　topics。〃
　　〃You're　right；　Jack。〃
　　〃I　would　hate　to　believe　they　are　inextricably　linked。〃
　　〃It's　just　that　on　the　road　everything　is　linked。　Everything　and　nothing；　to　be　precise。〃
　　We　walked　past　small　mounds　of　melting　snow。
　　〃How　is　your　car　crash　seminar　progressing？〃
　　〃We've　looked　at　hundreds　of　crash　sequences。　Cars　with　cars。　Cars　with　trucks。　Trucks　with　buses。　Motorcycles　with　cars。　Cars　with　helicopters。　Trucks　with　trucks。　My　students　think　these　movies　are　prophetic。　They　mark　the　suicide　wish　of　technology。
　　The　drive　to　suicide；　the　hurtling　rush　to　suicide。〃
　　〃What　do　you　say　to　them？〃
　　〃These　are　mainly　B…movies；　TV　movies；　rural　drive…in　movies。　I　tell　my　students　not　to　look　for　apocalypse　in　such　places。　I　see　these　car　crashes　as　part　of　a　long　tradition　of　American　optimism。　They　are　positive　events；　full　of　the　old　'can…do'　spirit。　Each　car　crash　is　meant　to　be　better　than　the　last。　There　is　a　constant　upgrading　of　tools　and　skills；　a　meeting　of　challenges。　A　director　says；　'I　need　this　flatbed　truck　to　do　a　midair　double　somersault　that　produces　an　orange　ball　of　fire　with　a　thirty…six…foot　diameter；　which　the　cinematographer　will　use　to　light　the　scene。'　I　tell　my　students　if　they　want　to　bring　technology　into　it；　they　have　to　take　this　into　account；　this　tendency　toward　grandiose　deeds；　toward　pursuing　a　dream。〃
　　〃A　dream？　How　do　your　students　reply？〃
　　〃Just　the　way　you　did。　'A　dream？'　All　that　blood　and　glass；　that　screeching　rubber。　What　about　the　sheer　waste；　the　sense　of　a　civilization　in　a　state　of　decay？〃
　　〃What　about　it？〃　I　said。
　　〃I　tell　them　it's　not　decay　they　are　seeing　but　innocence。　The　movie　breaks　away　from　plicated　human　passions　to　show　us　something　elemental；　something　fiery　and　loud　and　head…on。　It's　a　conservative　wish…fulfillment；　a　yearning　for　na？veté。　We　want　to　be　artless　again。　We　want　to　reverse　the　flow　of　experience；　of　worldliness　and　its　responsibilities。　My　students　say；　'Look　at　the　crushed　bodies；　the　severed　limbs。　What　kind　of　innocence　is　this？'〃
　　〃What　do　you　say　to　that？〃
　　〃I　tell　them　they　can't　think　of　a　car　crash　in　a　movie　as　a　violent　act。　It's　a　celebration。　A　reaff？rmation　of　traditional　values　and　beliefs。　I　connect　car　crashes　to　holidays　like　Thanksgiving　and　the　Fourth。　We　don't　mourn　the　dead　or　rejoice　in　miracles。　These　are　days　of　secular　optimism；　of　self…celebration。　We　will　improve；　prosper；　perfect　ourselves。　Watch　any　car　crash　in　any　American　movie。　It　is　a　high…spirited　moment　like　old…fashioned　stunt　flying；　walking　on　wings。　The　people　who　stage　these　crashes　are　able　to　capture　a　lightheartedness；　a　carefree　enjoyment　that　car　crashes　in　foreign　movies　can　never　approach。〃
　　〃Look　past　the　violence。〃
　　〃Exactly。　Look　past　the　violence；　Jack。　There　is　a　wonderful　brimming　spirit　of　innocence　and　fun。〃
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　　Babette　and　I　moved　down　the　wide　aisle；　each　with　a　gleaming　cart。　We　passed　a　family　shopping　in　sign　language。　I　kept　seeing　colored　lights。
　　〃How　do　you　feel？〃　she　said。
　　〃I'm　fine。　I　feel　good。　How　are　you？〃
　　〃Why　don't　you　have　a　checkup？　Wouldn't　you　feel　better　if　you　found　out　nothing　was　there？〃
　　〃I've　had　two　checkups。　Nothing　is　there。〃
　　〃What　did　Dr。　Chakravarty　say？〃
　　〃What　could　he　say？〃
　　〃He　speaks　English　beautifully。　I　love　to　hear　him　speak。〃
　　〃Not　as　much　as　he　loves　to　speak。〃
　　〃What　do　you　mean　he　loves　to　speak？　Do　you　mean　he　takes　every　possible　opportunity　to　speak？　He's　a　doctor。　He　has　to　speak。　In　a　very　real　sense　you　are　paying　him　to　speak。　Do　you　mean　he　flaunts　his　beautiful　English？　He　rubs　your　face　in　it？〃
　　〃We　need　some　Class　Plus。〃
　　〃Don't　leave　me　alone；〃　she　said。
　　〃I'm　just　going　to　aisle　five。〃
　　〃I　don't　want　to　be　alone；　Jack。　I　believe　you　know　that。〃
　　〃We're　going　to　e　through　this　thing　all　right；〃　I　said。　〃Maybe　stronger　than　ever。　We're　determined　to　be　well。　Babette　is　not　a　neurotic　person。　She　is　strong；　healthy；　outgoing；　affirmative。　She　says　yes　to　things。　This　is　the　point　of　Babette。〃
　　We　stayed　together　in　the　aisles　and　at　the　checkout。　Babette　bought　three　tabloids　for　her　next　session　with　Old　Man　Treadwell。　We　read　them　together　as　we　waited　on　line。　Then　we　went　together　to　the　car；　loaded　the　merchandise；　sat　very　close　to　each　other　as　I　drove　home。
　　〃Except　for　my　eyes；〃　I　said。
　　〃What　do　you　mean？〃
　　〃Chakravarty　thinks　I　ought　to　see　an　eye　man。〃
　　〃Is　it　the　colored　spots　again？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃Stop　wearing　those　dark　glasses。〃
　　〃I　can't　teach　Hitler　without　them。〃
　　〃Why　not？〃
　　〃I　need　them；　that's　all。〃
　　〃They're　stupid；　they're　useless。〃
　　〃I've　built　a　career；〃　I　said。　〃I　may　not　understand　all　the　elements　involved　but　this　is　all　the　more　reason　not　to　tamper。〃
　　The　déjà　vu　crisis　centers　closed　down。　The　hotline　was　quietly　discontinued。　People　seemed　on　the　verge　of　forgetting。　I　could　hardly　blame　them　even　if　I　felt　abandoned　to　a　certain　extent；　left　holding　the　bag。
　　I　went　faithfully　to　German　lessons。　I　began　to　work　with　my　teacher　on　things　I　might　say　in　weling　delegates　to　the　Hitler　conference；　still　a　number　of　weeks　off。　The　windows　were　totally　blocked　by　furniture　and　debris。　Howard　Dunlop　sat　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　his　oval　face　floating　in　sixty　watts　of　dusty　light。　I　began　to　suspect　I　was　the　only　person　he　ever　talked　to。　I　also　began　to　suspect　he　needed　me　more　than　I　needed　him。　A　disconcerting　and　terrible　thought。
　　There　was　a　German…language　book　on　a　ruined　table　near　the　door。　The　title　was　lettered　in　black　in　a　thick　heavy　ominous　typeface：　Das　Aegyptische　Todtenbuch。
　　〃What's　that？〃　I　said。
　　〃The　Egyptian　Book　of　the　Dead；〃　he　whispered。　〃A　best…seller　in　Germany。〃
　　Every　so　often；　when　Denise　wasn't　home；　I　wandered　into　her　room。　I　picked　up　things；　put　them　down；　looked　behind　a　curtain；　glanced　into　an　open　drawer；　stuck　my　foot　under　the　bed　and　felt　around。　Absentminded　browsing。
　　Babette　listened　to　talk　radio。
　　I　started　throwing　things　away。　Things　in　the　top　and　bottom　of　my　closet；　things　in　boxes　in　the　basement　and　attic。　I　threw　away　correspondence；　old　paperbacks；　magazines　I'd　been　saving　to　read；　pencils　that　needed　sharpening。　I　threw　away　tennis　shoes；　sweat　socks；　gloves　with　ragged　fingers；　old　belts　and　neckties。　I　came　upon　stacks　of　student　reports；　broken　rods　for　the　seats　of　director's　chairs。　I　threw　these　away。　I　threw　away　every　aerosol　can　that　didn't　have　a　top。
　　The　gas　meter　made　a　particular　noise。
　　That　night　on　TV　I　saw　newsfilm　of　policemen　carrying　a　body　bag　out　of　someone's　backyard　in　Bakersville。　The　reporter　said　two　bodies　had　been　found；　more　were　believed　buried　in　the　same　yard。　Perhaps　many　more。　Perhaps　twenty　bodies；　thirty　bodies—　no　one　knew　for　sure。　He　swept　an　arm　across　the　area。　It　was　a　big　backyard。
　　The　reporter　was　a　middle…aged　man　who　spoke　clearly　and　strongly　and　yet　with　some　degree　of　intimacy；　conveying　a　sense　of　frequent　contact　with　his　audience；　of　shared　interests　and　mutual　trust。　Digging　would　continue　through　the　night；　he　said；　and　the　station　would　cut　back　to　the　scene　as　soon　as　developments　warranted。　He　made　it　sound　like　a　lover's　promise。
　　Three　nights　later　I　wandered　into　Heinrich's　room；　where　the　TV　set　was　temporarily　located。　He　sat　on　the　floor　in　a　hooded　sweatshirt；　watching　live　coverage　of　the　same　scene。　The　backyard　was　floodlit；　men　with　picks　and　shovels　worked　amid　mounds　of　dirt。　In　the　foreground　stood　the　reporter；　bareheaded；　in　a　sheepskin　coat；　in　a　light　snow；　giving　an　update。　The　police　said　they　had　solid　information；　the　diggers　were　methodical　and　skilled；　the　work　had　been　going　on　for　over　seventy…two　hours。　But　no　more　bodies　had　been　found。
　　The　sense　of　failed　expectations　was　total。　A　sadness　and　emptiness　hung　over　the　scene。　A　dejection；　a　sorry　gloom。　We　felt　it　ourselves；　my　son　and　I；　quietly　watching。　It　was　in　the　room；　seeping　into　the　air　from　pulsing　streams　of　electrons。　The　reporter　seemed　at　first　merely　apologetic。　But　as　he　continued　to　discuss　the　absense　of　mass　graves；　he　grew　increasingly　forlorn；　gesturing　at　the　diggers；　shaking　his　head；　almost　ready　to　plead　with　us　for　sympathy　and　understanding。　I　tried　not　to　feel　disappointed。
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　　In　the　dark　the　mind　runs　on　like　a　devouring　machine；　the　only　thing　awake　in　the　universe。　I　tried　to　ma