白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第63章

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　　I　said　to　my　nun；　〃What　does　the　Church　say　about　heaven　today？　Is　it　still　the　old　heaven；　like　that；　in　the　sky？〃
　　She　turned　to　glance　at　the　picture。
　　〃Do　you　think　we　are　stupid？〃　she　said。
　　I　was　surprised　by　the　force　of　her　reply。
　　'Then　what　is　heaven；　according　to　the　Church；　if　it　isn't　the　abode　of　God　and　the　angels　and　the　souls　of　those　who　are　saved？〃
　　〃Saved？　What　is　saved？　This　is　a　dumb　head；　who　would　e　in　here　to　talk　about　angels。　Show　me　an　angel。　Please。　I　want　to　see。〃
　　〃But　you're　a　nun。　Nuns　believe　these　things。　When　we　see　a　nun；　it　cheers　us　up；　it's　cute　and　amusing；　being　reminded　that　someone　still　believes　in　angels；　in　saints；　all　the　traditional　things。〃
　　〃You　would　have　a　head　so　dumb　to　believe　this？〃
　　〃It's　not　what　I　believe　that　counts。　It's　what　you　believe。〃
　　〃This　is　true；〃　she　said。　〃The　nonbelievers　need　the　believers。　They　are　desperate　to　have　someone　believe。　But　show　me　a　saint。　Give　me　one　hair　from　the　body　of　a　saint。〃
　　She　leaned　toward　me；　her　stark　face　framed　in　the　black　veil。　I　began　to　worry。
　　〃We　are　here　to　take　care　of　sick　and　injured。　Only　this。　You　would　talk　about　heaven；　you　must　find　another　place。〃
　　〃Other　nuns　wear　dresses；〃　I　said　reasonably。　〃Here　you　still　wear　the　old　uniform。　The　habit；　the　veil；　the　clunky　shoes。　You　must　believe　in　tradition。　The　old　heaven　and　hell；　the　Latin　mass。　The　Pope　is　infallible；　God　created　the　world　in　six　days。　The　great　old　beliefs。　Hell　is　burning　lakes；　winged　demons。〃
　　〃You　would　e　in　bleeding　from　the　street　and　tell　me　six　days　it　took　to　make　a　universe？〃
　　〃On　the　seventh　He　rested。〃
　　〃You　would　talk　of　angels？　Here？〃
　　〃Of　course　here。　Where　else？〃
　　I　was　frustrated　and　puzzled；　close　to　shouting。
　　〃Why　not　armies　that　would　fight　in　the　sky　at　the　end　of　the　world？〃
　　〃Why　not？　Why　are　you　a　nun　anyway？　Why　do　you　have　that　picture　on　the　wall？〃
　　She　drew　back；　her　eyes　filled　with　contemptuous　pleasure。
　　〃It　is　for　others。　Not　for　us。〃
　　〃But　that's　ridiculous。　What　others？〃
　　〃All　the　others。　The　others　who　spend　their　lives　believing　that　we　still　believe。　It　is　our　task　in　the　world　to　believe　things　no　one　else　takes　seriously。　To　abandon　such　beliefs　pletely；　the　human　race　would　die。　This　is　why　we　are　here。　A　tiny　minority。　To　embody　old　things；　old　beliefs。　The　devil；　the　angels；　heaven；　hell。　If　we　did　not　pretend　to　believe　these　things；　the　world　would　collapse。〃
　　〃Pretend？〃
　　〃Of　course　pretend。　Do　you　think　we　are　stupid？　Get　out　from　here。〃
　　〃You　don't　believe　in　heaven？　A　nun？〃
　　〃If　you　don't；　why　should　I？〃
　　〃If　you　did；　maybe　I　would。〃
　　〃If　I　did；　you　would　not　have　to。〃
　　〃All　the　old　muddles　and　quirks；〃　I　said。　〃Faith；　religion；　life　everlasting。　The　great　old　human　gullibilities。　Are　you　saying　you　don't　take　them　seriously？　Your　dedication　is　a　pretense？〃
　　〃Our　pretense　is　a　dedication。　Someone　must　appear　to　believe。　Our　lives　are　no　less　serious　than　if　we　professed　real　faith；　real　belief。　As　belief　shrinks　from　the　world；　people　find　it　more　necessary　than　ever　that　someone　believe。　Wild…eyed　men　in　caves。　Nuns　in　black。　Monks　who　do　not　speak。　We　are　left　to　believe。　Fools；　children。　Those　who　have　abandoned　belief　must　still　believe　in　us。　They　are　sure　that　they　are　right　not　to　believe　but　they　know　belief　must　not　fade　pletely。　Hell　is　when　no　one　believes。　There　must　always　be　believers。　Fools；　idiots；　those　who　hear　voices；　those　who　speak　in　tongues。　We　are　your　lunatics。　We　surrender　our　lives　to　make　your　nonbelief　possible。　You　are　sure　that　you　are　right　but　you　don't　want　everyone　to　think　as　you　do。　There　is　no　truth　without　fools。　We　are　your　fools；　your　madwomen；　rising　at　dawn　to　pray；　lighting　candles；　asking　statues　for　good　health；　long　life。〃
　　〃You've　had　long　life。　Maybe　it　works。〃
　　She　rattled　out　a　laugh；　showing　teeth　so　old　they　were　nearly　transparent。
　　〃Soon　no　more。　You　will　lose　your　believers。〃
　　〃You've　been　praying　for　nothing　all　these　years？〃
　　〃For　the　world；　dumb　head。〃
　　〃And　nothing　survives？　Death　is　the　end？〃
　　〃Do　you　want　to　know　what　I　believe　or　what　I　pretend　to　believe？〃
　　〃I　don't　want　to　hear　this。　This　is　terrible。〃
　　〃But　true。〃
　　〃You're　a　nun。　Act　like　one。〃
　　〃We　take　vows。　Poverty；　chastity；　obedience。　Serious　vows。　A　serious　life。　You　could　not　survive　without　us。〃
　　〃There　must　be　some　of　you　who　aren't　pretending；　who　truly　believe。　I　know　there　are。　Centuries　of　belief　don't　just　peter　out　in　a　few　years。　There　were　whole　fields　of　study　devoted　to　these　subjects。　Angelology。　A　branch　of　theology　just　for　angels。　A　science　of　angels。　Great　minds　debated　these　things。　There　are　great　minds　today。　They　still　debate；　they　still　believe。〃
　　〃You　would　e　in　from　the　street　dragging　a　body　by　the　foot　and　talk　about　angels　who　live　in　the　sky。　Get　out　from　here。〃
　　She　said　something　in　German。　I　failed　to　understand。　She　spoke　again；　at　some　length；　pressing　her　face　toward　mine；　the　words　growing　harsher；　wetter；　more　guttural。　Her　eyes　showed　a　terrible　delight　in　my　inprehension。　She　was　spraying　me　with　German。　A　storm　of　words。　She　grew　more　animated　as　the　speech　went　on。　A　gleeful　vehemence　entered　her　voice。　She　spoke　faster；　more　expressively。　Blood　vessels　flared　in　her　eyes　and　face。　I　began　to　detect　a　cadence；　a　measured　beat。　She　was　reciting　something；　I　decided。　Litanies；　hymns；　catechisms。　The　mysteries　of　the　rosary　perhaps。　Taunting　me　with　scornful　prayer。
　　The　odd　thing　is　I　found　it　beautiful。
　　When　her　voice　grew　weak；　I　left　the　cubicle　and　wandered　around　until　I　found　the　old　doctor。　〃Herr　Doktor；〃　I　called；　feeling　like　someone　in　a　movie。　He　activated　his　hearing　aid。　I　got　my　prescription；　asked　if　Willie　Mink　would　be　all　right。　He　wouldn't；　at　least　not　for　a　while。　But　he　wouldn't　die　either；　which　gave　him　the　edge　on　me。
　　The　drive　home　was　uneventful。　I　left　the　car　in　Stover's　driveway。　The　rear　seat　was　covered　with　blood。　There　was　blood　on　the　steering　wheel；　more　blood　on　the　dashboard　and　door　handles。　The　scientific　study　of　the　cultural　behavior　and　development　of　man。　Anthropology。
　　I　went　upstairs　and　watched　the　kids　a　while。　All　asleep；　fumbling　through　their　dreams；　eyes　rapidly　moving　beneath　closed　lids。　I　got　into　bed　next　to　Babette；　fully　dressed　except　for　my　shoes；　somehow　knowing　she　wouldn't　think　it　strange。　But　my　mind　kept　racing；　I　couldn't　sleep。　After　a　while　I　went　down　to　the　kitchen　to　sit　with　a　cup　of　coffee；　feel　the　pain　in　my　wrist；　the　heightened　pulse。
　　There　was　nothing　to　do　but　wait　for　the　next　sunset；　when　the　sky　would　ring　like　bronze。
　　40
　　This　was　the　day　Wilder　got　on　his　plastic　tricycle；　rode　it　around　the　block；　turned　right　onto　a　dead　end　street　and　pedaled　noisily　to　the　dead　end。　He　walked　the　tricycle　around　the　guard　rail　and　then　rode　along　a　paved　walkway　that　went　winding　past　some　overgrown　lots　to　a　set　of　twenty　concrete　steps。　The　plastic　wheels　rumbled　and　screeched。　Here　our　reconstruction　yields　to　the　awe…struck　account　of　two　elderly　women　watching　from　the　second…story　back　porch　of　a　tall　house　in　the　trees。　He　walked　the　tricycle　down　the　steps；　guiding　it　with　a　duteous　and　unsentimental　hand；　letting　it　bump　right　along；　as　if　it　were　an　odd…shaped　little　sibling；　not　necessarily　cherished。　He　remounted；　rode　across　the　street；　rode　across　the　sidewalk；　proceeded　onto　the　grassy　slope　that　bordered　the　expressway。　Here　the　women　began　to　call。　Hey；　hey；　they　said；　a　little　tentative　at　first；　not　ready　to　accept　the　implications　of　the　process　unfolding　before　them。　The　boy　pedaled　diagonally　down　the　slope；　shrewdly　reducing　the　angle　of　descent；　then　paused　on　the　bottom　to　aim　his　three…wheeler　at　the　point　on　the　opposite　side　which　seemed　to　represent　the　shortest　distance　across。　Hey；　sonny；　no。　Waving　their　arms；　looking　frantically　for　some　able…bodied　pedestrian　to　appear　on　the　scene。　Wilder；　meanwhile；　ignoring　their　cries　or　not　hearing　them　in　the　serial　whoosh　of　dashing　hatchbacks　and　vans；　began　to　pedal　across　the　highway；　mystically　charged。　The　women　could　only　look；　empty…mouthed；　each　with　an　arm　in　the　air；　a　plea　for　the　scene　to　reverse；　the　boy　to　pedal　backwards　on　his　faded　blue　and　yellow　toy　like　a　cartoon　figure　on　morning　TV。　The　drivers　could　not　quite　prehend。　In　their　knotted　posture；　belted　in；　they　knew　this　picture　did　not　belong　to　the　hurtling　consciousness　of　the　highway；　the　broad…ribboned　modernist　stream。　In　speed　there　was　sense。　In　signs；　in　patterns；　in　split…second　lives。　What　did　it　mean；　this　little　rotary　blur？　Some　force　in　the　world　had　gone　awry。　They　veered；　braked；　sounded　their　horns　down　the　long　afternoon；　an　animal　lament。　The　child　would　not　even　look　at　them；　pedaled　straight　for　the　median　strip；　a　narrow　patch　of　pale　grass。　He　was　pumped　up；　chesty；　his　arms　appearing　to　move　as　rapidly　as　his　legs；　the　round　head　wagging　in　a　jig　of　lame…brained　determination。　He　had　to　slow　down　to　get　onto　the　raised　median；　rearing　up　to　let　the　front　wheel　edge　over；　extremely　deliberate　in　his