白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第42部分

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　　〃Mouse　cries　have　been　measured　at　forty　thousand　cycles　per　second。　Surgeons　use　high…frequency　tapes　of　mouse　cries　to　destroy　tumors　in　the　human　body。　Do　you　believe　that？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃So　do　I。〃
　　She　put　down　the　newspaper。　After　a　while　she　said　to　me　urgently；　〃How　do　you　feel；　Jack？〃
　　〃I'm　all　right。　I　feel　fine。　Honest。　What　about　you？〃
　　〃I　wish　I　hadn't　told　you　about　my　condition。〃
　　〃Why？〃
　　〃Then　you　wouldn't　have　told　me　you're　going　to　die　first。　Here　are　the　two　things　I　want　most　in　the　world。　Jack　not　to　die　first。　And　Wilder　to　stay　the　way　he　is　forever。〃
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　　Murray　and　I　walked　across　campus　in　our　European　manner；　a　serenely　reflective　pace；　heads　lowered　as　we　conversed。　Sometimes　one　of　us　gripped　the　other　near　the　elbow；　a　gesture　of　intimacy　and　physical　support。　Other　times　we　walked　slightly　apart；　Murray's　hands　clasped　behind　his　back；　Gladney's　folded　monkishly　at　the　abdomen；　a　somewhat　worried　touch。
　　〃Your　German　is　ing　around？〃
　　〃I　still　speak　it　badly。　The　words　give　me　trouble。　Howard　and　I　are　working　on　opening　remarks　for　the　conference。〃
　　〃You　call　him　Howard？〃
　　〃Not　to　his　face。　I　don't　call　him　anything　to　his　face　and　he　doesn't　call　me　anything　to　my　face。　It's　that　kind　of　relationship。　Do　you　see　him　at　all？　You　live　under　the　same　roof；　after　all。〃
　　〃Fleeting　glimpses。　The　other　boarders　seem　to　prefer　it　that　way。　He　barely　exists；　we　feel。〃
　　〃There's　something　about　him。　I'm　not　sure　what　it　is　exactly。〃
　　〃He's　flesh…colored；〃　Murray　said。
　　〃True。　But　that's　not　what　makes　me　uneasy。〃
　　〃Soft　hands。〃
　　〃Is　that　it？〃
　　〃Soft　hands　in　a　man　give　me　pause。　Soft　skin　in　general。　Baby　skin。　I　don't　think　he　shaves。〃
　　〃What　else？〃　I　said。
　　〃Flecks　of　dry　spittle　at　the　corners　of　his　mouth。〃
　　〃You're　right；〃　I　said　excitedly。　〃Dry　spit。　I　feel　it　hit　me　in　the　face　when　he　leans　forward　to　articulate。　What　else？〃
　　〃And　a　way　of　looking　over　a　person's　shoulder。〃
　　〃You　see　all　this　in　fleeting　glimpses。　Remarkable。　What　else？〃　I　demanded。
　　〃And　a　rigid　carriage　that　seems　at　odds　with　his　shuffling　walk。〃
　　〃Yes；　he　walks　without　moving　his　arms。　What　else；　what　else？〃
　　〃And　something　else；　something　above　and　beyond　all　this；　something　eerie　and　terrible。〃
　　〃Exactly。　But　what　is　it？　Something　I　can't　quite　identify。〃
　　〃There's　a　strange　air　about　him；　a　certain　mood；　a　sense；　a　presence；　an　emanation。〃
　　〃But　what？〃　I　said；　surprised　to　find　myself　deeply　and　personally　concerned；　colored　dots　dancing　at　the　edge　of　my　vision。
　　We'd　walked　thirty　paces　when　Murray　began　to　nod。　I　watched　his　face　as　we　walked。　He　nodded　crossing　the　street　and　kept　nodding　all　the　way　past　the　music　library。　I　walked　with　him　step　for　step；　clutching　his　elbow；　watching　his　face；　waiting　for　him　to　speak；　not　interested　in　the　fact　that　he'd　taken　me　pletely　out　of　my　way；　and　he　was　still　nodding　as　we　approached　the　entrance　to　Wilmot　Grange；　a　restored　nineteenth…century　building　at　the　edge　of　the　campus。
　　〃But　what？〃　I　said。　〃But　what？〃
　　It　wasn't　until　four　days　later　that　he　called　me　at　home；　at　one　in　the　morning；　to　whisper　helpfully　in　my　ear；　〃He　looks　like　a　man　who　finds　dead　bodies　erotic。〃
　　I　went　to　one　last　lesson。　The　walls　and　windows　were　obscured　by　accumulated　objects；　which　seemed　now　to　be　edging　toward　the　middle　of　the　room。　The　bland…faced　man　before　me　closed　his　eyes　and　spoke；　reciting　useful　tourist　phrases。　〃Where　am　I？〃　〃Can　you　help　me？〃　〃It　is　night　and　I　am　lost。〃　I　could　hardly　bear　to　sit　there。　Murray's　remark　fixed　him　forever　to　a　plausible　identity。　What　had　been　elusive　about　Howard　Dunlop　was　now　pinned　down。　What　had　been　strange　and　half　creepy　was　now　diseased。　A　grim　lasciviousness　escaped　his　body　and　seemed　to　circulate　through　the　barricaded　room。
　　In　truth　I　would　miss　the　lessons。　I　would　also　miss　the　dogs；　the　German　shepherds。　One　day　they　were　simply　gone。　Needed　elsewhere　perhaps　or　sent　back　to　the　desert　to　sharpen　their　skills。　The　men　in　Mylex　suits　were　still　around；　however；　carrying　instruments　to　measure　and　probe；　riding　through　town　in　teams　of　six　or　eight　in　chunky　peglike　vehicles　that　resembled　Lego　toys。
　　I　stood　by　Wilder's　bed　watching　him　sleep。　The　voice　next　door　said：　〃In　the　four…hundred…thousand…dollar　Nabisco　Dinah　Shore。〃
　　This　was　the　night　the　insane　asylum　burned　down。　Heinrich　and　I　got　in　the　car　and　went　to　watch。　There　were　other　men　at　the　scene　with　their　adolescent　boys。　Evidently　fathers　and　sons　seek　fellowship　at　such　events。　Fires　help　draw　them　closer；　provide　a　conversational　wedge。　There　is　equipment　to　appraise；　the　technique　of　firemen　to　discuss　and　criticize。　The　manliness　of　firefighting—the　virility　of　fires；　one　might　say—suits　the　kind　of　laconic　dialogue　that　fathers　and　sons　can　undertake　without　awkwardness　or　embarrassment。
　　〃Most　of　these　fires　in　old　buildings　start　in　the　electrical　wiring；〃　Heinrich　said。　〃Faulty　wiring。　That's　one　phrase　you　can't　hang　around　for　long　without　hearing。〃
　　〃Most　people　don't　burn　to　death；〃　I　said。　'They　die　of　smoke　inhalation。〃
　　'That's　the　other　phrase；〃　he　said。
　　Flames　roared　through　the　dormers。　We　stood　across　the　street　watching　part　of　the　roof　give　way；　a　tall　chimney　slowly　fold　and　sink。　Pumper　trucks　kept　arriving　from　other　towns；　the　men　descending　heavily　in　their　rubber　boots　and　old…fashioned　hats。　Hoses　were　manned　and　trained；　a　figure　rose　above　the　shimmering　roof　in　the　grip　of　a　telescopic　ladder。　We　watched　the　portico　begin　to　go；　a　far　column　leaning。　A　woman　in　a　fiery　nightgown　walked　across　the　lawn。　We　gasped；　almost　in　appreciation。　She　was　white…haired　and　slight；　fringed　in　burning　air；　and　we　could　see　she　was　mad；　so　lost　to　dreams　and　furies　that　the　fire　around　her　head　seemed　almost　incidental。　No　one　said　a　word。　In　all　the　heat　and　noise　of　detonating　wood；　she　brought　a　silence　to　her。　How　powerful　and　real。　How　deep　a　thing　was　madness。　A　fire　captain　hurried　toward　her；　then　circled　out　slightly；　disconcerted；　as　if　she　were　not　the　person；　after　all；　he　had　expected　to　meet　here。　She　went　down　in　a　white　burst；　like　a　teacup　breaking。　Four　men　were　around　her　now；　batting　at　the　flames　with　helmets　and　caps。
　　The　great　work　of　containing　the　blaze　went　on；　a　labor　that　seemed　as　old　and　lost　as　cathedral…building；　the　men　driven　by　a　spirit　of　lofty　munal　craft。　A　Dalmatian　sat　in　the　cab　of　a　hook…and…ladder　truck。
　　〃It's　funny　how　you　can　look　at　it　and　look　at　it；〃　Heinrich　said。　〃Just　like　a　fire　in　a　fireplace。〃
　　〃Are　you　saying　the　two　kinds　of　fire　are　equally　pelling？〃
　　〃I'm　just　saying　you　can　look　and　look。〃
　　〃'Man　has　always　been　fascinated　by　fire。'　Is　that　what　you're　saying？〃
　　〃This　is　my　first　burning　building。　Give　me　a　chance；〃　he　said。
　　The　fathers　and　sons　crowded　the　sidewalk；　pointing　at　one　or　another　part　of　the　half　gutted　structure。　Murray；　whose　rooming　house　was　just　yards　away；　sidled　up　to　us　and　shook　our　hands　without　a　word。　Windows　blew　out。　We　watched　another　chimney　slip　through　the　roof；　a　few　loose　bricks　tumbling　to　the　lawn。　Murray　shook　our　hands　again；　then　disappeared。
　　Soon　there　was　a　smell　of　acrid　matter。　It　could　have　been　insulation　burning—polystyrene　sheathing　for　pipes　and　wires—　or　one　or　more　of　a　dozen　other　substances。　A　sharp　and　bitter　stink　filled　the　air；　overpowering　the　odor　of　smoke　and　charred　stone。　It　changed　the　mood　of　the　people　on　the　sidewalk。　Some　put　hankies　to　their　faces；　others　left　abruptly　in　disgust。　Whatever　caused　the　odor；　I　sensed　that　it　made　people　feel　betrayed。　An　ancient；　spacious　and　terrible　drama　was　being　promised　by　something　unnatural；　some　small　and　nasty　intrusion。　Our　eyes　began　to　burn。　The　crowd　broke　up。　It　was　as　though　we'd　been　forced　to　recognize　the　existence　of　a　second　kind　of　death。　One　was　real；　the　other　synthetic。　The　odor　drove　us　away　but　beneath　it　and　far　worse　was　the　sense　that　death　came　two　ways；　sometimes　at　once；　and　how　death　entered　your　mouth　and　nose；　how　death　smelled；　could　somehow　make　a　difference　to　your　soul。
　　We　hurried　to　our　cars；　thinking　of　the　homeless；　the　mad；　the　dead；　but　also　of　ourselves　now。　This　is　what　the　odor　of　that　burning　material　did。　It　plicated　our　sadness；　brought　us　closer　to　the　secret　of　our　own　eventual　end。
　　At　home　I　fixed　warm　milk　for　us　both。　I　was　surprised　to　see　him　drink　it。　He　gripped　the　mug　with　both　hands；　talked　about　the　noise　of　the　conflagration；　the　air…fed　wallop　of　bustion；　like　a　ramjet　thrusting。　I　almost　expected　him　to　thank　me　for　the　nice　fire。　We　sat　there　drinking　our　milk。　After　a　while　he　went　into　his　closet　to　chin。
　　I　sat　up　late　thinking　of　Mr。　Gray。　Gray…bodied；　staticky；　unfinished。　The　picture　wobbled　and　rolled；　the　edges　of　his　body　flared　with　random　distortion。　Lately　I'd　found　myself　thinking　of　him　often。　Sometimes　as　Mr。　Gray　the　posite。　Four　or　more　grayish　figures　engaged　in　a　pioneering　work。　Scientists；　visionaries。　Their　wavy　bodies　passing　through　each　other；　mingling；　blending；　fusing。　A　little　like　extraterrestrials。　Smarter　than　the　rest　of　us；　selfless；　sexless；　determined　to　engineer　us　out　of　our　fear。　But　when　the　bodies　fused　1　was　left　with　a　single　figure；　the　project　manager；　a　hazy　gray　seducer　moving　in　ripples　across　a　motel　room。　Bedward；　plotward。　I　saw　my　wife　reclining　on　her　side；　voluptuously　rounded；　the　eternal　waiting　nude。　I　saw　her　as　he　did。　Dependent；　submissive；　emotionally　captive。　I　felt　his　mastery　and　control。　The　dominance　of　his　postion。　He　was　taking　over　my　mind；　this　man　I'd　never　seen；　this　half　image；　the　barest　smidge　of　brainlight。　His　bleak　hands　enfolded　a　rose…white　breast。　How　vivid　and　living　it　was；　what　a　tactile　delight；　dusted　with　russet　freckles　about　the　tip。　I　experienced　aural　torment。　Heard　them　in　their　purling　foreplay；　the　love　babble　and　buzzing　flesh。　Heard　the　sloppings　and　smackings；　the　swash　of　wet　mouths；　bedsprings　sinking　in。　An　interval　of　mumbled　adjustments。　Then　gloom　moved　in　around　the　gray…sheeted　bed；　a　circle　slowly　closing。
　　Panasoni