白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第53部分

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　　〃In　other　words　he　told　them　he　had　access　to　twenty…seven　snakes。〃
　　〃Venomous。　Except　they　weren't。　So　Orest　got　bit　for　nothing。　The　jerk。〃
　　〃Suddenly　he's　a　jerk。〃
　　'They　had　all　this　antivenom　which　they　couldn't　even　use。　The　first　four　minutes。〃
　　〃How　does　he　feel？〃
　　〃How　would　you　feel　if　you　were　a　jerk？〃
　　〃Glad　to　be　alive；〃　I　said。
　　〃Not　Orest。　He　dropped　out　of　sight。　He　went　into　plete　seclusion。　Nobody's　seen　him　since　it　happened。　He　doesn't　answer　the　door；　he　doesn't　answer　the　phone；　he　doesn't　show　up　at　school。　The　total　package。〃
　　I　decided　to　wander　over　to　my　office　and　glance　at　some　final　exams。　Most　of　the　students　had　already　departed；　eager　to　begin　the　routine　hedonism　of　another　bare…limbed　summer。　The　campus　was　dark　and　empty。　There　was　a　trembling　mist。　Passing　a　line　of　trees；　I　thought　I　sensed　someone　edge　in　behind　me；　maybe　thirty　yards　away。　When　I　looked；　the　path　was　clear。　Was　it　the　gun　that　was　making　me　jumpy？　Does　a　gun　draw　violence　to　it；　attract　other　guns　to　its　surrounding　field　of　force？　I　walked　on　quickly　toward　Centenary　Hall。　I　heard　footsteps　on　gravel；　a　conspicuous　crunch。　Someone　was　out　there；　on　the　edge　of　the　parking　area；　in　the　trees　and　the　mist。　If　I　had　a　gun；　why　was　I　scared？　If　I　was　scared；　why　didn't　I　run？　I　counted　off　five　paces；　looked　quickly　left；　saw　a　figure　moving　parallel　to　the　path；　in　and　out　of　deep　shadow。　I　broke　into　a　shambling　trot；　my　gun　hand　in　my　pocket；　clutching　the　automatic。　When　I　looked　again；　he　wasn't　there。　I　slowed　down　warily；　crossed　a　broad　lawn；　heard　running；　the　meter　of　bounding　feet。　He　was　ing　from　the　right　this　time；　all…out；　closing　fast。　I　broke　into　a　weaving　run；　hoping　I'd　make　an　elusive　target　for　someone　firing　at　my　back。　I'd　never　run　in　a　weave　before。　I　kept　my　head　down；　swerved　sharply　and　unpredictably。　It　was　an　interesting　way　to　run。　I　was　surprised　at　the　range　of　possibilities；　the　number　of　binations　I　could　put　together　within　a　framework　of　left　and　right　swerves。　I　did　a　tight　left；　widened　it；　cut　sharply　right；　faked　left；　went　left；　went　wide　right。　About　twenty　yards　from　the　end　of　the　open　area；　I　broke　off　the　weave　pattern　and　ran　as　fast　and　straight　as　I　could　for　a　red　oak。　I　stuck　out　my　left　arm；　went　skidding　around　the　tree　in　a　headlong　cranking　countermotion；　simultaneously　using　my　right　hand　to　pluck　the　Zumwalt　from　my　jacket　pocket；　so　that　I　now　faced　the　person　I'd　been　fleeing；　protected　by　a　tree　trunk；　my　gun　at　the　ready。
　　This　was　about　as　deft　a　thing　as　I'd　ever　done。　I　looked　into　the　heavy　mist　as　my　attacker　approached　in　little　thudding　footfalls。　When　I　saw　the　familiar　odd　loping　stride；　I　put　the　gun　back　in　my　pocket。　It　was　Winnie　Richards；　of　course。
　　〃Hi；　Jack。　At　first　I　didn't　know　who　it　was；　so　I　used　evasive　tactics。　When　I　realized　it　was　you；　I　said　to　myself　that's　just　the　person　I　want　to　see。〃
　　〃How　e？〃
　　〃Remember　that　time　you　asked　me　about　a　secret　research　group？　Working　on　fear　of　death？　Trying　to　perfect　a　medication？〃
　　〃Sure—Dylar。〃
　　〃There　was　a　journal　lying　around　the　office　yesterday。　American　Psychobiologist。　Curious　story　in　there。　Such　a　group　definitely　existed。　Supported　by　a　multinational　giant。　Operating　in　the　deepest　secrecy　in　an　unmarked　building　just　outside　Iron　City。〃
　　〃Why　deepest　secrecy？〃
　　〃It's　obvious。　To　prevent　espionage　by　petitive　giants。　The　point　is　they　came　very　close　to　achieving　their　objective。〃
　　〃What　happened？〃
　　〃A　lot　of　things。　The　resident　organizational　genius；　one　of　the　forces　behind　the　whole　project；　was　a　fellow　named　Willie　Mink。　He　turns　out　to　be　a　controversial　fellow。　He　does　some　very；　very　controversial　things。〃
　　〃I'll　bet　I　know　the　first　thing　he　does。　He　runs　an　ad　in　a　gossip　tabloid　asking　for　volunteers　for　a　hazardous　experiment。　FEAR　OF　DEATH；　it　says。〃
　　〃Very　good；　Jack。　A　little　ad　in　some　rinky…dink　newspaper。　He　interviews　the　respondents　in　a　motel　room；　testing　them　for　emotional　integration　and　about　a　dozen　other　things　in　an　attempt　to　work　up　a　death　profile　for　each　person。　Interviews　in　a　motel。　When　the　scientists　and　the　lawyers　find　out　about　this；　they　go　slightly　berserk；　they　reprimand　Mink；　they　put　all　their　resources　into　puter　testing。　Berserk　official　reaction。〃　〃But　that's　not　the　end　of　it。〃
　　〃How　right　you　are。　Despite　the　fact　that　Mink　is　now　a　carefully　observed　person；　one　of　the　volunteers　manages　to　slip　through　the　screen　of　watchfulness　and　begins　a　program　of　more　or　less　unsupervised　human　experimentation；　using　a　drug　that　is　totally　unknown；　untested　and　unapproved；　with　side　effects　that　could　beach　a　whale。　Ah　unsupervised　well…built　human。〃
　　〃Female；〃　I　said。
　　〃Very　correct。　She　periodically　reports　to　Mink　in　the　very　motel　where　he　originally　did　his　interviewing；　sometimes　arriving　in　a　taxi；　sometimes　on　foot　from　the　shabby　and　depressing　bus　terminal。　What　is　she　wearing；　Jack？〃
　　〃I　don't　know。〃
　　〃A　ski　mask。　She　is　the　woman　in　the　ski　mask。　When　the　others　find　out　about　Mink's　latest　caper；　there　is　a　period　of　prolonged　controversy；　animosity；　litigation　and　disgrace。　Pharmaceutical　giants　have　their　code　of　ethics；　just　like　you　and　me。　The　project　manager　is　kicked　out；　the　project　goes　on　without　him。〃
　　〃Did　the　article　say　what　happened　to　him？〃
　　〃The　reporter　tracked　him　down。　He　is　living　in　the　same　motel　where　all　the　controversy　took　place。〃
　　〃Where　is　the　motel？〃
　　〃In　Germantown。〃
　　〃Where's　that？〃　I　said。
　　〃Iron　City。　It's　the　old　German　section。　Behind　the　foundry。〃
　　〃I　didn't　know　there　was　a　section　in　Iron　City　called　Germantown。〃
　　'The　Germans　are　gone；　of　course。〃
　　I　went　straight　home。　Denise　was　making　check　marks　in　a　paperback　book　called　Directory　of　Toll…Free　Numbers。　I　found　Babette　sitting　by　Wilder's　bed；　reading　him　a　story。
　　〃I　don't　mind　running　clothes　as　such；〃　I　said。　〃A　sweatsuit　is　a　practical　thing　to　wear　at　times。　But　I　wish　you　wouldn't　wear　it　when　you　read　bedtime　stories　to　Wilder　or　braid　Steffie's　hair。　There's　something　touching　about　such　moments　that　is　jeopardized　by　running　clothes。〃
　　〃Maybe　I'm　wearing　running　clothes　for　a　reason。〃　〃Like　what？〃
　　〃I'm　going　running；〃　she　said。　〃Is　that　a　good　idea？　At　night？〃
　　〃What　is　night？　It　happens　seven　times　a　week。　Where　is　the　uniqueness　in　this？〃　〃It's　dark；　it's　wet。〃
　　〃Do　we　live　in　a　blinding　desert　glare？　What　is　wet？　We　live　with　wet。〃
　　〃Babette　doesn't　speak　like　this。〃
　　〃Does　life　have　to　stop　because　our　half　of　the　earth　is　dark？　Is　there　something　about　the　night　that　physically　resists　a　runner？　I　need　to　pant　and　gasp。　What　is　dark？　It's　just　another　name　for　light。〃
　　〃No　one　will　convince　me　that　the　person　I　know　as　Babette　actually　wants　to　run　up　the　stadium　steps　at　ten　o'clock　at　night。〃
　　〃It's　not　what　I　want；　it's　what　I　need。　My　life　is　no　longer　in　the　realm　of　want。　I　do　what　I　have　to　do。　I　pant；　I　gasp。　Every　runner　understands　the　need　for　this。〃
　　〃Why　do　you　have　to　run　up　steps？　You're　not　a　professional　athlete　trying　to　rebuild　a　shattered　knee。　Run　on　plain　land。　Don't　make　a　major　involvement　out　of　it。　Everything　is　a　major　involvement　today。〃
　　〃It's　my　life。　I　tend　to　be　involved。〃　〃It's　not　your　life。　It's　only　exercise。〃
　　〃A　runner　needs；〃　she　said。
　　〃I　also　need　and　tonight　I　need　the　car。　Don't　wait　up　for　me。　Who　knows　when　I'll　be　back。〃
　　I　waited　for　her　to　ask　what　mysterious　mission　would　require　me　to　get　in　the　car　and　drive　through　the　rain…streaked　night；　time　of　return　unknown。
　　She　said；　〃I　can't　walk　to　the　stadium；　run　up　the　steps　five　or　six　times　and　then　walk　all　the　way　back　home。　You　can　drive　me　there；　wait　for　me；　drive　me　back。　The　car　is　then　yours。〃
　　〃I　don't　want　it。　What　do　you　think　of　that？　You　want　the　car。　you　take　it。　The　streets　are　slippery。　You　know　what　that　means；　don't　you？〃
　　〃What　does　it　mean？〃
　　〃Fasten　your　seat　belt。　There's　also　a　chill　in　the　air。　You　know　what　a　chill　in　the　air　means。〃
　　〃What　does　it　mean？〃
　　〃Wear　your　ski　mask；〃　I　told　her。
　　The　thermostat　began　to　buzz。
　　I　put　on　a　jacket　and　went　outside。　Ever　since　the　airborne　toxic　event；　our　neighbors；　the　Stovers；　had　been　keeping　their　car　in　the　driveway　instead　of　the　garage；　keeping　it　facing　the　street；　keeping　the　key　in　the　ignition。　I　walked　up　the　driveway　and　got　in　the　car。　There　were　trash　caddies　fixed　to　the　dashboard　and　seat…backs；　dangling　plastic　bags　full　of　gum　wrappers；　ticket　stubs；　lipstick…smeared　tissues；　crumpled　soda　cans；　crumpled　circulars　and　receipts；　ashtray　debris；　popsicle　sticks　and　french　fries；　crumpled　coupons　and　paper　napkins；　pocket　bs　with　missing　teeth。　Thus　familiarized；　I　started　up　the　engine；　turned　on　the　lights　and　drove　off。
　　I　ran　a　red　light　when　I　crossed　Middlebrook。　Reaching　the　end　of　the　expressway　ramp；　I　did　not　yield。　All　the　way　to　Iron　City；　I　felt　a　sense　of　dreaminess；　release；　unreality。　I　slowed　down　at　the　toll　gate　but　did　not　bother　tossing　a　quarter　into　the　basket。　An　alarm　went　off　but　no　one　pursued。　What's　another　quarter　to　a　state　that　is　billions　in　debt？　What's　twenty…five　cents　when　we　are　talking　about　a　nine…thousand…dollar　stolen　car？　This　must　be　how　people　escape　the　pull　of　the　earth；　the　gravitational　leaf…flutter　that　brings　us　hourly　closer　to　dying。　Simply　stop　obeying。　Steal　instead　of　buy；　shoot　instead　of　talk。　I　ran　two　more　lights　on　the　rainy　approach　roads　to　Iron　City。　The　outlying　buildings　were　long　and　low；　fish　and　produce　markets；　meat　terminals　with　old　wooden　canopies。　I　entered　the　city　and　turned　on　the　radio；　needing　pany　not　on　the　lonely　highway　but　here　on　the　cobbled　streets；　in　the　sodium　vapor　lights；　where　the　emptiness　clings。　Every　city　has　its　districts。　I　drove　past　the　abandoned　car　district；　the　uncollected　garbage　district；　the　sniper…fire　district；　the　districts　of　smoldering　sofas　and　broken　glass。　Ground　glass　crunched　under　the　tires。　I　headed　toward　the　foundry。
　　Random　Access　Memory；　Acquired　Immune　Deficiency　Syndrome；　Mutual　Assured　Destruction。