白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第11章

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　of　rage　and　plaint。　People　had　no　tolerance　for　your　particular　hardship　unless　you　knew　how　to　entertain　them　with　it。　Alfonse　himself　was　occasionally　entertaining　in　a　pulverizing　way。　He　had　a　manner　that　enabled　him　to　absorb　and　destroy　all　opinions　in　conflict　with　his。　When　he　talked　about　popular　culture；　he　exercised　the　closed　logic　of　a　religious　zealot；　one　who　kills　for　his　beliefs。　His　breathing　grew　heavy；　arrhythmic；　his　brows　seemed　to　lock。　The　other　émigrés　appeared　to　find　his　challenges　and　taunts　a　proper　context　for　their　endeavor。　They　used　his　office　to　pitch　pennies　to　the　wall。
　　I　said　to　him；　〃Why　is　it；　Alfonse；　that　decent；　well…meaning　and　responsible　people　find　themselves　intrigued　by　catastrophe　when　they　see　it　on　television？〃
　　I　told　him　about　the　recent　evening　of　lava；　mud　and　raging　water　that　the　children　and　I　had　found　so　entertaining。
　　We　wanted　more；　more。
　　〃It's　natural；　it's　normal；〃　he　said；　with　a　reassuring　nod。　〃It　happens　to　everybody。〃
　　〃Why？〃
　　〃Because　we're　suffering　from　brain　fade。　We　need　an　occasional　catastrophe　to　break　up　the　incessant　bombardment　of　information。〃
　　〃It's　obvious；〃　Lasher　said。　A　slight　man　with　a　taut　face　and　slicked…back　hair。
　　〃The　flow　is　constant；〃　Alfonse　said。　〃Words；　pictures；　numbers；　facts；　graphics；　statistics；　specks；　waves；　particles；　motes。　Only　a　catastrophe　gets　our　attention。　We　want　them；　we　need　them；　we　depend　on　them。　As　long　as　they　happen　somewhere　else。　This　is　where　California　es　in。　Mud　slides；　brush　fires；　coastal　erosion；　earthquakes；　mass　killings；　et　cetera。　We　can　relax　and　enjoy　these　disasters　because　in　our　hearts　we　feel　that　California　deserves　whatever　it　gets。　Californians　invented　the　concept　of　life…style。　This　alone　warrants　their　doom。〃
　　Cotsakis　crushed　a　can　of　Diet　Pepsi　and　threw　it　at　a　garbage　pail。
　　〃Japan　is　pretty　good　for　disaster　footage；〃　Alfonse　said。　〃India　remains　largely　untapped。　They　have　tremendous　potential　with　their　famines；　monsoons；　religious　strife；　train　wrecks；　boat　sinkings；　et　cetera。　But　their　disasters　tend　to　go　unrecorded。　Three　lines　in　the　newspaper。　No　film　footage；　no　satellite　hookup。　This　is　why　California　is　so　important。　We　not　only　enjoy　seeing　them　punished　for　their　relaxed　life…style　and　progressive　social　ideas　but　we　know　we're　not　missing　anything。　The　cameras　are　right　there。　They're　standing　by。　Nothing　terrible　escapes　their　scrutiny。〃
　　〃You're　saying　it's　more　or　less　universal；　to　be　fascinated　by　TV　disasters。〃
　　〃For　most　people　there　are　only　two　places　in　the　world。　Where　they　live　and　their　TV　set。　If　a　thing　happens　on　television；　we　have　every　right　to　find　it　fascinating；　whatever　it　is。〃
　　〃I　don't　know　whether　to　feel　good　or　bad　about　learning　that　my　experience　is　widely　shared。〃
　　〃Feel　bad；〃　he　said。
　　〃It's　obvious；〃　Lasher　said。　〃We　all　feel　bad。　But　we　can　enjoy　it　on　that　level。〃
　　Murray　said；　〃This　is　what　es　from　the　wrong　kind　of　attentiveness。　People　get　brain　fade。　This　is　because　they've　forgotten　how　to　listen　and　look　as　children。　They've　forgotten　how　to　collect　data。　In　the　psychic　sense　a　forest　fire　on　TV　is　on　a　lower　plane　than　a　ten…second　spot　for　Automatic　Dishwasher　All。　The　mercial　has　deeper　waves；　deeper　emanations。　But　we　have　reversed　the　relative　significance　of　these　things。　This　is　why　people's　eyes；　ears；　brains　and　nervous　systems　have　grown　weary。　It's　a　simple　case　of　misuse。〃
　　Grappa　casually　tossed　half　a　buttered　roll　at　Lasher；　hitting　him　on　the　shoulder。　Grappa　was　pale　and　baby…fattish　and　the　tossed　roll　was　an　attempt　to　get　Lasher's　attention。
　　Grappa　said　to　him；　〃Did　you　ever　brush　your　teeth　with　your　finger？〃
　　〃I　brushed　my　teeth　with　my　finger　the　first　time　I　stayed　overnight　at　my　wife's　parents'　house；　before　we　were　married；　when　her　parents　spent　a　weekend　at　Asbury　Park。　They　were　an　Ipana　family。〃
　　〃Forgetting　my　toothbrush　is　a　fetish　with　me；〃　Cotsakis　said。　〃I　brushed　my　teeth　with　my　finger　at　Woodstock；　Altamont；　Monterey；　about　a　dozen　other　seminal　events。〃
　　Grappa　looked　at　Murray。
　　〃I　brushed　my　teeth　with　my　finger　after　the　Ali…Foreman　fight　in　Zaire；〃　Murray　said。　〃That's　the　southernmost　point　I've　ever　brushed　my　teeth　with　my　finger　at。〃
　　Lasher　looked　at　Grappa。
　　〃Did　you　ever　crap　in　a　toilet　bowl　that　had　no　seat？〃
　　Grappa's　response　was　semi…lyrical。　〃A　great　and　funky　men's　room　in　an　old　Socony　Mobil　station　on　the　Boston　Post　Road　the　first　time　my　father　took　the　car　outside　the　city。　The　station　with　the　flying　red　horse。　You　want　the　car？　I　can　give　you　car　details　down　to　the　last　little　option。〃
　　〃These　are　the　things　they　don't　teach；〃　Lasher　said。　〃Bowls　with　no　seats。　Pissing　in　sinks。　The　culture　of　public　toilets。　All　those　great　diners；　movie　houses；　gas　stations。　The　whole　ethos　of　the　road。　I've　pissed　in　sinks　all　through　the　American　West。　I've　slipped　across　the　border　to　piss　in　sinks　in　Manitoba　and　Alberta。　This　is　what　it's　all　about。　The　great　western　skies。　The　Best　Western　motels。　The　diners　and　drive…ins。　The　poetry　of　the　road；　the　plains；　the　desert。　The　filthy　stinking　toilets。　I　pissed　in　a　sink　in　Utah　when　it　was　twenty…two　below。　That's　the　coldest　I've　ever　pissed　in　a　sink　in。〃
　　Alfonse　Stompanato　looked　hard　at　Lasher。
　　〃Where　were　you　when　James　Dean　died？〃　he　said　in　a　threatening　voice。
　　〃In　my　wife's　parents'　house　before　we　were　married；　listening　to　'Make　Believe　Ballroom'　on　the　old　Emerson　table　model。　The　Motorola　with　the　glowing　dial　was　already　a　thing　of　the　past。〃
　　〃You　spent　a　lot　of　time　in　your　wife's　parents'　house；　it　seems；　screwing；〃　Alfonse　said。
　　〃We　were　kids。　It　was　too　early　in　the　cultural　matrix　for　actual　screwing。〃
　　〃What　were　you　doing？〃
　　〃She's　my　wife；　Alfonse。　You　want　me　to　tell　a　crowded　table？〃
　　〃James　Dean　is　dead　and　you're　groping　some　twelve…year…old。〃
　　Alfonse　glared　at　Dimitrios　Cotsakis。
　　〃Where　were　you　when　James　Dean　died？〃
　　〃In　the　back　of　my　uncle's　restaurant　in　Astoria；　Queens；　vacuuming　with　the　Hoover。〃
　　Alfonse　looked　at　Grappa。
　　〃Where　the　hell　were　you？〃　he　said；　as　if　the　thought　had　just　occurred　to　him　that　the　actor's　death　was　not　plete　without　some　record　of　Grappa's　whereabouts。
　　〃I　know　exactly　where　I　was；　Alfonse。　Let　me　think　a　minute。〃
　　〃Where　were　you；　you　son　of　a　bitch？〃
　　〃I　always　know　these　things　down　to　the　smallest　detail。　But　I　was　a　dreamy　adolescent。　I　have　these　gaps　in　my　life。〃
　　〃You　were　busy　jerking　off。　Is　that　what　you　mean？〃
　　〃Ask　me　Joan　Crawford。〃
　　〃September　thirty；　nineteen　fifty…five。　James　Dean　dies。　Where　is　Nicholas　Grappa　and　what　is　he　doing？〃
　　〃Ask　me　Gable；　ask　me　Monroe。〃
　　〃The　silver　Porsche　approaches　an　intersection；　going　like　a　streak。　No　time　to　brake　for　the　Ford　sedan。　Glass　shatters；　metal　screams。　Jimmy　Dean　sits　in　the　driver's　seat　with　a　broken　neck；　multiple　fractures　and　lacerations。　It　is　five　forty…five　in　the　afternoon；　Pacific　Coast　Time。　Where　is　Nicholas　Grappa；　the　jerk…off　king　of　the　Bronx？〃
　　〃Ask　me　Jeff　Chandler。〃
　　〃You're　a　middle…aged　man；　Nicky；　who　trafficks　in　his　own　childhood。　You　have　an　obligation　to　produce。〃
　　〃Ask　me　John　Garfield；　ask　me　Monty　Clift。〃
　　Cotsakis　was　a　monolith　of　thick　and　wadded　flesh。　He'd　been　Little　Richard's　personal　bodyguard　and　had　led　security　details　at　rock　concerts　before　joining　the　faculty　here。
　　Elliot　Lasher　threw　a　chunk　of　raw　carrot　at　him；　then　asked；　〃Did　you　ever　have　a　woman　peel　flaking　skin　from　your　back　after　a　few　days　at　the　beach？〃
　　〃Cocoa　Beach；　Florida；〃　Cotsakis　said。　〃It　was　very　tremendous。　The　second　or　third　greatest　experience　of　my　life。〃
　　〃Was　she　naked？〃　Lasher　said。
　　〃To　the　waist；〃　Cotsakis　said。
　　〃From　which　direction？〃　Lasher　said。
　　I　watched　Grappa　throw　a　cracker　at　Murray。　He　skimmed　it　backhand　like　a　Frisbee。
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　　I　put　on　my　dark　glasses；　posed　my　face　and　walked　into　the　room。　There　were　twenty…five　or　thirty　young　men　and　women；　many　in　fall　colors；　seated　in　armchairs　and　sofas　and　on　the　beige　broadloom。　Murray　walked　among　them；　speaking；　his　right　hand　trembling　in　a　stylized　way。　When　he　saw　me；　he　smiled　sheepishly。　I　stood　against　the　wall；　attempting　to　loom；　my　arms　folded　under　the　black　gown。
　　Murray　was　in　the　midst　of　a　thoughtful　monologue。
　　〃Did　his　mother　know　that　Elvis　would　die　young？　She　talked　about　assassins。　She　talked　about　the　life。　The　life　of　a　star　of　this　type　and　magnitude。　Isn't　the　life　structured　to　cut　you　down　early？　This　is　the　point；　isn't　it？　There　are　rules；　guidelines。　If　you　don't　have　the　grace　and　wit　to　die　early；　you　are　forced　to　vanish；　to　hide　as　if　in　shame　and　apology。　She　worried　about　his　sleepwalking。　She　thought　he　might　go　out　a　window。　I　have　a　feeling　about　mothers。　Mothers　really　do　know。　The　folklore　is　correct。〃
　　〃Hitler　adored　his　mother；〃　I　said。
　　A　surge　of　attention；　unspoken；　identifiable　only　in　a　certain　convergence　of　stillness；　an　inward　tensing。　Murray　kept　moving；　of　course；　but　a　bit　more　deliberately；　picking　his　way　between　the　chairs；　the　people　seated　on　the　floor。　I　stood　against　the　wall；　arms　folded。
　　〃Elvis　and　Gladys　liked　to　nuzzle　and　pet；〃　he　said。　〃They　slept　in　the　same　bed　until　he　began　to　approach　physical　maturity。　They　talked　baby　talk　to　each　other　all　the　time。〃
　　〃Hitler　was　a　lazy　kid。　His　report　card　was　full　of　unsatisfactorys。　But　Klara　loved　him；　spoiled　him；　gave　him　the　attention　his　father　failed　to　give　him。　She　was　a　quiet　woman；　modest　and　religious；　and　a　good　cook　and　housekeeper。〃
　　〃Gladys　walked　Elvis　to　school　and　back　every　day。　She　defended　him　in　little　street　rumbles；　lashed　out　at　any　kid　who　tried　to　bully　him。〃
　　〃Hitler　fantasized。　He　took　piano　lessons；　made　sketches　of　museums　and　villas。　He　sat　around　the　house　a　lot。　Klara　tolerated　this。　He　was　the　first　of　her　children　to　survive　infancy。　Three　others　had　died。〃
　　〃Elvis　confided　in　Gladys。　He　brought　his　girlfriends　around　to　meet　her。〃
　　〃Hitler　wrote　a　poem　to　his　mother。　His　mother　and　his　niece　were　the　women　with　the　greatest　hold　on　his　mind。〃
　　〃When　Elvis　went　into　the　army；　Gladys　became　ill　and　depressed。　She　sensed　something；　maybe　as　much　about　herself　as　about　him。　Her　psychic　apparatus　was　flashing　all　the　wrong　signals。　Foreboding　and　gloom。〃
　　〃There's　not　much　doubt　that　Hitler　was　what　we　call　a　mama's　boy。〃
　　A　note…taking　young　man　murmured　absently；　〃Mutter…s？hnchen。〃　I　regarded　him　warily。　Then；　on　an　impulse；　I　abandoned　my　stance　at　the　wall　and　began　to　pace　the　room　like　Murray；　occasionally　pausing　to　gesture；　to　listen；　to　gaze　out　a　window　or　up　at　the　ceiling。
　　〃Elvis　could　hardly　bear　to　let　Gladys　out　of　his　sight　when　her　condition　grew　worse。　He　kept　a　vigil　…at　the　hospital。〃
　　〃When　his　mother　became　severely　ill；　Hitler　put　a　bed　in　the　kitchen　to　be　closer　to　her。　He　cooked　and　cleaned。〃
　　〃Elvis　fell　apart　with　grief　when　Gladys　died。　He　fondled　and　petted　her　in　the　casket。　He　talked　baby　talk　to　her　until　she　was　in　the　ground。〃
　　〃Klara's　funeral　c