白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第33章

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simistic　massive　tally。　We　are　the　sum　total　of　our　data；　I　told　her；　just　as　we　are　the　sum　total　of　our　chemical　impulses。　I　tried　to　explain　how　hard　I'd　struggled　to　keep　the　news　from　her。　But　after　her　own　revelations；　this　seemed　the　wrong　kind　of　secret　to　be　keeping。
　　〃So　…we　are　no　longer　talking　about　fear　and　floating　terror；〃　I　said。　〃This　is　the　hard　and　heavy　thing；　the　fact　itself。〃
　　Slowly　she　emerged　from　beneath　the　covers。　She　climbed　on　top　of　me；　sobbing。　I　felt　her　fingers　clawing　at　my　shoulders　and　neck。　The　warm　tears　fell　on　my　lips。　She　beat　me　on　the　chest；　seized　my　left　hand　and　bit　the　flesh　between　the　thumb　and　index　finger。　Her　sobs　became　a　grunting　sound；　full　of　terrible　desperate　effort。　She　took　my　head　in　her　hands；　gently　and　yet　fiercely；　and　rocked　it　to　and　fro　on　the　pillow；　an　act　I　could　not　connect　to　anything　she'd　ever　done；　anything　she　seemed　to　be。
　　Later；　after　she'd　fallen　off　my　body　and　into　a　restless　sleep；　I　kept　on　staring　into　the　dark。　The　radio　came　on。　I　threw　off　the　covers　and　went　into　the　bathroom。　Denise's　scenic　paperweights　sat　on　a　dusty　shelf　by　the　door。　I　ran　water　over　my　hands　and　wrists。　I　splashed　cold　water　on　my　face。　The　only　towel　around　was　a　small　pink　handcloth　with　a　tic…tac…toe　design。　I　dried　myself　slowly　and　carefully。　Then　I　tilted　the　radiator　cover　away　from　the　wall　and　stuck　my　hand　underneath。　The　bottle　of　Dylar　was　gone。
　　27
　　I　had　my　second　medical　checkup　since　the　toxic　event。　No　startling　numbers　on　the　printout。　This　death　was　still　too　deep　to　be　glimpsed。　My　doctor；　Sundar　Chakravarty；　asked　me　about　the　sudden　flurry　of　checkups。　In　the　past　I'd　always　been　afraid　to　know。
　　1　told　him　I　was　still　afraid。　He　smiled　broadly；　waiting　for　the　punch　line。　I　shook　his　hand　and　headed　out　the　door。
　　On　the　way　home　I　drove　down　Elm　intending　to　make　a　quick　stop　at　the　supermarket。　The　street　was　full　of　emergency　vehicles。　Farther　down　I　saw　bodies　scattered　about。　A　man　with　an　armband　blew　a。　whistle　at　me　and　stepped　in　front　of　my　car。　I　glimpsed　other　men　in　Mylex　suits。　Stretcher…bearers　ran　across　the　street。　When　the　man　with　the　whistle　drew　closer；　I　was　able　to　make　out　the　letters　on　his　armband：　SIMUVAC。
　　〃Back　it　out；〃　he　said。　〃Street's　closed。〃
　　〃Are　you　people　sure　you're　ready　for　a　simulation？　You　may　want　to　wait　for　one　more　massive　spill。　Get　your　timing　down。〃
　　〃Move　it　out；　get　it　out。　You're　in　the　exposure　swath。〃
　　〃What's　that　mean？〃
　　〃It　means　you're　dead；〃　he　told　me。
　　I　backed　out　of　the　street　and　parked　the　car。　Then　I　walked　slowly　back　down　Elm；　trying　to　look　as　though　I　belonged。　I　kept　close　to　storefronts；　mingled　with　technicians　and　marshals；　with　uniformed　personnel。　There　were　buses；　police　cars；　ambulettes。　People　with　electronic　equipment　appeared　to　be　trying　to　detect　radiation　or　toxic　fallout。　In　time　I　approached　the　volunteer　victims。　There　were　twenty　or　so；　prone；　supine；　draped　over　curbstones；　sitting　in　the　street　with　woozy　looks。
　　I　was　startled　to　see　my　daughter　among　them。　She　lay　in　the　middle　of　the　street；　on　her　back；　one　arm　flung　out；　her　head　tilted　the　other　way。　I　could　hardly　bear　to　look。　Is　this　how　she　thinks　of　herself　at　the　age　of　nine—already　a　victim；　trying　to　polish　her　skills？　How　natural　she　looked；　how　deeply　imbued　with　the　idea　of　a　sweeping　disaster。　Is　this　the　future　she　envisions？
　　I　walked　over　there　and　squatted　down。
　　〃Steffie？　Is　that　you？〃
　　She　opened　her　eyes。
　　〃You're　not　supposed　to　be　here　unless　you're　a　victim；〃　she　said。
　　〃I　just　want　to　be　sure　you're　okay。〃
　　〃I'll　get　in　trouble　if　they　see　you。〃
　　〃It's　cold。　You'll　get　sick。　Does　Baba　know　you're　here？〃
　　〃I　signed　up　in　school　an　hour　ago。〃
　　〃They　at　least　should　hand　out　blankets；〃　I　said。
　　She　closed　her　eyes。　I　spoke　to　her　a　while　longer　but　she　wouldn't　answer。　There　was　no　trace　of　irritation　or　dismissal　in　her　silence。　Just　conscientiousness。　She　had　a　history　of　being　devout　in　her　victimhood。
　　I　went　back　to　the　sidewalk。　A　man's　amplified　voice　boomed　across　the　street　from　somewhere　inside　the　supermarket。
　　〃I　want　to　wele　all　of　you　on　behalf　of　Advanced　Disaster　Management；　a　private　consulting　firm　that　conceives　and　operates　simulated　evacuations。　We　are　interfacing　with　twenty…two　state　bodies　in　carrying　out　this　advanced　disaster　drill。　The　first；　I　trust；　of　many。　The　more　we　rehearse　disaster；　the　safer　we'll　be　from　the　real　thing。　Life　seems　to　work　that　way；　doesn't　it？　You　take　your　umbrella　to　the　office　seventeen　straight　days；　not　a　drop　of　rain。　The　first　day　you　leave　it　at　home；　record…breaking　downpour。　Never　fails；　does　it？　This　is　the　mechanism　we　hope　to　employ；　among　others。　O…right；　on　to　business。　When　the　siren　sounds　three　long　blasts；　thousands　of　hand…picked　evacuees　will　leave　their　homes　and　places　of　employment；　get　into　their　vehicles　and　head　for　well…equipped　emergency　shelters。　Traffic　directors　will　race　to　their　puterized　stations。　Updated　instructions　will　be　issued　on　the　SIMUVAC　broadcast　system。　Air…sampling　people　will　deploy　along　the　cloud　exposure　swath。　Dairy　samplers　will　test　milk　and　randomized　foodstuffs　over　the　next　three　days　along　the　ingestion　swath。　We　are　not　simulating　a　particular　spillage　today。　This　is　an　all…purpose　leak　or　spill。　It　could　be　radioactive　steam；　chemical　cloudlets；　a　haze　of　unknown　origin。　The　important　thing　is　movement。　Get　those　people　out　of　the　swath。　We　learned　a　lot　during　the　night　of　the　billowing　cloud。　But　there　is　no　substitute　for　a　planned　simulation。　If　reality　intrudes　in　the　form　of　a　car　crash　or　a　victim　falling　off　a　stretcher；　it　is　important　to　remember　that　we　are　not　here　to　mend　broken　bones　or　put　out　real　fires。　We　are　here　to　simulate。　Interruptions　can　cost　lives　in　a　real　emergency。　If　we　learn　to　work　around　interruptions　now；　we'll　be　able　to　work　around　them　later　when　it　counts。　O…right。　When　the　siren　sounds　two　melancholy　wails；　street　captains　will　make　house…to…house　searches　for　those　who　may　have　been　inadvertently　left　behind。　Birds；　goldfish；　elderly　people；　handicapped　people；　invalids；　shut…ins；　whatever。　Five　minutes；　victims。　All　you　rescue　personnel；　remember　this　is　not　a　blast　simulation。　Your　victims　are　overe　but　not　traumatized。　Save　your　tender　loving　care　for　the　nuclear　fireball　in　June。　We're　at　four　minutes　and　counting。　Victims；　go　limp。　And　remember　you're　not　here　to　scream　or　thrash　about。　We　like　a　low…profile　victim。　This　isn't　New　York　or　L。A。　Soft　moans　will　suffice。〃
　　I　decided　I　didn't　want　to　watch。　I　went　back　to　the　car　and　headed　home。　The　sirens　emitted　the　first　three　blasts　as　I　pulled　up　in　front　of　the　house。　Heinrich　was　sitting　on　the　front　steps；　wearing　a　reflector　vest　and　his　camouflage　cap。　With　him　was　an　older　boy。　He　had　a　powerful　pact　body　of　uncertain　pigmentation。　No　one　on　our　street　seemed　to　be　evacuating。　Heinrich　consulted　a　clipboard。
　　〃What's　going　on？〃
　　〃I'm　a　street　captain；〃　he　said。
　　〃Did　you　know　Steffie　was　a　victim？〃
　　〃She　said　she　might　be。〃
　　〃Why　didn't　you　tell　me？〃
　　〃So　they　pick　her　up　and　put　her　in　an　ambulance。　What's　the　problem？〃
　　〃I　don't　know　what　the　problem　is。〃
　　〃If　she　wants　to　do　it；　she　should　do　it。〃
　　〃She　seems　so　well…adjusted　to　the　role。〃
　　〃It　could　save　her　life　someday；〃　he　said。
　　〃How　can　pretending　to　be　injured　or　dead　save　a　person's　life？〃
　　〃If　she　does　it　now；　she　might　not　have　to　do　it　later。　The　more　you　practice　something；　the　less　likely　it　is　to　actually　happen。〃
　　'That's　what　the　consultant　said。〃
　　〃It's　a　gimmick　but　it　works。〃
　　〃Who's　this？〃
　　〃This　is　Orest　Mercator。　He's　going　to　help　me　check　for　leftovers。〃
　　〃You're　the　one　who　wants　to　sit　in　a　cage　full　of　deadly　snakes。　Can　you　tell　me　why？〃
　　〃Because　I'm　going　for　the　record；〃　Orest　said。
　　〃Why　would　you　want　to　get　killed　going　for　a　record？〃
　　〃What　killed？　Who　said　anything　about　killed？〃
　　〃You'll　be　surrounded　by　rare　and　deadly　reptiles。〃
　　〃They're　the　best　at　what　they　do。　I　want　to　be　the　best　at　what　I　do。〃
　　〃What　do　you　do？〃
　　〃I　sit　in　a　cage　for　sixty…seven　days。　That's　what　it　takes　to　break　the　record。〃
　　〃Do　you　understand　that　you　are　risking　death　for　a　couple　of　lines　in　a　paperback　book？〃
　　He　looked　searchingly　at　Heinrich；　obviously　holding　the　boy　responsible　for　this　idiotic　line　of　questioning。
　　〃They　will　bite　you；〃　I　went　on。
　　〃They　won't　bite　me。〃
　　〃How　do　you　know？〃
　　〃Because　I　know。〃
　　〃These　are　real　snakes；　Orest。　One　bite；　that's　it。〃
　　〃One　bite　if　they　bite。　But　they　won't　bite。〃
　　〃They　are　real。　You　are　real。　People　get　bitten　all　the　time。　The　venom　is　deadly。〃
　　〃People　get　bitten。　But　I　won't。〃
　　I　found　myself　saying；　〃You　will；　you　will。　These　snakes　don't　know　you　find　death　inconceivable。　They　don't　know　you're　young　and　strong　and　you　think　death　applies　to　everyone　but　you。　They　will　bite　and　you　will　die。〃
　　I　paused；　shamed　by　the　passion　of　my　argument。　I　was　surprised　to　see　him　look　at　me　with　a　certain　interest；　a　certain　grudging　respect。　Perhaps　the　unbeing　force　of　my　outburst　brought　home　to　him　the　gravity　of　his　task；　filled　him　with　intimations　of　an　unwieldy　fate。
　　'They　want　to　bite；　they　bite；〃　he　said。　〃At　least　I　go　right　away。　These　snakes　are　the　best；　the　quickest。　A　puff　adder　bites　me；　I　die　in　seconds。〃
　　〃What's　your　hurry？　You're　nineteen　years　old。　You'll　find　hundreds　of　ways　to　die　that　are　better　than　snakes。〃
　　What　kind　of　name　is　Orest？　I　studied　his　features。　He　might　have　been　Hispanic；　Middle　Eastern；　Central　Asian；　a　dark…skinned　Eastern　European；　a　light…skinned　black。　Did　he　have　an　accent？　I　wasn't　sure。　Was　he　a　Samoan；　a　native　North　American；　a　Sephardic　Jew？　It　was　getting　hard　to　know　what　you　couldn't　say　to　people。
　　He　said　to　me；　〃How　many　pounds　can　you　bench…press？〃
　　〃I　don't　know。　Not　very　many。〃
　　〃Did　you　ever　punch　somebody　in　the　face？〃
　　〃Maybe　a　glancing　blow；　once；　a　long　time　ago。〃
　　〃I'm　looking　to　punch　somebody　in　the　face。　Bare…fisted。　Hard　as　I　can。　To　find　out　what　it　feels　like。〃
　　Heinrich　grinned　like　a　stool　pigeon　in　the　movies。　The　siren　began　to　sound—two　melancholy　blasts。　I　went　inside　as　the　two　boys　checked　the　clipboard　for　house　numbers。　Babette　was　in　the　kitchen　giving　Wilder　some　lunch。
　　〃He's　wearing　a　reflector　vest；〃　I　said。
　　〃It's　in　case　there's　haze；　he　won't　get　hit　by　fleeing　vehicles。〃
　　〃I　don't　think　anyone's　bothered　to　flee。　How　do　you　feel？〃
　　〃Better；〃　she　said。
　　〃So　do　I。〃
　　〃I　think　it's　being　with　Wilder　that　picks　me　up。〃
　　〃I　know　what　you　mean。　I　always　feel　good　when　I'm　with　Wilder。　Is　it　because　pleasures　don't　cling　to　him？　He　is　selfish　without　being　grasping；　selfish　in　a　totally　unbounded　and　natural　way。　There's　something　wonderful　about　the　way　he　drops　one　thing；　grabs　for　another。　I　get　annoyed　when　the　other　kids　don't　fully　appreciate　special　moments　or　occasions。　They　let　things　slide　away　that　should　be　kept　and　savored。　But　when　Wilder　does　it；　I　see　th