白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第4章

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　will　end　up　in　a　barricaded　room；　spraying　hundreds　of　rounds　of　automatic　fire　across　an　empty　mall　before　the　SWAT　teams　e　for　him　with　their　heavy…barreled　weapons；　their　bullhorns　and　body　armor。
　　〃It's　going　to　rain　tonight。〃
　　〃It's　raining　now；〃　I　said。
　　〃The　radio　said　tonight。〃
　　I　drove　him　to　school　on　his　first　day　back　after　a　sore　throat　and　fever。　A　woman　in　a　yellow　slicker　held　up　traffic　to　let　some　children　cross。　I　pictured　her　in　a　soup　mercial　taking　off　her　oilskin　hat　as　she　entered　the　cheerful　kitchen　where　her　husband　stood　over　a　pot　of　smoky　lobster　bisque；　a　smallish　man　with　six　weeks　to　live。
　　〃Look　at　the　windshield；〃　I　said。　〃Is　that　rain　or　isn't　it？〃
　　〃I'm　only　telling　you　what　they　said。〃
　　〃Just　because　it's　on　the　radio　doesn't　mean　we　have　to　suspend　belief　in　the　evidence　of　our　senses。〃
　　〃Our　senses？　Our　senses　are　wrong　a　lot　more　often　than　they're　right。　This　has　been　proved　in　the　laboratory。　Don't　you　know　about　all　those　theorems　that　say　nothing　is　what　it　seems？　There's　no　past；　present　or　future　outside　our　own　mind。　The　so…called　laws　of　motion　are　a　big　hoax。　Even　sound　can　trick　the　mind。　Just　because　you　don't　hear　a　sound　doesn't　mean　it's　not　out　there。　Dogs　can　hear　it。　Other　animals。　And　I'm　sure　there　are　sounds　even　dogs　can't　hear。　But　they　exist　in　the　air；　in　waves。　Maybe　they　never　stop。　High；　high；　high…pitched。　ing　from　somewhere。〃
　　〃Is　it　raining；〃　I　said；　〃or　isn't　it？〃
　　〃I　wouldn't　want　to　have　to　say。〃
　　〃What　if　someone　held　a　gun　to　your　head？〃
　　〃Who；　you？〃
　　〃Someone。　A　man　in　a　trenchcoat　and　smoky　glasses。　He　holds　a　gun　to　your　head　and　says；　'Is　it　raining　or　isn't　it？　All　you　have　to　do　is　tell　the　truth　and　I'll　put　away　my　gun　and　take　the　next　flight　out　of　here。'〃
　　〃What　truth　does　he　want？　Does　he　want　the　truth　of　someone　traveling　at　almost　the　speed　of　light　in　another　galaxy？　Does　he　want　the　truth　of　someone　in　orbit　around　a　neutron　star？　Maybe　if　these　people　could　see　us　through　a　telescope　we　might　look　like　we　were　two　feet　two　inches　tall　and　it　might　be　raining　yesterday　instead　of　today。〃
　　〃He's　holding　the　gun　to　your　head。　He　wants　your　truth。〃
　　〃What　good　is　my　truth？　My　truth　means　nothing。　What　if　this　guy　with　the　gun　es　from　a　planet　in　a　whole　different　solar　system？　What　we　call　rain　he　calls　soap。　What　we　call　apples　he　calls　rain。　So　what　am　I　supposed　to　tell　him？〃
　　〃His　name　is　Frank　J。　Smalley　and　he　es　from　St。　Louis。〃
　　〃He　wants　to　know　if　it's　raining　now；　at　this　very　minute？〃
　　〃Here　and　now。　That's　right。〃
　　〃Is　there　such　a　thing　as　now？　'Now'　es　and　goes　as　soon　as　you　say　it。　How　can　I　say　it's　raining　now　if　your　so…called　'now'　bees　'then'　as　soon　as　I　say　it？〃
　　〃You　said　there　was　no　past；　present；　or　future。〃
　　〃Only　in　our　verbs。　That's　the　only　place　we　find　it。〃
　　〃Rain　is　a　noun。　Is　there　rain　here；　in　this　precise　locality；　at　whatever　time　within　the　next　two　minutes　that　you　choose　to　respond　to　the　question？〃
　　〃If　you　want　to　talk　about　this　precise　locality　while　you're　in　a　vehicle　that's　obviously　moving；　then　I　think　that's　the　trouble　with　this　discussion。〃
　　〃Just　give　me　an　answer；　okay；　Heinrich？〃
　　〃The　best　I　could　do　is　make　a　guess。〃
　　〃Either　it's　raining　or　it　isn't；〃　I　said。
　　〃Exactly。　That's　my　whole　point。　You'd　be　guessing。　Six　of　one；　half　dozen　of　the　other。〃
　　〃But　you　see　it's　raining。〃
　　〃You　see　the　sun　moving　across　the　sky。　But　is　the　sun　moving　across　the　sky　or　is　the　earth　turning？〃
　　〃I　don't　accept　the　analogy。〃
　　〃You're　so　sure　that's　rain。　How　do　you　know　it's　not　sulfuric　acid　from　factories　across　the　river？　How　do　you　know　it's　not　fallout　from　a　war　in　China？　You　want　an　answer　here　and　now。　Can　you　prove；　here　and　now；　that　this　stuff　is　rain？　How　do　I　know　that　what　you　call　rain　is　really　rain？　What　is　rain　anyway？〃
　　〃It's　the　stuff　that　falls　from　the　sky　and　gets　you　what　is　called　wet。〃
　　〃I'm　not　wet。　Are　you　wet？〃
　　〃All　right；〃　I　said。　〃Very　good。〃
　　〃No；　seriously；　are　you　wet？〃
　　〃First…rate；〃　I　told　him。　〃A　victory　for　uncertainty；　randomness　and　chaos。　Science's　finest　hour。〃
　　〃Be　sarcastic。〃
　　〃The　sophists　and　the　hairsplitters　enjoy　their　finest　hour。〃
　　〃Go　ahead；　be　sarcastic；　I　don't　care。〃
　　Heinrich's　mother　lives　in　an　ashram　now。　She　has　taken　the　name　Mother　Devi　and　runs　the　business　end　of　things。　The　ashram　is　located　on　the　outskirts　of　the　former　copper…smelting　town　of　Tubb；　Montana；　now　called　Dharamsalapur。　The　usual　rumors　abound　of　sexual　freedom；　sexual　slavery；　drugs；　nudity；　mind　control；　poor　hygiene；　tax　evasion；　monkey…worship；　torture；　prolonged　and　hideous　death。
　　I　watched　him　walk　through　the　downpour　to　the　school　entrance。　He　moved　with　deliberate　slowness；　taking　off　his　camouflage　cap　ten　yards　from　the　doorway。　At　such　moments　I　find　I　love　him　with　an　animal　desperation；　a　need　to　take　him　under　my　coat　and　crush　him　to　my　chest；　keep　him　there；　protect　him。　He　seems　to　bring　a　danger　to　him。　It　collects　in　the　air；　follows　him　from　room　to　room。　Babette　bakes　his　favorite　cookies。　We　watch　him　at　his　desk；　an　unpainted　table　covered　with　books　and　magazines。　He　works　well　into　the　night；　plotting　chess　moves　in　a　game　he　plays　by　mail　with　a　convicted　killer　in　the　penitentiary。
　　It　was　warm　and　bright　the　next　day　and　students　on　the　Hill　sat　on　lawns　and　in　dorm　windows；　playing　their　tapes；　sunbathing。　The　air　was　a　reverie　of　wistful　summer　things；　the　last　languorous　day；　a　chance　to　go　bare…limbed　once　more；　smell　the　mown　clover。　I　went　into　the　Arts　Duplex；　our　newest　building；　a　winged　affair　with　a　facade　of　anodized　aluminum；　sea…green；　cloud…catching。　On　the　lower　level　was　the　movie　theater；　a　sloped　and　dark…carpeted　space　with　two　hundred　plush　seats。　I　sat　in　shallow　light　at　the　end　of　the　first　row　and　waited　for　my　seniors　to　arrive。
　　They　were　all　Hitler　majors；　members　of　the　only　class　I　still　taught；　Advanced　Nazism；　three　hours　a　week；　restricted　to　qualified　seniors；　a　course　of　study　designed　to　cultivate　historical　perspective；　theoretical　rigor　and　mature　insight　into　the　continuing　mass　appeal　of　fascist　tyranny；　with　special　emphasis　on　parades；　rallies　and　uniforms；　three　credits；　written　reports。
　　Every　semester　I　arranged　for　a　screening　of　background　footage。　This　consisted　of　propaganda　films；　scenes　shot　at　party　congresses；　outtakes　from　mystical　epics　featuring　parades　of　gymnasts　and　mountaineers—a　collection　I'd　edited　into　an　impressionistic　eighty…minute　documentary。　Crowd　scenes　predominated。　Close…up　jostled　shots　of　thousands　of　people　outside　a　stadium　after　a　Goebbels　speech；　people　surging；　massing；　bursting　through　the　traffic。　Halls　hung　with　swastika　banners；　with　mortuary　wreaths　and　death's…head　insignia。　Ranks　of　thousands　of　flagbearers　arrayed　before　columns　of　frozen　light；　a　hundred　and　thirty　antiaircraft　searchlights　aimed　straight　up—a　scene　that　resembled　a　geometric　longing；　the　formal　notation　of　some　powerful　mass　desire。　There　was　no　narrative　voice。　Only　chants；　songs；　arias；　speeches；　cries；　cheers；　accusations；　shrieks。
　　I　got　to　my　feet　and　took　up　a　position　at　the　front　of　the　theater；　middle　aisle；　facing　the　entranceway。
　　They　came　in　out　of　the　sun　in　their　poplin　walk　shorts　and　limited…edition　T…shirts；　in　their　easy…care　knits；　their　polo　styling　and　rugby　stripes。　I　watched　them　take　their　seats；　noting　the　subdued　and　reverent　air；　the　uncertain　anticipation。　Some　had　notebooks　and　pencil　lights；　some　carried　lecture　material　in　bright　binders。　There　were　whispers；　rustling　paper；　the　knocking　sound　of　seats　dropping　as　one　by　one　the　students　settled　in。　I　leaned　against　the　front　of　the　apron；　waiting　for　the　last　few　to　enter；　for　someone　to　seal　the　doors　against　our　voluptuous　summer　day。
　　Soon　there　was　a　hush。　It　was　time　for　me　to　deliver　the　introductory　remarks。　I　let　the　silence　deepen　for　a　moment；　then　cleared　my　arms　from　the　folds　of　the　academic　robe　in　order　to　gesture　freely。
　　When　the　showing　ended；　someone　asked　about　the　plot　to　kill　Hitler。　The　discussion　moved　to　plots　in　general。　I　found　myself　saying　to　the　assembled　heads；　〃All　plots　tend　to　move　deathward。　This　is　the　nature　of　plots。　Political　plots；　terrorist　plots；　lovers'　plots；　narrative　plots；　plots　that　are　part　of　children's　games。　We　edge　nearer　death　every　time　we　plot。　It　is　like　a　contract　that　all　must　sign；　the　plotters　as　well　as　those　who　are　the　targets　of　the　plot。〃
　　Is　this　true？　Why　did　I　say　it？　What　does　it　mean？
　　7
　　Two　nights　a　week　Babette　goes　to　the　Congregational　church　at　the　other　end　of　town　and　lectures　to　adults　in　the　basement　on　correct　posture。　Basically　she　is　teaching　them　how　to　stand；　sit　and　walk。　Most　of　her　students　are　old。　It　isn't　clear　to　me　why　they　want　to　improve　their　posture。　We　seem　to　believe　it　is　possible　to　ward　off　death　by　following　rules　of　good　grooming。　Sometimes　I　go　with　my　wife　to　the　church　basement　and　watch　her　stand；　turn；　assume　various　heroic　poses；　gesture　gracefully。　She　makes　references　to　yoga；　kendo；　trance…walking。　She　talks　of　Sufi　dervishes；　Sherpa　mountaineers。　The　old　folks　nod　and　listen。　Nothing　is　foreign；　nothing　too　remote　to　apply。　I　am　always　surprised　at　their　acceptance　and　trust；　the　sweetness　of　their　belief。　Nothing　is　too　doubtful　to　be　of　use　to　them　as　they　seek　to　redeem　their　bodies　from　a　lifetime　of　bad　posture。　It　is　the　end　of　skepticism。　We　walked　home　under　a　marigold　moon。　Our　house　looked　old　and　wan　at　the　end　of　the　street；　the　porch　light　shining　on　a　molded　plastic　tricycle；　a　stack　of　three…hour　colored…flame　sawdust　and　wax　logs。　Denise　was　doing　her　homework　in　the　kitchen；　keeping　an　eye　on　Wilder；　who　had　wandered　downstairs　to　sit　on　the　floor　and　stare　through　the　oven　window。　Silence　in　the　halls；　shadows　on　the　sloping　lawn。　We　closed　the　door　and　disrobed。　The　bed　was　a　mess。　Magazines；　curtain　rods；　a　child's　sooty　sock。　Babette　hummed　something　from　a　Broadway　show；　putting　the　rods　in　a　corner。　We　embraced；　fell　sideways　to　the　bed　in　a　controlled　way；　then　repositioned　ourselves；　bathing　in　each　other's　flesh；　trying　to　kick　the　sheets　off　our　ankles。　Her　body　had　a　number　of　long　hollows；　places　the　hand　might　stop　to　solve　in　the　dark；　tempo…slowing　places。　We　believed　something　lived　in　the　basement。
　　〃What　do　you　want　to　do？〃　she　said。
　　〃Whatever　you　want　to　do。〃
　　〃I　want　to　do　whatever's　best　for　you。〃
　　〃What's　best　for　me　is　to　please　you；〃　I　said。
　　〃I　want　to　make　you　happy；　Jack。〃
　　〃I'm　happy　when　I'm　pleasing　you。〃
　　〃I　just　want　to　do　what　you　want　to　do。〃
　　〃I　want　to　do　whatever's　best　for　you。〃
　　〃But　you　please　me　by　letting　me　please　you；〃　she　said。
　　〃As　the　male　partner　I　think　it's　my　responsibility　to　please。〃
　　〃I'm　not　sure　whether　that's　a　sensitive　caring　statement　or　a　sexist　remark。〃
　　〃Is　it　wrong　for　the　man　to　be　considerate　toward　his　partner？〃
　　〃I'm　your　partner　when　we　play　tennis；　which　we　ought　to　start　doing　again；　by　the　way。　Otherwise　I'm　your　wife。　Do　you　want　me　to　read　to　you？〃
　　〃F