白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第13节

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　otherwise　silent；　watching　houses　slide　into　the　ocean；　whole　villages　crackle　and　ignite　in　a　mass　of　advancing　lava。　Every　disaster　made　us　wish　for　more；　for　something　bigger；　grander；　more　sweeping。
　　I　walked　into　my　office　on　Monday　to　find　Murray　sitting　in　the　chair　adjacent　to　the　desk；　like　someone　waiting　for　a　nurse　to　arrive　with　a　blood…pressure　gauge。　He'd　been　having　trouble；　he　said；　establishing　an　Elvis　Presley　power　base　in　the　department　of　American　environments。　The　chairman；　Alfonse　Stompanato；　seemed　to　feel　that　one　of　the　other　instructors；　a　three…hundred…pound　former　rock　'n'　roll　bodyguard　named　Dimitrios　Cotsakis；　had　established　prior　right　by　having　flown　to　Memphis　when　the　King　died；　interviewed　members　of　the　King's　entourage　and　family；　been　interviewed　himself　on　local　television　as　an　Interpreter　of　the　Phenomenon。
　　A　more　than　middling　coup；　Murray　conceded。　I　suggested　that　I　might　drop　by　his　next　lecture；　informally；　unannounced；　simply　to　lend　a　note　of　consequence　to　the　proceedings；　to　give　him　the　benefit　of　whatever　influence　and　prestige　might　reside　in　my　office；　my　subject；　my　physical　person。　He　nodded　slowly；　fingering　the　ends　of　his　beard。
　　Later　at　lunch　I　spotted　only　one　empty　chair；　at　a　table　occupied　by　the　New　York　émigrés。　Alfonse　sat　at　the　head　of　the　table；　a　manding　presence　even　in　a　campus　lunchroom。　He　was　large；　sardonic；　dark…staring；　with　scarred　brows　and　a　furious　beard　fringed　in　gray。　It　was　the　very　beard　I　would　have　grown　in　1969　if　Janet　Savory；　my　second　wife；　Heinrich's　mother；　hadn't　argued　against　it。　〃Let　them　see　that　bland　expanse；〃　she　said；　in　her　tiny　dry　voice。　〃It　is　more　effective　than　you　think。〃
　　Alfonse　invested　everything　he　did　with　a　sense　of　all…consuming　purpose。　He　knew　four　languages；　had　a　photographic　memory；　did　plex　mathematics　in　his　head。　He'd　once　told　me　that　the　art　of　getting　ahead　in　New　York　was　based　on　learning　how　to　express　dissatisfaction　in　an　interesting　way。　The　air　was　full　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'r