白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第36节

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　　〃I　already　went。〃
　　〃What　did　he　say？〃
　　〃It　was　a　she。　My　mother　told　me　to　go　to　a　woman。〃
　　〃What　did　she　say？〃
　　〃She　said　I　have　a　dense　donor　site。〃
　　〃What　does　that　mean？〃
　　〃She　can　take　hair　from　other　parts　of　my　head　and　surgically　implant　it　where　it's　needed。　Not　that　it　makes　any　difference。　I'd。　just　as　soon　be　bald。　I　can　easily　see　myself　totally　bald。　There　are　kids　my　age　with　cancer。　Their　hair　falls　out　from　chemotherapy。　Why　should　I　be　different？〃
　　He　was　standing　in　the　closet　peering　out　at　me。　I　decided　to　change　the　subject。
　　〃If　you　really　think　chinning　helps；　why　don't　you　stand　outside　the　closet　and　do　your　exercises　facing　in？　Why　stand　in　that　dark　musty　space？〃
　　〃If　you　think　this　is　strange；　you　ought　to　see　what　Mercator's　doing。〃
　　〃What's　he　doing？〃
　　〃He's　training　to　break　the　world　endurance　record　for　sitting　in　a　cage　full　of　poisonous　snakes；　for　the　Guinness　Book　of　Records。　He　goes　to　Glassboro　three　times　a　week　where　they　have　this　exotic　pet　shop。　The　owner　lets　him　feed　the　mamba　and　the　puff　adder。　To　get　him　accustomed。　Totally　forget　your　North　American　rattlesnake。　The　puff　adder　is　the　most　venomous　snake　in　the　world。〃
　　〃Every　time　I　see　newsfilm　of　someone　in　his　fourth　week　of　sitting　in　a　cage　full　of　snakes；　I　find　myself　wishing　he'd　get　bitten。〃
　　〃So　do　I；〃　Heinrich　said。
　　〃Why　is　that？〃
　　〃He's　asking　for　it。〃
　　〃That's　right。　Most　of　us　spend　our　lives　avoiding　danger。　Who　do　these　people　think　they　are？〃
　　〃They　ask　for　it。　Let　them　get　it。〃
　　I　paused　a　while；　savoring　the　rare　moment　of　agreement。
　　〃What　else　does　your　friend　do　to　train？〃
　　〃He　sits　for　long　periods　in　one　place；　getting　his　bladder　accustomed。　He's　down　to　two　meals　a　day。　He　sleeps　sitting　up；　two　hours　at　a　time。　He　wants　to　train　himself　to　wake　up　gradually；　without　sudden　movements；　which　could　startle　a　mamba。〃
　　〃It　seems　a　strange　ambition。〃
　　〃Mambas　are　sensitive。〃
　　〃But　if　it　makes　him　happy。〃
　　〃He　thinks　he's　happy　but　it's　just　a　nerve　cell　in　his　brain　that's　getting　too　much　stimulation　or　too　little　stimulation。〃
　　I　got　out　of　bed　in　the　middle　of　the　night　and　went　to　the　small　room　at　the　end　of　the　hall　to　watch　Steffie　and　Wilder　sleep。　I　remained　at　this　task；　motionless；　for　nearly　an　hour；　feeling　refreshed　and　expanded　in　unnameable　ways。
　　I　was　surprised；　entering　our　bedroom；　to　find　Babette　standing　at　a　window　looking　out　into　the　steely　night。　She　gave　no　sign　that　she'd　noticed　my　absence　from　the　bed　and　did　not　seem　to　hear　when　I　climbed　back　in；　burying　myself　beneath　the　covers。
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　　Our　newspaper　is　delivered　by　a　middle…aged　Iranian　driving　a　Nissan　Sentra。　Something　about　the　car　makes　me　uneasy—　the　car　waiting　with　its　headlights　on；　at　dawn；　as　the　man　places　the　newspaper　on　the　front　steps。　I　tell　myself　I　have　reached　an　age；　the　age　of　unreliable　menace。　The　world　is　full　of　abandoned　meanings。　In　the　monplace　I　find　unexpected　themes　and　intensities。
　　I　sat　at　my　desk　in　the　office　staring　down　at　the　white　tablet。　It　was　more　or　less　flying…saucer…shaped；　a　streamlined　disk　with　the　tiniest　of　holes　at　one　end。　It　was　only　after　moments　of　intense　scrutiny　that　I'd　been　able　to　spot　the　hole。
　　The　tablet　was　not　chalky　like　aspirin　and　not　exactly　capsule…slick　either。　It　felt　strange　in　the　hand；　curiously　sensitive　to　the　touch　but　at　the　same　time　giving　the　impression　that　it　was　synthetic；　insoluble；　elaborately　engineered。
　　I　walked　over　to　a　small　domed　building　known　as　the　Observatory　and　gave　the　tablet　to　Winnie　Richards；　a〃　young　research　neurochemist　whose　work　was　said　to　be　brilliant。　She　was　a　tall　gawky　furtive　woman　who　blushed　when　someone　said　something　funny。　Some　of　the　New　York　émigrés　liked　to　visit　her　cubicle　and　deliver　rapid…fire　one…liners；　just　to　see　her　face　turn　red。
　　I　watched　her　sit　at　the　cluttered　desk　for　two　or　three　minutes；　slowly　rotating　the　tablet　between　her　thumb　and　index　finger。　She　licked　it　and　shrugged。
　　〃Certainly　doesn't　taste　like　much。〃
　　〃How　long　will　it　take　to　analyze　the　contents？〃
　　〃There's　a　dolphin's　brain　in　my　in…box　but　e　see　me　in　forty…eight　hours。〃
　　Winnie　was　well…known　on　the　Hill　for　moving　from　place　to　place　without　being　seen。　No　one　knew　how　she　managed　this　or　why　she　found　it　necessary。　Maybe　she　was　self…conscious　about　her　awkward　frame；　her　craning　look　and　odd　lope。　Maybe　she　had　a　phobia　concerning　open　spaces；　although　the　spaces　at　the　college　were　mainly　snug　and　quaint。　Perhaps　the　world　of　people　and　things　had　such　an　impact　on　her；　struck　her　with　the　force　of　some　rough　and　naked　body—made　her　blush　in　fact—that　she　found　it　easier　to　avoid　frequent　contact。　Maybe　she　was　tired　of　being　called　brilliant。　In　any　case　I　had　trouble　locating　her　all　the　rest　of　that　week。　She　was　not　to　be　seen　on　the　lawns　and　walks；　was　absent　from　her　cubicle　whenever　I　looked　in。
　　At　home　Denise　made　it　a　point　not　to　bring　up　the　subject　of　Dylar。　She　did　not　want　to　put　pressure　on　me　and　even　avoided　eye　contact；　as　if　an　exchange　of　significant　looks　was　more　than　our　secret　knowledge　could　bear。　Babette；　for　her　part；　could　not　seem　to　produce　a　look　that　wasn't　significant。　In　the　middle　of　conversations　she　turned　to　gaze　at　snowfalls；　sunsets　or　parked　cars　in　a　sculptured　and　eternal　way。　These　contemplations　began　to　worry　me。　She'd　always　been　an　outward…looking　woman　with　a　bracing　sense　of　particularity；　a　trust　in　the　tangible　and　real。　This　private　gazing　was　a　form　of　estrangement　not　only　from　those　of　us　around　her　but　from　the　very　things　she　watched　so　endlessly。
　　We　sat　at　the　breakfast　table　after　the　older　kids　were　gone。
　　〃Have　you　seen　the　Stovers'　new　dog？〃
　　〃No；〃　I　said。
　　'They　think　it's　a　space　alien。　Only　they're　not　joking。　I　was　there　yesterday。　The　animal　is　strange。〃
　　〃Has　something　been　bothering　you？〃
　　〃I'm　fine；〃　she　said。
　　〃I　wish　you'd　tell　me。　We　tell　each　other　everything。　We　always　have。〃
　　〃Jack；　what　could　be　bothering　me？〃
　　〃You　stare　out　of　windows。　You're　different　somehow。　You　don't　quite　see　things　and　react　to　things　the　way　you　used　to。〃
　　〃That's　what　their　dog　does。　He　stares　out　of　windows。　But　not　just　any　window。　He　goes　upstairs　to　the　attic　and　puts　his　paws　up　on　the　sill　to　look　out　the　highest　window。　They　think　he's　waiting　for　instructions。〃
　　〃Denise　would　kill　me　if　she　knew　I　was　going　to　say　this。〃
　　〃What？〃
　　〃I　found　the　Dylar。〃
　　〃What　Dylar？〃
　　〃It　was　taped　to　the　radiator　cover。〃
　　〃Why　would　I　tape　something　to　the　radiator　cover？〃
　　'That's　exactly　what　Denise　predicted　you　would　say。〃
　　〃She's　usually　right。〃
　　〃I　talked　to　Hookstratten；　your　doctor。〃
　　〃I'm　in　super　shape；　really。〃
　　〃That's　what　he　said。〃
　　〃Do　you　know　what　these　cold　gray　leaden　days　make　me　want　to　do？〃
　　〃What？〃
　　〃Crawl　into　bed　with　a　good…looking　man。　I'll　put　Wilder　in　his　play　tunnel。　You　go　shave　and　brush　your　teeth。　Meet　you　in　the　bedroom　in　ten　minutes。〃
　　That　afternoon　I　saw　Winnie　Richards　slip　out　a　side　door　of　the　Observatory　and　go　loping　down　a　small　lawn　toward　the　new　buildings。　I　hurried　out　of　my　office　and　went　after　her。　She　kept　close　to　walls；　moving　in　a　long…gaited　stride。　I　felt　I　had　made　an　important　sighting　of　an　endangered　animal　or　some　phenomenal　subhuman　like　a　yeti　or　sasquatch。　It　was　cold　and　still　leaden。　I　found　I　could　not　gain　on　her　without　breaking　into　a　trot。　She　hurried　around　the　back　of　Faculty　House　and　I　picked　up　the　pace；　fearing　I　was　on　the　verge　of　losing　her。　It　felt　strange　to　be　running。　I　hadn't　run　in　many　years　and　didn't　recognize　my　body　in　this　new　format；　didn't　recognize　the　world　beneath　my　feet；　hard…surfaced　and　abrupt。　I　turned　a　corner　and　picked　up　speed；　aware　of　floating　bulk。　Up；　down；　life；　death。　My　robe　flew　behind　me。
　　I　caught　up　to　her　in　the　empty　corridor　of　a　one…story　building　that　smelled　of　embalming　fluids。　She　stood　against　the　wall　in　a　pale　green　tunic　and　tennis　sneakers。　I　was　too　winded　to　speak　and　raised　my　right　arm；　requesting　a　delay。　Winnie　led　me　to　a　table　in　a　small　room　full　of　bottled　brains。　The　table　was　fitted　with　a　sink　and　covered　with　note　pads　and　lab　instruments。　She　gave　me　water　in　a　paper　cup。　I　tried　to　dissociate　the　taste　of　the　tap　water　from　the　sight　of　the　brains　and　the　general　odor　of　preservatives　and　disinfectants。
　　〃Have　you　been　hiding　from　me？〃　I　said。　〃I've　left　notes；　phone　messages。〃
　　〃Not　from　you；　Jack；　or　anyone　in　particular。〃
　　〃Then　why　have　you　been　so　hard　to　find？〃
　　〃Isn't　this　what　the　twentieth　century　is　all　about？〃
　　〃What？〃
　　〃People　go　into　hiding　even　when　no　one　is　looking　for　them。〃
　　〃Do　you　really　think　that's　true？〃
　　〃It's　obvious；〃　she　said。
　　〃What　about　the　tablet？〃
　　〃An　interesting　piece　of　technology。　What's　it　called？〃
　　〃Dylar。〃
　　〃Never　heard　of　it；〃　she　said。
　　〃What　can　you　tell　me　about　it？　Try　not　to　be　too　brilliant。　I　haven't　eaten　lunch　yet。〃
　　I　watched　her　blush。
　　〃It's　not　a　tablet　in　the