白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第51节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　Murray　said；　〃I　don't　trust　anybody's　nostalgia　but　my　own。　Nostalgia　is　a　product　of　dissatisfaction　and　rage。　It's　a　settling　of　grievances　between　the　present　and　the　past。　The　more　powerful　the　nostalgia；　the　closer　you　e　to　violence。　War　is　the　form　nostalgia　takes　when　men　are　hard…pressed　to　say　something　good　about　their　country。〃
　　A　humid　spell　of　weather。　I　opened　the　refrigerator；　peered　into　the　freezer　partment。　A　strange　crackling　sound　came　off　the　plastic　food　wrap；　the　snug　covering　for　half　eaten　things；　the　Ziploc　sacks　of　livers　and　ribs；　all　gleaming　with　sleety　crystals。　A　cold　dry　sizzle。　A　sound　like　some　element　breaking　down；　resolving　itself　into　Freon　vapors。　An　eerie　static；　insistent　but　near　subliminal；　that　made　me　think　of　wintering　souls；　some　form　of　dormant　life　approaching　the　threshold　of　perception。
　　No　one　was　around。　I　walked　across　the　kitchen；　opened　the　pactor　drawer　and　looked　inside　the　trash　bag。　An　oozing　cube　of　semi…mangled　cans；　clothes　hangers；　animal　bones　and　other　refuse。　The　bottles　were　broken；　the　cartons　flat。　Product　colors　were　undiminished　in　brightness　and　intensity。　Fats；　juices　and　heavy　sludges　seeped　through　layers　of　pressed　vegetable　matter。　I　felt　like　an　archaeologist　about　to　sift　through　a　finding　of　tool　fragments　and　assorted　cave　trash。　It　was　about　ten　days　since　Denise　had　pacted　the　Dylar。　That　particular　round　of　garbage　had　almost　certainly　been　taken　outside　and　collected　by　now。　Even　if　it　hadn't；　the　tablets　had　surely　been　demolished　by　the　pactor　ram。
　　These　facts　were　helpful　in　my　efforts　to　believe　that　I　was　merely　passing　time；　casually　thumbing　through　the　garbage。
　　I　unfolded　the　bag　cuffs；　released　the　latch　and　lifted　out　the　bag。　The　full　stench　hit　me　with　shocking　force。　Was　this　ours？　Did　it　belong　to　us？　Had　we　created　it？　I　took　the　bag　out　to　the　garage　and　emptied　it。　The　pressed　bulk　sat　there　like　an　ironic　modern　sculpture；　massive；　squat；　mocking。　I　jabbed　at　it　with　the　butt　end　of　a　rake　and　then　spread　the　material　over　the　concrete　floor。　I　picked　through　it　item　by　item；　mass　by　shapeless　mass；　wondering　why　I　felt　guilty；　a　violator　of　privacy；　uncovering　intimate　and　perhaps　shameful　secrets。　It　was　hard　not　to　be　distracted　by　some　of　the　things　they'd　chosen　to　submit　to　the　Juggernaut　appliance。　But　why　did　I　feel　like　a　household　spy？　Is　garbage　so　private？　Does　it　glow　at　the　core　with　personal　heat；　with　signs　of　one's　deepest　nature；　clues　to　secret　yearnings；　humiliating　flaws？　What　habits；　fetishes；　addictions；　inclinations？　What　solitary　acts；　behavioral　ruts？　I　found　crayon　drawings　of　a　figure　with　full　breasts　and　male　genitals。　There　was　a　long　piece　of　twine　that　contained　a　series　of　knots　and　loops。　It　seemed　at　first　a　random　construction。　Looking　more　closely　I　thought　I　detected　a　plex　relationship　between　the　size　of　the　loops；　the　degree　of　the　knots　（single　or　double）　and　the　intervals　between　knots　with　loops　and　freestanding　knots。　Some　kind　of　occult　geometry　or　symbolic　festoon　of　obsessions。　I　found　a　banana　skin　with　a　tampon　inside。　Was　this　the　dark　underside　of　consumer　consciousness？　I　came　across　a　horrible　clotted　mass　of　hair；　soap；　ear　swabs；　crushed　roaches；　flip…top　rings；　sterile　pads　smeared　with　pus　and　bacon　fat；　strands　of　frayed　dental　floss；　fragments　of　ballpoint　refills；　toothpicks　still　displaying　bits　of　impaled　food。　There　was　a　pair　of　shredded　undershorts　with　lipstick　markings；　perhaps　a　memento　of　the　Grayview　Motel。
　　But　no　sign　anywhere　of　a　shattered　amber　vial　or　the　remains　of　those　saucer…shaped　tablets。　It　didn't　matter。　I　would　face　whatever　had　to　be　faced　without　chemical　assistance。　Babette　had　said　Dylar　was　fool's　gold。　She　was　right；　Winnie　Richards　was　right；　Denise　was　right。　They　were　my　friends　and　they　were　right。
　　I　decided　to　take　another　physical。　When　the　results　were　in；　I　went　to　see　Dr。　Chakravarty　in　his　little　office　in　the　medical　building。　He　sat　there　reading　the　printout；　a　man　with　a　puffy　face　and　shadowy　eyes；　his　long　hands　set　flat　on　the　desk；　his　head　wagging　slightly。
　　〃Here　you　are　again；　Mr。　Gladney。　We　see　you　so　often　these　days。　　How　nice　it　is　to　find　a　patient　who　regards　his　status　seriously。〃
　　〃What　status？〃
　　〃His　status　as　a　patient。　People　tend　to　forget　they　are　patients。　Once　they　leave　the　doctor's　office　or　the　hospital；　they　simply　put　it　out　of　their　minds。　But　you　are　all　permanent　patients；　like　it　or　not。　I　am　the　doctor；　you　the　patient。　Doctor　doesn't　cease　being　doctor　at　close　of　day。　Neither　should　patient。　People　expect　doctor　to　go　about　things　with　the　utmost　seriousness；　skill　and　experience。　But　what　about　patient？　How　professional　is　he？〃
　　He　did　not　look　up　from　the　printout　as　he　said　these　things　in　his　meticulous　singsong。
　　〃I　don't　think　I　like　your　potassium　very　much　at　all；〃　he　went　on。　〃Look　here。　A　bracketed　number　with　puterized　stars。〃
　　〃What　does　that　mean？〃
　　〃There's　no　point　your　knowing　at　this　stage。〃
　　〃How　was　my　potassium　last　time？〃
　　〃Quite　average　in　fact。　But　perhaps　this　is　a　false　elevation。　We　are　dealing　with　whole　blood。　There　is　the　question　of　a　gel　barrier。　Do　you　know　what　this　means？〃　'〃No。〃
　　〃There　isn't　time　to　explain。　We　have　true　elevation　and　false　elevations。　This　is　all　you　have　to　know。〃
　　〃Exactly　how　elevated　is　my　potassium？〃
　　〃It　has　gone　through　the　roof；　evidently。〃
　　〃What　might　this　be　a　sign　of？〃
　　〃It　could　mean　nothing；　it　could　mean　a　very　great　deal　indeed。〃
　　〃How　great？〃
　　〃Now　we　are　getting　into　semantics；〃　he　said。
　　〃What　I'm　trying　to　get　at　is　could　this　potassium　be　an　indication　of　some　condition　just　beginning　to　manifest　itself；　some　condition　caused　perhaps　by　an　ingestion；　an　exposure；　an　involuntary　spillage…intake；　some　substance　in　the　air　or　the　rain？〃
　　〃Have　you　in　fact　e　into　contact　with　such　a　substance？〃
　　〃No；〃　I　said。
　　〃Are　you　sure？〃
　　Positive。　Why；　do　the　numbers　show　some　sign　of　possible　exposure？〃
　　〃If　you　haven't　been　exposed；　then　they　couldn't　very　well　show　a　sign；　could　they？〃
　　'Then　we　agree；〃　I　said。
　　〃Tell　me　this；　Mr。　Gladney；　in　all　honesty。　How　do　you　feel？〃
　　〃To　the　best　of　my　knowledge；　I　feel　very　well。　First…rate。　I　feel　better　than　I　have　in　years；　relatively　speaking。〃
　　〃What　do　you　mean；　relatively　speaking？〃
　　〃Given　the　fact　I'm　older　now。〃
　　He　looked　at　me　carefully。　He　seemed　to　be　trying　to　stare　me　down。　Then　he　made　a　note　on　my　record。　I　might　have　been　a　child　facing　the　school　principal　over　a　series　of　unexcused　absences。
　　I　said；　〃How　can　we　tell　whether　the　elevation　is　true　or　false？〃
　　〃I　will　send　you　to　Glassboro　for　further　tests。　Would　you　like　that？　There　is　a　brand…new　facility　called　Autumn　Harvest　Farms。　They　have　gleaming　new　equipment。　You　won't　be　disappointed；　wait　and　see。　It　gleams；　absolutely。〃
　　〃All　right。　But　is　potassium　the　only　thing　we　have　to　watch？〃
　　〃The　less　you　know；　the　better。　Go　to　Glassboro。　Tell　them　to　delve　thoroughly。　No　stone　unturned。　Tell　them　to　send　you　back　to　me　with　sealed　results。　I　will　analyze　them　down　to　the　smallest　detail。　I　will　absolutely　pick　them　apart。　They　have　the　know…how　at　Harvest　Farms；　the　most　delicate　of　instruments；　I　promise　you。　The　best　of　third…world　technicians；　the　latest　procedures。〃
　　His　bright　smile　hung　there　like　a　peach　on　a　tree。
　　〃Together；　as　doctor　and　patient；　we　can　do　things　that　neither　of　us　could　do　separately。　There　is　not　enough　emphasis　on　prevention。　An　ounce　of　prevention；　goes　the　saying。　Is　this　a　proverb　or　a　maxim？　Surely　professor　can　tell　us。〃
　　〃I'll　need　time　to　think　about　it。〃
　　〃In　any　case；　prevention　is　the　thing；　isn't　it？　I've　just　seen　the　latest　issue　of　American　Mortician。　Quite　a　shocking　picture。　The　industry　is　barely　adequate　to　acmodating　the　vast　numbers　of　dead。〃
　　Babette　was　right。　He　spoke　English　beautifully。　I　went　home　and　started　throwing　things　away。　I　threw　away　fishing　lures；　dead　tennis　balls；　torn　luggage。　I　ransacked　the　attic　for　old　furniture；　discarded　lampshades；　warped　screens；　bent　curtain　rods。　I　threw　away　picture　frames；　shoe　trees；　umbrella　stands；　wall　brackets；　highchairs　and　cribs；　collapsible　TV　trays；　beanbag　chairs；　broken　turntables。　I　threw　away　shelf　paper；　faded　stationery；　manuscripts　of　articles　I'd　written；　galley　proofs　of　the　same　articles；　the　journals　in　which　the　articles　were　printed。　The　more　things　I　threw　away；　the　more　I　found。　The　house　was　a　sepia　maze　of　old　and　tired　things。　There　was　an　immensity　of　things；　an　overburdening　weight；　a　connection；　a　mortality。　I　stalked　the　rooms；　flinging　things　into　cardboard　boxes。　Plastic　electric　fans；　burnt…out　toasters；　Star　Trek　needlepoints。　It　took　well　over　an　hour　to　get　everything　down　to　the　sidewalk。　No　one　helped　me。　I　didn't　want　help　or　pany　or　human　understanding。　I　just　wanted　to　get　the　stuff　out　of　the　house。　I　sat　on　the　front　steps　alone；　waiting　for　a　sense　of　ease　and　peace　to　settle　in　the　air　around　me。
　　A　woman　passing　on　the　street　said；　〃A　decongestant；　an　antihistamine；　a　cough　suppressant；　a　pa