白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第57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！


od　out　on　the　one　hand　and　tried　to　hide　on　the　other。　What　is　the　name　we　give　to　this　attempt？〃　〃Dumb。〃
　　I　followed　him　into　the　supermarket。　Blasts　of　color；　layers　of　oceanic　sound。　We　walked　under　a　bright　banner　announcing　a　raffle　to　raise　money　for　some　incurable　disease。　The　wording　seemed　to　indicate　that　the　winner　would　get　the　disease。　Murray　likened　the　banner　to　a　Tibetan　prayer　flag。
　　〃Why　have　I　had　this　fear　so　long；　so　consistently？〃　〃It's　obvious。　You　don't　know　how　to　repress。　We're　all　aware　there's　no　escape　from　death。　How　do　we　deal　with　this　crushing　knowledge？　We　repress；　we　disguise；　we　bury；　we　exclude。　Some　people　do　it　better　than　others；　that's　all。〃　〃How　can　I　improve？〃　〃You　can't。　Some　people　just　don't　have　the　unconscious　tools　to　perform　the　necessary　disguising　operations。〃
　　〃How　do　we　know　repression　exists　if　the　tools　are　unconscious　and　the　thing　we're　repressing　is　so　cleverly　disguised？〃
　　〃Freud　said　so。　Speaking　of　looming　figures。〃
　　He　picked　up　a　box　of　Handi…Wrap　II；　reading　the　display　type；　studying　the　colors。　He　smelled　a　packet　of　dehydrated　soup。　The　data　was　strong　today。
　　〃Do　you　think　I'm　somehow　healthier　because　I　don't　know　how　to　repress？　Is　it　possible　that　constant　fear　is　the　natural　state　of　man　and　that　by　living　close　to　my　fear　I　am　actually　doing　something　heroic；　Murray？〃
　　〃Do　you　feel　heroic？〃
　　〃No。〃
　　'Then　you　probably　aren't。〃
　　〃But　isn't　repression　unnatural？〃
　　〃Fear　is　unnatural。　Lightning　and　thunder　are　unnatural。　Pain；　death；　reality；　these　are　all　unnatural。　We　can't　bear　these　things　as　they　are。　We　know　too　much。　So　we　resort　to　repression；　promise　and　disguise。　This　is　how　we　survive　in　the　universe。　This　is　the　natural　language　of　the　species。〃
　　I　looked　at　him　carefully。
　　〃I　exercise。　I　take　care　of　my　body。〃
　　〃No；　you　don't；〃　he　said。
　　He　helped　an　old　man　read　the　date　on　a　loaf　of　raisin　bread。　Children　sailed　by　in　silver　carts。
　　〃Tegrin；　Denorex；　Selsun　Blue。〃
　　Murray　wrote　something　in　his　little　book。　I　watched　him　step　deftly　around　a　dozen　fallen　eggs　oozing　yolky　matter　from　a　busted　carton。
　　〃Why　do　I　feel　so　good　when　I'm　with　Wilder？　It's　not　like　being　with　the　other　kids；〃　I　said。
　　〃You　sense　his　total　ego；　his　freedom　from　limits。〃
　　〃In　what　way　is　he　free　from　limits？〃
　　〃He　doesn't　know　he's　going　to　die。　He　doesn't　know　death　at　all。　You　cherish　this　simpleton　blessing　of　his；　this　exemption　from　harm。　You　want　to　get　close　to　him；　touch　him；　look　at　him；　breathe　him　in。　How　lucky　he　is。　A　cloud　of　unknowing；　an　omnipotent　little　person。　The　child　is　everything；　the　adult　nothing。　Think　about　it。　A　person's　entire　life　is　the　unraveling　of　this　conflict。　No　wonder　we're　bewildered；　staggered；　shattered。〃
　　〃Aren't　you　going　too　far？〃
　　〃I'm　from　New　York。〃
　　〃We　create　beautiful　and　lasting　things；　build　vast　civilizations。〃
　　〃Gorgeous　evasions；〃　he　said。　〃Great　escapes。〃
　　The　doors　parted　photoelectronically。　We　went　outside；　walking　past　the　dry　cleaner；　the　hairstylist；　the　optician。　Murray　relighted　his　pipe；　sucking　impressively　at　the　mouthpiece。
　　〃We　have　talked　about　ways　to　get　around　death；〃　he　said。　〃We　have　discussed　how　you've　already　tried　two　such　ways；　each　cancelling　the　other。　We　have　mentioned　technology；　train　wrecks；　belief　in　an　afterlife。　There　are　other　methods　as　well　and　I　would　like　to　talk　about　one　such　approach。〃
　　We　crossed　the　street。
　　〃I　believe；　Jack；　there　are　two　kinds　of　people　in　the　world。　Killers　and　diers。　Most　of　us　are　diers。　We　don't　have　the　disposition；　the　rage　or　whatever　it　takes　to　be　a　killer。　We　let　death　happen。　We　lie　down　and　die。　But　think　what　it's　like　to　be　a　killer。　Think　how　exciting　it　is；　in　theory；　to　kill　a　person　in　direct　confrontation。　If　he　dies；　you　cannot。　To　kill　him　is　to　gain　life…credit。　The　more　people　you　kill；　the　more　credit　you　store　up。　It　explains　any　number　of　massacres；　wars；　executions。〃
　　〃Are　you　saying　that　men　have　tried　throughout　history　to　cure　themselves　of　death　by　killing　others？〃
　　〃It's　obvious。〃
　　〃And　you　call　this　exciting？〃
　　〃I'm　talking　theory。　In　theory；　violence　is　a　form　of　rebirth。　The　dier　passively　succumbs。　The　killer　lives　on。　What　a　marvelous　equation。　As　a　marauding　band　amasses　dead　bodies；　it　gathers　strength。　Strength　accumulates　like　a　favor　from　the　gods。〃
　　〃What　does　this　have　to　do　with　me？〃
　　〃This　is　theory。　We're　a　couple　of　academics　taking　a　walk。　But　imagine　the　visceral　jolt；　seeing　your　opponent　bleeding　in　the　dust。〃
　　〃You　think　it　adds　to　a　person's　store　of　credit；　like　a　bank　transaction。〃
　　〃Nothingness　is　staring　you　in　the　face。　Utter　and　permanent　oblivion。　You　will　cease　to　be。　To　be；　Jack。　The　dier　accepts　this　and　dies。　The　killer；　in　theory；　attempts　to　defeat　his　own　death　by　killing　others。　He　buys　time；　he　buys　life。　Watch　others　squirm。　See　the　blood　trickle　in　the　dust。〃
　　I　looked　at　him；　amazed。　He　drew　contentedly　on　his　pipe；　making　hollow　sounds。
　　〃It's　a　way　of　controlling　death。　A　way　of　gaining　the　ultimate　upper　hand。　Be　the　killer　for　a　change。　Let　someone　else　be　the　dier。　Let　him　replace　you；　theoretically；　in　that　role。　You　can't　die　if　he　does。　He　dies；　you　live。　See　how　marvelously　simple。〃
　　〃You　say　this　is　what　people　have　been　doing　for　centuries。〃
　　'They're　still　doing　it。　They　do　it　on　a　small　intimate　scale；　they　do　it　in　groups　and　crowds　and　masses。　Kill　to　live。〃
　　〃Sounds　pretty　awful。〃
　　He　seemed　to　shrug。　〃Slaughter　is　never　random。　The　more　people　you　kill；　the　more　power　you　gain　over　your　own　death。　There　is　a　secret　precision　at　work　in　the　most　savage　and　indiscriminate　killings。　To　speak　about　this　is　not　to　do　public　relations　for　murder。　We're　two　academics　in　an　intellectual　environment。　It's　our　duty　to　examine　currents　of　thought；　investigate　the　meaning　of　human　behavior。　But　think　how　exciting；　to　e　out　a　winner　in　a　deathly　struggle；　to　watch　the　bastard　bleed。〃
　　〃Plot　a　murder；　you're　saying。　But　every　plot　is　a　murder　in　effect。　To　plot　is　to　die；　whether　we　know　it　or　not。〃
　　'To　plot　is　to　live；〃　he　said。
　　I　looked　at　him。　I　studied　his　face；　his　hands。
　　〃We　start　our　lives　in　chaos；　in　babble。　As　we　surge　up　into　the　world；　we　try　to　devise　a　shape；　a　plan。　There　is　dignity　in　this。　Your　whole　life　is　a　plot；　a　scheme；　a　diagram。　It　is　a　failed　scheme　but　that's　not　the　point。　To　plot　is　to　affirm　life；　to　seek　shape　and　control。　Even　after　death；　most　particularly　after　death；　the　search　continues。　Burial　rites　are　an　attempt　to　plete　the　scheme；　in　ritual。　Picture　a　state　funeral；　Jack。　It　is　all　precision；　detail；　order；　design。　The　nation　holds　its　breath。　The　efforts　of　a　huge　and　powerful　government　are　brought　to　bear　on　a　ceremony　that　will　shed　the　last　trace　of　chaos。　If　all　goes　well；　if　they　bring　it　off；　some　natural　law　of　perfection　is　obeyed。　The　nation　is　delivered　from　anxiety；　the　deceased's　life　is　redeemed；　life　itself　is　strengthened；　reaffirmed。〃
　　〃Are　you　sure？〃　I　said。
　　〃To　plot；　to　take　aim　at　something；　to　shape　time　and　space。　This　is　how　we　advance　the　art　of　human　consciousness。〃
　　We　moved　in　a　wide　arc　back　toward　campus。　Streets　in　deep　and　soundless　shade；　garbage　bags　set　out　for　collection。　We　crossed　the　sunset　overpass；　pausing　briefly　to　watch　the　cars　shoot　by。　Sunlight　bouncing　off　the　glass　and　chrome。
　　〃Are　you　a　killer　or　a　dier；　Jack？〃
　　〃You　know　the　answer　to　that。　I've　been　a　dier　all　my　life。〃
　　〃What　can　you　do　about　it？〃
　　〃What　can　any　dier　do？　Isn't　it　implicit　in　his　makeup　that　he　can't　cross　over？〃
　　〃Let's　think　about　that。　Let's　examine　the　nature　of　the　beast；　so　to　speak。　The　male　animal。　Isn't　there　a　fund；　a　pool；　a　reservoir　of　potential　violence　in　the　male　psyche？〃
　　〃In　theory　I　suppose　there　is。〃
　　〃We're　talking　theory。　That's　exactly　what　we're　talking。　Two　friends　on　a　tree…shaded　street。　What　else　but　theory？　Isn't　there　a　deep　field；　a　sort　of　crude　oil　deposit　that　one　might　tap　if　and　when　the　occasion　warrants？　A　great　dark　lake　of　male　rage。〃
　　'That's　what　Babette　says。　Homicidal　rage。　You　sound　like　her。〃
　　〃Amazing　lady。　Is　she　right　or　wrong？〃
　　〃In　theory？　She's　probably　right。〃
　　〃Isn't　there　a　sludgy　region　you'd　rather　not　know　about？　A　remnant　of　some　prehistoric　period　when　dinosaurs　roamed　the　earth　and　men　fought　with　flint　tools？　When　to　kill　was　to　live？〃
　　〃Babette　talks　about　male　biology。　Is　it　biology　or　geology？〃
　　〃Does　it　matter；　Jack？　We　only　want　to　know　whether　it　is　there；　buried　in　the　most　prudent　and　unassuming　soul。〃
　　〃I　suppose　so。　It　can　be。　It　depends。〃
　　〃Is　it　or　isn't　it　there？〃
　　〃It's　there；　Murray。　So　what？〃
　　〃I　only　want　to　hear　you　say　it。　That's　all。　I　only　want　to　elicit　truths　you　already　possess；　truths　you've　always　known　at　some　basic　level。〃
　　〃Are　you　saying　a　dier　can　bee　a　killer？〃
　　〃I'm　only　a　visiting　lecturer。　I　theorize；　I　take　walks；　I　admire　the　trees　and　houses。　I　have　my　students；　my　rented　room；　my　TV　set。　I　pick　out　a　word　here；　an　image　there。　I　admire　the　lawns；　the　porche