白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第8章

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tormented　arithmetic。　Waves　of　relief　and　gratitude　flowed　over　me。　The　system　had　blessed　my　life。　I　felt　its　support　and　approval。　The　system　hardware；　the　mainframe　sitting　in　a　locked　room　in　some　distant　city。　What　a　pleasing　interaction。　I　sensed　that　something　of　deep　personal　value；　but　not　money；　not　that　at　all；　had　been　authenticated　and　confirmed。　A　deranged　person　was　escorted　from　the　bank　by　two　armed　guards。　The　system　was　invisible；　which　made　it　all　the　more　impressive；　all　the　more　disquieting　to　deal　with。　But　we　were　in　accord；　at　least　for　now。　The　networks；　the　circuits；　the　streams；　the　harmonies。
　　11
　　I　woke　in　the　grip　of　a　death　sweat。　Defenseless　against　my　own　racking　fears。　A　pause　at　the　center　of　my　being。　I　lacked　the　will　and　physical　strength　to　get　out　of　bed　and　move　through　the　dark　house；　clutching　walls　and　stair　rails。　To　feel　my　way；　reinhabit　my　body；　re…enter　the　world。　Sweat　trickled　down　my　ribs。　The　digital　reading　on　the　clock…radio　was　3：51。　Always　odd　numbers　at　times　like　this。　What　does　it　mean？　Is　death　odd…numbered？　Are　there　life…enhancing　numbers；　other　numbers　charged　with　menace？　Babette　murmured　in　her　sleep　and　I　moved　close；　breathing　her　heat。
　　Finally　I　slept；　to　be　awakened　by　the　smell　of　burning　toast。　That　would　be　Steffie。　She　burns　toast　often；　at　any　hour；　intentionally。　She　loves　the　smell；　she　is　addicted；　it's　her　treasured　scent。　It　satisfies　her　in　ways　wood　smoke　cannot；　or　snuffed　candles；　or　the　odor　of　explosive　powder　drifting　down　the　street　from　firecrackers　set　off　on　the　Fourth。　She　has　evolved　orders　of　preference。　Burnt　rye；　burnt　white；　so　on。
　　I　put　on　my　robe　and　went　downstairs。　I　was　always　putting　on　a　bathrobe　and　going　somewhere　to　talk　seriously　to　a　child。　Babette　was　with　her　in　the　kitchen。　It　startled　me。　I　thought　she　was　still　in　bed。
　　〃Want　some　toast？〃　Steffie　said。
　　〃I'll　be　fifty…one　next　week。〃
　　〃That's　not　old；　is　it？〃
　　〃I've　felt　the　same　for　twenty…five　years。〃
　　〃Bad。　How　old　is　my　mother？〃
　　〃She's　still　young。　She　was　only　twenty　when　we　were　married　the　first　time。〃
　　〃Is　she　younger　than　Baba？〃
　　〃About　the　same。　Just　so　you　don't　think　I'm　one　of　those　men　who　keeps　finding　younger　women。〃
　　I　wasn't　sure　whether　my　replies　were　meant　for　Steffie　or　Babette。　This　happens　in　the　kitchen；　where　the　levels　of　data　are　numerous　and　deep；　as　Murray　might　say。
　　〃Is　she　still　in　the　CIA？〃　Steffie　said。
　　〃We're　not　supposed　to　talk　about　that。　She's　just　a　contract　agent　anyway。〃
　　〃What's　that？〃
　　〃That's　what　people　do　today　for　a　second　ine。〃
　　〃What　exactly　does　she　do？〃　Babette　said。
　　〃She　gets　a　phone　call　from　Brazil。　That　activates　her。〃
　　〃Then　what？〃
　　〃She　carries　money　in　a　suitcase　the　length　and　breadth　of　Latin　America。〃
　　〃That's　all？　I　could　do　that。〃
　　〃Sometimes　they　send　her　books　to　review。〃
　　〃Have　I　met　her？〃　Babette　said。
　　〃No。〃
　　〃Do　I　know　her　name？〃
　　〃Dana　Breedlove。〃
　　Steffie's　lips　formed　the　words　as　I　spoke　them。
　　〃You're　not　planning　to　eat　that；　are　you？〃　I　said　to　her。
　　〃I　always　eat　my　toast。〃
　　The　phone　rang　and　I　picked　it　up。　A　woman's　voice　delivered　a　high…performance　hello。　It　said　it　was　puter…generated；　part　of　a　marketing　survey　aimed　at　determining　current　levels　of　consumer　desire。　It　said　it　would　ask　a　series　of　questions；　pausing　after　each　to　give　me　a　chance　to　reply。
　　I　gave　the　phone　to　Steffie。　When　it　became　clear　that　she　was　occupied　with　the　synthesized　voice；　I　spoke　to　Babette　in　low　tones。
　　〃She　liked　to　plot。〃
　　〃Who？〃
　　〃Dana。　She　liked　to　get　me　involved　in　things。〃
　　〃What　kind　of　things？〃
　　〃Factions。　Playing　certain　friends　against　other　friends。　Household　plots；　faculty　plots。〃
　　〃Sounds　like　ordinary　stuff。〃
　　〃She　spoke　English　to　me；　Spanish　or　Portuguese　to　the　telephone。〃
　　Steffie　twisted　around；　used　her　free　hand　to　pull　her　sweater　away　from　her　body；　enabling　her　to　read　the　label。
　　〃Virgin　acrylic；〃　she　said　into　the　phone。
　　Babette　checked　the　label　on　her　sweater。　A　soft　rain　began　to　fall。
　　〃How　does　it　feel　being　nearly　fifty…one？〃　she　said。
　　〃No　different　from　fifty。〃
　　〃Except　one　is　even；　one　is　odd；〃　she　pointed　out。
　　That　night；　in　Murray's　off…white　room；　after　a　spectacular　meal　of　Cornish　hen　in　the　shape　of　a　frog；　prepared　on　a　two…burner　hot　plate；　we　moved　from　our　metal　folding　chairs　to　the　bunk　bed　for　coffee。
　　〃When　I　was　a　sportswriter；〃　Murray　said；　〃I　traveled　constantly；　lived　in　planes　and　hotels　and　stadium　smoke；　never　got　to　feel　at　home　in　my　own　apartment。　Now　I　have　a　place。〃
　　〃You've　done　wonders；〃　Babette　said；　her　gaze　sweeping　desperately　across　the　room。
　　〃It's　small；　it's　dark；　it's　plain；〃　he　said　in　a　self…satisfied　way。　〃A　container　for　thought。〃
　　I　gestured　toward　the　old　four…story　building　on　several　acres　across　the　street。　〃Do　you　get　any　noise　from　the　insane　asylum？〃
　　〃You　mean　beatings　and　shrieks？　It's　interesting　that　people　still　call　it　the　insane　asylum。　It　must　be　the　striking　architecture；　the　high　steep　roof；　the　tall　chimneys；　the　columns；　the　little　flourishes　here　and　there　that　are　either　quaint　or　sinister—I　can't　make　up　my　mind。　It　doesn't　look　like　a　rest　home　or　psychiatric　facility。　It　looks　like　an　insane　asylum。〃
　　His　trousers　were　going　shiny　at　the　knees。
　　〃I'm　sorry　you　didn't　bring　the　kids。　I　want　to　get　to　know　small　kids。　This　is　the　society　of　kids。　I　tell　my　students　they're　already　too　old　to　Figure　importantly　in　the　making　of　society。　Minute　by　minute　they're　beginning　to　diverge　from　each　other。　'Even　as　we　sit　here；'　I　tell　them；　'you　are　spinning　out　from　the　core；　being　less　recognizable　as　a　group；　less　targetable　by　advertisers　and　mass…producers　of　culture。　Kids　are　a　true　universal。　But　you're　well　beyond　that；　already　beginning　to　drift；　to　feel　estranged　from　the　products　you　consume。　Who　are　they　designed　for？　What　is　your　place　in　the　marketing　scheme？　Once　you're　out　of　school；　it　is　only　a　matter　of　time　before　you　experience　the　vast　loneliness　and　dissatisfaction　of　consumers　who　have　lost　their　group　identity。'　Then　I　tap　my　pencil　on　the　table　to　indicate　time　passing　ominously。〃
　　Because　we　were　seated　on　the　bed；　Murray　had　to　lean　well　forward；　looking　past　the　coffee　cup　poised　in　my　hand；　in　order　to　address　Babette。
　　〃How　many　children　do　you　have；　all　told？〃
　　She　appeared　to　pause。
　　〃There's　Wilder；　of　course。　There's　Denise。〃
　　Murray　sipped　his　coffee；　trying　to　look　at　her；　sideways；　with　the　cup　at　his　lower　lip。
　　'There's　Eugene；　who's　living　with　his　daddy　this　year　in　Western　Australia。　Eugene　is　eight。　His　daddy　does　research　in　the　outback。　His　daddy　is　also　Wilder's　daddy。〃
　　〃The　boy　is　growing　up　without　television；〃　I　said；　〃which　may　make　him　worth　talking　to；　Murray；　as　a　sort　of　wild　child；　a　savage　plucked　from　the　bush；　intelligent　and　literate　but　deprived　of　the　deeper　codes　and　messages　that　mark　his　species　as　unique。〃
　　〃TV　is　a　problem　only　if　you've　forgotten　how　to　look　and　listen；〃　Murray　said。　〃My　students　and　I　discuss　this　all　the　time。　They're　beginning　to　feel　they　ought　to　turn　against　the　medium；　exactly　as　an　earlier　generation　turned　against　their　parents　and　their　country。　I　tell　them　they　have　to　learn　to　look　as　children　again。　Root　out　content。　Find　the　codes　and　messages；　to　use　your　phrase；　Jack。〃
　　〃What　do　they　say　to　that？〃
　　〃Television　is　just　another　name　for　junk　mail。　But　I　tell　them　I　can't　accept　that。　I　tell　them　I've　been　sitting　in　this　room　for　more　than　two　months；　watching　TV　into　the　early　hours；　listening　carefully；　taking　notes。　A　great　and　humbling　experience；　let　me　tell　you。　Close　to　mystical。〃
　　〃What's　your　conclusion？〃
　　He　crossed　his　legs　primly　and　sat　with　the　cup　in　his　lap；　smiling　straight　ahead。
　　〃Waves　and　radiation；〃　he　said。　〃I've　e　to　understand　that　the　medium　is　a　primal　force　in　the　American　home。　Sealed…off；　timeless；　self…contained；　self…referring。　It's　like　a　myth　being　born　right　there　in　our　living　room；　like　something　we　know　in　a　dreamlike　and　preconscious　way。　I'm　very　enthused；　Jack。〃
　　He　looked　at　me；　still　smiling　in　a　half　sneaky　way。
　　〃You　have　to　learn　how　to　look。　You　have　to　open　yourself　to　the　data。　TV　offers　incredible　amounts　of　psychic　data。　It　opens　ancient　memories　of　world　birth；　it　weles　us　into　the　grid；　the　network　of　little　buzzing　dots　that　make　up　the　picture　pattern。　There　is　light；　there　is　sound。　I　ask　my　students；　'What　more　do　you　want？'　Look　at　the　wealth　of　data　concealed　in　the　grid；　in　the　bright　packaging；　the　jingles；　the　slice…of…life　mercials；　the　products　hurtling　out　of　darkness；　the　coded　messages　and　endless　repetitions；　like　chants；　like　mantras。　'Coke　is　it；　Coke　is　it；　Coke　is　it。'　The　medium　practically　overflows　with　sacred　formulas　if　we　can　remember　how　to　respond　innocently　and　get　past　our　irritation；　weariness　and　disgust。〃
　　〃But　your　students　don't　agree。〃
　　〃Worse　than　junk　mail。　Television　is　the　death　throes　of　human　consciousness；　according　to　them。　They're　ashamed　of　their　television　past。　They　want　to　talk　about　movies。〃
　　He　got　up　and　refilled　our　cups。
　　〃How　do　you　know　so　much？〃　Babette　said。
　　〃I'm　from　New　York。〃
　　〃The　more　you　talk；　the　sneakier　you　look；　as　if　you're　trying　to　put　something　over　on　us。〃
　　〃The　best　talk　is　seductive。〃
　　〃Have　you　ever　been　married？〃　she　said。
　　〃Once；　briefly。　I　was　covering　the　Jets；　the　Mets　and　the　Nets。
　　How　odd　a　figure　I　must　seem　to　you　now；　a　solitary　crank　who　maroons　himself　with　a　TV　set　and　dozens　of　stacks　of　dust…jacketed　ic　books。　Don't　think　I　wouldn't　appreciate　a　dramatic　visit　between　two　and　three　in　the　morning；〃　he　told　her；　〃from　an　intelligent　woman　in　spike　heels　and　a　slit　skirt；　with　high…impact　accessories。〃
　　It　was　drizzling　as　we　walked　home；　my　arm　around　her　waist。　The　streets　were　empty。　Along　Elm　all　the　stores　were　dark；　the　two　banks　were　dimly　lit；　the　neon　spectacles　in　the　window　of　the　optical　shop　cast　a　gimmicky　light　on　the　sidewalk。
　　Dacron；　Orion；　Lycra　Spandex。
　　〃I　know　I　forget　things；〃　she　said；　〃but　I　didn't　know　it　was　so　obvious。〃
　　〃It　isn't。〃
　　〃Did　you　hear　Denise？　When　was　it；　last　week？〃
　　〃Denise　is　smart　and　tough。　No　one　else　notices。〃
　　〃I　dial　a　number　on　the　phone　and　forget　who　I'm　calling。　I　go　to　the　store　and　forget　what　to　buy。　Someone　will　tell　me　something；　I'll　forget　it；　they'll　tell　me　again；　I'll　forget　it；　they'll　tell　me　again；　showing　a　funny…looking　smile。〃
　　〃We　all　forget；〃　I　said。
　　〃I　forget　names；　faces；　phone　numbers；　addresses；　appointments；　instructions；　directions。〃
　　〃It's　something　that's　just　been　happening；　more　or　less　to　everyone。〃
　　〃I　forget　that　Steff？e　doesn't　like　to　be　called　Stephanie。　Sometimes　I　call　her　Denise。　I　forget　where　I've　parked　the　car　and　then　for　a　long；　long　moment　I　forget　what　the　car　looks　like。〃
　　〃Forgetfulness　has　gotten　into　the　air　and　water。　It's　entered　the　food　chain。〃
　　〃Maybe　it's　the　gum　I　chew。　Is　that　too　farfetched？〃
　　〃Maybe　it's