白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第28章

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！


nger　a　working　symptom　of　Nyodene　contamination。　It　had　been　preempted　by　a；　convulsions；　and　miscarriage。　If　Steffie　had　learned　about　déjà　vu　on　the　radio　but　then　missed　the　subsequent　upgrading　to　more　deadly　conditions；　it　could　mean　she　was　in　a　position　to　be　tricked　by　her　own　apparatus　of　suggestibility。　She　and　Denise　had　been　lagging　all　evening。　They　were　late　with　sweaty　palms；　late　with　nausea；　late　again　with　déjà　vu。　What　did　it　all　mean？　Did　Steffie　truly　imagine　she'd　seen　the　wreck　before　or　did　she　only　imagine　she'd　imagined　it？　Is　it　possible　to　have　a　false　perception　of　an　illusion？　Is　there　a　true　déjà　vu　and　a　false　déjà　vu？　I　wondered　whether　her　palms　had　been　truly　sweaty　or　whether　she'd　simply　imagined　a　sense　of　wetness。　And　was　she　so　open　to　suggestion　that　she　would　develop　every　symptom　as　it　was　announced？
　　I　feel　sad　for　people　and　the　queer　part　we　play　in　our　own　disasters。
　　But　what　if　she　hadn't　heard　the　radio；　didn't　know　what　déjà　vu　was？　What　if　she　was　developing　real　symptoms　by　natural　means？　Maybe　the　scientists　were　right　in　the　first　place；　with　their　original　announcements；　before　they　revised　upward。　Which　was　worse；　the　real　condition　or　the　self…created　one；　and　did　it　matter？　I　wondered　about　these　and　allied　questions。　As　I　drove　I　found　myself　giving　and　taking　an　oral　examination　based　on　the　kind　of　quibbling　fine…points　that　had　entertained　several　centuries'　worth　of　medieval　idlers。　Could　a　nine…year…old　girl　suffer　a　miscarriage　due　to　the　power　of　suggestion？　Would　she　have　to　be　pregnant　first？　Could　the　power　of　suggestion　be　strong　enough　to　work　backward　in　this　manner；　from　miscarriage　to　pregnancy　to　menstruation　to　ovulation？　Which　es　first；　menstruation　or　ovulation？　Are　we　talking　about　mere　symptoms　or　deeply　entrenched　conditions？　Is　a　symptom　a　sign　or　a　thing？　What　is　a　thing　and　how　do　we　know　it's　not　another　thing？
　　I　turned　off　the　radio；　not　to　help　me　think　but　to　keep　me　from　thinking。　Vehicles　lurched　and　skidded。　Someone　threw　a　gum　wrapper　out　a　side　window　and　Babette　made　an　indignant　speech　about　inconsiderate　people　littering　the　highways　and　countryside。
　　〃I'll　tell　you　something　else　that's　happened　before；〃　Heinrich　said。　〃We're　running　out　of　gas。〃
　　The　dial　quivered　on　E。
　　〃There's　always　extra；〃　Babette　said。
　　〃How　can　there　be　always　extra？〃
　　〃That's　the　way　the　tank　is　constructed。　So　you　don't　run　out。〃
　　〃There　can't　be　always　extra。　If　you　keep　going；　you　run　out。〃
　　〃You　don't　keep　going　forever。〃
　　〃How　do　you　know　when　to　stop？〃　he　said。
　　〃When　you　pass　a　gas　station；〃　I　told　him；　and　there　it　was；　a　deserted　and　rain…swept　plaza　with　proud　pumps　standing　beneath　an　array　of　multicolored　banners。　I　drove　in；　jumped　out　of　the　car；　ran　around　to　the　pumps　with　my　head　tucked　under　the　raised　collar　of　my　coat。　They　were　not　locked；　which　meant　the　attendants　had　fled　suddenly；　leaving　things　intriguingly　as　they　were；　like　the　tools　and　pottery　of　some　pueblo　civilization；　bread　in　the　oven；　table　set　for　three；　a　mystery　to　haunt　the　generations。　I　seized　the　hose　on　the　unleaded　pump。　The　banners　smacked　in　the　wind。
　　A　few　minutes　later；　back　on　the　road；　we　saw　a　remarkable　and　startling　sight。　It　appeared　in　the　sky　ahead　of　us　and　to　the　left；　prompting　us　to　lower　ourselves　in　our　seats；　bend　our　heads　for　a　clearer　view；　exclaim　to　each　other　in　half　finished　phrases。　It　was　the　black　billowing　cloud；　the　airborne　toxic　event；　lighted　by　the　clear　beams　of　seven　army　helicopters。　They　were　tracking　its　wíndborne　movement；　keeping　it　in　view。　In　every　car；　heads　shifted；　drivers　blew　their　horns　to　alert　others；　faces　appeared　in　side　windows；　expressions　set　in　tones　of　outlandish　wonderment。
　　The　enormous　dark　mass　moved　like　some　death　ship　in　a　Norse　legend；　escorted　across　the　night　by　armored　creatures　with　spiral　wings。　We　weren't　sure　how　to　react。　It　was　a　terrible　thing　to　see；　so　close；　so　low；　packed　with　chlorides；　benzines；　phenols；　hydrocarbons；　or　whatever　the　precise　toxic　content。　But　it　was　also　spectacular；　part　of　the　grandness　of　a　sweeping　event；　like　the　vivid　scene　in　the　switching　yard　or　the　people　trudging　across　the　snowy　overpass　with　children；　food；　belongings；　a　tragic　army　of　the　dispossessed。　Our　fear　was　acpanied　by　a　sense　of　awe　that　bordered　on　the　religious。　It　is　surely　possible　to　be　awed　by　the　thing　that　threatens　your　life；　to　see　it　as　a　cosmic　force；　so　much　larger　than　yourself；　more　powerful；　created　by　elemental　and　willful　rhythms。　This　was　a　death　made　in　the　laboratory；　defined　and　measurable；　but　we　thought　of　it　at　the　time　in　a　simple　and　primitive　way；　as　some　seasonal　perversity　of　the　earth　like　a　flood　or　tornado；　something　not　subject　to　control。　　Our　helplessness　did　not　seem　patible　with　the　idea　of　a　man…made　event。
　　In　the　back　seat　the　kids　fought　for　possession　of　the　binoculars。
　　The　whole　thing　was　amazing。　They　seemed　to　be　spotlighting　the　cloud　for　us　as　if　it　were　part　of　a　sound…and…light　show；　a　bit　of　mood…setting　mist　drifting　across　a　high　battlement　where　a　king　had　been　slain。　But　this　was　not　history　we　were　witnessing。　It　was　some　secret　festering　thing；　some　dreamed　emotion　that　acpanies　the　dreamer　out　of　sleep。　Flares　came　swooning　from　the　helicopters；　creamy　bursts　of　red　and　white　light。　Drivers　sounded　their　horns　and　children　crowded　all　the　windows；　faces　tilted；　pink　hands　pressed　against　the　glass。
　　The　road　curved　away　from　the　toxic　cloud　and　traffic　moved　more　freely　for　a　while。　At　an　intersection　near　the　Boy　Scout　camp；　two　schoolbuses　entered　the　mainstream　traffic；　both　carrying　the　insane　of　Blacksmith。　We　recognized　the　drivers；　spotted　familiar　faces　in　the　windows；　people　we　customarily　saw　sitting　on　lawn　chairs　behind　the　asylum's　sparse　hedges　or　walking　in　ever　narrowing　circles；　with　ever　increasing　speed；　like　spinning　masses　in　a　gyration　device。　We　felt　an　odd　affection　for　them　and　a　sense　of　relief　that　they　were　being　looked　after　in　a　diligent　and　professional　manner。　It　seemed　to　mean　the　structure　was　intact。
　　We　passed　a　sign　for　the　most　photographed　barn　in　America。
　　It　took　an　hour　to　funnel　traffic　into　the　single…lane　approach　to　the　camp。　Mylex…suited　men　waved　flashlights　and　set　out　Day…Glo　pylons；　directing　us　toward　the　parking　lot　and　onto　athletic　fields　and　other　open　areas。　People　came　out　of　the　woods；　some　wearing　headlamps；　some　carrying　shopping　bags；　children；　pets。　We　bumped　along　dirt　paths；　over　ruts　and　mounds。　Near　the　main　buildings　we　saw　a　group　of　men　and　women　carrying　clipboards　and　walkie…talkies；　non…Mylex…suited　officials；　experts　in　the　new　science　of　evacuation。　Steffie　joined　Wilder　in　fitful　sleep。　The　rain　let　up。　People　turned　off　their　headlights；　sat　uncertainly　in　their　cars。　The　long　strange　journey　was　over。　We　waited　for　a　sense　of　satisfaction　to　reach　us；　some　mood　in　the　air　of　quiet　acplishment；　the　well…earned　fatigue　that　promises　a　still　and　deep…lying　sleep。　But　people　sat　in　their　dark　cars　staring　out　at　each　other　through　closed　windows。　Heinrich　ate　a　candy　bar。　We　listened　to　the　sound　of　his　teeth　getting　stuck　in　the　caramel　and　glucose　mass。　Finally　a　family　of　five　got　out　of　a　Datsun　Maxima。　They　wore　life　jackets　and　carried　flares。
　　Small　crowds　collected　around　certain　men。　Here　were　the　sources　of　information　and　rumor。　One　person　worked　in　a　chemical　plant；　another　had　overheard　a　remark；　a　third　was　related　to　a　clerk　in　a　state　agency。　True；　false　and　other　kinds　of　news　radiated　through　the　dormitory　from　these　dense　clusters。
　　It　was　said　that　we　would　be　allowed　to　go　home　first　thing　in　the　morning；　that　the　government　was　engaged　in　a　cover…up；　that　a　helicopter　had　entered　the　toxic　cloud　and　never　reappeared；　that　the　dogs　had　arrived　from　New　Mexico；　parachuting　into　a　meadow　in　a　daring　night　drop；　that　the　town　of　Farmington　would　be　uninhabitable　for　forty　years。
　　Remarks　existed　in　a　state　of　permanent　flotation。　No　one　thing　was　either　more　or　less　plausible　than　any　other　thing。　As　people　jolted　out　of　reality；　we　were　released　fr