白噪音(White Noise) (英文版)作者:唐·德里罗(Don DeLillo)-第35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！


m　of　heat　and　fur　and　stored　power。
　　In　the　barracks　almost　everyone　was　sleeping。　I　made　my　way　along　a　dim　wall。　The　massed　bodies　lay　in　heavy　rest；　seeming　to　emit　a　single　nasal　sigh。　Figures　stirred；　a　wide…eyed　Asian　child　watched　me　step　among　a　dozen　clustered　sleeping　bags。　Colored　lights　skipped　past　my　right　ear。　I　heard　a　toilet　flush。
　　Babette　was　curled　on　an　air　mattress；　covered　in　her　coat。　My　son　slept　sitting　in　a　chair　like　some　boozed　muter；　head　rolling　on　his　chest。　I　carried　a　camp　chair　over　to　the　cot　where　the　younger　children　were。　Then　I　sat　there；　leaning　forward；　to　watch　them　sleep。
　　A　random　tumble　of　heads　and　dangled　limbs。　In　those　soft　warm　faces　was　a　quality　of　trust　so　absolute　and　pure　that　I　did　not　want　to　think　it　might　be　misplaced。　There　must　be　something；　somewhere；　large　and　grand　and　redoubtable　enough　to　justify　this　shining　reliance　and　implicit　belief。　A　feeling　of　desperate　piety　swept　over　me。　It　was　cosmic　in　nature；　full　of　yearnings　and　Teachings。　It　spoke　of　vast　distances；　awesome　but　subtle　forces。　These　sleeping　children　were　like　figures　in　an　ad　for　the　Rosicrucians；　drawing　a　powerful　beam　of　light　from　somewhere　off　the　page。　Steffie　turned　slightly；　then　muttered　something　in　her　sleep。　It　seemed　important　that　I　know　what　it　was。　In　my　current　state；　bearing　the　death　impression　of　the　Nyodene　cloud；　I　was　ready　to　search　anywhere　for　signs　and　hints；　intimations　of　odd　fort。　I　pulled　my　chair　up　closer。　Her　face　in　pouchy　sleep　might　have　been　a　structure　designed　solely　to　protect　the　eyes；　those　great；　large　and　apprehensive　things；　prone　to　color　phases　and　a　darting　alertness；　to　a　perception　of　distress　in　others。　I　sat　there　watching　her。　Moments　later　she　spoke　again。　Distinct　syllables　this　time；　not　some　dreamy　murmur—but　a　language　not　quite　of　this　world。　I　struggled　to　understand。　I　was　convinced　she　was　saying　something；　fitting　together　units　of　stable　meaning。　I　watched　her　face；　waited。　Ten　minutes　passed。　She　uttered　two　clearly　audible　words；　familiar　and　elusive　at　the　same　time；　words　that　seemed　to　have　a　ritual　meaning；　part　of　a　verbal　spell　or　ecstatic　chant。
　　Toyota　Celica。
　　A　long　moment　passed　before　I　realized　this　was　the　name　of　an　automobile。　The　truth　only　amazed　me　more。　The　utterance　was　beautiful　and　mysterious；　gold…shot　with　looming　wonder。　It　was　like　the　name　of　an　ancient　power　in　the　sky；　tablet…carved　in　cuneiform。　It　made　me　feel　that　something　hovered。　But　how　could　this　be？　A　simple　brand　name；　an　ordinary　car。　How　could　these　near…nonsense　words；　murmured　in　a　child's　restless　sleep；　make　me　sense　a　meaning；　a　presence？　She　was　only　repeating　some　TV　voice。　Toyota　Corolla；　Toyota　Celica；　Toyota　Cressida。　Supranational　names；　puter…generated；　more　or　less　universally　pronounceable。　Part　of　every　child's　brain　noise；　the　substatic　regions　too　deep　to　probe。　Whatever　its　source；　the　utterance　struck　me　with　the　impact　of　a　moment　of　splendid　transcendence。
　　I　depend　on　my　children　for　that。
　　I　sat　a　while　longer；　watching　Denise；　watching　Wilder；　feeling　selfless　and　spiritually　large。　There　was　an　empty　air　mattress　on　the　floor　but　I　wanted　to　share　Babette's　and　eased　myself　next　to　her　body；　a　dreaming　mound。　Her　hands；　feet　and　face　were　drawn　under　the　sheltering　coat；　only　a　burst　of　hair　remained。　I　fell　at　once　into　marine　oblivion；　a　deep…dwelling　crablike　consciousness；　silent　and　dreamless。
　　It　seemed　only　minutes　later　that　I　was　surrounded　by　noise　and　motion。　I　opened　my　eyes　to　find　Denise　pounding　on　my　arms　and　shoulders。　When　she　saw　I　was　awake；　she　began　battering　her　mother。　All　around　us；　people　were　dressing　and　packing。　The　major　noise　issued　from　sirens　in　the　ambulettes　outside。　A　voice　was　instructing　us　through　a　bullhorn。　In　the　distance　I　heard　a　clanging　bell　and　then　a　series　of　automobile　horns；　the　first　of　what　would　bee　a　universal　bleat；　a　herd…panic　of　terrible　wailing　proportions　as　vehicles　of　all　sizes　and　types　tried　to　reach　the　parkway　in　the　quickest　possible　time。
　　I　managed　to　sit　up。　Both　girls　were　trying　to　rouse　Babette。　The　room　was　emptying　out。　I　saw　Heinrich　staring　down　at　me；　an　enigmatic　grin　on　his　face。　The　amplified　voice　said：　〃Wind　change；　wind　change。　Cloud　has　changed　direction。　Toxic；　toxic；　heading　here。〃。
　　Babette　turned　over　on　the　mattress；　sighing　contentedly。　〃Five　more　minutes；　〃she　said。　The　girls　rained　blows　on　her　head　and　arms。
　　I　got　to　my　feet；　looked　around　for　a　men's　room。　Wilder　was　dressed；　eating　a　cookie　while　he　waited。　Again　the　voice　spoke；　like　singsong　patter　on　a　department…store　loudspeaker；　amid　the　perfumed　counters　and　chiming　bells：　〃Toxic；　toxic。　Proceed　to　your　vehicle；　proceed　to　your　vehicle。〃
　　Denise；　who　was　clutching　her　mother　by　the　wrist；　flung　the　entire　arm　down　on　the　mattress。　〃Why　does　he　have　to　say　everything　twice？　We　get　it　the　first　time。　He　just　wants　to　hear　himself　talk。〃
　　They　got　Babette　up　on　all　fours。　I　hurried　off　to　the　toilet。　I　had　my　toothpaste　but　couldn't　find　the　brush。　I　spread　some　paste　on　my　index　finger　and　ran　the　finger　across　my　teeth。　When　I　got　back；　they　were　dressed　and　ready；　heading　for　the　exit。　A　woman　with　an　armband　handed　out　masks　at　the　door；　gauzy　white　surgical　masks　that　covered　the　nose　and　mouth。　We　took　six　and　went　outside。
　　It　was　still　dark。　A　heavy　rain　fell。　Before　us　lay　a　scene　of　panoramic　disorder。　Cars　trapped　in　mud；　cars　stalled；　cars　crawling　along　the　one…lane　escape　route；　cars　taking　shortcuts　through　the　woods；　cars　hemmed　in　by　trees；　boulders；　other　cars。　Sirens　called　and　faded；　horns　blared　in　desperation　and　protest。　There　were　running　men；　tents　wind…blown　into　trees；　whole　families　abandoning　their　vehicles　to　head　on　foot　for　the　parkway。　From　deep　in　the　woods　we　heard　motorcycles　revving；　voices　raising　incoherent　cries。　It　was　like　the　fall　of　a　colonial　capital　to　dedicated　rebels。　A　great　surging　drama　with　elements　of　humiliation　and　guilt。
　　We　put　on　our　masks　and　ran　through　the　downpour　to　our　car。　Not　ten　yards　away　a　group　of　men　proceeded　calmly　to　a　Land…Rover。　They　resembled　instructors　in　jungle　warfare；　men　with　lean　frames　and　long　boxy　heads。　They　drove　straight　into　dense　underbrush；　not　only　away　from　the　dirt　road　but　away　from　all　the　other　cars　attempting　shortcuts。　Their　bumper　sticker　read　GUN　CONTROL　IS　MIND　CONTROL。　In　situations　like　this；　you　want　to　stick　close　to　people　in　right…wing　fringe　groups。　They've　practiced　staying　alive。　I　followed　with　some　difficulty；　our　smallish　wagon　jouncing　badly　in　brush　tangles；　up　inclines；　over　hidden　stones。　Inside　five　minutes　the　Land…Rover　was　out　of　sight。
　　Rain　turned　to　sleet；　sleet　to　snow。
　　I　saw　a　line　of　headlights　far　to　the　right　and　drove　fifty　yards　through　a　gulley　in　that　direction；　the　car　heeled　like　a　toboggan。　We　did　not　seem　to　be　getting　closer　to　the　lights。　Babette　turned　on　the　radio　and　we　were　told　that　the　Boy　Scout　camp　evacuees　were　to　head　for　Iron　City；　where　arrangements　were　being　made　to　provide　food　and　shelter。　We　heard　horns　blowing　and　thought　it　was　a　reaction　to　the　radio　announcement　but　they　continued　in　a　rapid　and　urgent　cadence；　conveying　through　the　stormy　night　a　sense　of　animal　fear　and　warning。
　　Then　we　heard　the　rotors。　Through　the　stark　trees　we　saw　it；　the　immense　toxic　cloud；　lighted　now　by　eighteen　choppers—　immense　almost　beyond　prehension；　beyond　legend　and　rumor；　a　roiling　bloated　slug…shaped　mass。　It　seemed　to　be　generating　its　own　inner　storms。　There　were　cracklings　and　sputterings；　flashes　of　light；　long　looping　streaks　of　chemical　flame。　The　car　horns　blared　and　moaned。　The　helicopters　throbbed　like　giant　appliances。　We　sat　in　the　car；　in　the　snowy　woods；　saying　nothing。　The　great　cloud；　beyond　its　turbulent　core；　was　silver…tipped　in　the　spotlights。　It　moved　horribly　and　sluglike　through　the　night；　the　choppers　seeming　to　putter　ineffectually　around　its　edges。　In　its　tremendous　size；　its　dark　and　bulky　menace；　its　escorting　aircraft；　the　cloud　resembled　a　national　promotion　for　death；　a　multimillion…dollar　campaign　backed　by　radio　spots；