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！
nd of rude health。 They glow a little。〃
〃I have trouble imagining death at that ine level；〃 she said。
〃Maybe there is no death as we know it。 Just documents changing hands。〃
〃Not that we don't have a station wagon ourselves。〃
〃It's small； it's metallic gray； it has one whole rusted door。〃
〃Where is Wilder？〃 she said； routinely panic…stricken； calling out to the child； one of hers； sitting motionless on his tricycle in the backyard。
Babette and I do our talking in the kitchen。 The kitchen and the bedroom are the major chambers around here； the power haunts； the sources。 She and I are alike in this； that we regard the rest of the house as storage space for furniture； toys； all the unused objects of earlier marriages and different sets of children； the gifts of lost in…laws； the hand…me…downs and rummages。 Things； boxes。 Why do these possessions carry such sorrowful weight？ There is a darkness attached to them； a foreboding。 They make me wary not of personal failure and defeat but of something more general； something large in scope and content。
She came in with Wilder and seated him on the kitchen counter。 Denise and Steffie came downstairs and we talked about the school supplies they would need。 Soon it was time for lunch。 We entered a period of chaos and noise。 We milled about； bickered a little； dropped utensils。 Finally we were all satisfied with what we'd been able to snatch from the cupboards and refrigerator or swipe from each other and we began quietly plastering mustard or mayonnaise on our brightly colored food。 The mood was one of deadly serious anticipation； a reward hard…won。 The table was crowded and Babette and Denise elbowed each other twice； although neither spoke。 Wilder was still seated on the counter surrounded by open cartons； crumpled tinfoil； shiny bags of potato chips； bowls of pasty substances covered with plastic wrap； flip…top rings and twist ties； individually wrapped slices of orange cheese。 Heinrich came in； studied the scene carefully； my only son； then walked out the back door and disappeared。
〃This isn't the lunch I'd planned for myself；〃 Babette said。 〃I was seriously thinking yogurt and wheat germ。〃
〃Where have we heard that before？〃 Denise said。
〃Probably right here；〃 Steffie said。
〃She keeps buying that stuff。〃
〃But she never eats it；〃 Steffie said。
〃Because she thinks if she keeps buying it； she'll have to eat it just to get rid of it。 It's like she's trying to trick herself。〃
〃It takes up half the kitchen。〃
〃But she throws it away before she eats it because it goes bad；〃 Denise said。 〃So then she starts the whole thing all over again。〃
〃Wherever you look；〃 Steffie said； 〃there it is。〃
〃She feels guilty if she doesn't buy it； she feels guilty if she buys it and doesn't eat it； she feels guilty when she sees it in the fridge； she feels guilty when she throws it away。〃
〃It's like she smokes but she doesn't；〃 Steffie said。
Denise was eleven； a hard…nosed kid。 She led a more or less daily protest against those of her mother's habits that struck her as wasteful or dangerous。 I defended Babette。 I told her I was the one who needed to show discipline in matters of diet。 I reminded her how much I liked the way she looked。 I suggested there was an honesty inherent in bulkiness if it is just the right amount。 People trust a certain amount of bulk in others。
But she was not happy with her hips and thighs； walked at a rapid clip； ran up the stadium steps at the neoclassical high school。
She said I made virtues of her flaws because it was my nature to shelter loved ones from the truth。 Something lurked inside the truth； she said。
The smoke alarm went off in the hallway upstairs； either to 'et us know the battery had just died or because the house was on fire。 We finished our lunch in silence。
3
Department heads wear academic robes at the College…on…the…Hill。 Not grand sweeping full…length affairs but sleeveless tunics puckered at the shoulders。 I like the idea。 I like clearing my arm from the folds of the garment to look at my watch。 The simple act of checking the time is transformed by this flourish。 Decorative gestures add romance to a life。 Idling students may see time itself as a plex embellishment； a romance of human consciousness； as they witness the chairman walking across campus； crook'd arm emerging from his medieval robe； the digital watch blinking in late summer dusk。 The robe is black； of course； and goes with almost anything。
There is no Hitler building as such。 We are quartered in Centenary Hall； a dark brick structure we share with the popular culture department； known officially as American environments。 A curious group。 The teaching staff is posed almost solely of New York émigrés； smart； thuggish； movie…mad； trivia…crazed。 They are here to decipher the natural language of the culture； to make a formal method of the shiny pleasures they'd known in their Europe…shadowed childhoods—an Aristotelianism of bubble gum wrappers and detergent jingles。 The department head is Alfonse （Fast Food） Stompanato； a broad…chested glowering man whose collection of prewar soda pop bottles is on permanent display in an alcove。 All his teachers are male； wear rumpled clothes； need haircuts； cough into their armpits。 Together they look like teamster officials assembled to identify the body of a mutilated colleague。 The impression is one of pervasive bitterness； suspicion and intrigue。
An exception to some of the above is Murray Jay Siskind； an ex…sportswriter who asked me to have lunch with him in the dining room； where the institutional odor of vaguely defined food aroused in me an obscure and gloomy memory。 Murray was new to the Hill； a stoop…shouldered man with little round glasses and an Amish beard。 He was a visiting lecturer on living icons and seemed embarrassed by what he'd gleaned so far from his colleagues in popular culture。
〃I understand the music； I understand the movies； I even see how ic books can tell us things。 But there are full professors in this place who read nothing but cereal boxes。〃
〃It's the only avant…garde we've got。〃
〃Not that I'm plaining。 I like it here。 I'm totally enamored of this place。 A small…town setting。 I want to be free of cities and sexual entanglements。 Heat。 This is what cities mean to me。 You get off the train and walk out of the station and you are hit with the full blast。 The heat of air； traffic and people。 The heat of food and sex。 The heat of tall buildings。 The heat that floats out of the subways and the tunnels。 It's always fifteen degrees hotter in the cities。 Heat rises from the sidewalks and falls from the poisoned sky。 The buses breathe heat。 Heat emanates from crowds of shoppers and office workers。 The entire infrastructure is based on heat； desperately uses up heat； breeds more heat。 The eventual heat death of the universe that scientists love to talk about is already well underway and you can feel it happening all around you in any large or medium…sized city。 Heat and wetness。〃
〃Where are you living； Murray？〃
〃In a rooming house。 I'm totally captivated and intrigued。 It's a gorgeous old crumbling hous