"A do-it-yourselfer, eh?" said the orderly. "Messy business, Grandpa. Why don't you have a little consideration for the people who have to clean up after you?"
The painter expressed with an obscenity his lack of concern for the tribulations1 of his survivors2. "The world could do with a good deal more mess, if you ask me," he said.
The orderly laughed and moved on.
Wehling, the waiting father, mumbled3 something without raising his head. And then he fell silent again.
A coarse, formidable woman strode into the waiting room on spike4 heels. Her shoes, stockings, trench5 coat, bag and overseas cap were all purple, the purple the painter called "the color of grapes on Judgment6 Day."
The medallion on her purple musette bag was the seal of the Service Division of the Federal Bureau of Termination, an eagle perched on a turnstile.
The woman had a lot of facial hair—an unmistakable mustache, in fact. A curious thing about gas-chamber7 hostesses was that, no matter how lovely and feminine they were when recruited, they all sprouted8 mustaches within five years or so.
"Is this where I'm supposed to come?" she said to the painter.
"A lot would depend on what your business was," he said. "You aren't about to have a baby, are you?"
"They told me I was supposed to pose for some picture," she said. "My name's Leora Duncan." She waited.
"And you dunk people," he said.
"What?" she said.
"Skip it," he said.
"That sure is a beautiful picture," she said. "Looks just like heaven or something."
"Or something," said the painter. He took a list of names from his smock pocket. "Duncan, Duncan, Duncan," he said, scanning the list. "Yes—here you are. You're entitled to be immortalized. See any faceless body here you'd like me to stick your head on? We've got a few choice ones left."
She studied the mural bleakly9. "Gee," she said, "they're all the same to me. I don't know anything about art."
"A body's a body, eh?" he said. "All righty. As a master of fine art, I recommend this body here." He indicated a faceless figure of a woman who was carrying dried stalks to a trash-burner.
"Well," said Leora Duncan, "that's more the disposal people, isn't it? I mean, I'm in service. I don't do any disposing."
The painter clapped his hands in mock delight. "You say you don't know anything about art, and then you prove in the next breath that you know more about it than I do! Of course the sheave-carrier is wrong for a hostess! A snipper, a pruner—that's more your line." He pointed10 to a figure in purple who was sawing a dead branch from an apple tree. "How about her?" he said. "You like her at all?"
"Gosh—" she said, and she blushed and became humble—"that—that puts me right next to Dr. Hitz."
"That upsets you?" he said.
"Ah, You... you admire him, eh?" he said.
"Who doesn't admire him?" she said, worshiping the portrait of Hitz. It was the portrait of a tanned, white-haired, omnipotent12 Zeus, two hundred and forty years old. "Who doesn't admire him?" she said again. "He was responsible for setting up the very first gas chamber in Chicago."
"Nothing would please me more," said the painter, "than to put you next to him for all time. Sawing off a limb—that strikes you as appropriate?"
"That is kind of like what I do," she said. She was demure13 about what she did. What she did was make people comfortable while she killed them.
点击收听单词发音
1 tribulations | |
n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 );艰难;苦难的缘由;痛苦 | |
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2 survivors | |
幸存者,残存者,生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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3 mumbled | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 spike | |
n.长钉,钉鞋;v.以大钉钉牢,使...失效 | |
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5 trench | |
n./v.(挖)沟,(挖)战壕 | |
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6 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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7 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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8 sprouted | |
v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 );抽芽;出现;(使)涌现出 | |
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9 bleakly | |
无望地,阴郁地,苍凉地 | |
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10 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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11 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
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12 omnipotent | |
adj.全能的,万能的 | |
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13 demure | |
adj.严肃的;端庄的 | |
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