CORKY LAPUTA THRIVED IN THE RAIN. He wore a long shiny yellow slicker and a droopy yellow rain hat. He was as bright as a dandelion.
The slicker had many inside pockets, deep and weatherproof.
In his tall black rubber boots, two layers of socks kept his feet pleasantly warm.
He yearned1 for thunder.
He ached for lightning.
Storms in southern California, usually lacking crash and flash, were too quiet for his taste.
He liked the wind, however. Hissing2, hooting3, a champion of disorder4, it lent a sting to the rain and promised chaos5.
Ficus and pine trees shivered, shuddered6. Palm fronds7 clicked and clattered8.
Stripped leaves whirled in ragged9 green conjurations, short-lived demons10 that blew down into gutters11.
Eventually, clogging12 drain grills13, the leaves would be the cause of flooded streets, stalled cars, delayed ambulances, and many small but welcome miseries14.
[66] Here in the blustery, dripping midday, Corky walked a charming residential15 neighborhood in Studio City. Sowing disorder.
He didn’t live here. He never would.
This was a working-class neighborhood, managerial-class at best. Intellectual stimulation16 in such a place would be hard to find.
He had driven here to take a walk.
Emergency-yellow, blazing canary, he nevertheless passed along these streets with complete anonymity17, drawing as little notice as might a ghost whose substance was but a twist of ectoplasmic mist.
He had yet to encounter anyone on foot. Few cars traveled the quiet streets.
The weather kept most people snug18 indoors.
The glorious rotten weather was Corky’s fine conspirator19.
At this hour, of course, most residents of these houses were away at work. Toiling20, toiling, with stupid purpose.
Because this was a holiday week, children had not gone to school. Today: Monday. Christmas: Friday. Deck the halls.
Some children would be in the company of siblings21. A lesser22 number would be under the protection of a nonworking mother.
Others were home alone.
In this instance, however, children were not Corky’s avenue of expression. Here, they were safe from the yellow ghost passing among them.
Anyway, Corky was forty-two. Kids these days were too savvy23 to open their doors to strange men.
Welcome disorder and lovely decadence24 had deeply infected the world in recent years. Now the lambs of all ages were growing wary25.
He contented26 himself with lesser outrages27, just happy to be out in the storm and doing a little damage.
In one of his capacious inner pockets, he carried a plastic bag of glittering blue crystals. A wickedly powerful chemical defoliant.
The Chinese military had developed it. Prior to a war, their agents would sow this stuff in their enemy’s farms.
[67] The blue crystals withered28 crops through a twelve-month growing cycle. An enemy unable to feed itself cannot fight.
One of Corky’s colleagues at the university had accepted a grant to study the crystals for the Department of Defense29. They felt an urgent need to find a way to protect against the chemical in advance of its use.
In his lab, the colleague had a fifty-pound drum of the stuff. Corky had stolen one pound.
He wore thin protective latex gloves, which he could easily hide in the great winglike sleeves of his slicker.
The slicker was as much a scrape as a coat. The sleeves were so voluminous that he could withdraw his arms from them, search his interior pockets, and slip into the sleeves again with fistfuls of one poison or another.
He scattered31 blue crystals over primrose33 and liriope, over star jasmine and bougainvillea. Azaleas and ferns. Carpet roses, lantana.
The rain swiftly dissolved the crystals. The chemical seeped34 into the roots.
In a week, the plants would yellow, drop leaves. In two weeks, they would collapse35 in a muck of reeking36 rot.
Large trees would not be affected37 by the quantities that Corky could scatter32. Lawns, flowers, shrubs38, vines, and smaller trees would succumb39, however, in satisfying numbers.
He didn’t sow death in the landscaping of every house. One out of three, in no apparent pattern.
If an entire block of homes were blighted40, neighbors might be drawn41 closer by the shared catastrophe42. If some were untouched, they would become the envy of the afflicted43. And might arouse suspicion.
Corky’s mission was not merely to cause destruction. Any fool could wreck44 things. He intended also to spread dissension, distrust, discord45, and despair.
Occasionally a dog barked or growled46 from the shelter of a porch [68] where it was tethered or from within a doghouse behind a board fence or a stone wall.
Corky liked dogs. They were man’s best friend, though why they would want to fill that role remained a mystery, considering the vile47 nature of humanity.
Now and then, when he heard a dog, he fished tasty biscuits from an inner pocket. He tossed them onto porches, over fences.
In the interest of societal deconstruction, he could put aside his love of dogs and do what must be done. Sacrifices must be made.
You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs, and all that.
The dog biscuits were treated with cyanide. The animals would die far faster than the plants.
Few things would spread despair so effectively as the untimely death of a beloved pet.
Corky was sad. Sad for the luckless dogs.
He was happy, too. Happy that in a thousand little ways he daily contributed to the fall of a corrupt48 order—and therefore to the rise of a better world.
For the same reason that he didn’t damage the landscaping at every house, he didn’t kill every dog. Let neighbor suspect neighbor.
He wasn’t concerned that he would be caught in these poisonings. Entropy, the most powerful force in the universe, was his ally and his protecting god.
Besides, the at-home parents would be watching sleazy daytime talk shows on which daughters revealed to their mothers that they were whores, on which wives revealed to their husbands that they were having affairs with their brothers-in-law.
With school out, the kids would be busy learning homicidal skills from video games. Better yet, the pubescent boys would be surfing the Net for pornography, sharing it with innocent younger brothers, and scheming to rape30 the little girl next door.
Because he approved of those activities, Corky went about his [69] work as discreetly49 as possible, so as not to distract these people from their self-destruction.
Corky Laputa was not merely a dreary50 poisoner. He was a man of many talents and weapons.
From time to time, as he plodded51 along the puddled walkways, under the drizzling52 trees, he indulged in melody. He sang “Singin’ in the Rain,” of course, which might be trite53, but which amused him.
He did not dance.
Not that he couldn’t dance. Although not as limber and as right with rhythm as Gene54 Kelly, he could dazzle on any dance floor.
Capering55 along a street in a yellow slicker as roomy as any nun’s habit was, however, not wise behavior for an anarchist56 who preferred anonymity.
The streetside mailbox in front of each house always sported a number. Some boxes featured family names, as well.
Sometimes a name appeared to be Jewish. Stein. Levy57. Glickman.
At each of these boxes, Corky paused briefly58. He inserted one of the letter-size white envelopes that he carried by the score in another slicker pocket.
On each envelope, a black swastika. In each, two sheets of folded paper certain to instill fear and stoke anger.
On the first page, in bold block letters, were printed the words DEATH TO ALL DIRTY JEWS.
The photo on the second page showed bodies stacked ten deep in the furnace yard of a Nazi59 concentration camp. Under it in red block letters blazed the message YOU’RE NEXT.
Corky had no prejudice against the Jewish people. He held all races, religions, and ethnic60 groups in equal contempt.
At other special venues61, he had distributed DEATH TO ALL DIRTY CATHOLICS notices, DEATH TO ALL BLACKS, and IMPRISON62 ALL GUN OWNERS.
For decades, politicians had been controlling the people by [70] dividing them into groups and turning them against one another. All a good anarchist could do was try to intensify63 the existing hatreds64 and pour gasoline on the fires that the politicians had built.
Currently, hatred65 of Israel—and, by extension, all Jews—was the fashionable intellectual position among the most glamorous66 of media figures, including many nonreligious Jews. Corky was simply giving the people what they wanted.
Azalea to lantana to jasmine vine, dog to dog to mailbox, he journeyed through the rain-swept day. Seeding chaos.
Determined67 conspirators68 might be able to blow up skyscrapers69 and cause breathtaking destruction. Their work was helpful.
Ten thousand Corky Laputas—inventive, diligent—would in their quiet persistent70 way do more, however, to undermine the foundations of this society than all the suicide pilots and bombers71 combined.
For every thousand gunmen, Corky thought, I’d rather have one hate-filled teacher subtly propagandizing in a schoolroom, one day-care worker with an unslakable thirst for cruelty, one atheist72 priest hiding in cassock and alb and chasuble.
By a circuitous73 route, he came within sight of the BMW where he had parked it an hour and a half earlier. Right on schedule.
Spending too much time in a single neighborhood could be risky74. The wise anarchist keeps moving because entropy favors the rambler, and motion foils the law.
The dirty-milk clouds had churned lower during his stroll, coagulating into sooty curds75. In the storm gloom, in the wet shade of the oak tree, his silver sedan waited as dark as iron.
Trailers of bougainvillea lashed76 the air, casting off scarlet77 petals78, raking thorny79 nails against the stucco wall of a house, making sgraffito sounds: scratch-scratch, screek-screek.
Wind threw sheets, lashed whips, spun80 funnels81 of rain. Rain hissed82, sizzled, chuckled83, splashed.
Corky’s phone rang.
[71] He was still half a block from his car. He would miss the call if he waited to answer it in the BMW.
He slipped his right arm out of its sleeve, under his slicker, and un-clipped the phone from his belt.
Arm in sleeve again, phone to ear, toddling84 along as buttercup-yellow and as smile-evoking as any character in any TV program for children, Corky Laputa was in such a good mood that he answered the call by saying, “Brighten the corner where you are.”
The caller was Rolf Reynerd. As thick as Corky was yellow, Rolf thought he’d gotten a wrong number.
“It’s me,” Corky said quickly, before Reynerd could hang up.
By the time he reached the BMW, he wished he had never answered the phone. Reynerd had done something stupid.
1 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2 hissing | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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3 hooting | |
(使)作汽笛声响,作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 ); 倒好儿; 倒彩 | |
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4 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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5 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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6 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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7 fronds | |
n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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8 clattered | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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9 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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10 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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11 gutters | |
(路边)排水沟( gutter的名词复数 ); 阴沟; (屋顶的)天沟; 贫贱的境地 | |
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12 clogging | |
堵塞,闭合 | |
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13 grills | |
n.烤架( grill的名词复数 );(一盘)烤肉;格板;烧烤餐馆v.烧烤( grill的第三人称单数 );拷问,盘问 | |
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14 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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15 residential | |
adj.提供住宿的;居住的;住宅的 | |
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16 stimulation | |
n.刺激,激励,鼓舞 | |
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17 anonymity | |
n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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18 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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19 conspirator | |
n.阴谋者,谋叛者 | |
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20 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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21 siblings | |
n.兄弟,姐妹( sibling的名词复数 ) | |
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22 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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23 savvy | |
v.知道,了解;n.理解能力,机智,悟性;adj.有见识的,懂实际知识的,通情达理的 | |
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24 decadence | |
n.衰落,颓废 | |
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25 wary | |
adj.谨慎的,机警的,小心的 | |
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26 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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27 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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29 defense | |
n.防御,保卫;[pl.]防务工事;辩护,答辩 | |
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30 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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31 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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32 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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33 primrose | |
n.樱草,最佳部分, | |
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34 seeped | |
v.(液体)渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 );渗透;渗出;漏出 | |
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35 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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36 reeking | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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37 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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38 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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39 succumb | |
v.屈服,屈从;死 | |
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40 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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41 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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42 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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43 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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45 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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46 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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47 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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48 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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49 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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50 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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51 plodded | |
v.沉重缓慢地走(路)( plod的过去式和过去分词 );努力从事;沉闷地苦干;缓慢进行(尤指艰难枯燥的工作) | |
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52 drizzling | |
下蒙蒙细雨,下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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53 trite | |
adj.陈腐的 | |
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54 gene | |
n.遗传因子,基因 | |
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55 capering | |
v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的现在分词 );蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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56 anarchist | |
n.无政府主义者 | |
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57 levy | |
n.征收税或其他款项,征收额 | |
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58 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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59 Nazi | |
n.纳粹分子,adj.纳粹党的,纳粹的 | |
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60 ethnic | |
adj.人种的,种族的,异教徒的 | |
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61 venues | |
n.聚集地点( venue的名词复数 );会场;(尤指)体育比赛场所;犯罪地点 | |
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62 imprison | |
vt.监禁,关押,限制,束缚 | |
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63 intensify | |
vt.加强;变强;加剧 | |
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64 hatreds | |
n.仇恨,憎恶( hatred的名词复数 );厌恶的事 | |
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65 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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66 glamorous | |
adj.富有魅力的;美丽动人的;令人向往的 | |
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67 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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68 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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69 skyscrapers | |
n.摩天大楼 | |
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70 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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71 bombers | |
n.轰炸机( bomber的名词复数 );投弹手;安非他明胶囊;大麻叶香烟 | |
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72 atheist | |
n.无神论者 | |
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73 circuitous | |
adj.迂回的路的,迂曲的,绕行的 | |
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74 risky | |
adj.有风险的,冒险的 | |
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75 curds | |
n.凝乳( curd的名词复数 ) | |
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76 lashed | |
adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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77 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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78 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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79 thorny | |
adj.多刺的,棘手的 | |
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80 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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81 funnels | |
漏斗( funnel的名词复数 ); (轮船,火车等的)烟囱 | |
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82 hissed | |
发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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83 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84 toddling | |
v.(幼儿等)东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 );蹒跚行走;溜达;散步 | |
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