I drove twice around the foundry, looking for signs of some erstwhile German presence. I drove past the row houses.
They were set on a steep hill, narrow-fronted frame houses, a climbing line of pitched roofs. I drove past the busterminal, through the beating rain. It took a while to find the motel, a one-story building set against the concrete pierof an elevated roadway. It was called the Roadway Motel.
Transient pleasures, drastic measures.
The area was deserted1, a spray-painted district of warehouses2 and light industry. The motel had nine or ten rooms, alldark, no cars out front. I drove past three times, studying the scene, and parked half a block away, in the rubble3 underthe roadway. Then I walked back to the motel. Those were the first three elements in my plan.
Here is my plan. Drive past the scene several times, park some distance from the scene, go back on foot, locate Mr.
Gray under his real name or an alias4, shoot him three times in the viscera for maximum pain, clear the weapon ofprints, place the weapon in the victim's staticky hand, find a crayon or lipstick5 tube and scrawl6 a cryptic7 suicide noteon the full-length mirror, take the victim's supply of Dylar tablets, slip back to the car, proceed to the expresswayentrance, head east toward Blacksmith, get off at the old river road, park Stover's car in Old Man Treadwell's garage,shut the garage door, walk home in the rain and the fog.
Elegant. My airy mood returned. I was advancing in consciousness. I watched myself take each separate step. Witheach separate step, I became aware of processes, components9, things relating to other things. Water fell to earth indrops. I saw things new.
There was an aluminum10 awning11 over the office door. On the door itself were little plastic letters arranged in slots tospell out a message. The message was: NU MISH BOOT ZUP KO.
Gibberish but high-quality gibberish. I made my way along the wall, looking through the windows. My plan was this.
Stand at the edges of windows with my back to the wall, swivel my head to look peripherally12 into rooms. Somewindows were bare, some had blinds or dusty shades. I could make out the rough outlines of chairs or beds in thedark rooms. Trucks rumbled13 overhead. In the next to last unit, there was the scantest14 flicker15 of light. I stood at theedge of the window, listening. I swiveled my head, looked into the room out of the corner of my right eye. A figuresat in a low armchair looking up at the flickering16 light. I sensed I was part of a network of structures and channels. Iknew the precise nature of events. I was moving closer to things in their actual state as I approached a violence, asmashing intensity17. Water fell in drops, surfaces gleamed.
It occurred to me that I did not have to knock. The door would be open. I gripped the knob, eased the door open,slipped into the room. Stealth. It was easy. Everything would be easy. I stood inside the room, sensing things, notingthe room tone, the dense18 air. Information rushed toward me, rushed slowly, incrementally19. The figure was male, ofcourse, and sat sprawled20 in the short-legged chair. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and Budweiser shorts. Plastic sandalsdangled from his feet. The dumpy chair, the rumpled21 bed, the industrial carpet, the shabby dresser, the sad greenwalls and ceiling cracks. The TV floating in the air, in a metal brace22, pointing down at him.
He spoke23 first, without taking his eyes from the flickering screen.
"Are you heartsick or soulsick?"I stood against the door.
In time he looked at me, looked at the large friendly figure with the slumped25 shoulders and forgettable face.
"What kind of name is Willie Mink?" I said.
"It's a first name and a last name. Same as anybody."Did he speak with an accent? His face was odd, concave, forehead and chin jutting26. He was watching TV without thesound.
"Some of these sure-footed bighorns have been equipped with radio transmitters," he said.
I could feel the pressure and density27 of things. So much was happening. I sensed molecules28 active in my brain,moving along neural29 pathways.
"You're here for some Dylar, of course.""Of course. What else?""What else? Rid the fear.""Rid the fear. Clear the grid30.""Clear the grid. That's why they come to me."This was my plan. Enter unannounced, gain his confidence, wait for an unguarded moment, take out the Zumwalt,shoot him three times in the viscera for maximum slowness of agony, put the gun in his hand to suggest a lonelyman's suicide, write semi-coherent things on the mirror, leave Stover's car in Treadwell's garage.
"By coming in here, you agree to a certain behavior," Mink said.
"What behavior?""Room behavior. The point of rooms is that they're inside. No one should go into a room unless he understands this.
People behave one way in rooms, another way in streets, parks and airports. To enter a room is to agree to a certainkind of behavior. It follows that this would be the kind of behavior that takes place in rooms. This is the standard, asopposed to parking lots and beaches. It is the point of rooms. No one should enter a room not knowing the point.
There is an unwritten agreement between the person who enters a room and the person whose room had been entered,as opposed to open-air theaters, outdoor pools. The purpose of a room derives31 from the special nature of a room. Aroom is inside. This is what people in rooms have to agree on, as differentiated32 from lawns, meadows, fields,orchards."I agreed completely. It made perfect sense. What was I here for if not to define, fix in my sights, take aim at? I hearda noise, faint, monotonous33, white.
"To begin your project sweater," he said, "first ask yourself what type sleeve will meet your needs."His nose was flat, his skin the color of a Planter's peanut. What is the geography of a spoon-shaped face? Was heMelanesian, Polynesian, Indonesian, Nepalese, Surinamese, Dutch-Chinese? Was he a composite? How manypeople came here for Dylar? Where was Surinam? How was my plan progressing?
I studied the palm-studded print of his loose shirt, the Budweiser pattern repeated on the surface of his Bermudashorts. The shorts were too big. The eyes were half closed. The hair was long and spiky-. He was sprawled in theattitude of a stranded34 air traveler, someone long since defeated by the stale waiting, the airport babble35. I began to feelsorry for Babette. This had been her last hope for refuge and serenity36, this weary pulse of a man, a common pushernow, spiky-haired, going mad in a dead motel.
Auditory scraps37, tatters, whirling specks38. A heightened reality. A denseness39 that was also a transparency. Surfacesgleamed. Water struck the roof in spherical40 masses, globules, splashing drams. Close to a violence, close to a death.
"The pet under stress may need a prescription41 diet," he said.
Of course he hadn't always been like this. He'd been a project manager, dynamic, hard-driving. Even now I could seein his face and eyes the faltering42 remains43 of an enterprising shrewdness and intelligence. He reached into his pocket,took a handful of white tablets, tossed them in the direction of his mouth. Some entered, some flew past. Thesaucer-shaped pills. The end of fear.
"Where are you from originally, if I can call you Willie?"He lapsed44 into thought, trying to recall. I wanted to put him at ease, get him to talk about himself, about Dylar. Partand parcel of my plan. My plan was this. Swivel my head to look into rooms, put him at his ease, wait for anunguarded moment, blast him in the gut46 three times for maximum efficiency of pain, take his Dylar, get off at theriver road, shut the garage door, walk home in the rain and the fog.
"I wasn't always as you see me now.""That's exactly what I was thinking.""I was doing important work. I envied myself. I was literally47 embarked48. Death without fear is an everyday thing. Youcan live with it. I learned English watching American TV. I had American sex the first time in Port-O-San, Texas.
Everything they said was true. I wish I could remember.""You're saying there is no death as we know it without the element of fear. People would adjust to it, accept itsinevitability.""Dylar failed, reluctantly. But it will definitely come. Maybe now, maybe never. The heat from your hand willactually make the gold-leafing stick to the wax paper.""There will eventually be an effective medication, you're saying. A remedy for fear.""Followed by a greater death. More effective, productwise. This is what the scientists don't understand, scrubbingtheir smocks with Woolite. Not that I have anything personal against death from our vantage point high atopMetropolitan County Stadium.""Are you saying death adapts? It eludes49 our attempts to reason with it?"This was similar to something Murray had once said. Murray had also said, "Imagine the visceral jolt50, watching youropponent bleed in the dust. He dies, you live."Close to a death, close to the slam of metal projectiles51 on flesh, the visceral jolt. I watched Mink ingest more pills,throwing them at his face, sucking them like sweets, his eyes on the flickering screen. Waves, rays, coherent beams.
I saw things new.
"Just between you and I," he said, "I eat this stuff like candy.""I was just thinking that.""How much do you want to buy?""How much do I need?""I see you as a heavyset white man about fifty. Does this describe your anguish52? I see you as a person in a gray jacketand light brown pants. Tell me how correct I am. To convert Fahrenheit53 to Celsius54, this is what you do."There was a silence. Things began to glow. The dumpy chair, the shabby dresser, the rumpled bed. The bed wasequipped with casters. I thought, This is the grayish figure of my torment55, the man who took my wife. Did she wheelhim around the room as he sat on the bed popping pills? Did each lie prone56 along one side of the bed, reaching an armdown to paddle? Did they make the bed spin with their lovemaking, a froth of pillows and sheets above the smallwheels on swivels? Look at him now, glowing in the dark, showing a senile grin.
"I barely forget the times I had in this room," he said, "before I became misplaced. There was a woman in a ski mask,which her name escapes me at the moment. American sex, let me tell you, this is how I learned my English."The air was rich with extrasensory material. Nearer to death, nearer to second sight. A smashing intensity. Iadvanced two steps toward the middle of the room. My plan was elegant. Advance gradually, gain his confidence,take out the Zumwalt, fire three bullets at his midsection for maximum visceral agony, clear the weapon of prints,write suicidal cult57 messages on the mirrors and walls, take his supply of Dylar, slip back to the car, drive to theexpressway entrance, head east toward Blacksmith, leave Stover's car in Treadwell's garage, walk home in the rainand the fog.
He gobbled more pills, flung others down the front of his Budweiser shorts. I advanced one step. There were crackedDylar tablets all over the fire-retardant carpet. Trod upon, stomped58. He tossed some tablets at the screen. The set hada walnut59 veneer60 with silvery hardware. The picture rolled badly.
"Now I am picking up my metallic61 gold tube," he said. "Using my palette knife and my odorless turp, I will thickenthe paint on my palette."I recalled Babette's remarks about the side effects of the medication. I said, as a test, "Falling plane."He looked at me, gripping the arms of the chair, the first signs of panic building in his eyes.
"Plunging aircraft," I said, pronouncing the words crisply, authoritatively62.
He kicked off his sandals, folded himself over into the recommended crash position, head well forward, handsclasped behind his knees. He performed the maneuver63 automatically, with a double-jointed collapsible dexterity,throwing himself into it, like a child or a mime64. Interesting. The drug not only caused the user to confuse words withthe things they referred to; it made him act in a somewhat stylized way. I watched him slumped there, trembling.
This was my plan. Look peripherally into rooms, enter unannounced, reduce him to trembling, gut-shoot himmaximally three times, get off at the river road, shut the garage door.
I took another step toward the middle of the room. As the TV picture jumped, wobbled, caught itself in snarls65, Minkappeared to grow more vivid. The precise nature of events. Things in their actual state. Eventually he worked himselfout of the deep fold, rising nicely, sharply outlined against the busy air. White noise everywhere.
"Containing iron, niacin and riboflavin. I learned my English in airplanes. It's the international language of aviation.
Why are you here, white man?" "To buy.""You are very white, you know that?" "It's because I'm dying." "This stuff fix you up." "I'll still die.""But it won't matter, which comes to the same thing. Some of these playful dolphins have been equipped with radiotransmitters. Their far-flung wanderings may tell us things."I continued to advance in consciousness. Things glowed, a secret life rising out of them. Water struck the roof inelongated orbs66, splashing drams. I knew for the first time what rain really was. I knew what wet was. I understood theneurochemistry of my brain, the meaning of dreams (the waste material of premonitions). Great stuff everywhere,racing67 through the room, racing slowly. A richness, a density. I believed everything. I was a Buddhist68, a Jain, a DuckRiver Baptist. My only sadness was Babette, having to kiss a scooped-out face.
"She wore the ski mask so as not to kiss my face, which she said was un-American. I told her a room is inside. Do notenter a room not agreeing to this. This is the point, as opposed to emerging coastlines, continental70 plates. Or you caneat natural grains, vegetables, eggs, no fish, no fruit. Or fruit, vegetables, animal proteins, no grains, no milk. Or lotsof soybean milk for B-12 and lots of vegetables to regulate insulin release but no meat, no fish, no fruit. Or whitemeat but no red meat. Or B-12 but no eggs. Or eggs but no grains. There are endless workable combinations."I was ready to kill him now. But I didn't want to compromise the plan. The plan was elaborate. Drive past the sceneseveral times, approach the motel on foot, swivel my head to look peripherally into rooms, locate Mr. Gray under hisreal name, enter unannounced, gain his confidence, advance gradually, reduce him to trembling, wait for anunguarded moment, take out the .25-caliber Zumwalt automatic, fire three bullets into his viscera for maximumslowness, depth and intensity of pain, wipe the weapon clear of prints, place the weapon in the victim's hand tosuggest the trite72 and predictable suicide of a motel recluse73, smear74 crude words on the walls in the victim's own bloodas evidence of his final cult-related frenzy75, take his supply of Dylar, slip back to the car, take the expressway toBlacksmith, leave Stover's car in Treadwell's garage, shut the garage door, walk home in the rain and the fog.
I advanced into the area of flickering light, out of the shadows, seeking to loom76. I put my hand in my pocket, grippedthe firearm. Mink watched the screen. I said to him gently, "Hail of bullets." Keeping my hand in my pocket.
He hit the floor, began crawling toward the bathroom, looking back over his shoulder, childlike, miming77, usingprinciples of heightened design but showing real terror, brilliant cringing78 fear. I followed him into the toilet, passingthe full-length mirror where he'd undoubtedly79 posed with Babette, his shaggy member dangling80 like a ruminant's.
"Fusillade," I whispered.
He tried to wriggle81 behind the bowl, both arms over his head, his legs tight together. I loomed82 in the doorway,conscious of looming83, seeing myself from Mink's viewpoint, magnified, threatening. It was time to tell him who Iwas. This was part of my plan. My plan was this. Tell him who I am, let him know the reason for his slow andagonizing death. I revealed my name, explained my relationship with the woman in the ski mask.
He put his hands over his crotch, tried to fit himself under the toilet tank, behind the bowl. The intensity of the noisein the room was the same at all frequencies. Sound all around. I took out the Zumwalt. Great and nameless emotionsthudded on my chest. I knew who 1 was in the network of meanings. Water fell to earth in drops, causing surfaces togleam. I saw things new.
Mink took one hand from his crotch, grabbed more tablets from his pocket, hurled85 them toward his open mouth. Hisface appeared at the end of the white room, a white buzz, the inner surface of a sphere. He sat up, tearing open hisshirt pocket to find more pills. His fear was beautiful. He said to me, "Did you ever wonder why, out of thirty-twoteeth, these four cause so much trouble? I'll be back with the answer in a minute."I fired the gun, the weapon, the pistol, the firearm, the automatic. The sound snowballed in the white room, adding onreflected waves. I watched blood squirt from the victim's midsection. A delicate arc. I marveled at the rich color,sensed the color-causing action of nonnucleated cells. The flow diminished to a trickle86, spread across the tile floor. Isaw beyond words. I knew what red was, saw it in terms of dominant87 wavelength88, luminance, purity. Mink's painwas beautiful, intense.
I fired a second shot just to fire it, relive the experience, hear the sonic waves layering through the room, feel the jolttravel up my arm. The bullet struck him just inside the right hipbone. A claret stain appeared on his shorts and shirt.
I paused to notice him. He sat wedged between the toilet bowl and wall, one sandal missing, eyes totally white. I triedto see myself from Mink's viewpoint. Looming, dominant, gaining life-power, storing up life-credit. But he was toofar gone to have a viewpoint.
It was going well. I was pleased to see how well it was going. The trucks rumbled overhead. The shower curtainsmelled of mildewed89 vinyl. A richness, a smashing intensity. I approached the sitting figure, careful not to step inblood, leave revealing prints. I took out my handkerchief, wiped the weapon clean, placed it in Mink's hand,cautiously removing the handkerchief, painstakingly90 wrapping his bony fingers, one by one, around the stock,delicately working his index finger through the trigger guard. He was foaming92, a little, at the mouth. I stepped backto survey the remains of the shattering moment, the scene of squalid violence and lonely death at the shadowy fringesof society. This was my plan. Step back, regard the squalor, make sure things were correctly placed.
Mink's eyes dropped out of his skull93. They gleamed, briefly94. He raised his hand and pulled the trigger, shooting me inthe wrist.
The world collapsed95 inward, all those vivid textures97 and connections buried in mounds98 of ordinary stuff. I wasdisappointed. Hurt, stunned100 and disappointed. What had happened to the higher plane of energy in which I'd carriedout my scheme? The pain was searing. Blood covered my forearm, wrist and hand. I staggered back, moaning,watching blood drip from the tips of my fingers. I was. troubled and confused. Colored dots appeared at the edge ofmy field of vision. Familiar little dancing specks. The extra dimensions, the super perceptions, were reduced tovisual clutter101, a whirling miscellany, meaningless.
"And this could represent the leading edge of some warmer air," Mink said.
I looked at him. Alive. His lap a puddle102 of blood. With the restoration of the normal order of matter and sensation, Ifelt I was seeing him for the first time as a person. The old human muddles103 and quirks104 were set flowing again.
Compassion105, remorse106, mercy. But before I could help Mink, I had to do some basic repair work on myself. Onceagain I took out my handkerchief, managed with my right hand and my teeth to tie it firmly just above the bullet holein my left wrist, or between the wound and the heart. Then I sucked at the wound briefly, not knowing quite why, andspat out the resulting blood and pulp107. The bullet had made a shallow penetration108 and deflected109 away. Using my goodhand, I grabbed Mink by his bare foot and dragged him across the blood-dappled tile, the gun still clutched in his fist.
There was something redemptive here. Dragging him foot-first across the tile, across the medicated carpet, throughthe door and into the night. Something large and grand and scenic110. Is it better to commit evil and attempt to balanceit with an exalted111 act than to live a resolutely112 neutral life? I know I felt virtuous113, I felt blood-stained and stately,dragging the badly wounded man through the dark and empty street.
The rain had stopped. I was shocked at the amount of blood we were leaving behind. His, mainly. The sidewalk wasstriped. An interesting cultural deposit. He reached up feebly, dropped more Dylar down his throat. The gun handdragged.
We reached the car. Mink kicked free, involuntarily, his body flopping114 and spinning, a little fishlike. He made spentand gasping115 noises, short of oxygen. I decided116 to attempt mouth-to-mouth. I leaned over him, used my thumb andindex finger to clothes-pin his nose and then tried to work my face down into his. The awkwardness and grimintimacy of the act made it seem all the more dignified117 under the circumstances. All the larger, more generous. I kepttrying to reach his mouth in order to breathe powerful gusts118 of air into his lungs. My lips were gathered, ready tofunnel. His eyes followed me down. Perhaps he thought he was about to be kissed. I savored119 the irony120.
His mouth was awash in regurgitated Dylar foam91, half chewed tablets, flyspeck121 shards122 of polymer. I felt large andselfless, above resentment123. This was the key to selflessness, or so it seemed to me as I knelt over the wounded man,exhaling rhythmically124 in the littered street beneath the roadway. Get past disgust. Forgive the foul125 body. Embrace itwhole. After some minutes of this, I felt him come around, take regular breaths. I continued to hover126 just above him,our mouths almost touching127.
"Who shot me?" he said.
"You did.""Who shot you?""You did. The gun is in your hand.""What was the point I was trying to make?""You were out of control. You weren't responsible. I forgive you.""Who are you, literally?""A passerby128. A friend. It doesn't matter.""Some millipedes have eyes, some do not."With much effort, many false starts, I got him into the back of the car, where he stretched out moaning. It was nolonger possible to tell whether the blood on my hands and clothes was his or mine. My humanity soared. I started upthe car. The pain in my arm was a throb129, less fiery130 now. I drove one-handed through the empty streets, looking for ahospital. Iron City Lying-in. Mother of Mercy. Commiseration131 and Rapport132. I would take whatever they had, even anemergency ward8 in the worst part of town. This is where we belonged, after all, with the multiple slash133 wounds, theentry and exit wounds, the blunt instrument wounds, the traumas134, overdoses, acute deliriums. The only traffic was amilk van, a bakery van, some heavy trucks. The sky began to lighten. We came to a place with a neon cross over theentrance. It was a three-story building that might have been a Pentecostal church, a day-care center, worldheadquarters for some movement of regimented youth.
There was a wheelchair ramp136, which meant I could drag Mink to the front door without banging his head on theconcrete steps. I got him out of the car, clutched his sleek137 foot and moved up the ramp. He held one hand at hismidsection to stanch138 the flow. The gun hand dragged behind. Dawn. There was a spaciousness139 to this moment, anepic pity and compassion. Having shot him, having led him to believe he'd shot himself, I felt I did honor to both ofus, to all of us, by merging69 our fortunes, physically141 leading him to safety. I took long slow strides, pulling his weight.
It hadn't occurred to me that a man's attempts to redeem142 himself might prolong the elation84 he felt when he committedthe crime he now sought to make up for.
I rang the bell. In a matter of seconds, someone appeared at the door. An old woman, a nun45, black-habited,black-veiled, leaning on a cane71.
"We're shot," I said, lifting my wrist in the air.
"We see a lot of that here," she answered matter-of-factly, in an accented voice, turning to go back inside.
I dragged Mink across the entranceway. The place appeared to be a clinic. There were waiting rooms, screenedcubicles, doors marked X-Ray, Eye Test. We followed the old nun to the trauma135 room. Two orderlies showed up,great squat144 men with sumo physiques. They lifted Mink onto a table and tore away his clothes in neat short practicedstrokes.
"Inflated-adjusted real income," he said.
More nuns145 arrived, rustling146, ancient, speaking German to each other. They carried transfusion147 equipment, wheeled intrays of glinting implements148. The original nun approached Mink to remove the gun from his hand. I watched her tossit in a desk drawer that held about ten other handguns and half a dozen knives. There was a picture on the wall of JackKennedy holding hands with Pope John XXIII in heaven. Heaven was a partly cloudy place.
The doctor arrived, an elderly man in a shabby three-piece suit. He spoke German to the nuns and studied Mink'sbody, which was now partly clad in sheets.
"No one knows why the sea birds come to San Miguel," Willie said.
I was growing fond of him. The original nun took me into a cubicle143 to work on my wound. I started to give her aversion of the shootings but she showed no interest. I told her it was an old gun with feeble bullets.
"Such a violent country.""Have you been in Germantown long?" I said.
"We are the last of the Germans.""Who lives here now, mostly?""Mostly no one," she said.
More nuns walked by, heavy rosaries swinging from their belts. I found them a merry sight, the kind ofhomogeneous presence that makes people smile at airports.
I asked my nun her name. Sister Hermann Marie. I told her I knew some German, trying to gain her favor, as I alwaysdid with medical personnel of any kind, at least in the early stages, before my fear and distrust overwhelmed anyhope I might have had in maneuvering149 for advantage.
"Gut, besser, best," I said.
A smile appeared on her seamed face. I counted for her, pointed99 to objects and gave their names. She nodded happily,cleaning out the wound and wrapping the wrist in sterile150 pads. She said I would not need a splint and told me thedoctor would write a prescription for antibiotics151. We counted to ten together.
Two more nuns appeared, wizened152 and creaky. My nun said something to them and soon all four of us werecharmingly engaged in a childlike dialogue. We did colors, items of clothing, parts of the body. I felt much more atease in this German-speaking company than I had with the Hitler scholars. Is there something so innocent in therecitation of names that Cod153 is pleased?
Sister Hermann Marie applied154 finishing touches to the bullet wound. From my chair I had a clear view of the pictureof Kennedy and the Pope in heaven. I had a sneaking155 admiration156 for the picture. It made me feel good, sentimentallyrefreshed. The President still vigorous after death. The Pope's homeliness157 a kind of radiance. Why shouldn't it be true?
Why shouldn't they meet somewhere, advanced in time, against a layer of fluffy158 cumulus, to clasp hands? Whyshouldn't we all meet, as in some epic140 of protean159 gods and ordinary people, aloft, well-formed, shining?
I said to my nun, "What does the Church say about heaven today? Is it still the old heaven, like that, in the sky?"She turned to glance at the picture.
"Do you think we are stupid?" she said.
I was surprised by the force of her reply.
'Then what is heaven, according to the Church, if it isn't the abode160 of God and the angels and the souls of those whoare saved?""Saved? What is saved? This is a dumb head, who would come in here to talk about angels. Show me an angel.
Please. I want to see.""But you're a nun. Nuns believe these things. When we see a nun, it cheers us up, it's cute and amusing, beingreminded that someone still believes in angels, in saints, all the traditional things.""You would have a head so dumb to believe this?""It's not what I believe that counts. It's what you believe.""This is true," she said. "The nonbelievers need the believers. They are desperate to have someone believe. But showme a saint. Give me one hair from the body of a saint."She leaned toward me, her stark161 face framed in the black veil. I began to worry.
"We are here to take care of sick and injured. Only this. You would talk about heaven, you must find another place.""Other nuns wear dresses," I said reasonably. "Here you still wear the old uniform. The habit, the veil, the clunkyshoes. You must believe in tradition. The old heaven and hell, the Latin mass. The Pope is infallible, God created theworld in six days. The great old beliefs. Hell is burning lakes, winged demons162.""You would come in bleeding from the street and tell me six days it took to make a universe?""On the seventh He rested.""You would talk of angels? Here?""Of course here. Where else?"I was frustrated163 and puzzled, close to shouting.
"Why not armies that would fight in the sky at the end of the world?""Why not? Why are you a nun anyway? Why do you have that picture on the wall?"She drew back, her eyes filled with contemptuous pleasure.
"It is for others. Not for us.""But that's ridiculous. What others?""All the others. The others who spend their lives believing that we still believe. It is our task in the world to believethings no one else takes seriously. To abandon such beliefs completely, the human race would die. This is why weare here. A tiny minority. To embody164 old things, old beliefs. The devil, the angels, heaven, hell. If we did not pretendto believe these things, the world would collapse96.""Pretend?""Of course pretend. Do you think we are stupid? Get out from here.""You don't believe in heaven? A nun?""If you don't, why should I?""If you did, maybe I would.""If I did, you would not have to.""All the old muddles and quirks," I said. "Faith, religion, life everlasting165. The great old human gullibilities. Are yousaying you don't take them seriously? Your dedication166 is a pretense167?""Our pretense is a dedication. Someone must appear to believe. Our lives are no less serious than if we professed168 realfaith, real belief. As belief shrinks from the world, people find it more necessary than ever that someone believe.
Wild-eyed men in caves. Nuns in black. Monks169 who do not speak. We are left to believe. Fools, children. Those whohave abandoned belief must still believe in us. They are sure that they are right not to believe but they know beliefmust not fade completely. Hell is when no one believes. There must always be believers. Fools, idiots, those whohear voices, those who speak in tongues. We are your lunatics. We surrender our lives to make your nonbeliefpossible. You are sure that you are right but you don't want everyone to think as you do. There is no truth withoutfools. We are your fools, your madwomen, rising at dawn to pray, lighting170 candles, asking statues for good health,long life.""You've had long life. Maybe it works."She rattled171 out a laugh, showing teeth so old they were nearly transparent172.
"Soon no more. You will lose your believers.""You've been praying for nothing all these years?""For the world, dumb head.""And nothing survives? Death is the end?""Do you want to know what I believe or what I pretend to believe?""I don't want to hear this. This is terrible.""But true.""You're a nun. Act like one.""We take vows173. Poverty, chastity, obedience174. Serious vows. A serious life. You could not survive without us.""There must be some of you who aren't pretending, who truly believe. I know there are. Centuries of belief don't justpeter out in a few years. There were whole fields of study devoted175 to these subjects. Angelology. A branch oftheology just for angels. A science of angels. Great minds debated these things. There are great minds today. Theystill debate, they still believe.""You would come in from the street dragging a body by the foot and talk about angels who live in the sky. Get outfrom here."She said something in German. I failed to understand. She spoke again, at some length, pressing her face towardmine, the words growing harsher, wetter, more guttural. Her eyes showed a terrible delight in my incomprehension.
She was spraying me with German. A storm of words. She grew more animated176 as the speech went on. A gleefulvehemence entered her voice. She spoke faster, more expressively177. Blood vessels178 flared179 in her eyes and face. I beganto detect a cadence180, a measured beat. She was reciting something, I decided. Litanies, hymns181, catechisms. Themysteries of the rosary perhaps. Taunting182 me with scornful prayer.
The odd thing is I found it beautiful.
When her voice grew weak, I left the cubicle and wandered around until I found the old doctor. "Herr Doktor," Icalled, feeling like someone in a movie. He activated183 his hearing aid. I got my prescription, asked if Willie Minkwould be all right. He wouldn't, at least not for a while. But he wouldn't die either, which gave him the edge on me.
The drive home was uneventful. I left the car in Stover's driveway. The rear seat was covered with blood. There wasblood on the steering184 wheel, more blood on the dashboard and door handles. The scientific study of the culturalbehavior and development of man. Anthropology185.
I went upstairs and watched the kids a while. All asleep, fumbling186 through their dreams, eyes rapidly moving beneathclosed lids. I got into bed next to Babette, fully187 dressed except for my shoes, somehow knowing she wouldn't think itstrange. But my mind kept racing, I couldn't sleep. After a while I went down to the kitchen to sit with a cup of coffee,feel the pain in my wrist, the heightened pulse.
There was nothing to do but wait for the next sunset, when the sky would ring like bronze.
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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3
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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4
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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aluminum
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| n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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peripherally
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| 外围地，外面地 | |
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rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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scantest
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| scant（不足的）的最高级形式 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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16
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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17
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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18
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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19
incrementally
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| adv.逐渐地 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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23
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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24
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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molecules
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| 分子( molecule的名词复数 ) | |
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neural
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| adj.神经的，神经系统的 | |
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grid
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| n.高压输电线路网；地图坐标方格；格栅 | |
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derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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differentiated
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| 区分，区别，辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 )； 区别对待； 表明…间的差别，构成…间差别的特征 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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34
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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35
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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36
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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37
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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denseness
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| 稠密，密集，浓厚； 稠度 | |
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spherical
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| adj.球形的；球面的 | |
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41
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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42
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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43
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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44
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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48
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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49
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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50
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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51
projectiles
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| n.抛射体( projectile的名词复数 )；（炮弹、子弹等）射弹，（火箭等）自动推进的武器 | |
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52
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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53
Fahrenheit
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| n./adj.华氏温度；华氏温度计(的) | |
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54
Celsius
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| adj.摄氏温度计的，摄氏的 | |
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55
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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56
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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57
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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58
stomped
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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60
veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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61
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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62
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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63
maneuver
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| n.策略[pl.]演习；v.(巧妙)控制；用策略 | |
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64
mime
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| n.指手画脚，做手势，哑剧演员，哑剧；vi./vt.指手画脚的表演，用哑剧的形式表演 | |
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65
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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66
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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67
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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68
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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69
merging
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| 合并（分类） | |
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70
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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71
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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72
trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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73
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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74
smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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75
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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76
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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77
miming
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| v.指手画脚地表演，用哑剧的形式表演( mime的现在分词 ) | |
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78
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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79
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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80
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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81
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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82
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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83
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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84
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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85
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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86
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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87
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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88
wavelength
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| n.波长 | |
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89
mildewed
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| adj.发了霉的，陈腐的，长了霉花的v.（使）发霉，（使）长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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91
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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92
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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93
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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94
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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95
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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96
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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97
textures
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| n.手感( texture的名词复数 )；质感；口感；（音乐或文学的）谐和统一感 | |
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98
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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99
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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100
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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101
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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102
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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103
muddles
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的第三人称单数 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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104
quirks
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| n.奇事，巧合( quirk的名词复数 )；怪癖 | |
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105
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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106
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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107
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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108
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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109
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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110
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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111
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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112
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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113
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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114
flopping
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| n.贬调v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的现在分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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115
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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116
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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117
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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118
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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119
savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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120
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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121
flyspeck
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| n.蝇粪留下的污点, 污点；v.弄脏 | |
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122
shards
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| n.（玻璃、金属或其他硬物的）尖利的碎片( shard的名词复数 ) | |
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123
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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124
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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125
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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126
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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127
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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128
passerby
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| n.过路人，行人 | |
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129
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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130
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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131
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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132
rapport
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| n.和睦，意见一致 | |
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133
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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134
traumas
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| n.心灵创伤( trauma的名词复数 )；损伤；痛苦经历；挫折 | |
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135
trauma
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| n.外伤，精神创伤 | |
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136
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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137
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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138
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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139
spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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140
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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141
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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142
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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143
cubicle
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| n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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144
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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145
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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146
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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147
transfusion
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| n.输血，输液 | |
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148
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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149
maneuvering
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| v.移动，用策略( maneuver的现在分词 )；操纵 | |
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150
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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151
antibiotics
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| n.（用作复数）抗生素；（用作单数）抗生物质的研究；抗生素，抗菌素( antibiotic的名词复数 ) | |
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152
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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153
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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154
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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155
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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156
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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157
homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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158
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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159
protean
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| adj.反复无常的；变化自如的 | |
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160
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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161
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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162
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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163
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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164
embody
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| vt.具体表达，使具体化；包含，收录 | |
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165
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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166
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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167
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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168
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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169
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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170
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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171
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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172
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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173
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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174
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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175
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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176
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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177
expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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178
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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179
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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180
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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181
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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182
taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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183
activated
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| adj. 激活的 动词activate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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184
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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185
anthropology
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| n.人类学 | |
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186
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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187
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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