This was the day Wilder got on his plastic tricycle, rode it around the block, turned right onto a dead end street andpedaled noisily to the dead end. He walked the tricycle around the guard rail and then rode along a paved walkwaythat went winding1 past some overgrown lots to a set of twenty concrete steps. The plastic wheels rumbled2 andscreeched. Here our reconstruction3 yields to the awe4-struck account of two elderly women watching from thesecond-story back porch of a tall house in the trees. He walked the tricycle down the steps, guiding it with a duteousand unsentimental hand, letting it bump right along, as if it were an odd-shaped little sibling5, not necessarilycherished. He remounted, rode across the street, rode across the sidewalk, proceeded onto the grassy6 slope thatbordered the expressway. Here the women began to call. Hey, hey, they said, a little tentative at first, not ready toaccept the implications of the process unfolding before them. The boy pedaled diagonally down the slope, shrewdlyreducing the angle of descent, then paused on the bottom to aim his three-wheeler at the point on the opposite sidewhich seemed to represent the shortest distance across. Hey, sonny, no. Waving their arms, looking frantically7 forsome able-bodied pedestrian to appear on the scene. Wilder, meanwhile, ignoring their cries or not hearing them inthe serial8 whoosh9 of dashing hatchbacks and vans, began to pedal across the highway, mystically charged. Thewomen could only look, empty-mouthed, each with an arm in the air, a plea for the scene to reverse, the boy to pedalbackwards on his faded blue and yellow toy like a cartoon figure on morning TV. The drivers could not quitecomprehend. In their knotted posture10, belted in, they knew this picture did not belong to the hurtling consciousnessof the highway, the broad-ribboned modernist stream. In speed there was sense. In signs, in patterns, in split-secondlives. What did it mean, this little rotary11 blur12? Some force in the world had gone awry13. They veered14, braked, soundedtheir horns down the long afternoon, an animal lament15. The child would not even look at them, pedaled straight forthe median strip, a narrow patch of pale grass. He was pumped up, chesty, his arms appearing to move as rapidly ashis legs, the round head wagging in a jig16 of lame-brained determination. He had to slow down to get onto the raisedmedian, rearing up to let the front wheel edge over, extremely deliberate in his movements, following somenumbered scheme, and the cars went wailing17 past, horns blowing belatedly, drivers' eyes searching the rearviewmirror. He walked the tricycle across the grass. The women watched him regain18 a firm placement on the seat. Stay,they called. Do not go. No, no. Like fpreigners reduced to simple phrases. The cars kept coming, whipping into thestraightaway, endless streaking19 traffic. He set off to cross the last three lanes, dropping off the median like abouncing ball, front wheel, rear wheels. Then the head-wagging race to the other side. Cars dodged20, strayed, climbedthe curbstone, astonished heads appearing in the side windows. The furiously pedaling boy could not know how slowhe seemed to be moving from the vantage point of the women on the porch. The women were silent by now, outsidethe event, suddenly tired. How slow he moved, how mistaken he was in thinking he was breezing right along. It madethem tired. The horns kept blowing, sound waves mixing in the air, flattening21, calling back from vanished cars,scolding. He reached the other side, briefly22 rode parallel to the traffic, seemed to lose his balance, fall away, goingdown the embankment in a multicolored tumble. When he reappeared a second later, he was sitting in a water furrow,part of the intermittent23 creek24 that accompanies the highway. Stunned25, he made the decision to cry. It took him amoment, mud and water everywhere, the tricycle on its side. The women began to call once more, each raising anarm to revoke26 the action. Boy in the water, they said. Look, help, drown. And he seemed, on his seat in the creek,profoundly howling, to have heard them for the first time, looking up over the earthen mound27 and into the treesacross the expressway. This frightened them all the more. They called and waved, were approaching the early phasesof uncontrollable terror when a passing motorist, as such people are called, alertly pulled over, got out of the car,skidded down the embankment and lifted the boy from the murky28 shallows, holding him aloft for the clamoringelders to see.
We go to the overpass29 all the time. Babette, Wilder and I. We take a thermos30 of iced tea, park the car, watch thesetting sun. Clouds are no deterrent31. Clouds intensify32 the drama, trap and shape the light. Heavy overcasts33 have littleeffect. Light bursts through, tracers and smoky arcs. Overcasts enhance the mood. We find little to say to each other.
More cars arrive, parking in a line that extends down to the residential34 zone. People walk up the incline and onto theoverpass, carrying fruit and nuts, cool drinks, mainly the middle-aged35, the elderly, some with webbed beach chairswhich they set out on the sidewalk, but younger couples also, arm in arm at the rail, looking west. The sky takes oncontent, feeling, an exalted36 narrative37 life. The bands of color reach so high, seem at times to separate into theirconstituent parts. There are turreted38 skies, light storms, softly falling streamers. It is hard to know how we should feelabout this. Some people are scared by the sunsets, some determined39 to be elated, but most of us don't know how tofeel, are ready to go either way. Rain is no deterrent. Rain brings on graded displays, wonderful running hues40. Morecars arrive, people come trudging41 up the incline. The spirit of these warm evenings is hard to describe. There isanticipation in the air but it is not the expectant midsummer hum of a shirtsleeve crowd, a sandlot game, withcoherent precedents42, a history of secure response. This waiting is introverted, uneven43, almost backward and shy,tending toward silence. What else do we feel? Certainly there is awe, it is all awe, it transcends44 previous categories ofawe, but we don't know whether we are watching in wonder or dread45, we don't know what we are watching or whatit means, we don't know whether it is permanent, a level of experience to which we will gradually adjust, into whichour uncertainty46 will eventually be absorbed, or just some atmospheric47 weirdness48, soon to pass. The collapsible chairsare yanked open, the old people sit. What is there to say? The sunsets linger and so do we. The sky is under a spell,powerful and storied. Now and then a car actually crosses the overpass, moving slowly, deferentially49. People keepcoming up the incline, some in wheelchairs, twisted by disease, those who attend them bending low to push againstthe grade. I didn't know how many handicapped and helpless people there were in town until the warm nightsbrought crowds to the overpass. Cars speed beneath us, coming from the west, from out of the towering light, and wewatch them as if for a sign, as if they carry on their painted surfaces some residue50 of the sunset, a barely detectableluster or film of telltale dust. No one plays a radio or speaks in a voice that is much above a whisper. Somethinggolden falls, a softness delivered to the air. There are people walking dogs, there are kids on bikes, a man with acamera and long lens, waiting for his moment. It is not until some time after dark has fallen, the insects screaming inthe heat, that we slowly begin to disperse51, shyly, politely, car after car, restored to our separate and defensible selves.
The men in Mylex suits are still in the area, yellow-snouted, gathering52 their terrible data, aiming their infrareddevices at the earth and sky.
Dr. Chakravarty wants to talk to me but I am making it a point to stay away. He is eager to see how my death isprogressing. An interesting case perhaps. He wants to insert me once more in the imaging block, where chargedparticles collide, high winds blow. But I am afraid of the imaging block. Afraid of its magnetic fields, itscomputerized nuclear pulse. Afraid of what it knows about me.
I am taking no calls.
The supermarket shelves have been rearranged. It happened one day without warning. There is agitation53 and panic inthe aisles54, dismay in the faces of older shoppers. They walk in a fragmented trance, stop and go, clusters ofwell-dressed figures frozen in the aisles, trying to figure out the pattern, discern the underlying56 logic57, trying toremember where they'd seen the Cream of Wheat. They see no reason for it, find no sense in it. The scouring58 pads arewith the hand soap now, the condiments59 are scattered60. The older the man or woman, the more carefully dressed andgroomed. Men in Sansabelt slacks and bright knit shirts. Women with a powdered and fussy61 look, a self-consciousair, prepared for some anxious event. They turn into the wrong aisle55, peer along the shelves, sometimes stop abruptly,causing other carts to run into them. Only the generic62 food is where it was, white packages plainly labeled. The menconsult lists, the women do not. There is a sense of wandering now, an aimless and haunted mood, sweet-temperedpeople taken to the edge. They scrutinize63 the small print on packages, wary64 of a second level of betrayal. The menscan for stamped dates, the women for ingredients. Many have trouble making out the words. Smeared65 print, ghostimages. In the altered shelves, the ambient roar, in the plain and heartless fact of their decline, they try to work theirway through confusion. But in the end it doesn't matter what they see or think they see. The terminals are equippedwith holographic scanners, which decode66 the binary67 secret of every item, infallibly. This is the language of wavesand radiation, or how the dead speak to the living. And this is where we wait together, regardless of age, our cartsstocked with brightly colored goods. A slowly moving line, satisfying, giving us time to glance at the tabloids69 in theracks. Everything we need that is not food or love is here in the tabloid68 racks. The tales of the supernatural and theextraterrestrial. The miracle vitamins, the cures for cancer, the remedies for obesity70. The cults71 of the famous and thedead.
The End
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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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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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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sibling
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| n.同胞手足(指兄、弟、姐或妹) | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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whoosh
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| v.飞快地移动，呼 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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rotary
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| adj.(运动等)旋转的；轮转的；转动的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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streaking
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| n.裸奔（指在公共场所裸体飞跑）v.快速移动( streak的现在分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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flattening
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| n. 修平 动词flatten的现在分词 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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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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revoke
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| v.废除，取消，撤回 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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overpass
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| n.天桥，立交桥 | |
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thermos
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| n.保湿瓶，热水瓶 | |
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deterrent
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| n.阻碍物，制止物；adj.威慑的，遏制的 | |
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intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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overcasts
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| v.天阴的，多云的( overcast的第三人称单数 ) | |
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residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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turreted
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| a.(像炮塔般)旋转式的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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transcends
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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45
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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weirdness
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| n.古怪，离奇，不可思议 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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50
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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51
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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52
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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condiments
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| n.调味品 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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generic
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| adj.一般的，普通的，共有的 | |
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scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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decode
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| vt.译（码），解（码） | |
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binary
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| adj.二，双；二进制的；n.双(体)；联星 | |
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tabloid
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| adj.轰动性的，庸俗的；n.小报，文摘 | |
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tabloids
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| n.小报，通俗小报（版面通常比大报小一半，文章短，图片多，经常报道名人佚事）( tabloid的名词复数 )；药片 | |
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obesity
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| n.肥胖，肥大 | |
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cults
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| n.迷信( cult的名词复数 )；狂热的崇拜；（有极端宗教信仰的）异教团体 | |
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