Chapter 32 Section 4

The first person stands in front of the window of a luxury suite at the Waldorf Hilton.He watched the street as the yellow taxi drove into the soulful twilight.During the hour before get off work, the setting sun casts a luxurious light that falls feebly on Park Avenue.As the twilight deepens, people will leave the office and rediscover their roles as husband and wife, or, in some whisper, something else. The second man sat on the couch with his legs crossed, reading the FBI report. Edgar said: "Of course, you have packed the mask." The second person nodded yes, and no one saw his gesture.

"Junior, the mask." "Yes, we have masks. I'm looking at this safety memo, which is actually kind of badly written." "I don't want to hear this. File it somewhere. I think it's very good." "Protest, just outside the Plaza Hotel tonight." "What are the bastards protesting? Tell me," said Edgar, in a tone he had honed over the years to a point where a refined irony was etched in eleven senses of sarcasm. "War, it's almost like." "war." "Yes, that scene," said the second. The place where they were staying was the Waldorf Hilton, J. Edgar Hoover's favorite hotel during his sojourns in New York.However, there are parties, dances, celebrations.And, of course, the most important event of this season, this decade, this half century—the ball to be held at the Plaza Hotel.

Edgar changed the subject, even if it was only in his mind.He stared down Park Avenue into the distance.There, the ground forms an arc culminating in Harlem.Perhaps, the fleeting bleak light caused him nostalgia.Perhaps it was the noise, the flickering sound of the taxi horn, coming from below.Such a long distance formed a protective effect, and the sound seemed strange, popular and exciting.The lovely sound of horns and sirens seems to carry a celebratory tone. He asked, "Where were you when Thomson hit that home run?" "Sorry, I didn't catch you." "where are you?"

"what?" "Forget it, Junior." Clyde Tolson, known as Junior, was Edgar's right-hand man, closest friend and inseparable companion in the Bureau. Of course, the two get along well.Clyde is five years younger than Edgar, but his thinking is not as sharp as before, and his teaching card memory is not as accurate as before.Edgar had a snub nose, a stocky build, and eyebrows like bat wings.Clyde was different from him. He had a long chin, was taller, gentle, and liked to chat. It can be said that he was always in a happier mood.This is different from his boss; Edgar believes that every word that a person speaks may reveal his secrets and fall into a trap.

Edgar was holding a tumbler of Scotch in his hand.He inspected the glass to see if it was stained, then sniffed it, took a sip, and felt the burning sensation on his tongue.He lives in the VIP suite of the hotel and enjoys the refreshing wine.Junior had company in the room, and the party that had been talked about for months and was known before it even opened.This place has fallen into an unexpected state of chaos, and some people have insomnia and cannot function normally.Of course, Edgar was feeling quite well tonight. Chattering or not, Edgar was always open to high-level parties, especially celebrities.This evening, there was no shortage of fascination at the Plaza Hotel with a large number of mammals.Celebrities gather, talented and wise.The frail schoolboy was still curled up inside the squat body of the chief.On this occasion, there will be acting stars, other icons including child actors, football stars, boxing masters, and even horses and puppies that are frequently seen in Hollywood movies.On this occasion, the lonely mysterious child will be given a new lease of life with determination and confidence.

Celebrities are exceptional talents, and such men and women nullify the ethos of the age.Whatever Edgar's own views on social hierarchy, he found his anus throbbing when he talked to real celebrities. Clyde said, "Of course, and this." Edgar did not turn his head to see what the second man was reading, but examined the carpet carefully.The thick, shaggy carpet in the Waldorf Hilton Hotel is a habitat for all kinds of bacteria.If you know anything about modern warfare, you will realize that the destructive power caused by the use of germ weapons that can cause disease is huge, which can be compared with the megaton atomic bomb.Penetration is itself a form of death; in a sense, the havoc wrought by germ weapons is even greater.

"I know it was a mistake for us to go public with the crime bosses," Clyde said. "How?" "Pay ransom for their trash." "It makes people do the same thing." "It led to a copycat mentality. Now, we're in a situation where it's a PR nightmare. I mean, a so-called garbage guerrilla army looking for sources of garbage, boss?" "Come on, I'm tasting wine. Men like a drink at the end of the day." "Sir," Clyde said. Edgar couldn't believe he heard the guy's words clearly. "This is the news reported by a secret intelligence source." Clyde flipped through the report in order to attract Edgar's attention as much as possible. "Urban guerrilla plans to use litter to raid 4936 Thirty Square Road, NW, Washington, DC."

This is the doomsday plan in triplicate. "When might it appear?" "To a certain extent, it could happen at any time." "Are the guards in place?" "They're in cars that don't have police badges. But whether we arrest those guys or not, they're going to find a way to use the trash." "I don't take out the trash." "In the end you have to fall." "When I fall, lock it up." "How do sanitation workers collect it?" In some cases, FBI agents surreptitiously collected trash from a gangster's home at night and replaced it with counterfeit trash to reassure them.They used supplies prepared by the bureau's laboratory department—scented food scraps, cans of anchovies, used diapers.They then take the actual trash back for analysis by forensic experts, looking for gambling paraphernalia, handwriting, scraps of paper, crumpled photographs, food stains, blood and other known criminal evidence.

"Or, let's do it," said Edgar, "dump out some simulated garbage, pieces with no specific character, nothing newsworthy." "For these people, we cannot use conventional methods, no matter how ingenious, they will not work. When encountering conventional confrontation, they will immediately stop what they are doing and leave no trace. No matter how tight the security at the scene is , sooner or later they can take away a litter box and make a big fuss." Edgar strolled to another window, needing a change of scene, as the saying goes. "Confidential sources report that they plan to collect the trash you make when you travel. They rent spaces in major cities and get a bunch of leftist sociologists to analyze your trash piece by piece. They tell hippies to rub it with garbage Your own naked body, even having sex with trash. They also plan to have poets write poems about trash. Finally, in the last city of your itinerary, they plan to devour trash.”

Edgar could see the facade of the building on the east side of the Plaza Hotel, which was about a dozen blocks away from where he was. "And throw it away," said Clyde, "in public." "Confidential sources report that there are also plans to film a documentary of the trip, which will then be released publicly." "Do we have any files on these guerrillas?" "Have." "Is the quantity large?" Edgar asked. Archiving is an essential tool in dealing with information from many different sources with paranoia and control.Edgar had many old enemies throughout his life, and his way of dealing with such people was to collect a large number of related files.Photographs, surveillance reports, detailed judgments, names of relevant contacts, audiotapes with transcripts - surreptitious conversations, wiretapped recordings, recordings obtained by trespassing.Archives are deeper truths, beyond facts and reality.Once something enters the archives, whether it is a blurred photo or a rumor without factual basis, it has a messy sense of reality.It is a truth without authority and therefore beyond doubt.Fact oozes from the archives, crawls across the horizon, and is physically and mentally exhausting.Archives matter, life is meaningless.This is the essence of Edgar's revenge plan.He rearranges the lives, conversations, relationships, memories of his opponents, and he makes them pay for the details he creates.

"We caught them and brought them to court," Clyde said, "that's all we can do." Edgar turned his head with a smile on his face. "Maybe, I can approve of the way the Mafia handles these kinds of issues." Clyde laughed too. "You've always had a half-gangster streak about you." The two smiled knowingly. "Remember the submachine gun we carried?" Edgar said. "There were photojournalists." The two laughed again. "You are right by my side, posing like a hero." "Edgar and Clyde," said Clyde. "Clyde and Edgar," said Edgar. When the flow of need for control meets the flow of paranoid psychology, the archives can satisfy them one by one, killing two birds with one stone. "I like the thirties," Edgar said. "I don't like the sixties. No, not at all." On the side of the room is a writing desk that appears to be from the thirties, with a What Edgar asked for: two black pointed pens.Two bottles of Scripp blue ink, No. 52.Six sharpened Iberhart Faber pencils, No. 2.Two 5×8 linen-grain organizers.Next to it stands a floor-standing desk lamp with a 60-watt bulb.The chief didn't like the smell of dust carried by old light bulbs used by strangers reading.Newspapers, guidebooks, Gideon's Bible, pornography, subversive publications, unofficial publications, literature -- you name it, people flip through in solitary hotel rooms. Clyde checked his watch.Have dinner first, just the two of them, a habit that has lasted for decades, and then drive to the Plaza Hotel, which is very close. The ball was called the Black and White Ball.The 500 guests with extraordinary identities, the masquerade ball, entered the venue by invitation, the male guests wore tuxedos and black masks, and the female guests wore evening dresses and white masks. The ball was given by a writer named Truman Capote, and the guest of honor was Katherine Graham, an editor.The guests in attendance will generate a lot of factual data that will no doubt bridge the narrow gap between news and fiction. Edgar was not initially invited.However, arranging an invitation is not difficult.Edgar told Clyde his thoughts, and Clyde told Capote's friends.Of course, those people, without exception, are all in the FBI files.Among the planners of the ball, several were well documented in the files, down to the color of their eyes, and none of them wished to offend the Chief. Clyde grabbed the phone on the table, and the lady who made the mask came to see if it was the right size. Edgar noticed that Clyde had a teardrop pattern on his bow tie.It reminded him of a paramecium, that grinning, sinister looking thing.At home, Edgar used a toilet mounted on a countertop to keep him separated from creatures on the ground.At the FBI, he ordered lab workers to build a clean room with unprecedented standards of hygiene.A white room run by technicians—preferably white men—in white coats.They work in a completely clean environment, free from dust, germs and other things, with bright white big lights mounted on the ceiling.When Edgar felt that he might be attacked by the forces around him, he would go to that room for a while. The lady who made the mask entered the room, Tanya Berenger, wearing a long dress and boots from a thrift store.She used to be a famous costume designer, and now she's old and dirty and lives in a really bad hotel near Times Square.The front desk clerk at the little store sat behind a grate with a beef filet sandwich in his mouth.She was asked to make masks for special occasions, about three or four times a year.She also has a more steady business, making accessories for sadists and masochists at a members-only club in Greenwich Village. There was the usual scene in the room: two men, a woman, a woman they didn't know, and no one else, lacking the pleasure that sociable people hope for.how to say?The demeanor of the two of them in such situations often became stiff and defensive, as if they had been surprised by an armed intruder. Clyde felt that this woman had the potential to make unpredictable actions, so he kept a relatively close distance with Edgar.She wore heavy makeup that might have been poured from a paint can, and she smelled like a kitchen.Clyde noticed that one of the pockets of her dress was drooping slightly, exposing the seams. She spoke to Edgar with a look of regret. "You know, I can't let you wear the mask I made without a face-to-face consultation, dear. I have to measure the size of the head with my own hands. Too bad I have to make this from handwritten measurements this time stuff, feel like a plumber installing a basin." She speaks with a European accent and has lived in New York for a long time, and her original pronunciation has been damaged.Her hair was powdered and then moved so that she looked like a dead crow on a stick. Of course, someone had already briefed Clyde on Tanya Berenger's profile.There are many records in her file: she has attracted the attention of relevant personnel on various occasions, was a lesbian, believed in socialism, believed in communism, was addicted to drugs, divorced, was Jewish, Catholic, black, Immigrants, unmarried mothers. The background contained almost all the factors Edgar distrusted and worried about.However, the mask she made was so exquisite that Clyde didn't hesitate to let her do it. He walked quickly into Edgar's bedroom and fetched the mask. Holding the mask in her hand, she looked at Edgar and the mask, as if she was weighing whether the two matched well.The chief felt a strange tension in his chest and wondered if he was the right fit. She held the mask up to eye level, six inches from her face, and watched Edgar through the mask's aperture. Edgar looked at the mask too, as if it were a living thing, with an identity of its own.He had the courage to borrow it and use it in this city for one night. It was a handsome leather mask with extensions shaped like handles, and shiny round sequins around the eyes. Tanya asked, "Do you want to wear it, or do you want to talk to it?" He didn't know how to answer for a moment. "Do I want to wear it, Junior?" "Don't be afraid." Tanya said: "It's real leather, it's very realistic, you know? It's like the skin on someone else's face." She put the mask on Edgar's head, the padded straps loose and the leather alive on his face. Then she grabbed his shoulders and turned him slowly toward the mirror above the desk. Clyde took the whiskey glass from Edgar. The mask completely changed Edgar's image.For the first time in many years, he didn't feel like he was the guy with the big, hulking head inhabiting the small, muffin-shaped body. "Can I call you Edgar? Can I tell you about my impression of you? You're a mature, cautious man with a sexy villain on a motorcycle inside him. He writhes, hoping to break free." Come out. Those glittery patches change that image, you know?" He felt dizzy, as if in a dream, as if he had taken some medicine. She adjusted the mask slightly.Although he flinched at her touch, Edgar felt his body tremble violently.She was cunning, depraved, and what she said made him think he heard his grandmother leaning into his ear and saying something obscene. "I think you're like a strong biker who storms into town and takes over the leadership of the sadists and necrophiles one by one." At this time, a cockroach crawled out of Tanya's pocket and slowly moved down the outside of her thigh.It's shaped like a Harlem Hispanic neighborhood, with long antennae on its head that seem to listen to the BBC.Clyde watched, politely surprised. "It's a perfect fit, dear. You have high cheekbones, a typical masculine face shape. You know, I like to make masks that cover the entire face. It's defined and defined." Clyde took her arm lightly, covering the side where the roach was crawling, from Edgar's sight. "Actually, may I say something? Tonight's dance was a really good scene for you. You're black and white in my opinion, so you're dressed perfectly, right?" After she left, the two men were busy getting ready to go.Clyde made dinner reservations and laid out his evening attire.Edgar put the mask on the table and went into the bathroom. He showered, put on a fluffy white bathrobe, and stood in front of the window, sipping the rest of his whiskey.He heard a din over the sirens, some shrill sound in the night.New York isn't as pleasant as it used to be.Once upon a time, salons and exclusive clubs were haunted places to meet vibrant, attractive women and gentleman bums with a flair for comedy. "Junior, do you hear the noise?" Clyde entered the room, sleeves on, and a shoebrush in hand. "Well, vaguely." "Could it be?" "Yes, it may be the noise of the protesters in front of the Plaza Hotel." "It's the wind." "Yes, it was the wind that brought the sound over." They heard rhythmic chanting in unison, and the slogans rose and fell, becoming weaker and stronger as the wind changed. "You know what they want, don't you?" Edgar asked. This century has been ravaged by two world wars and by mass violence in other ways.But in the flames of the guns, in the bang of the anti-aircraft guns, a voice, sometimes growing stronger, merged with the sounds of the battlefield.This is the voice of the struggle between the state and the clandestine protest groups.These individuals have emerged in various countries, taking radical actions to bring about catastrophic change, including anarchists, terrorists, assassins and revolutionaries.They sometimes succeed.The task of the state is to desperately maintain the status quo, to strengthen its own control, to retain the most destructive power it has.In the case of the atomic bomb, this power is completely under the control of the state.Mushroom clouds may be divine beings, destroying life and leaving the planet in ruins.The state controls the means to bring about catastrophe.However, Edgar stood at the window and heard the ancient alarm.He felt that maybe the time was slowly approaching again, some people propagated the idea of ​​rebellion, and the rebel team was reborn.Long-haired, filthy and free-sexed, they are ready to form an organized armed rebellion to break up the country and put an end to the existing social order. "They want power to shake the world. It's a resurgent Bolshevik dream, and it's the Communists behind it all. You know where it started, right?" "Most of these guys were kids, lying in the streets, waving flowers at the police," Clyde said. "There was a war in Vietnam. It was a real war. It was a movie, scripted, cast It's scripted. Kids in America don't want what we have. They need movies, they need music." Let Junior keep his smug opinion.He doesn't know that the moment you take your enemy lightly, you start the process of your own downfall. "It begins deep in man," Edgar said, "and once man is ruled by indiscriminate sexual desire, he wishes to see all restraints no longer exist, and regards the freedom he desires as For some political concept, actually—” He hesitated to speak, and had to keep certain thoughts secret, even unformed in his own mind.This is where the crux of his relationship with Clyde lies.Let the subordinate be in a state of speechlessness, let the feeling be in a state of being unformed, and let the desire that arises in an instant be in a state of not being implemented.To the young men who are busy in the streets, to the young men who share a room with six, to the young men who share a bed with three, and to many others like them, this Ideas can seem very stupid, very strange, very sad, very rare. Clyde turned and finished his own preparations, leaving the boss alone at the window. Edgar believed that he and Clyde lived together day and night, but Clyde didn't have any extraneous thoughts, and there was something noble in this relationship.Clyde felt the same way, he thought.However, Clyde is number two at the same time, right?Perhaps, only if Edgar's approach is feasible, Clyde will follow him.If it is not feasible, Clyde may have other plans. He heard rhythmic shouts drifting on the wind, intermittently.Clyde is taking a bath.Edgar turned around, wanting to see where Clyde put the mask, and suddenly saw his own figure in another full-length mirror in the room: he was wearing a white nightgown and soft slippers under his feet.The image took him by surprise. It was his, of course, but in the guise of a big-headed baby, sexless, just born, and inherently weird. The dwarf in Hoover's mother's arms. He walked to the other side of the room and grabbed the mask.He noticed that the handle-shaped accessories on the mask are very beautiful, but they are actually made of genuine leather, and they are placed on the sideburns on both sides after wearing them. He heard Clyde come out of the bathroom. When they were young, they often vacationed together, went on business trips together, and lived in the same suite or two adjacent rooms.They would leave the door open so they could sleep in their respective beds and talk late into the night.Sometimes, Edgar placed the mirror cleverly, for example, moving the antique dressing mirror in the old hotel to another position, or making the door of the medicine cabinet at a certain angle when shaving, and the mirror on it can reflect Light from the next room, or angle the hand mirror on the table.This way, Edgar could catch a glimpse, a glance, or a peep of Junior, and know that he was busy dressing, undressing, or bathing.Edgar's approach leaves no trace of deliberate effort.If the other party finds himself being observed, he will also feel that it is an accidental situation.Not only would the other party think it was an accident, but even Edgar himself would think so.Junior resembles him, and in day-to-day activities, that similarity may float past his vision.When they were young, the two would go out together, deal with bureaucratic emergencies, swing on the golf course together, and ride westward on ponies to Del Mar.At that time, he could often see the thin male body of his companion. Now, the top of Junior's head is getting bald, his nose is round, and he walks stooped.However, Junior used to bend when he walked, deliberately keeping himself not a head taller than his boss. Edgar was in the bedroom with the door closed.Standing in front of the mirror, he saw a naked man of seventy-one years old, wearing a bicycle mask decorated with circular sequins on his head, and slippers with wool trim on his feet, listening to the noise of the street . After a long day at work, Janet Urbaniac puts on her running shoes.She took classes and practiced in the hospital complex, and her dormitory was in an apartment building. She had to go through four deserted blocks to and fro. Shit is everywhere.Often, she could see people walking around in green overalls, the last haggard ones left. At the end of the day, Janet sheds her light uniform and removes her running shoes from a closet.This is a sturdy platform sneaker with a shock-resistant insert for a flexible, confident feel.When she got to the hospital gate, she met another student who was working as a nurse, and together they waited for the traffic light to turn green.There are few cars on the four blocks, the scene of the avenue is disappointing, the buildings in the town are heavily guarded, and the atmosphere is tense, always giving people the feeling that a curfew is being enforced. Janet waited in the deep and eerie twilight.At this moment, the green light came on, and her friend said, "Go, go, go, go." Taking advantage of the gap before the signal light changed color, Janet started running, hoping to keep going, and reached the highest point in a few seconds. Speed, always pay attention to avoid the residual ice on the road.Her friend watched her leave. Some twilights—most twilights—it's the men you want to watch out for, and that's why you're running.They see you come out in your springy blue and white shoes, sometimes say something, sometimes gesture, sometimes make a face, sometimes stay still.You are a ghost, a shadow.Some men were near a chain-link fence, others in an empty parking lot.You never know whether to change direction, form a protective arc, or continue straight.The first tactic might offend them, the second might entice them to strike up a conversation.Perhaps, his indifferent reaction might even humiliate them in public.Some evenings, all you have to be careful with is snow. What you need to watch out for is snow, rain, trash or stray dogs. You don't run because you're afraid of dogs, though.The dogs slowed people down to walk.Some men hang around with nothing to do, some men hide in doorways or abandoned cars, and you run away because of them.You want them to think that the reason you run is that you enjoy doing it, as do you and all the rest of your classmates.Every evening, students swarm out for a four-block sprint. You want them to feel like we're just running people and running saves a few minutes. At this time, Janet speeded up, panting, paying attention to the snow and the green signal lights along the way.She was wary of a man who might lean against a wall or get out of a car.There are usually a few abandoned cars along this run, which are used as clubs for social gatherings in winter. Four blocks above, streaks of cloud appeared in the northern sky.When she arrived at the door of the dormitory building, she had the door key ready in her hand.She went in and took the elevator upstairs, still running in a sense.She took out the door key, and fifteen seconds after entering the living room, the door was locked twice.At this time, the phone rang.Only then did her beating heart calm down. The phone call was a routine step, from another student at the hospital, confirming that she had returned safely to her dormitory.They gave her eleven minutes, from the hospital gate to the dormitory door, including taking the elevator and opening the door.A group of students lived in the same apartment, and according to this routine, they switched roles step by step.While another female student was running, Janet supervised and made a confirmation call. They devised this method and posted it on the bulletin board.They put on their running shoes and waited for the traffic light to turn green. The second person decides to show up later.In the face of this difficult situation it was the unmistakable determination that Tolson Clyde liked to display. It's a testament to his mettle.You are a man who is said to be responsible, respectful, fawning, subservient, and self-deprecating.From time to time, you need to show your character when you're confronted with these kinds of words that are getting worse. First, however, Clyde had to convince his boss that missing an hour or two of meeting time would not trouble the last few years of his tenure as Director. An FBI security team stationed at the Plaza Hotel reported that the protests had grown, and those who attended the dance heard rhythmic loud curses and saw obscene placards and hand gestures as they entered.Someone spat at them at close range, and they were sometimes forced to dodge thrown objects. In Clyde's view, there is no need for the director to see such a scene, and Edgar finally agreed.In this case, the face of the FBI may be affected. At midnight, the two of them drove through the deserted streets of Midtown in a bulletproof black Cadillac.At the hotel where they stayed, the two had just had a leisurely dinner and joked with the receptionist who served the wine.Later, they also went to the bar and had a glass of brandy with some old acquaintances. J. Edgar Hoover met old acquaintances wherever he went, some loyal supporters, some characters recorded in the archives, and some who were Edgar's old enemies, but they didn't know it.Although the situation report sent by the scene was not satisfactory, Edgar and Clyde were in a good mood.The two sat in the backseat, wearing black bow ties and masks, like crime-fighting fighters on a weekend comedy, looking laid-back and light-hearted.A high-ranking official by day morphs into a stylish masked figure at night, dressed in formal attire, and paraded the streets, accompanied by his cronies' right-hand men. The driver switched on the car's intercom to report that a car was following him. Clyde turned his head to look back. The chief slid down and hid his head on the back of the seat. "A Volkswagen subcompact," said Clyde, "very brightly colored from top to bottom, with big bright circles and stripes that give the illusion of seeing the driver's face." The Cadillac drove slowly past the gate of the Plaza Hotel.The dazzling arc lights went out, the media personnel left, and the crowd who heard the news disappeared without a trace.The few demonstrators still there, listless by this time, were young men in filthy tie-dyed clothes.There were also some local policemen present, showing sleepiness after a full meal, and the swallowed food would stay in their stomachs for several hours.They do nothing, stay around, and earn some overtime pay. The luxury black car that the two people took was equipped with an atomizer filled with French air fresheners, and they circled the block where the Plaza Hotel was located. Clyde inspected the other exits of the hotel. The north steps were empty, Clyde knocked on the glass, the driver stopped, and the two got out of the car.Suddenly, the Volkswagen bus rushed in front of them, and some people got out of the car, three, four, what the hell, six people got out.It looks like a circus car, with a few clowns jumping out.About seven people stumbled onto the sidewalk, up the steps, and rushed toward the gate. They were all masked, all the faces of Asian teenagers, some with blood on their faces, and some with eyes that seemed to be closed.They saw Hoover and Tolson coming up the steps and immediately started shouting. The first man walked ahead, clumsy and slow, and the second reached out to help.The two moved with heavy steps towards the entrance. The two heard someone yelling: "Scum of society." The two heard someone shout: "Every Gucci shoe is the life of an Asian baby." Clyde wasn't sure if the demonstrators knew their identities.Does Edgar's mask completely cover his rough, aging face? The pair heard aphorisms, curse words, and technical vocabulary. The two shook their arms, moved their feet, and struggled upward, their eyes staring ahead.The protesters yelled and booed in protest. "Vietnam! If you don't like it, get out!" "White killers with black ties!" A young woman stands near the entrance, wearing a mask representing the face of a battered child.她挡住埃德加的去路，情绪平静地对埃德加说，声音轻柔，近乎耳语：“老头，我们要盯着你，直到把你送进垃圾填埋场。” 克莱德说：“进来吧。”那样子就像一名端着沉重盘子的招待员。两人走进男厕所，整理一下衣装。几分钟以后，局长和他的助理已经做好了在晚会上露面的准备。 可是，埃德加问：“那些闹事的是些什么人？” “我已经有主意了。我将会派人去调查的。” “你听见她说的没有？我认为那帮人与垃圾游击队之间有什么联系。” “把面具戴好。”克莱德说。 “我希望看到那帮人遭到最严厉的处置。在几周之内，最多几个月之内，我要听到审问他们的录音磁带。” 两人穿过大厅，走进宏伟壮观的舞厅。埃德加在联邦调查局供职数十年，曾经出席过数不胜数的舞会，莅临过数不胜数的仪式，参加过数不胜数的宴会，到场的人都对他表示敬意。然而，他们两人从未听到过这样的声音。 舞厅里回荡着一种受到抑制的喧闹，某种低沉的嗡嗡声，枝状吊灯在震动中叮当作响。舞曲阵阵，灯光摇曳，恰如梦幻，歌手的声音带着快适。此情此景远离现实生活的抱怨，远离单调乏味的日常工作，形成了一种诱惑。 “那些人喊叫和呻吟的录音磁带，”埃德加说，“我希望播放那样的东西，以便帮助我入睡。” 两人在舞厅里走动，到处都是社会名流。舞厅宽敞，天花板很高，整个室内装饰呈白色和淡金色。两侧矗立着希腊式柱子，映着无数蜡烛发出的琥珀色光亮。 有的女人穿着缎子晚礼服，脖子细长，宛如天鹅，戴着出自名家之手的面具，例如，哈尔斯顿、阿多尔夫和伊夫圣罗兰这样的设计师。那两人是美国总统的母亲和姐姐，那个人是另外一位美国总统的女儿。年轻的男子们步履轻盈，举手投足之间尽量炫示自己拥有的财富。那两个脑袋偏斜的富豪是印度君侯伉俪，一位男爵戴着饰有珠子的面具，还有几位风流倜傥、嗜酒如命的著名诗人。几个女人表情严厉，穿着时髦，谈吐机敏，她们之中有的经营时装图书，有的设计名牌服装。她们的发型出自名师肯尼迪之手，或向上蓬起，或向外旋动，或向后梳理，或呈圆圈造型。 “你看见没有？” “那位老贵妇人。”埃德加说。 “戴着廉价商店出售的面具。” “上面装饰着珍珠。” 他们不时与遇到的人握手，举止优雅，送上一两句恭维之辞。克莱德知道局长现在的感觉，知道他喜欢与平时难得一见的上流社会人士厮混。他们之中既有气度非凡的名门显贵，仿佛是印加帝国的君王，也有才华横溢的人、见解独到的人、通过奋斗取得成功的人、天生丽质的美女、自负的狂人、精明的商人。他们一个个气宇轩昂。当然，他们之中也不乏冷酷无情的人、手段残忍的人。 没错，埃德加已经进入了亢奋状态。 埃德加停下脚步，与弗兰克·西纳特拉和他年轻的演员妻子交谈。她戴着蝴蝶面具，留着男童发式，活脱脱一个慕男狂。 “耶德加，你这个老家伙。好久没见了。” "Well, that's right." “光阴似箭，对吧，伙计？” “对呀，日月如梭，”埃德加说，“给我介绍一下你的夫人吧。” 西纳特拉现在已经进入了联邦调查局的档案，舞厅里的许多人也在档案之中。克莱德觉得，就职业成就而言，这些人中没有谁可以与埃德加相提并论。不过，埃德加完全不露声色。他在半黑暗状态中工作，带着公务员拥有的那一点不足挂齿、不愿示人的荣耀，操纵荣辱，带来毁灭。这既不是信心满满的公开炫示，也不是门口的那帮暴徒表现出来的趾高气扬的叫嚣。 舞台上，两支乐队在收卷起来的幕布下面轮流演奏。一支是来自音乐表演协会的白人乐队，另一支是黑人灵乐乐队，所有的乐手全都戴着面具。 人们喜欢埃德加的真皮面具，并且向他表示了自己的看法。一个装饰着鸵鸟羽毛的女人用舌头舔了舔面具的手柄状的延伸部分，另外一个女人叫他骑车男孩，一个男同性恋剧作家对着他挤眉弄眼。 他们两人找到了自己的席位，坐下休息片刻，品尝香槟酒和美味小吃。克莱德说出从身边经过的舞者的名字，埃德加谈到舞者的生活、职业和个人嗜好。遇到埃德加没有回忆起来的细节，克莱德随即加以补充。 安迪·沃霍尔从他们桌边路过，戴着用他自己的面部照片做成的面具。 一个女人邀请埃德加跳舞，他脸上泛起一阵红晕，点燃一支香烟。 一位豪绅和一位贵妇人用小棍子支撑他们的面具。 一个女人裹着性感的修女包头巾。 一个男人戴着刽子手的兜帽。 埃德加语速很快，带着老年人的断音，仿佛是一名电台记者，正在播报妙语连珠的新闻稿件。克莱德看到老板兴致如此之高，这时稍感宽慰。两人看到因为工作关系认识的一些人，其中有现任和过去的政府官员，还有担任敏感的关键职务的人员。克莱德注意到，整个舞厅似乎随着不同的兴趣和欲望悸动，政治权力与艺术和文学混在起来，恰似水乳交融。一本正经的历史学家与时尚社会的美人会聚一堂，外交人员与影星共舞，诺贝尔奖得主给海运巨头讲述私密逸事，来自百老汇的烟花女子与外国记者相谈甚欢，传播着流言蜚语。 这里的人们意识到，某种具有深远影响的时段正在形成之中。克莱德认为，这种感觉间接表明了肯尼迪时代的延续，所以令人心生恐惧。此时此刻，根深柢固的分类开始变得无关紧要；此时此刻，可能出现某种不断变化的活动；此时此刻，色情、毒品和肮脏字眼开始打破这个文化具有的位阶结构。 “我觉得你应该跳舞。”埃德加说。 克莱德看着他。 “你这是在参加聚会呀，干吗不呢？找一个合适的女人，带着飞旋。” “我真的认为我面前这个男人是严肃的。” “那么，你告诉我你谈了些什么吧。” “我还知道如何挪动脚步吗？” “你过去跳得相当不错的，朱尼厄。去吧。露一手吧。你是在参加聚会。” 在舞池里，客人们身体弯曲，以富于表现力的动作，模仿僵尸解冻后复活时的状态。不久，白人乐队重新出现，音乐转为狐步舞和华尔兹舞。克莱德望着动作优雅、慢慢曳步旋动的舞者，不动声色地留心观察他们的发型、珠宝、晚礼服和面具，同时一直注意别的名人的身影。那些人转动脑袋，眼睛在黑白亮色的旋转人流中闪闪发光。 “去吧，去展示你的真实面目吧。”埃德加说，咧开嘴巴笑了。 对，应该这样。醉眼矇眬，心情痛苦。克莱德心想，好吧。如果这是传统约束力被一一除去的夜晚，干吗不在舞池里旋动一番呢？ 克莱德走到一位女士跟前。她不仅戴着面具，而且一身中世纪打扮，头上裹着棉布，身上穿着素色长袍，系着腰带，上衣紧绷绷的，胸部凸出。 她对着他一笑，克莱德问：“可否跳一曲？” 她身材高挑，容貌姣好，没有涂脂抹粉，言谈中见不到对舞会现场和繁文缛节的敬畏之感。一个头脑冷静的年轻女士。这样的人埃德加可能表示倾慕，克莱德也有同感。 她戴着乌鸦面具。 这时，克莱德已把自己那张朴素的半截假面具放入衣服口袋。 “我们是告诉对方名字，”他问，“还是严格遵守匿名规则？” “实施了什么规则吗？我没有想到。” “我们可以制定自己的规则呀。”他说，所用的玩笑口吻稍显性感，让自己也感到惊讶。 伴随着他年轻时流行的一首古老的民谣曲调，他身形飘浮，领着她在一对对舞者中穿行。 克莱德曾经有一些女性朋友。不过，他的老板后来开始寻找别的人作为门徒，他们一个个身强力壮，除了完成工作之外，还会满足社交功能。克莱德当时明白自己应该服从埃德加的需要，成为他的无条件服从的可靠朋友，成为一个心灵伴侣，言听计从，恒久不变。那个选择满足了克莱德本人希望得到保护的需要，让他在稳固的格局中获得安全的位置。 权力让他对自己的行为进行了适应性调整。 克莱德看见埃德加在舞厅的另外一侧与一些人一起合影。他认识其中的大多数人，注意到埃德加急于加入那批人的行列。 埃德加自己的力量总是被分在两者层面上。当然，他拥有职位赋予的力量，不过也有自我克制行为给他带来的力量。他过着独身生活，一直严格禁欲。这样的个人生活赋予他一种奇特的正统性，让身为局长的他拥有严厉的一面。埃德加排斥无法接受的内心冲动，通过日夜自我克制的生活方式，赢得了独裁者具有的力量，克莱德对此深信不疑。这个男人做事持之以恒，局里的每个官方秘密都在埃德加自己的灵魂上留下了不可磨灭的印记。 正是这一点让他成为一个了不起的人。 冲突。他克制自己的欲望，同时不遗余力地揭露政府中的同性恋者。他保留深藏在自己欲望之中的秘密，拒绝做出任何妥协。他的信念坚定不移，判断一针见血，信守传统观念，信守早期美国人具有的正义感。他直面自己内心近乎吹毛求疵的恐惧和隐晦的羞耻感。他害怕肌肤之亲，内心深处经历了许多难以名状的痛苦和折磨。就这一点而言，他既令人钦佩，同时也令人感到悲哀，让人觉得可怜。 克莱德会按照老板的要求，一丝不苟付诸实施。 跪下。 弯腰。 伸开手脚。 转过身体。 可是，老板仅仅要求他陪伴身边，忠诚不二，直到生命的最后一刻。 克莱德看到出现了另外一名男子，又是一名男子，两人都戴着刽子手面具。还有一个人披着白色的裹尸布。 “那个人，那个让别人拍快照的人，”和克莱德共舞的年轻女子说，“就是刚才和你坐在一起的那个男人。” “胡佛先生。” “胡佛先生，哦。” “和他一起的是谁呀？让我瞧一瞧。著名诗人的妻子。著名女星的丈夫。两位并不隶属任何公司的作曲家。一个长着双下巴的超级富翁。”克莱德突然意识到，这样说带有炫示之嫌。“一个喜欢玩游艇的证券经纪人，他叫——让我想一想——詹森·瓦诺维尔。还有他的妻子，她是绘画的，名不见经传，叫什么来着呢？萨克斯，瓦克斯或者类似的名字。” “你是托尔森先生。”女人说。 克莱德心想，真聪明。他在公众场合很少被人认出来，听到她的话心里略感得意，同时也有些不安。 他们两人贴面跳舞。 克莱德看见，另外一个人穿着经过修改的中世纪服装，遮蔽得更多些，头上戴着兜帽。这使他想起什么东西，不，不是埃德加几乎喜欢到病态的那幅16世纪的绘画作品，那幅出自勃鲁盖尔的名画，那幅展示死亡的全景画。（埃德加收藏了相关的明信片、杂志画页、装在画框里的复制品以及经过放大的画作局部，有的悬挂起来，有的保存在地下室里间。而且，他还命令克莱德与马德里的官员接触，讨论如何才能获得那幅价值连城的原作，把它作为礼物，送给美国人民，感谢美国武装力量提供的保护盾牌。可是，今年早些时候，在例行的空中加油过程中，一架B-52型轰炸机与加油机相撞，四枚氢弹落在西班牙海岸上，释放出辐射物质。克莱德不得不放弃了所有相关讨论。）不，不是勃鲁盖尔。在他记忆之中的所有事情和人物中，这名修女打扮的女人让他想起了那个吸毒的嬉皮士喜剧演员伦尼·布鲁斯。不对，伦尼·布鲁斯不是这场黑白舞会的应邀嘉宾。伦尼·布鲁斯已经死了，几个月以前就死了。有人在洛杉矶市他的家里发现了他的尸体。他胳膊上插着注射器，显然吗啡中毒，躺在厕所里，赤身裸体，四肢僵硬，两眼鼓鼓的，黏液从鼻孔中流淌出来。 在局长保存的私人档案中，有一张8厘米×10厘米照片，上面是那具膨胀的尸体——那张照片可被称为《死亡的胜利》。why?它表现了恐惧，让人不寒而栗，传达了中世纪的宗教惩罚的可怕意义。在发现尸体仅仅几个小时之后，消息不胫而走，已经开始在他通常表演的那些场所传播。有人放话说，伦尼是被政府中的黑暗势力谋杀的。 琳达·伯德·约翰逊与一名秘密特工人员一起跳舞，从旁边经过。 克莱德听到那些谣传之后并不感到惊讶。他可以嗅到在这十年之中弥漫开来的偏执狂的气息。突然，他对自己怀中的这种女人产生了疑惑。究竟是他在舞池中找到了她，还是她以隐蔽方式出现在他的面前？ 一名男子戴着骷髅面具，一个女人戴着修道士面具，站在乐池边沿。 “你知道我的名字，”克莱德说，“可是我却感到困惑，不好意思。” “这种情况并不常见，对吧？不过，我觉得，按照我们的规矩，我们往往喜欢守口如瓶的人。” 两人伴随40年代的曲子跳着。她与他贴得更紧一些，似乎对着他的耳朵有节奏地呼吸。 “这么多人聚集在一个地方，”她低声说，“就是为了变得有钱有势，变得令人恶心，你见过这样的情形吗？我们可以看一看周围，”她低语，“看一看那些商界高管、时尚杂志的摄影师、政府官员、企业家、作家、银行家、学者，看一看长着一副猪脸的流亡贵族。通过一个人的布满褶皱、忍受痛苦的躯体，我们就能知道另外一个人的灵魂，然后知道前者的灵魂。他们都是他妈的一路货色。”她低声问：“你觉得呢？” 无论她是干什么的，她几乎让他感到窒息。 “一路货色，一路什么货色？”他问。 “政府、国家、企业、权力结构、政治制度、统治集团。” 人这么年轻，身体这么柔软，观念这么陈腐。他觉得，她的大腿和乳房发出电流般的力量，穿透了他的衣服。 “如果你吻我，”她说，“我会把我的舌头伸进你的喉咙。” "Ok." “它会穿过你的心脏。” 这时，眼前的一切突然出现了变化。戴着乌鸦面具的人。戴着骷髅头面具的人。披着白色裹尸布的人。戴着修道士面具、修女面具、刽子手面具的人。当然，他意识到，自己怀中的女人和他们是一伙儿的。 那些人在舞池里形成一个死亡队形，喝令音乐停止下来，把来宾们驱赶到四周。他们控制了整个舞厅，让参加假面舞会的人一个个鸦雀无声，形成了灾难，病原体四下散开。克莱德环顾四周，用目光搜寻埃德加的身影。 那个女人已经从他的怀里溜走了。这时，那帮人在舞池里大踏步走过，有的挂着衣服，有的戴着面具，有的披着裹尸布，有的蒙着斗篷。他们怎么会如此灵巧，在这里集中起来？他们当初是怎么混入舞厅的？ 他寻找老埃德加。 一名刽子手和一名修女跳起了pas de deux（双人舞），来了一圈简单的循环舞步。接着，其他人慢慢加入，包括戴着骷髅头面具的男人和戴着乌鸦面具的女人。最后，他们表演了一段优美的孔雀舞，男舞伴殷勤，动作缓慢，带着致命诱惑，姿态从容，似乎带有表演性质。克莱德看见他的年轻舞伴在他们之中翩翩起舞。 我会把我的舌头伸进你的喉咙。 宾客们望着他们，一个个目瞪口呆，实际到场的统计数字为五百四十人，外加乐队和其他人员，还有派来保护女宾戴的珠宝首饰的人。这些人没有跳舞，而是成了他们的观众，一个个规规矩矩，安安静静，处于半呆状态。 它会穿过你的心脏。 他们跳完之后，站成了一排，扯下头饰和面具。接着，他们张开嘴巴，没有发出声音，望着客人，目光直愣愣的。在立柱矗立的大厅里，这种情形延续一阵，他们张开嘴巴，沉默无声。 他们排成一行，鱼贯而出。 过了两三分钟之后，克莱德找到老板。两人走进男厕所，让自己恢复常态。 “跳舞感觉不错吧，朱尼厄？” “我想我知道他们是干什么的。” “上次我们在这里时，你不是这样说过吗？” “一个不常露面、不为人知的团体，大多数情况下在校园里举行示威活动。” “什么？”老板问。 “国内安全部门的人没谁知道这个组织的名称，只知道他们举行抗议表演，扮演各种各样的角色，甚至包括警察。表演完毕以后迅速撤离。” “查找联系。全都是联系起来的，反战示威者、垃圾偷窃者、摇滚乐队、乱交的男女、毒品、蓄着长发的男人。” “你的上衣上面有头皮屑。”克莱德说。 男人从这个贴着瓷砖的房间进进出出，嘴里嘀咕，闷闷不乐。他们拉开拉链，撒尿，冲着装饰着柠檬切块的冰块撒尿。他们拉开拉链，拉上拉链。他们撒尿，抖动，拉上拉链。 埃德加站在镜子前面，依然戴着面具，那个样子让克莱德想起了局长住宅后面的那个秘密花园。那地方四周围着栅栏，与邻居隔开，从来没有让客人看过。一些年轻男子的裸体雕像摆放在喷泉旁边，一些披着衣服的年轻男子站在茂密的藤蔓之间。克莱德认为，与其说那地方令人愉快，毋宁说它给人灵感。那是作为埃德加的理想化替身的男性形象，克莱德在生活中就起到这样的作用。至少，当年埃德加偷偷地摆放镜子，以便让自己在床上观看朱尼厄在隔壁房间做俯卧撑时，克莱德曾经起到这样的作用。 那时是1939年，在迈阿密海滩上。现在是1966年，在纽约。我们生活在混乱和震惊状态之中。 他让那个女孩展现魅力，让她做出诱惑姿势。他喜欢那种状态，她躲开了他的亲吻，这让他觉得失望。他被人以最古老的方式当傻瓜耍了。她自动送上门来，令人异常兴奋，却是一个彻头彻尾、冷酷无情的婊子。 舞厅里只剩下一半客人。这些人心里测算着时间，尽量让人觉得，他们的离开并不是受到刚才上演的那一幕的影响。不管怎么说，那是抗议，是对他们度过的这个雅致、宝贵的夜晚的嘲笑。 来自音乐表演协会的乐队演奏着适合跳舞的乐曲，不过已经没人希望跳舞了。埃德加和克莱德坐在那里喝酒，旁边是一个长着油灰色面孔的男子。他戴着烟色眼镜，他的妻子脸上挂着大面具：缎子做成的翅膀、鲜艳的羽毛、镶嵌的钻石。 克莱德心里猜想，也许是黑手党的人。 埃德加不愿和任何人交谈。他坐在那里，心里充满仇恨，两眼露出面对末日审判的神色。克莱德知道这个表情，它意味着局长正在冥想自己的棺材。计划他自己入土的细节，这让他获得隐晦的慰藉。一口用铅条封口的棺材，价值一千美元以上。让他的躯体免受蛆虫、病菌、鼹鼠、田鼠和肆意破坏者的侵扰。他们现在计划偷窃他扔弃的垃圾，为什么不可能偷窃他的尸体呢？用铅条封口，对，这样就可以让他免遭核战争的威胁，免遭放射性尘埃的蹂躏和腐蚀。 当他去世时，无论情况如何，那些对他行使不受控制的权力表示鄙视的人都会立刻改变态度，抛弃怀疑，开始传播谣言：局长本人是一次变态杀人计划的受害者，策划和实施该计划的人不为人知，隐藏在政府的盘根错节的巨大网络之中。 这样，老板最终将会获得人们的某种同情。那项计划非常复杂，带有很大欺骗性，实施非常迅速，让一个老人进入长眠。尽管这种说法令人将信将疑，他将会受到人们的广泛赞扬。而且，克莱德自己已经做好准备，或多或少持相信态度。 向上帝祈祷吧，在十年、十五年、二十年之内，埃德加不会死去。 也许，到了那时，60年代形成的喧嚣已经完结了。 那个戴着花哨面具的女人说：“你觉得那帮人，那帮讨厌鬼，会不会等在外面，再让我痛苦不堪呢？” 她丈夫说：“快到凌晨4点了。他们也该睡觉了。” 4点，他们还在外面等待。克莱德和埃德加在大厅里观察。最后一批参加聚会的人三三两两地出门，那帮抗议者换上了儿童面具，时而发出刺耳的叫声，时而有节奏地高呼口号。 一个小时之后，抗议终于结束了。埃德加和克莱德从酒店大门离开，走向凯迪拉克轿车。刮起一阵晨风，一个昼夜产生的垃圾在这个巨大的沿海城市的街道上滚动。 安了装甲的轿车缓缓驶向华尔道夫希尔顿酒店。 没错，局长最终将从讥笑他俩的那些人那里得到某种同情。淫秽、肮脏的玩笑。然而，埃德加和克莱德不是步履蹒跚的老女王。他们是具有巨大影响力的男子汉。而且，在这个世界上，埃德加任何时候都不愿意放弃自己拥有的控制力量。 克莱德发现了那辆旧汽车。 他瞟了埃德加一眼。埃德加戴着饰有圆形小金属片的面具，坐在那里，一声不吭，陷入了沉思。晚宴开始之后，埃德加一直戴着那张面具。那面具模样严厉，颜色冰冷，造型简洁，带着某种不容置疑的痛苦，某种个人的愤怒。他戴着它的原因在于，它——哪怕在短暂的时间里——减轻了控制带来的负担。 克莱德看着那辆行驶缓慢、开着车灯的破旧的大众牌车，决定不向埃德加汇报这一情况。那辆车与他们之间的距离大约一百英尺，就像一只发光的蟑螂，行动缓慢，晚上不睡，紧紧跟随。 他不向老板报告的原因是，这个晚上震撼不断，带来了许多痛苦。他打算自己独自面对最后这个带着凶兆的时刻。毕竟，他叫朱尼厄，无论多么疲惫，无论遭遇多少愚弄，他愿意而且必须是埃德加的生活伴侣和忠实随从，现在如此，一直如此。