Chapter 33 Section 5

today is Thursday.On Monday, the president used television and radio to address the nation, which was feeling the full impact of the crisis for the first time.On Wednesday, they learned that Soviet ships carrying missiles and nuclear warheads were heading to Cuba to bolster forces already deployed there.The situation was tense on Wednesday when they discovered that the blockade imposed by our navy was in effect and that fourteen Soviet ships were approaching the exclusion zone. today is Thursday.At dusk, strategic air command bombers loaded with thermonuclear weapons were cruising the Mediterranean Sea, some were flying over Greenland along the Arctic Circle route, and some were approaching the western border of the North African country.That evening, some people were driving the radio on the way home, and some were reading the newspaper of the day.

The night slowly fell from the vast sky and shrouded the lake, and the night became thicker and thicker.Nightlife-seekers come out, passing bars and nightclubs to join the stream of interested tourists and conference attendees.On the fringes of the city, they dodged the taxi cabs and the prostitutes who were haggling, and made their way to Rush Avenue.Mister Kelly is located there, a well-known jazz club in the vibrant Chicago nightlife. Lenny Bruce came out of the second-floor dressing room, looking listless, walked sleepily through the kitchen, out the turnstile, and sidestepped onto the stage.

"It's like being in a zoo tonight outside," said a waiter carrying a tray. Fifteen minutes into the performance, Lennie pulled a condom from his trousers pocket and painstakingly placed it on his wrinkled tongue.Then he turned his tongue and began to speak.Finally, he held the condom between his thumb and index finger and kept shaking it away from his body, as if it contained a semen sample.This dead jellyfish has a reflex to deliver the last twitching stimulus. "In twenty-three states, I could be arrested for displaying this thing in public. You're going to say in your mind that it's going to happen in the Orthodox Midwestern Bible Belt. In fact, I'm in The Bible Belt is safe because the people there have no idea what it is. Their dicks are wrapped in salen wrap."

He shook his hands, called Hallelujah, and took a big step back. "I swear, I saw it in Time magazine. You buy a box of saran film, and tear off the film you want to use according to the different sizes of your endowment." The word endowment elicited more laughter from the audience than plastic wrap or Time magazine. "Leftover meat pies." He let out a gruff laugh that's not uncommonly funny of a fashionista, and leaned back and forth like some Orthodox Jew in earnest prayer.There were also some people in the audience—three or four people—who were laughing in their seats.

"Salon Membrane. That sounds like an interstellar object. Just imagine. In a small town somewhere in America, a housewife is using clips to fasten clothes to strings. White kids and black kids in the The school played peacefully. The apple pie was ready and cooling on the kitchen window sill. Suddenly there was a silence. The people stopped. A puppy named Captain ducked under the steps of the porch. Then , a bright light flashed, blinding people's eyes. There are alien visitors, creatures from the planet Saran. They are very thin, and their skin is almost transparent. They said to the leaders on Earth, use the new technology we just invented This new material, try it on yourselves. Frankly, we're terrified of using it."

Lennie began to slowly close his fat eyelids while changing scenes of the characters. "It's been documented that farm youths date ranch hands with saran film. There's a bunch of sociologists out there doing fieldwork on the subject, not to mention advertisers working for Dow Chemical ...this company makes this stuff. If they could devise a diplomatic language, they'd find a way to use their product as food wrap while also being used as a condom. They erected a Huge billboards. Let's picture an old country doctor in a lab coat. Sitting in his humble office, he pulls out his wife's chicken sandwich and removes the plastic wrap covering it. Then he absent-mindedly Put film on your finger and talk about freshness and shelf life. Maybe, and sneak a word about overpopulation. The idea thrills the advertisers. Let's hang this ad on a flagpole Yeah or something. Almost subconsciously, understand?"

Lenny spun around, pointing at one of the Phantom supporters in the wing.In fact, there were no wings there, only walls and doors. He labored again to fit his tongue into the condom. "The power of words should never be underestimated. I wear a condom at all times because I don't want to get a girl pregnant while I'm chatting with a girl. Some innocent girl asks me how to get to the country? Oops , I met a little girl who didn't eat fireworks." There was a commotion in the hall, either because someone had gone out or because the waiter was setting the plates too loudly.The usher should not make a sound during Lenny's performance.However, this group of guests was noisy and overeating during the meal, munching on sirloin beef, roast ribs, lobster tails, pasta, and chicken livers.And, they almost wolfed down the Green God Salad—a specialty at Mr. Keller's Club.

"Either you love me unconditionally or I die right away. That's the condition of our relationship," Lennie said. Tonight, Kelly's Club was almost packed, well over its capacity of one hundred and sixty.Some of the guests were sitting, some were standing, and a dozen or so people blocked the fire escape.Some of them spoke loudly, some shouted loudly, and some were silent, like beef cattle that have not yet been slaughtered.Veins popped out on the temples of the man on a business trip.A member of the tour guide group from the Far East didn't know much about Lennie's performance, and his eyes were fixed on the man beside him.They were burly men from gangster-ridden suburbs, in suits and pink fingers with sparkling sapphires.Their lapels are so wide that they flutter in the wind, as if using a semaphore.Around a table, real estate developers sit with cigars in their mouths.It seems that a bachelor party is being held here, and a few sophisticated women are digging into a man's incredible inner world.Here are two chubby college professors looking for a good laugh, good ideas from the humanities enclave.Hugh Hefner and a bunch of Playboy models were on leave, hoping to find an opportunity here to appear on the magazine's centerfold.They are tall, young and beautiful, with good looks and exquisite facial features, which can be called perfect, as if they have been treated with air spray guns.Hefner had a pipe dangling from his mouth, with an old man's dirty smile on his face.

Someone got up and left, which is certainly a common occurrence in a Lenny Bruce show.Two women and another man are offended by a guy sticking his tongue into a toy horse. Lennie glanced at them, then his eyes fell on the woman walking behind.She was big-boned and strong. "Look who's leaving. You know who it is, don't you? You can see her picture on the wanted poster. She's Josef Mengele's matron, on a business tour, from Argentina .” There was a pause. "She hangs around the stockyards, prisons, and morgues." A pause. "When she went around, they called her Attila the Barbarian."

Who else is in the hall?The folks at New York City's No. 2 Comedy Company are here to pay homage to the neurotic.And jazz writers and theater performers, a few potbellied politicians and their rosary-wearing wives.They got the impression that Lenny was an Italian rascal whose real name was eleven letters long and must have meant a curse. Besides, who else?A group of policemen from Cook County, with their own ulterior motives, scattered in every corner of the hall, some with notebooks in their hands, some with tape recorders in their bodies, painstakingly collecting a few words so that they can be used during the interrogation.

Lennie is still shaming those who get up and leave. "One way, one way. Their flight leaves in ten minutes. Eichmann. Flight attendants in striped slacks." This is the language Lenny speaks.If you don't like what he's doing, you're a murderer committing a heinous crime.You're either the polio mother who was elected in 1952, or the target of his improv.At this point, Lenny began to joke about the light displays in the airplane toilets, a topic that had fascinated him lately. Please go back to your seat, please go back to your seat, please go back to your seat. Lenny once had a situation in New York where sixty people got up and left.Those who had gone to the show in a Greyhound bus all got up and left.At that time, Angelo, the restaurant manager, asked Lenny: "What dirty words did you say? That's all right now, who will pay the tip? You bastard will pay?" Lenny sticks out his tongue, licks the condom, then begins to stroke, then finger, twirl, make it loud. "I just suddenly felt that this is the feel of the 20th century." Later, he stopped, thoughtful, and seemed to recall something.He stuffed the condom into his pocket, absentmindedly.He was wearing the Nehru-esque suit he wore in San Francisco, with his Hindu politician number on it, crumpled like some discarded object just picked up in a gutter.He wore a large medal with a chain, an accessory to Nehru-style clothing.People can get medals for wearing clothes like that. Yes, he recalled a serious subject with a heavy heart.For the past week, the missile crisis has weighed heavily on him, with blackouts on Basin Street West and endless news bulletins everywhere.They appear on televisions in airport terminals and in tabloids held by blind newspaper vendors on street corners.Yes, no matter how disturbed Lenny was, he had already forgotten about the nuclear showdown. Better to believe that their ships are heading for our blockade at sea. Lennie nodded, stroked the mole on his face, and while wiggling his fingers, looked at the human head that appeared and disappeared in the lingering smoke. "We're all screwed!" He spoke a total of four times, with arms raised high, with emotion, and in a high-pitched voice. "Also, you start to understand it on a personal level," he said, "and how do they explain it when a war breaks out over the weekend and it's so inconvenient? You've got weekend events scheduled. Friday night: You and a few highly educated friends enjoy an art film. The Swedish film is serious and shows in a small theater near the university. Cockle picker Ursula Andress is naked in a sexy bikini, down to her waist a cloth belt in the middle, and a calfskin suspenders slung across the shoulder. Saturday morning: let me think. Go to the dry cleaners, the post office, the general store, and pick up the shoes, put the cat to sleep, give it to the French Lick Mom calls. Yes, I'm fine, how about you? Yes, yes, yes, very important appointment tonight. She's a real nice girl named Rethion, a Mormon. They don't drink the tap water and don't Not playing the sax." Lenny stopped talking abruptly and leaned over the face of a real estate mogul in the front seat.The guy had the fat face of a trumpet player absorbed in soloing. "Goofy Mick, useless guy." This string of words has no context, except for scenes where Lennie himself uses it casually.Culture and the words that carry it.He looked around for more objects, as if he needed to find a certain type of face to utter the words he held sacred. One of the university professors looked at Lenny with a pleasant smile. Lenny readily obeyed and said casually, "You fucking comrade, give me a few pennies." In fact, these words are of great interest to many people who have never heard anyone use them in public before, never heard them used by a man in a Hindu tunic.There is something authentic about them, and there is no lack of release, or relief. Lenny quickly used his extensive knowledge of German to improvise, showing a sense of language and an accurate grasp of the essence of idioms.He saw words like this on hotel walls, on airplanes, waiting for women or drug dealers on the smoky lawns of Los Angeles. While Lennie was bantering, a fight broke out among those sitting near the emergency exit at the back of the hall.Some of the five burly men beat each other violently with their fists, and some pushed and shoved each other in a mess.Lenny insulted their mother on stage, fueling the fire from the sidelines, watching them pour out of the hall. He thought about the missile crisis again. "Then you drive to pick up the girl you're dating. She lives in an apartment with six other Mormon girls. It's a mess. It's like a circus. They have big bright eyes, Blonde, blue-eyed, almost superhuman. They're evolutionary marvels, second only to olympic swimmers. Guys, it's like you're in a sci-fi scene. They're like guys from outer space, they look human , waiting for a signal to take over the planet. They believe that the tap water is a government conspiracy and that the water they drink is pumped from a deep well in Utah and brought in by truck. Retheon is handsome, but dressed Very austere, you lose interest when you see it. You look at these girls and you can't help feeling sad that lingerie has lost its charm. It's a nazified system, very restrictive, you An outlet for the fascist desires in the Vault. But those girls don't buy stuff like that, slippery stuff worth men fighting for. You take her to a stinky country restaurant, It's near the prison where the female inmates are kept. She ordered a knucklebone sandwich. Hey guys listen to me, that girl loves soul food. Your spirits are lifted. You think of something you prepared at home. A bottle of Watt 69 whiskey, Z rolling papers, sachets of dope - that's from the Andes, and good jazz records. Yes, listen to Miles, listen to his blue period .If Miles' music doesn't make her tender, she's probably a lesbian with an aggressive instinct. You've got all the words in your head about a college affair, stuff like that that men always think about and talk about. Stretch into her pants. Did you get in? What is the gain? Did you do it well? Where did you go? Is she easy to get? Is her breast plump or flat? Have you tried it? Listening to this language, it seems The thing said is cloth, which can be measured with a ruler. It is cloth. You can make her into cloth. She has the potential. She is like a garment factory, doing that is like doing work, according to the quantity produced Get paid. He's a fine artist, she's a piece of fabric. Cut out a piece of fabric. It's just a cutout. You can't separate a woman from the clothes she's wearing." At this point, Lennie performed in a rudimentary Christian fashion, giving special sermons to the uneducated rabble. "You get a taxi with the radio on. Khrushchev wrote a letter to Kennedy asking for a summit between the two leaders. What the hell does Khrushchev do? He's Badly dressed Russian. You guys are worried about your own orgasm, not his summit. The whole point of this missile crisis is the fuck it affords. You take Raytheon to your place and let She believed that the whole world was about to be destroyed by a nuclear war. Shockingly, it worked. Minutes later, she was standing in your living room, naked, curvy, heart-rending. Her hair Golden yellow, green eyes, almost radioactive." Suddenly, Lennie turned to the ad lib, to the words that were now in his head.He kept changing the subject, and he couldn't speak for five seconds on a topic.He conducts psychoanalysis, narrates personal memories, imitates the voices of various characters, and presents everything from grannies moaning to scenes from prison movies.Finally, he ends the performance with a monologue, abbreviated and without conjunctions.He babbled and punctuated, sounding more like music than speech.Such jazz is composed of rap words, and a slang term may form a corresponding slang term.He alternates between an improviser and a roadside musician, performing riffs that come from within.With this combined rap, the audience dispersed, some into strip clubs, some into bars, and some wandered into late-night restaurants.People who like nightlife gather in those places, and Lenny's stand-up show is like bop jazz, echoing in the dark night of Chicago. We parked a half block from the bridge and transferred to a taxi.I handed the guy the address and he looked at me first, then at her and nodded.I was told beforehand and ended up taking a taxi across the border.If you drive by yourself, when you return to the United States, you will be interrogated by customs officers, which will be endless and time-consuming. Under the illumination of lightning, the town presents a strange light.Painted in blue and green, the shops lining the street display pottery, brass, rugs and glass. "I think I've got a new idea," I said. "Come on, what's your idea?" "Maybe, that's what I was thinking. I've never thought about it as seriously as I do now." Amy's brown eyes were clear, bright, and probably reproachful. "In my opinion, that's the only thing that needs to be done," I said, "and we should talk about the situation in more detail." She had that look that gave you the impression that she wanted you to understand that she had suffered a great deal from not showing you mercy.We came out of town and drove into the brown mountains with the driving rain pouring down.About six minutes later, the car went through the woods and stopped in front of a rather imposing building.At this time, the sun was scorching in the sky and the ground was steaming. A woman opened the door, let us in, glanced at Amy, and said in a more or less managerial tone, "Please tell me your name." "Amy Brookheiser." "Okay, please follow me." That's how it was.That woman could be a nurse, housewife, office supervisor, or all three.Amy followed behind the woman.I think the two of us—Amy and I—may have said something comforting to each other.Even if Amy hadn't spoken, I might have said something.However, I don't know what exactly I said.The two of them went down the corridor and turned left, I still had the carry-on we needed for the two of us for the night. Ok.I put my luggage on the floor, go into the living room or waiting room, and sit on the sofa.There are no magazines to read.All the reading material is on the walls, with printed sayings, and occult symbols.This surprised me.They included circles, zigzags, arrows, birds, words with mysterious meanings that I struggled to understand.Some proverbs are grouped into shapes, among them triangles, and raised palms - maybe that's the tree of life.The proverbs were all in English, about the journey of the soul and the eye of God.On the four walls and on the ceiling, mysterious eyes and warning hands are painted. I silently bear the shock of these surprises, wondering what they mean exactly, and wondering why I wasn't warned beforehand.At this time, the doctor walked in.Someone I worked with in Palo Alto had already given me the doctor's name and address and made arrangements for me.Also, two other people I spoke to assured me of the trip, stating that it was safe, hygienic and of a professional standard.No one mentioned those things on the wall, though. He didn't seem to see me. He said, "Yeah." I said: "Doctor Swellengen?" He didn't look at me. "It looks like everything is in place," he said. I asked, "Pay now?" Our conversations seem to be reminiscences. He pouted as he pondered how to pay.I hold my wallet and wait for his decision. He was tall, hunched over in white overalls, with a strange gray face, lost in thought.I think he was six foot seven, or six foot eight.According to those I spoke to, the American performed the abortion out of a sense of responsibility and compassion.He didn't shave today. I paid him two hundred dollars in cash, and he took it, saying, "There's going to be some blood." Perhaps, to disguise the nature of the transaction, he walked down the hallway and into the living room. I sat there, looking at the pictures and the words, not knowing what to make of it, not knowing how to describe this practice.Maybe Amy knew, but she didn't say much.All she wanted was to get it done safely. I am willing to make sacrifices, and I am willing to take responsibility.That's what I told myself in my heart.I felt that I wished to place myself in some kind of long-term obligation, the responsibility of a husband, the responsibility of a father. However, this is not long enough.It's completely hopeless, worthless, and very fragile.The time we get along is not long each time, not more than a month in total.We dated for two years, on and off, for the sole reason that we lived in different cities and faced danger with a religious devotion.She is the last person I need in this world. You're sitting in this room with a strange, secret feeling of regret, isn't it?You try to allow yourself to experience that child's unfulfilled life. It made me uneasy that someone was cooking a few rooms away.The smell of food wafted from time to time, someone opened the cupboard door, and the sound of playing with kitchen utensils appeared and disappeared.It made me uneasy, confused, and made me a little angry. Amy was twenty-six, two weeks shy of turning twenty-seven.She lives and works in Wichita.I'm twenty-four years old, and I work about half a continent away from her city.I knew that what had happened made us both hateful. I realized when Amy called me that I hadn't asked the taxi driver to pick us up.We waited a while, the woman called and someone showed up at the door. They gave her local anesthesia because they only had the equipment to do it.On the way back to the border, she was not confused, but she didn't want to talk either. She sat on the seat, leaned forward, and held the edge of the seat tightly with both hands. Customs officers checked the taxi for smuggled items and quickly searched through our luggage.A few minutes later, we were back in the rental car. I drove out of Del Rio and headed east onto Route 90.Amy slept for a while and woke up thirsty.Ahead of us, a pickup lost control on the road and started spinning.It was the only other car on the road, and after coming down a sandy ramp, it began to spin, its wheels spinning.We slow down so we can watch from a distance. "Rotated 180 degrees," Amy whispered. "My grandpa once said that, there must be something wrong with the pickup." She looked tired and her voice was low when she spoke.I drove slowly past the pickup truck, which was now reversing.The two teenagers were in the cab, and at this moment they came to their senses and let out giggles.I started looking, trying to find a place for Amy to drink something cool and healthy before I got to the airport. The hotel is called The Big Wave, why not?This driveway is right on Miami Beach, it's called Ocean Drive, isn't it? A few rich men, short in stature and full of angry faces, got out of the rented convertible with their wives dressed in fancy clothes.Those women have been fully exposed to the sun, and their skins are brownish-yellow, as if wrapped in a layer of tobacco leaves. In a bar, a gang of hipster northern kids sport fake radio station logos.They are studying in the college of the scenic spot, and they are eager to know the details of the program performed in the hall. A group of Cubans passed by here and walked towards the hotel lobby. The shoes and clothes on their feet were all in tropical attire.The woman was dressed in white, giving the impression that she was a natural dancer. The man wore sunglasses and looked cautious, like a personal bodyguard of a big shot, ready to knock the attacker to the ground at any time. In the hotel lobby, a Latin band plays sequential mambo and cha-cha.Sex and glamour, a couple of women from Long Island look for a second husband.Some of them traveled in pairs, some even took their sisters with them, like a hunter with a gun bearer.One of them is divorced and the other is still single.The two of them flirted with an orthodontist and flirted with a man who looked like a businessman.He said he was a company executive who supplied linens to hotels.But, you know what I said when I called him?I gotta say get Maddy.Actually, his name was Fred. Their eyeliner was surgically applied, their brows tweezed, their eyelashes painted, and their coral acrylic nails dangled to match their lipstick and face color.These women have always been members of the showbiz, some of whom prefer nightclubs to hotel lobbies and want to watch a Lenny Bruce stand-up show. You laugh first, then dance. The performance hall is called El Paso, and Mambo music is faintly heard from the hotel lobby.Lenny was surprised to see some elderly audience members in the hall, with a few canes leaning against chairs.However, he felt that he could not tell a joke about the cripple.And it's not because he's been getting more cautious and softer lately.No, because there was only one topic to talk about tonight, and that topic was vital to his existence. "We're less than two hundred miles from Cuba. I know you know that. I know that too, but I don't feel comfortable talking. I think those missiles are somewhere to my right. Those weapons It has a range of up to a thousand kilometers. From our point of view, a missile with such a range is not needed, but it still makes me deeply disturbed. We have not lost the war yet, but we have started to use metric units." He stood on stage, nodding his head, looking not quite jet-lagged, a little paranoid, a little overdose.His voice was not as loud as usual, his eyes were dim, and his eyes were dim. "We're not going to be killed because we're Jewish. That seems to mean something. They're killing us just because we're Americans. How do we feel about that?" It was unusual for an evening of entertainment to begin in this manner.There was a very sad silence.Later, Lenny performed a left turn, first came in a pose, resembling some ancient Greek about to throw a discus, and then jerked his upper body forward, hitting the floor with one fist. A college student laughed. "I like the names of the protectors. Please look it up, Jim." He reached into the side pocket of his battered overcoat and produced a handful of news reports cut out of a newspaper.He mumbled a few lines, made brief comments, dropped a note, kicked it a few times, and spoke in a Transylvanian voice. "Well, these people are deciding our fate. They are serious, day and night, holding meetings, all wearing white shirts, chain buttons on the cuffs, and striped ties around the neck. But, Their names show what they do. Adlai Stevenson. Adlai. It's a very special name, gender-neutral, male or female. This little boy is very special and we don't want people Know he's a little boy. Boy or girl basically, it's a fucking normal thing. If there's anyone else within 5,000 miles of this Adlai with the name Adlai , we will spend money to hire someone to kill him. Moreover, we will also kill his predecessors, so that the family will have no descendants. This is our family's business. Yes, you understand. La Cosa Nostra (our business). But they can do it without blackmail and murder. Their way is by using names that no one else can think of." The divorced women laughed.Also in attendance were the lower classes from the greyhound tracks, musicians who weren't playing that night, casino workers and dancers who were off duty.The two tables of travel agents are from Toronto and are traveling here at public expense.They believe that Rennie is a comedian from Scotland, and here he talks about his own impression of the royal family in a joking way. "Okay, got it. Dean Rosk. Dean. Born to be a leader, born to counsel and teach. Naturally bald, oh yes. Naturally intelligent, strong, quick-witted. Look who's got one syllable in their name. Stubborn bastard. But it's my favorite, you know. You guys know what I'm talking about, don't you?" An old lady laughed. "That's right. McGeorge Bundy. McGeorge. How can you grow up if you're named that? Did someone spell it backwards when he was born? Did the hospital get the name wrong? Of course not." .They marked his extraordinary qualities that way. Also, his grandma's name was McMary." The old lady liked what Lennie said. Lenny flipped through the clippings, muttering incessantly. "Yeah, that's it. Roswell Gilpatrick. Roswell. It's not fake, it's real. Look, he's in the cabinet room, he's on the newsreels. Those secretaries, assistants Secretary of State, Deputy Secretary of State, Russia experts. Alex Johnson. Alex. Bromley Smith. Bromley. Llewellyn Thomson. Llewellyn, the name There are four l's in it. It takes guts, my dear. You see, I admire them privately. They know how to behave in a detached way in the world. And there's a W. Eve The people of Lil Harriman. Averill. This guy has his own special exit on the expressway in New York State. What about us? We are here, Cuba is close at hand. They are not here, but we are in danger environment. The atomic bomb is the Old Testament, no doubt the Jewish Bible. We are indifferent, accepting this judgment, accepting the punishment that may come at any time. Sickness and disaster. Tell us about it, my dear." Lennie's paranoia and sense of tragedy may have more immediate causes, though.Someone let him in on a secret: the police in Dade had planted Jewish eyeliners in the audience.Yes, those cops spoke Yiddish and were on hand to record every unpleasant word he uttered. "You want names, and I'll give you names. My name is Leonard Alfred Schneider. What have I been up to since I took the name Lenny Bruce? I'm Towards the invisible middle class. I'm just like you, sir. Just a guy named Bruce. That's not the case with those on a mission, though. McGeorge, Roswell, Adlai. Cleaned up all traces of the middle class. It's a smart thing to do. Where do they go to church? It doesn't matter. Their name is their church. Not only are they not like Leonard Alfredo De Schneider, and it's not like Lenny Bruce either. Honestly, I don't blame them for that." He talks softly, softly, and in a nasal voice, and doesn't expect the audience to laugh.He put aside the newspaper clipping he had just been waving in his hand.The Latin music played in the hotel lobby was getting louder and louder, echoing through the hall.A man—a man with a tangle of greyhound tabloids in his hand—began to ask Lennie questions.Lenny ignored him, though, reaching for the microphone off the shelf and wishing the man well. Later, Rennie performed the joke of the Queen calling a Chinese restaurant and asking them to deliver food. 那些旅行代理人喜欢这个段子。 “如果你名叫罗斯威尔或者布罗姆利，那么，你的父亲让人羡慕，只有最负责任的父亲才给自己的孩子取这样的名字。如果你出生在罗斯威尔家，你的父亲不会每年只来看你两次，离开时送一件标新立异的玩具。喂，孩子，给你这个小礼物，让它加深我们之间的关系。你仔细看着玩具，那是一个橡胶呕吐袋。对了，把它放在妈妈的床上。”伦尼说着，打了一个响指，耸了耸肩膀。“随便说一句，在全国各地的防放射性尘埃庇护所里，民防署储存了大量橡胶呕吐袋。伙计们，他们的做法完全正确。他们修建了防放射性尘埃庇护所，储存了大量的呕吐袋。除此之外，里面还有卫生用品、医疗用品。还有苯巴比妥，那是用来让人镇静的。还有青霉素，可能是用来治疗爆炸引起的湿疹的，这个我不太清楚。如果射线让你身患重病，无法呕吐，他们会给你橡胶呕吐袋，以便提高你的士气。原子弹爆炸之后，造成大量损害，”他看了一眼手表，然后接着说，“他们将会进行重建。冷战留下的这些废品将会变得非常值钱，不亚于稀奇古怪的纪念珍品。在这个国家里，你到处可见使用黑黄两色印制的标识，不过可能在六天以前才首次注意到这个标识——防放射性尘埃庇护所。值得收藏的东西。储藏室和洗衣间是指定的庇护所，那些东西就堆放在里面。还有大桶大桶的饮用水、咸味脆薄饼干、无色唇膏——那是用来反射光线的。顺便说一点，纸板做的厕所很小，只有两个色拉碗那么大。” 一名招待员把托盘上的酒杯放在桌子上。 “昨天，在我们设立的检查线上，海军人员登上了一艘船。那是首次登船检查，一个个全副武装。我敢打赌，你们一个个都非常紧张，亲爱的。结果呢，那艘船上没有导弹，装运的是卡车配件和厕所纸。看吧，实情就是如此，日常生活的东西是必不可少的。这就是本周的秘密意义。这一段秘史既不会出现在书面报告里，也不会出现在当权者的公开讲话中。那些漂亮的炸弹和导弹，那些飞机和潜水艇。诸位以前见过这么漂亮的东西没有？那些武器采用最好的工艺制造出来，拥有最富于诗意的名称。与此同时，某个浑身肮脏的古巴农民眼巴巴等待，指望谁送来汽化器，以便让他的破旧拖拉机重新开动。他拉屎后一直用生菜叶子擦屁股。有人提醒他说，他得有耐心，让他们修复两个大国之间的关系。”伦尼身子一歪，然后转动一圈。“诸位记得自己小时候拉屎时妈妈是怎么说的？亲爱的，拉吧，拉给妈妈看吧。”他身体转了一圈。“你们肩负重任，我是说观众之中的那些语言天才们。有一个单词你们应该知道，是白粉，还是海洛因呢？抽一口，闻一口，就像吸鼻烟那样。想一想这句话的意思是什么，他养成了二百美金的臭习惯。朋友，下次逮捕某个和你宗教信仰相同——宗教信仰相同这个术语引起了那帮大学生的一阵笑声——的瘾君子时，你戴上橡胶手套，伸进他的屁眼，检查里面藏匿了什么东西，你闻到的就是那种臭气。臭只是日常生活的另外一个说法。” 那些侦探没有笑。 一阵海风吹进大厅，乐队这时演奏的是恰恰舞曲。桌边的一个女人起身离开，酒吧的另外一端出现了跳舞的身影。那些人走出酒店大堂，跳起了恰恰舞。伦尼扭动肩膀，身体下蹲。那些旅行代理经过投票表决，又点了一轮酒。音乐穿过大厅墙壁，就像气味浓烈的臭屁。两个女大学生站起来，在拥挤的桌子之间跳舞。刚才跳舞的人身穿浅色裙子，白色衬衫式茄克衫，像拳击手那样弯着腰，走进酒吧。就在这时，在加利福尼亚试射的导弹被重新定位，瞄准了苏联目标。 伦尼抓起话筒，大声喊叫：“我们全都要完蛋了！” 观众笑了起来，笑中带着哭声。在他的带领下，他们开始有节奏地唱起来。恰恰舞曲的音乐灌入大厅，跳舞的人两人一组，随着音乐，翩翩而入。坐在桌边的男人和女人站起来，开始原地起舞，挥动两手，做出拳击动作。他们有的踢腿时摔掉了鞋子，有的撞倒了桌子上装有酒水的杯子。伦尼用西班牙语说了一段独白。观众喜欢这个段子，哈哈大笑起来，笑中带着哭声。一个学习服装管理专业的大学生端起一杯浓烈的苏格兰威士忌，扬起头来，一饮而尽。古巴近在咫尺。 这里好极了，这里妙极了。这里是迈阿密。