Chapter 45 epilogue capitalism

The nuances that exist within capital burn culture.Capital promotes foreign investment, global markets, corporate acquisitions, information flow formed by transnational media, electronic currency brings inhibitory effects, sexual activities are cyberspatialized, non-cash, computer-secured sex transactions.Moreover, consumer desires are converging—not because people want the same things, but because people want the same range of choices. We sat in a tavern called Football Hooligans.Waiting for a man sitting at a nearby table to turn around, I was able to confirm the uncanny resemblance I had in mind.

I was chatting with Brian Glaske—old friend Brian.There was music playing in the tavern, and he seemed to be listening intently to what I had to say.It's called rave rock, and yes, it's loud, but most of the time it's jarring, repetitive, and in a cold wavelength range.Brian sat there, head bowed, nodding now and then, either in agreement or because he was tired—it was hard to tell which. Something is fading, weakening.The country disintegrated, the assembly line was shortened, and it interacted with the assembly lines of other countries.This is what desire seems to demand.A mode of production that caters to cultural needs and individual needs, rather than to the Cold War ideology of which there was great uniformity.The system claims to go with it, becoming more flexible, utilizing more resources, and relying less and less on rigid categories.But even as desire tends to specialize, become smooth, private, the confluence of market forces forms a real-time capital.This capital moves at the speed of light, crosses the horizon, forms a deeper identity, removes the individual with particularity, and affects everything from architecture to leisure time to people eating, sleeping and dreaming The way.

Here, people eat minority fast food and drink five-star French brandy.The dance floor was so crowded that some people fell and were dragged to the sidelines, almost unconscious. I had to put my head down and talk to Brian.He seemed about to fall into the glass, but I held back my urge to nod along with him.Admittedly, for the most part, I am quoting comments made earlier in the day by trading company manager Viktor Maltsev.Still, these comments are worth repeating.Victor considers these kinds of questions that arise with every kind of change a society may undergo. Brian grunted that he found the place scary.I looked at the young people standing on the bandstand.There were about five or six of them, shy-looking men with long hair and work pants, with bomb kits slung across their bare chests.They may be college students who have gotten a taste of suicide terror.

Yet, he said, it was neither the music nor the bands and their exterior decorations.I think I understand what he means.What scares him is the feeling of being replaced and redefined.What random arrangement would have such a club sit on the forty-second floor of a new office building?In this building, there are intermediary companies, software companies, import companies, foreign banks everywhere.Private bodyguards hired by various companies patrol the corridors, sometimes shooting each other.In this tavern, the man near the table, with a large bald head, small eyes, and a pointed chin, finally turned his head.Clearly, he was a professional, and he looked exactly like Lenin.

We took the elevator, carried our luggage, and came to the street.We couldn't find a taxi and after a while we saw an ambulance approaching with the driver sticking his head out the window. "Are you going to the airport?" he asked. We climbed into the back of the car, and Brian quickly fell asleep on a gurney that was about to collapse.About twenty minutes later, I saw a large billboard for a strip club on the glass of the back door of the ambulance. We both arrived at Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow, and of course the driver asked for US dollars.I woke up Brian, and together we went into the terminal and tried to find the guy from the trading company.He told us we got the wrong airport so there was nothing to rush.

"Where should we go, Victor?" "No problem. I've made arrangements. You two went to the tavern?" "That tavern is interesting," he told Victor. "Lenin is there." "And Marx and Trotsky," he said, "very crazy things." This is what I thought of after arriving at the military airport.We boarded a modified transport plane.There was a violent jolt on the runway and the plane wobbled up into the foggy sky.After the airfield ascended to cruising altitude, I stood up and found a small window slit in the emergency exit behind the left wing.I pressed my face to the glass so that I could see the vastness of the east, the boundless longitudes marked on the map, the arcs projected on the map through the Siberian lowlands beyond the Urals.Of course, this is mainly my imaginary feeling.In the limited space of the windows, through the gradually thickening twilight, I saw a large area of ​​land below.

That's what came to my mind when I sat down again. It occurred to me that the leaders of this country had dreamed of vast land empires.They mobilized their troops, annexed other countries, and expanded their territories.Armed troops drove heavy trucks across the plains, forcing language and desire, leaving mass graves of carnage.They wished to extend their shadow over those territories. Now, they want to— I explained my thinking to Brian Glaske.He was sitting on the other side of the cabin, facing me.We sat on parallel benches, like skydivers waiting to reach the drop zone. "Today, they want computer chips," Bryan said.

"Exactly, thank you." Viktor Maltsev said: "Yes, the country has shrunk in size and become smaller, but I think the mass graves are still there." Victor sat next to Brian, tall and slender in a leather jacket.The drone and clack echoed through the hollow cabin of the transport plane so large that we had to raise our voices and yell at each other when we spoke.Victor told us that the plane was originally intended to transport cargo and military personnel.There were wires dangling from the engine room, fixtures protruding from the bulkheads, cylinders, brackets, slats and dangling objects everywhere.

"Is this a company plane, Victor?" "I just bought it this morning," he replied. "You're going to use it to deliver materials?" "We've already arranged it." His company was called Chaika, and they invited us to be part of a business plan.We're flying to a remote test site in Kazakhstan to watch an underground nuclear test.This is what the Chaika Corporation sells, using nuclear explosions to make money.They want us to provide the most hazardous waste to be destroyed for us.Depending on how hazardous the waste is, they charge customers by the kilogram, ranging from $300 to $1,200.Their clients include businesses, governments and cities.Chaika has ties to the military industry in the CIS, to laboratories working on the design of the atomic bomb, and to the shipping industry.They collect hazardous waste from all over the world, transport it to Kazakhstan, put it underground, and vaporize it in a nuclear explosion.We get a brokerage fee out of it.

The plane entered thick cloud cover. "In Phoenix, the folks at our company," I told him, "are concerned about the size of your working capital. Victor, the security equipment we're talking about for transporting highly sensitive materials, which can be expensive, is a Not a small number." “Yes, yes, yes, yes. We have the expertise.” He said the word expertise with a sort of defensive tone that seemed to sum up all the inadequacies that had embarrassing him so far. "The amount of rubles we have is not a small number, it can be said to be very huge. Didn't you two see the article in the Financial Times? Let me send you a copy."

Brian was lying on his side, fully clothed and gloved. "I forget," he said, "where exactly are we going?" I shook my body in the bumps and said loudly to him: "Kazakhstan Experimental Site." "Yes, where exactly?" I asked aloud, "Where are we going, Victor?" "That place is so important, it's not shown on the map. Around Semipalatinsk, there's nothing on the map. No problem, someone's there to pick us up." "No problem," I yelled at Brian. "Thank you both. Please wake me up when we land," he said. I looked him over carefully.It was freezing cold in the cabin and we were very tired.I looked at Brian and knew what he was doing, knowing that he was trying to break the trust between us.I want to stay awake while he sleeps so I can watch him closely so I can sort out my emotions and wait for the best moment. Victor reached into his travel bag and pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal.I do what politicians do and applaud.He went to the cockpit to find some glasses, but they either didn't have them or wouldn't lend them.I looked in my travel bag and found a bottle of mouthwash.I removed the lid and jolted through the cabin, shaking the grooved plastic bottle in my hand.Victor poured some whiskey into the lid and I settled back in my seat. We didn't have seat belts and felt the plane was getting more and more turbulent.I put the bottle of mouthwash upright in my travel bag to keep the contents from spilling.Besides the pilot, there were only three of us in the cabin.The emptiness of the cylindrical cabin, I think, evokes a slightly dreary feeling, as if we were miserable passengers in a crumbling terminal late at night, rather than lucky passengers who had already boarded.I sipped the whiskey from the cap and listened to the astonishing sound of the plane.There are not many brackets in the cabin, like round arches supported by bone frames, groaning in the flight noise generated by manual driving.I swallowed the whiskey and tasted a hint of mint. "Before you joined Chaika, what did you do?" "I've taught history for twenty years, and I'm bored. I think it's time to find a new life." "In American cities, there are many people like you, Russians, and Ukrainians. Do you know what they do?" "Drive a taxi," he said. I noticed that his eyes flickered to catch mine.The fleeting moment our eyes met revealed to me the superior social status he possessed. He drank from the bottle. I observe the aircraft as if looking down from a protected position in the sky.In the dark night sky, the plane passed quickly like a swallow—I can be sure that it was already dark outside the cabin.This huge metal flying vessel moves through the wind and rain like a swallow flying in an old black and white movie. Victor asked me, have you ever seen a nuclear explosion with your own eyes?No.Interestingly, the weapon reflects the soul of its maker, he said.The Soviets always wanted a larger explosive yield and a larger stockpile of nuclear bombs.They have to convince themselves that they are a superpower.launch weight.What is Launch Weight?Neither of us knew exactly what it meant, but we both thought it sounded like the volume of throwing, like the collective will to throw.They have to give themselves confidence with numbers, volume and quality. "What about America?" he asked. He was very happy, and his eyes turned in my direction, flickering on and off, like a carnival light.It was the United States that designed the neutron bomb, he said.Lots of neutrons making a muffled noise and a small shock wave, the perfect capitalist tool to wipe out people and leave buildings behind. I watched Brian sleep. "Now, you have your own capitalist tools. Right, Victor?" "You mean our company?" "I heard that your company has a small private army." "And the intelligence services, in order to protect our property." "It can also intimidate a competitor and make him retreat." He told me that he came up with the name of the company. The word Tchaika, which means seagull, poetically expresses the fact that the company's basic business is waste disposal.He liked the sight of seagulls flying around cargo ships, waiting for items tossed from the bow, and then landing suddenly on top of the trash.Besides, it's a good name, it sounds better than a mouse or a pig. I look at Brian, it's better than sleeping.I don't want to sleep until the observation is over.I've been traveling with this guy, from Arizona to Russia, seated next to each other, through all those time zones.The two of us leafed through the same magazines and swapped food in little plastic-wrapped boxes.My sweet tooth is his radish, I can eat it, but he can't.Over the course of so many hours, from Sky Harbor in Arizona all the way to Sheremetyevo in Moscow, we flew over the ocean, over the fields, and saw the houses and life below.Perhaps it was the adjacency of the seats that made me wish that it would be better to wait before confronting him head-on.It seemed too inappropriate to condemn the person sitting next to you.I'd like to have a quiet showdown with him in a cozy room somewhere. I see us dashing through the dark. I told Victor that there was an uncanny connection between the weapon and the waste, but I didn't know what kind of connection it was.He laughed and put his legs on the stool, as if squatting there, which seemed weird.I said that weapons and waste are a pair of mysterious twins.He liked the idea that Waste was one of the devil's twins.Waste is secret history, subterranean history reminiscent of the way archaeologists unearth the history of earlier cultures, unearthing, piece by piece, the vast piles of bones and broken tools buried in the ground. For many years, he said, people have thought about weapons, but never thought about the growing by-products in the dark. "In this instance," I said, "in our case, in our age, what we excrete is in turn destroying us." We don't dig it, we bury it deep, he said.Perhaps, this is not enough.So, we came up with this idea to kill the devil.He finished and laughed.Let the two historical tributaries of weapons and waste merge, and we destroy contaminated nuclear waste through nuclear explosions. I walked to the other side of the aisle to refill the bottle cap with whiskey. "It's obvious," he said. I saw Brian open his eyes. I walked to my seat, extending one arm for balance.I sat down cautiously, paused for a moment, swallowed my whiskey, and blinked. I look at Brian. I said, "When they were making the atomic bomb, Brian, as far as I know, they had to deal with the fissile material somehow, pairing one part with the other. That way, they could get a A chain reaction to the key role. A design that assembles the male component into the female component. The cylinder goes into a channel in the sphere and they bombard it. That's pretty telling, nothing really Opportunities to dodge. Penises and vaginas are everywhere." I saw that the plane we were on was going through the wind and rain. Now, I know, I'm absolutely sure, that my best friends Brian and Marianne—whose names sound perfectly fitting—have conspired to betray me.I'm crazy about the jets; like that, I really like where we're at.I was so jet-lagged and exhausted that I knew the truth, and it left me feeling dizzy and caught up in the stench of a friend's sham.I began to spout, insinuating, insinuating cleverly.Now, I know the whole truth.We're both on this plane, and he's stuck in this small talk between the two of us, and there's nowhere to go. At the gate, we were given signs to wear.The strips are gauzy and show how much radiation the wearer has absorbed over a period of time.The surrounding bushes were dull and swaying in the wind, framing the overcast sky.In such an environment, these measured signs allow people to appreciate the threat elements they face. Brian said the gate is a bit like the entrance to a national park. Don't be surprised if tourists show up here one day, Victor said. The car we were in was driven by a Russian, not a Kazakh.He was wearing ironed work clothes, two measurement marks tucked into his shirt, and he carried a radiation meter with him.We saw, away from the road, men in white masks and wide boots driving bulldozers clearing the ground.We came to a mound where we could see the crater formed by a recent underground test.The collapsed parts vary in size, but the shape looks beautiful.Cracks were formed during the explosion, and dirt moved by the shock wave later slid into it, forming a large crater with white-rimmed edges. The driver told us that people here call the nuclear explosion test site a polyhedron.He also said some other situations, but Victor didn't translate them one by one. Later, we see the remnants of past experiments - ground explosions.There's an uncanny vibe there, something unsettling, it's hard for me to pin down.We saw the remnants of a railway bridge, a sculptural work of charred brown metal trusses atop reinforced concrete piers.It carries a heaviness, a spirit left behind after an ancient secret has gone wrong, and has lost its original value.We also see the gray foundations of a short tower that was destroyed in an explosion decades ago, leaving only this half of the cracked concrete structure.Its top was only seven feet above the stubble-strewn ground, and its metal beams jutted out strangely, as if still unshaven from the blast.The pillars that have been exposed to the sun and rain, the I-beams exposed to the wind, these are the things that people make and build.Every irradiated object evokes a sense of guilt, of a test program gone wrong. We move forward in silence. Near a camera bunker smeared with yellow paint—the yellow color reminiscent of contamination—are several mounds that have been bulldozed.The place was completely frozen and looked weird.Even if we pay attention to details, it is a sample of our forgetful characteristics.We saw traces of dwellings in the distance.The driver told us that when the houses used in the experiment were blown off their foundations by the shock wave, there were still people inside—mannequins.The things on the shelves are intact, exactly the same as they were forty years ago, all American brands. Victor said it was a masterpiece that the KGB was proud of, assembling the interior of an American home in a very faithful way. Those interior decorations are amazing.Stranger still, there was a sense of nostalgia for seeing this scene: in the middle of nowhere near Mongolia, in a house that still stood, on the shelves were many American products that had almost disappeared. All intact, for example, Old Holland Facial Cleanser, White's Hair Lotion, Ippena Toothpaste, Octo Laundry Detergent, Chase Sanborn Coffee.Does anyone remember why we did this back then? I asked, "Does anyone remember why we did this back then?" "Good question, for competition. You win, we lose. You have to tell me how the winner feels. Big winner." Brian was sitting next to me, asleep by this time. We see a rusted tank with yellow marks on the turret.Some roads ended abruptly, with weeds growing over the asphalt. The car we took came to the edge of the proving ground, where the tests we participated in would be conducted.The place has been raised a little, cleared of shrubs, and tidied up to be more level.I didn't want to be the first to get out of the car. At that moment, everyone didn't get up.There are several training towers not far away, and more than a dozen mobile houses are placed on the flat ground, which are equipped with instruments and equipment for analyzing the launch effect. The driver opened his side door and everyone got out. There was a sound of wind outside the car, and several technicians and soldiers stood nearby talking.Victor lit a cigarette and walked towards them, his long fur coat making him look diminutive.We could see white marks from previous explosions on the steep slope on the other side of the road.I kept watching the driver for signs and portents. Victor came over and pointed to a corner of the cleared area.Thick cables stretched out from several instruments placed on the white ground, winding and leading all the way there.Victor said that this is the projection point of the center of gravity.We stood there, nodding in the wind. At a depth of about a kilometer underground, he said, an atomic bomb would be detonated in a granite rock formation.Surrounding a low-yield nuclear device are piles of nuclear reactor waste and fissile material removed from decommissioned warheads.He said there was a passage connecting the ground to the explosion site, which had been filled and plugged to prevent radiation from leaking out there. The driver sticks a finger to his tongue and reaches to remove the dirt from his sleeve.I check my sleeves for dirt.Later, the driver turned back to the car, and we followed behind him. He pulled us to a group of bunkers not far away.There were more than forty people gathered there, including generals in beige hats, uranium speculators, and a man and a woman from the Bundesbank.We met them one by one, many of them fat bureaucrats, very similar in appearance.Others include entrepreneurs, bomb designers, and official representatives sent here to monitor the tests.Everyone here wears badges that measure radiation.Together with Victor, I walked into a reception room.There were soup bowls and plates on the tables, and the meals were rich and steaming.I met Chaika managers and senior officials from several CIS countries.There was a palpable air of anticipation in the room.A dark-skinned young man in a round hat brings soup bowls filled with ice cubes, topped with glasses of pepper-and-pepper vodka.I spoke to a veteran soldier who worked for Polyhedron and was told he was looking for a job here as a weapons scientist.A Russian was telling jokes to a group of burly men who surrounded him.Standing near them, I vaguely heard the words Kuaishou Gonzalez, and I was startled.I looked around for Brian, hoping he was here, listening to the Russian joke.The Russian, in military uniform, with a middle finger pointing to the sky and flushed, brings the episode to a climax.He looks up at his raised middle finger as he speaks, handling the punchlines of the joke vividly.After he told it in Russian, he repeated it to me—of course, after all these years, many Russians can already speak English.Some of the men beside him nodded, and some laughed, cracking sounds came straight out of their broad jaws. The caviar is served in a small frozen bowl, with an attractive color and aroma.There are geologists, game theory experts, energy experts, and a journalist who has signed a book contract.I also saw scrap traders, venture capitalists, dumpling pies and kebabs.Plutonium, which can be used to make nuclear weapons, often leaves the industry, Victor said, and there are arms dealers looking to bid for a piece of the pie. "So, what about this explosion?" I asked. "Not prohibited by international treaty?" "Prohibition, no prohibition, our situation is special, it is not prohibited. The local government issued an order to block the test site, but our company enjoys privileges. Experimental demonstrations must be carried out. Plutonium waste is generated in large quantities, and it has reached a very bad level. For the whole world, who's counting? Maybe as high as twelve hundred metric tons." "It's definitely higher than that." "Higher than that. Yeah, they've got to disappear somehow." Those foods temporarily make me feel happy.I have a huge appetite and will eat anything I can get my hands on, including meat, fish, eggs.The vodka looked enticing in the bottle, a clear, deep red color that was heart-warming and masked its spicy taste.My stomach was full of protein, I was almost full, and I felt refreshed and content.I saw Victor strike up a conversation with the high-ranking official in charge of nuclear weapons, and he was slightly neglected among these big shots.He needed to adapt to an environment where trading had escaped the shadow of black-market speculation into a fully publicized economy of plunder and corruption.I'm not sure he'll be able to forget everything he has to in order to be a competent competitor in a situation like this. I spoke to a woman with a piece of puff pastry crust stuck to the corner of her mouth.Meals make us forget for a moment the fatalistic vibe of the place and the radiation measuring devices we wear.The two of us talked about it.Some occasional pleasure, undocumented, may balance the exclusivity that exists outside, the force that allows us to take a breather here. I went looking for Brian Glaske.The bunker complex is divided into several floors, and one large area is obviously closed to guests - it is closed and heavily guarded.I searched all over the map room, dormitory area, and medical center along the concrete passage, and often had to lower my head to get through the low door opening.An economist from the United Nations is looking around for toilets.I walked sideways to the exit of a narrow iron-barred staircase and found Brian in a small room.He fell asleep again. There was a chair and a cot in the room, and a sink.I was carrying a plate of food, not for him, but for myself.I sat there, watching him while I ate.He was wearing the Loden fleece coat.The Tyrolean coat is made of coarse cloth, with a hood and wooden rod buttons.His face was narrow, boyish, and lacklustre, and I could have punched him five times with my fist.I imagined such a scene, and I felt a little satisfied in my heart.Punch him hard.But we don't do that anymore, do we?We've left things like this behind us.According to the face under the gray hair, he punched five times hard.However, I didn't move, just sat there and watched him.I'm not sure I really want to punch him. Brian believes that I am a self-improving soul.may be.However, I also lived in a state of serenity, separated from what he might see as reality, such as housing, work, and a reality that could be relied upon.After I found out about his affair with Marianne, I felt a cold sense of surrender.The names of the two of them are harmonious together, and they are about the same age.I was relieved to be free from my role as fake husband, father, and corporate executive.The job I had was also a prosthetic.I heard that the two of them had an extramarital affair, did they have a short-term sense of relief, and felt that they had found themselves again?I watched him sound asleep and couldn't help but think how good it would be to give ten punches to that baby's face!However, at that moment, I thought again, if we give up this practice, let them face so many children from two marriages, face the burden of children, take care of two houses, and bear the cost of all the cars for two families , I also feel very cool.He can have two wives if he likes.I just fill out the necessary forms; other than that, I don't own the stuff. I can kick up to the edge of the cot without leaving the chair, just by extending one leg. At this time, I found that he was awake. "That's it. The fastest lover." "What's the meaning?" "Old joke. You haven't heard the joke?" "My God, I'm dreaming. What am I dreaming about?" "A guy is worried about his wife because of a notorious lover who's looking for something. What, you haven't heard the joke? Quick Gonzalez. It's been a long time ago, decades ago, It went from there to here." "From where?" "Fuck you. From here." I kicked the crib again. He said, "What are you doing?" "How long, Brian?" "How long for what?" "You and Marianne?" "what do you mean?" "What do I mean?" I kicked the crib.He sat up, covered his face with his hands, and smiled wryly. "We used to get together and talk and nothing else." "Don't talk back." "We got together sometimes and we talked about intimate things, that's all. It didn't last long." "I'm smoking a cigar and drinking brandy, don't talk back." He looks at me.I had neither cigars nor vodka in my hand. "Is it now? Is it appropriate to talk about it now? Right here? Can't we find a more suitable time?" "She has confessed truthfully." He turned his gaze to the side. "I'm going to be honest about it, but I think we should reconsider the timing," he said. I leaned over, held the plate in my left hand, stretched out my right hand, and slapped him.The two of us had cleared this up, so I slapped him, the heel on the side of his head.This one has a symbolic meaning, I feel better, better than eating, better than meat, better than fish, better than eggs, better than caviar and vodka.I am very happy.I think we both feel better. At this time, he realized that he was beaten by me just now, so he turned his gaze to me.I understand what he saw.Someone bigger than he was sitting between him and the door, ready for action.The allegory hangs in the air and seems to hum.Whether the moment is adorned with bravado or ready-to-fight gestures, what matters is which body overwhelms the other, not words, not personal vendettas, not a state of moral advantage or disadvantage.Actually, he had nothing to worry about.Maybe he was genuinely worried, though. "The timing is when you say she's telling the truth." "She confessed the truth to me. We talked for a long time, intermittently, for a total of two days. She said a lot of things and told them all. Later, I got on the company's car and arrived at the airport to meet you." He grinned at me. "Asshole women, you can't trust them at all." I slapped him; he tilted his head in an exaggerated motion.This blow was not powerful, but it had a symbolic meaning, and the movement of his head was a bit excessive. "Keep your mouth clean when you mention her, Brian." He lowered his eyes, looking for a little sympathy.Here he is, hungry and thirsty, jet-lagged, unkempt, battered in the basement, prisoner, so to speak. "Did she tell you about the heroin?" "It's all said." "Only once, I swear. Scared the hell out of me." He reached out, grabbed a handful from my plate, and started gobbling.I look at him.He kept his head down, reached into my plate from time to time, and kept chewing in his mouth.I let him do it. "I'm sorry, Nick. Kill me, I want you to. I must tell you, though, that I didn't last long with her. And, I must tell you, I wasn't always willing—if I I don't want to be beaten here, what should I say?" "She told me." "I don't always want to." I watched him gobble it up. "I don't want to. I'm afraid all day long, worried that you will find some clues. You didn't find anything, but she told you." He buried his head, reached out to grab food from time to time, and kept chewing in his mouth.I told him to go to the sink and wash his face with water.With or without the bomb, those people out there are boring.We took the food and returned to the reception room.The guests had dispersed in several groups, some drinking coffee, some drinking tea, some with brandy.The standing man holds the plate of sweets under his chin and carefully enjoys them. We felt a change in the ground, and there was a booming sound from the ground.Then, there was a dull sound, like a gunpowder explosion, and the ground in the distance shook or lifted.It's also a local feeling, a kind of hollow sound from objects.Someone yelled "Da" or "Yeah".Then people started rushing for the exit, swarming out, some leaning against the low door openings in every room.Everyone controlled themselves, trying not to make themselves look too anxious, and a series of sighs sounded.我们在地堡群外面集中，目光转向爆心投影点。但是，我们其实什么也看不见，进入视线的只有一望无际的哈萨克平原。 我们站在那里，观望了一阵，有的人简短地交谈几句，声音低沉。空气中弥漫着一种期待感。当然，没有看到腾空而起的云团，也没有听到震耳欲聋的响声。也许，试验场上扬起了一些尘土，也许那只是午后出现的雾霭。几个人伸手指着什么，说了几句。在场的人反应平淡，表现出一种没有说出的沮丧。过了一阵，我们返回地堡里面。 我们在塞米巴拉金斯克市内过夜，喝了暖啤酒，吃了马肉酱。第二天早上，维克托·马尔采夫提出，我们应该看点别的东西，而不是立刻飞回莫斯科。 他把我们带到一个地方，他管它叫畸胎博物馆。那个地方隶属于医学研究所，低矮的房间里摆满装有胎儿的展柜。我注意到，还未踏进博物馆，布赖恩便开始回避，一个劲儿地往后退。维克托显然希望加深这次经历给人带来的印象。有的胎儿保存在装亨氏牌泡菜的罐子里，其中有一件标本是双头胎儿。一个胎儿的脑袋是身体的两倍，一个大小正常的脑袋长错了地方，出现的右侧肩膀上。 我们默默地看着那些罐子，步伐沉重，从一个展柜挪向另一个展柜。那个地方似乎需要人神情严肃，步伐沉缓。我们默不作声，眼睛看着罐子，既不看墙壁或窗户，也不互相观望。后来，维克托说了什么，不过与那些罐子无关，说的是多年以来进行的试验。我们看着罐子里的东西，听着维克托的讲述，顺着展柜往前走。在那个原子弹试验场，一共进行了五百次核试验，全在该市的西南面。即使大气核试验停止之后，因为地下爆炸挖掘的竖井深度不够，不能防止非常危险的辐射泄漏出来。 他说这番话时两眼看着我。 后来，我们看到了那个独眼畸胎。那只眼睛长在额头中间，两只耳朵在下巴上，根本没有嘴巴。布赖恩也不见踪影。我们后来在外面看到他。他站在出租车旁边，目光透过工厂排放的烟雾，投向在大草原边绵延起伏的山丘。不过，我们没有搭乘出租车去酒店取行李，然后直奔机场。维克托要司机到位于城郊的辐射病诊所去。我们（布赖恩和我）心里依然想着那些泡菜罐子，虽然没有表示反对，也没有公开抱怨，但是带着一种不快的情绪去了那里。 他领着我们朝着下风方向走。这并不是说，在试验频繁的那些年，诊所处于下风位置，也许那里当时根本没有诊所。不，在下风位置的是人，那些村民现在成了原子弹病患者，他们的子孙也深受其害。这次，维克托没有领我们进去，没进博物馆。 维克托说，他到这里来过四次，这从某种意义上说难以解释。他每次到多面体核试验场去，他也到了这里。这个家伙竭尽全力，推销核爆炸。毫无疑问，现在使用的方式安全一些。也许，他到这里来的目的是对他自己提出挑战，是要向自己证明，他并不是对核爆炸带来的后果持视而不见的态度。如今，看不见东西的人是那些受害者。一个男孩的眼睛位置上蒙了一层皮肤。松软的肉团从两道眉毛里冒出来，就像一个蘑菇帽，非常怪异。一些儿童沿着墙根站立，穿着内衣内裤，脑袋光秃秃的，等着接受医疗检查。一个男子下巴下面长着一个瘤子——那个活东西类似胚胎，不停地颤动。一个侏儒女孩穿着一件肥大的T恤衫在那里走动，T恤衫的下端拖在地上，上面是在德国汉堡举行的同性恋节广告。一个面带笑容的矮呆病患者抱着两只胳膊，在过道里行走。一个女人五官完整，可是面部不知何故只有一半，在双肩上形成一个偏斜的弧形，就像一轮新月，耳朵、眼睛、鼻子和嘴巴全都长在上面。 她和那个侏儒女孩一样，穿着同样的广告衫。维克托说，这广告衫是进口策略出了问题带来的结果。当地的一个商人购买了一万件T恤衫，可是当时不知道它们是在欧洲举行的一次同性恋节日的剩余品。维克托说，在这个地方，伊斯兰教日益强大，竟然把这些T恤衫弄了进来，太疯狂了。 可是，同样的超现实主义场景始于莫斯科电视塔的第四十二层上，这是它的一部分，对吧？ 到这里来就诊的病人患有畸形病、白血病、甲状腺癌、免疫系统失调症。那些医生认识维克托，允许我们四处游荡。维克托与病人和护士交谈，并且告诉我们，那里还有未知疾病患者。稀奇古怪的名称人们要么根本不知道，要么过去不知道。例如，在过去的许多年里，辐射这个词语是禁止使用的。在核试验场地附近的医院里，人们不能提到辐射这两个字。医生们只有在家里才能使用这个名称，给妻子、丈夫或者朋友说，不过在医院里不能说。附近的村民根本不知道还有这个名称，更别说使用它了。 有的房间的墙面上挂着壁毯。老人头戴无檐便帽，坐在破烂不堪的过道里，一动不动。 我们站在餐厅门口，看见里面有一群年轻人在用午餐。他们在这里等着接受研究，头发、指甲和牙齿已经脱落。我环顾四周，看布赖恩在哪里。 “到处都是生病的人，我告诉你吧，”维克托说，“他们责怪我们，说这是精心策划的。哈萨克人相信这个说法。” “责怪谁呢？” “俄国人。哈萨克人认为，我们试图谋杀这里的人。红军在进行试验之前，并不总是通知这里的村民撤离。人们看到原子弹爆炸的闪光，接着看到巨大的云朵升上天空。他们不知道那是什么。红军试验了氢弹，你知道的，爆炸当量非常巨大。他们把一百个村民留在了现场，以便了解氢弹爆炸对人造成的影响。” “你相信这个说法吗？” “我什么都相信。” “你觉得那是刻意而为的？” “相信一切，一切都是真的。他们每次进行试验，都有数以百计的城镇和村庄被暴露在辐射之中。卫生部的人说，没问题，我们扩大了疏散范围。如果辐射超过了范围，没问题，我们会再次扩大。” 在我看来，维克托大多数情况下是在自言自语。不过，他也是说给我听的。眼前这些面孔、这些人让人心里深感震撼。我开始觉得有什么东西从我内心深处流失了。那是某种根深柢固的对立，一种抵抗的能力。我四下寻找布赖恩的身影。可是，布赖恩不愿看到没有牙齿的人吃午饭的样子。他在外面的什么地方。 我俩——维克托和我——沿着过道向前走。 他说：“他们想到了原子弹，写下公式。他们看到有可能制造出来，于是就造了出来，在美国的沙漠里进行试验。他们把原子弹扔到日本。不过，一旦他们开始时有了设想，一切都变成了现实。”他说：“你能相信的任何东西都可能是真实的。” 我开始觉得他是一个非常不可思议的人。他身体削瘦，灰色头发全被染过，穿着油光水滑的长大衣，似乎想让自己带有黑帮的模样。晃眼一看，他属于那些狂野的私有化时代，属于漫长情节剧中的角色。一夜暴富的情节，外人免进、镇压弱者的情节，新资本涌出的情节，敲诈和谋杀的情节。不过，维克托说到当时的情况时，口气中带着讽刺和迟疑。许多年时间里慢慢增加的怀疑。我觉得他处于一种困境之中。 他说：“给你说一件有趣的事情吧。在乌克兰，有一个女人声称她是第二个耶稣，将被自己的门徒钉在十字架上，然后从死亡中复活。她是一个非常严肃的人，门徒有一万五千人。你不相信？他们全是受过教育的人，看上去很正常。我不知道，在共产主义倒台之后，这是？” “也许应该是切尔诺贝利事故之后吧？” "I don't know," he said. 他不知道，我也不知道。我们走进一个斑驳破烂的院子里。院子的后门外面是辽阔的平原，光秃秃的，绵延起伏，一直延伸到远处的山麓。在扬起的尘土中，孩子们在做游戏。他们一共六个，男女都有，没有胳膊，全都没有左胳膊，肘部以下的袖子打着结。那个没有眼睛的孩子也在这里，蹲在地上，面朝那些做游戏的孩子，好像在仔细观察他们的动作。他的皮肤呈铜色，身上穿的衣服可能是中国生产的，每只鞋子的鞋沿条上都有一个洞，大脚趾露了出来。根据维克托的说法，他十四岁了，可是看上去只有九岁或者十岁。他发育并不迟缓，脑袋偏大，面部和前额上长着肿瘤，应该长眼睛的部位上方是两个软绵绵的蘑菇帽状的东西。 孩子们玩的是追随领袖的游戏。一个孩子倒下，然后爬起来，其他所有的人全都一一倒下，然后爬起来。 这里出现了并置，其中的某种东西深化了这一瞬间包含的寓意：面孔的后面是广袤的大地，牧场一望无际，天空显出两种颜色，以令人难以忍受的方式囊括了外面的一切。我望着那个蹲在地上的孩子。他缩成一团，两手抱着，放在膝盖上面。那些遭到禁止的词、已经被人忘掉一半的情节，这些东西此时全在这里，潜入大地和空气，潜入折叠起来的骨骼之中。 在阴云密布的天际下，他蜷缩成一团，耳朵耷拉，脑袋偏斜。天空中出现了两种颜色，露出一道对角线。一侧是单调的蓝色，淡淡的、没有层次的蓝色，就像长有羽冠的松鸦脑袋；另一侧是黄色的，那种黄色并不均匀，一大片令人心碎的黄色，带着些许烟雾斑点，一直延伸到东边。肘部以下的袖子打着结的孩子们依次倒下。 我们的大多数渴望没有实现。这就是渴望一词的隐含意义——对某种失去的东西、消失的东西或者本来无法触及的东西的欲求。 那些岁月如风飘逝，我现在回到了凤凰城。有时候，我开车出去兜风，经过地图上标注的受到严格控制的地方，经过用印第安部落名称命名的街道，经过那家出售房顶材料和喷沙材料商店，经过那家避孕套直销店——现在已经重新油漆，透出冰淇淋的色彩。后来，我看见了高高的垃圾处理设备的镂空钢桁架结构，它矗立在距离下牛眼树街不远的地方。美洲黑羽椋鸟在垃圾填埋场上空不停翻飞。飞机排成长队，从薄雾弥漫的山麓中飞出来，然后降低高度，排成进场队形。 玛丽安和我的关系现在更加密切，卿卿我我，超过以往任何时候——锯齿已经不再锋利。我们到土桑市去，看我们的女儿和孙女。我们重新装修了房子，不停地增添新书架。我们购买新地毯，把它们铺在原来的地毯上面。黄昏时，我们沿着排水渠道一边散步，一边聊着过去的趣闻轶事。 在青铜色塔楼中，我站在窗前，凝望远处的丘陵和山脊。外面街道上的气温是110度，我总是穿着套装，即便在这里干的事情不过是看看邮件而已。我听着电脑系统发出的轻微的嗡嗡声，感觉到一种寂静的力量。我做完了这件事情，取得了成功。它开始时力量弱小，现在变得强大。我模仿黑帮的举止，让开电梯的那个人看。 我们按照指南要求，对家里的垃圾进行分类。我们冲洗用过的罐子和空瓶，分别放在不同的垃圾箱里。我们把铁皮和铝制品分开，用一个纸袋把废旧纸袋装起来，先把小纸袋整理好，然后放进事先准备好的大纸袋里。我们把报纸集中起来，但是不用打捆。 长长的幽灵在过道里游荡。母亲去世之后，我觉得自己的内心变了，随着时间的推移，以持续方式慢慢延伸了。我觉得，自己的内心充满她告诉我的真理，慢慢展开，就像水、色彩或者光线。我觉得她已经进入我可以提供的最隐秘的地方，变为充满活力的实体，在那里存活下去，超越我生命的最后一息。她让我变得充实，扩大了我对人生的认识。现在，她是我心灵的组成部分，给我的整个身心提供慰藉。她必须在我完全了解她之前离开人世，承认这点并不让我觉得悲伤。这仅仅是一个表述，说明她去世之后具有的力量。 他们在芝加哥的期货交易所里买卖垃圾，在达拉斯制造合成排泄物。你可以把睾丸卖给一家俄罗斯公司。他们会付给你四千美元，然后用外科手术方式把它取下来，捣成糊状，提取活力物质。然后，他们推销这种黏糊糊的东西，把它作为具有修复作用的美容乳液，赚到的利润让人咂舌。 我们把电视机从房子后面的那个凉爽的房间搬出来。那个房间本来是我们的女儿莱妮的，现在是母亲的故居，里面有空气加湿器，有经过重新涂银的镜子，还有对健康有益的硬床。我们在那里做书架。 在废物控制公司，我已经成为类似于荣誉退职经理的人物。我偶尔到办公室去，大部分时间用于旅行和演讲。我访问学院和研究机构，那些地方的人把我当作废物问题分析专家。我给他们讲与废物相关事情，例如，如何将废弃的军事基地变为垃圾填埋场，如何利用深藏在内华达州山区的地堡系统，如何让数以千计装有辐射废料的罐子在那里储藏万年。那里的乏燃料多达七万吨，谁也不知道是否会发生爆炸。然后，我和主人共进午餐。我飞往伦敦和苏黎世，冒着阴雨和冻雨，出席在那里举行的学术会议。 我重新排列了旧书架上的图书，分门别类，以便摆放在新书架上，然后站在那里观看。我站在起居室里观看。有时候，我巡视家里的陈设，看着我们拥有的东西，觉得每件物品都带着奇特的道德意味。物品越精致，越罕见，我心里的孤独感就越强烈。对此我不知道如何解释。 玛丽安已经接近五十五岁，身体削瘦，情绪显然不像过去那么急躁了，对那一时刻多了一份从容和淡定。突然，那一时刻已经不再重要了。我俩常常开车到沙漠里去兜风。我有时候给她讲些事情，她要么不知，要么不太熟悉，那种方式类似于你知道自己是疲倦还是悲伤。 当我在文件上偶然见到他的名字时，它总是让我的目光停顿下来，它给予我停顿。詹姆斯·尼古拉斯·科斯坦扎，这个名字出现在已经盖章的文件上。那种钢印表示官方文件，文件放在尘封的抽屉底层。这个名字让我稍显困惑，最后才反应过来他是谁。 有时候，我驱车经过用印第安部落命名的街道，到那里去看美洲黑羽椋鸟在垃圾填埋场上不停翻飞的情景。有时候，我带着来这里探访的孙女一起去。我们看见深灰色的垃圾处理设备的桁架结构，看见准备着陆的飞机，看见长在停车场墙头上的刺眼的沙漠植物。 我飞到苏黎世和里斯本去，交流意见，提出建议。垃圾难以对付，这一危机见诸会议报告和报纸新闻，在现实中似乎没有发生。废弃材料越来越多，不断蔓延，令人触目惊心。然而，它在其他方面却是无法处理的东西。 每个人出现在每个地方。我们的儿子杰夫喜欢这样说。他仍然住在家里，说话时带着青少年特有的那种腼腆，几乎把他所说的一切全都变为一种捉摸不定的东西，暗示他保守的某种秘密。 他们在达拉斯制造合成排泄物，形成一种模拟的大小便，以便测试尿布，测试其他具有保护作用的服装。那种合成物是一种干燥的混合物，用淀粉、纤维、凝胶和乙烯聚合物构成。你可以按照自己的需要加水稀释，通常呈棕色。 Nostra aetate（我们的时代），罗马教皇如是说。我们的时代。 他出去买一盒香烟，一直没有回家。他抽的是好彩香烟，他抽这个牌子。他们说，点一支好彩吧，该抽烟了。祝你开心，好运。这是他们所说的另外一句话。 杰夫没有固定工作，在某个地方的一家快餐店里做招待员，三天打鱼，两天晒网，业余花费大量时间玩电脑。他访问一家圣迹网站，告诉我们有人成群结队到铀矿去，希望治疗疾病。那些人来自欧洲、加拿大和澳大利亚，有的被人用担架抬来，有的坐着轮椅来。他们到蒙大拿州的试射场，坐在地下隧道里，受到的氡辐射量是联邦政府公布的安全水平的数百倍。他们希望治疗自己罹患的疾病，例如，关节炎、糖尿病、失明和癌症。有人说看见一条跛腿狗痊愈了，站起来，正常行走。杰夫给我们说这些时，腼腆地傻笑，要么因为他觉得这很滑稽，要么他觉得这很滑稽而且信以为真。 我们在后面那个房间里，就是母亲生前住的那个房间里，做了书架。你知道，收拾书籍，不断整理，时间过得有多快。你想尽各种方式摆放图书，时间不知不觉过去。你站在房间里，看着自己弄的东西。 我告诉你我渴望什么，我渴望那些混乱的日子，那时我什么也不在乎，真他妈的全不在乎。 马特回来参加葬礼。他带着两个孩子，在葬礼前夜坐飞机回来，到了墓地后精神完全崩溃。他们见到这个情景，看到身为父亲而不是儿子的他陷入这种状态，感到十分震惊。他们把脸转向一旁，偷偷瞟了他一眼，然后重新转开。他靠在我身上，抱头痛哭。他们看见我抱着他，看到作为弟弟和儿子的他一时难以适应。 我依然有身在办公室的感觉，穿着笔挺的服装，觉得相互连接的网络包裹着自己。那里的电脑和传真机发出嗡嗡声，此起彼伏，手机放在桌面充电座里，语音邮件和电子邮件没完没了。办公室本身，还有办公室所在的那个古铜色塔楼，这两样东西强化了一种秩序和紧张感。在某处空气中的接触点也强化了一种秩序和紧张感。 我们先去掉麦片盒子上的蜡纸，然后把盒子摆到外面，让人收走。街道上一片黑暗，空无一人。我们把有色玻璃与无色玻璃分开。四周非常安静，那种寂静在日落一个小时之后出现。它带着地标性质，让人觉得古老，安然。院子里堆着垃圾，纸袋被整理平整。世界出现一种暂停，你忘记了自己身在何处。 他们坐在矿井里的木凳上，呼吸着含有氡辐射的空气，两腿浸泡在含有放射性氡的水里。他们三五成群，一起祈祷，喊叫，唱着激动人心的赞美诗。也许，他们唱的仅仅是平常的歌曲，无足轻重的跟唱歌曲，人们挂在嘴边的那种歌曲。 有时候，我们兜风的距离较远，经过退休人员公寓，进入笔直的州际高速公路，看见一只只茶隼站在高压电线上。我有时把防晒油涂抹在胳膊上，涂抹在脸上，仿佛嗅到了海滩的气味，感受到那里的热浪。润滑的东西形成薄雾，拂过我前臂的毛发，防晒油快用光时，挤压管体发出爆破和抽吸的声音——这让我想起过去的某种东西。 如今，人们已经不再谈及得克萨斯州公路杀手，听不到这个名字了。这个名字曾经在空气中飘荡，时常被人提到，反复出现在广播频道中，在车流如织的高速公路上引起一阵兴奋。开枪射击的事情看来停止了，这个名字也不再出现了。可是，我有时候不禁想到他，很想知道他是否仍然在公路上的什么地方，一边开车，一边观察，根本没有偃旗息鼓，只是在等待时机。 我给她讲述自己的经历，她带着高度戒备，仔细倾听，神情十分警惕，一动不动，似乎事先知道我要说些什么。我告诉她自己在少管所里度过的时光，告诉她自己被送到那里去的原因。她似乎在某种层面上已经知道了这些事情。她看着我，好像我只有十七岁。我俩沿着排水渠道散步。现在，所有的暗示和疑问，她在我俩交往之初发现的蛛丝马迹一点一点地拼接起来，形成了完整的图案。如果在我看来不是如此，那么对她来说是这样的。我不知道发生了什么事情，对吧？ 我们把报纸集中起来，但是不用打捆——打捆总是一种诱惑。 杰夫先输入十七个字母，然后输入.com/miraculum，各种各样的奇迹便出现在屏幕上。一天晚餐时，他给我们讲述了发生在布朗克斯区的一件奇迹。他对布朗克斯区抱着一种回避态度，既刻意回避又感到内疚。他认为，那个地方是美国版的苏联劳改集中营，与他自己的人生经历相去甚远，住在那里的人肯定不愿意与他这样的人见面。现在，我们在一起，共进晚餐，他告诉我们几年以前出现的一个奇迹。如今，它依然是一个引起争论的问题，至少在互联网上如此。一个女孩是可怕罪案的受害者，有人在一片空地上发现了她的尸体，周围堆满了建筑垃圾。她的尸体经过确认之后掩埋。在附近的一面涂鸦绘画墙上，出现了纪念那个姑娘的图像，人们蜂拥而至，竞相观看，有的相信，有的怀疑，看来大多数表示相信。我向他提出问题，然而他对这样的说法持试探性态度，刻意回避。他认为，他没有足够的证据来讲述具有如此强烈情感色彩的故事，讲述住在布朗克斯区的人们的苦难、信仰和公开表达的情感。我告诉他，布朗克斯区是研究奇迹的最佳场所。 街道上的气温高达108度，110度，112度。有时候，我去机场，飞往里斯本和马德里。有时候，我站在起居室里，望着那些图书。 在网上，杰夫是看帖不回的潜水者，访问各式网站，但是并不发帖。他收集信息，增添组件和功能，坐拥数量不断增加的可以匹配的硬件。真正的奇迹是互联网，每个人同时出现在每个地方。他就是他们之中的一员，看不见的一员。 我们互相了解私密的东西，了解对方的童年经历，了解对方度过的艰难岁月。除此之外，我们还捕捉到另外一种东西，转到一种不同的方向，不是回顾，而是瞻望，把握将我们与某种预示联系起来的东西。我认为，我发现玛丽安迷失在墙上和书架上的物品之中。在我们收集和拥有的物品中，在那些家庭用具中，存在着某种忧郁的特质。在用具这个词中，也存在着某种特质。壁龛里的亮漆箱子呼吸着一种悲伤，那些墙饰、艺术品、贵重物品也是如此。我感觉到一种孤独，一种失落。如果某件物品比较罕见，这种感觉尤为强烈，尤为奇特。日落之后的一小时时间里，周围一片寂静，让人思绪万千。 我俩沿着排水渠道散步，路过涂成白色的树干——阳光下的白色。 大地裂开一个口子，他走了进去。我觉得，不仅我们有这样的感觉，杰米也有这样的感觉。我觉得他沉沦了，他不需重新开始，甚至不需逃避。我觉得，他希望沉沦。他度日如年，战战兢兢，不想知道我们的命运，不想知道她如何苦撑下去，不想知道我们长了多高，变得如何聪明。我觉得，他自顾沉沦，从来没有想过这些事情。他的行为给我们带来的影响没有减弱。 在重新码放那些书籍的过程中，我偶然发现了那个棒球。我看着它，用手紧握，然后放回书架，放在一本倾斜的图书与一本竖立的图书之间。这东西价格昂贵，十分漂亮。我把它藏在这里，也许是因为我希望忘记我购买它的原因。有时候，我确切知道购买它的原因，有时候，我不知道。这件东西非常漂亮，在斯伯丁这个商标附近有一个绿色污点，带着近半个世纪的尘土、汗迹和化学变化。我把它放回原处，暂时把它忘了，等待下一次见面。 他们说，LS /MFT 这几个字母的意思是，好彩表示精美烟草。好彩，用他们的话来说，“是经过烘烤的”。 那些飞机从南面山麓中飞出来，在薄雾中闪着银光，排着长队，准备降落。我看见，道路尽头矗立着垃圾处理设备的漏空钢桁架结构。我把汽车停在沿斜坡建造的花园下面，那里的浅色墙头上爬满九重葛花的藤蔓。孙女桑尼和我在一起，她快满六岁了。我俩站在宽敞的废物回收棚的狭窄通道里，观看机器运行的情况。废旧铁皮、纸张、塑料、聚苯乙烯泡沫塑料，这些东西顺着传送带下去。这里每天处理四百吨，各种各样的垃圾被分类，压缩，打捆，最后成块状，方方正正的。这些产品用铁丝打捆，堆放起来，随时可以销售。桑尼和其他孩子一样，喜欢这个地方。他们在父母或者老师的带领下，站在狭窄的通道里，参观陈列的东西。明亮的光线从房顶天窗射下来，照在地上，照在高耸的机器上，反射出神秘的亮光。也许，我们对废物，对我们使用和抛弃的东西怀着一种尊崇之情。它们带着一种美妙的沧桑感，重新回到我们身边。在窗外，广袤的沙漠景色与无边天际连成一片。现在，公路对面的垃圾填埋场到达容量，已经关闭了，带着甲基的废气从泥土堆中不停地冒出来，飘飘荡荡，慢慢上升，给这份工作增添了神圣氛围。袅袅烟雾在沙漠废墟中闪闪发光，这场景就像一个寓言，讲述着某个幽灵文明的故事。孩子们喜欢这些机器——压捆机、送料斗，还有一台接着一台的输送机。父母们了望窗户，透过带着甲烷的薄雾，看见飞机从山麓中出来，排成编队。在棚子外面，卡车排成两行，运来没有分类的垃圾——人们在生活中丢弃的肮脏东西。大量经过压捆的块状新产品被装上汽车，送往各地，以便重新利用，其中包括新闻纸和铁皮。我们带着更加愉快的心情，离开那个地方。 我一边小酌格拉巴酒，一边欣赏爵士乐。我整理新书架上的图书，然后站在起居室里，看着地毯和墙饰。我知道，那些幽灵正在过道里穿行，然而不在这里的过道中，不在这幢房子里。夜深人静时，它们全都回到铁路旁边的那些房间里。我站在这个遗弃的房间里，望着这些图书，觉得自己全然无助。 我渴望那些浑浑噩噩的日子，希望它们回来。那时，我活在这个地球上，身体中充满活力，无忧无虑，实实在在。我身体壮实，心情愤怒，实实在在。这是我所渴望的，打破了平静，混乱的时光，当我混迹真实的街巷，做事斩截，时刻感受到愤怒和真实，对人是威胁，对自己是难解的奥秘。 她叫埃斯梅拉尔达，家住南布朗克斯区一隅。那个地方是少数民族聚居区的中心，人称灵墙。这个女孩出没于无人居住的野地，寻觅别人丢弃的衣服，从放在小酒馆后面的垃圾袋里翻找腐败的水果。她有时候快步穿过树林和草丛，有时候在断垣残壁上留下阴影，行动敏捷，快步如飞，仿佛是生活在森林中的精灵。 那两位修女一直在寻找她。 格雷斯修女——年轻的那位——决定进行跟踪，希望抓到那个女孩，要么交给救济机构，要么送进位于布朗克斯区中心的那所女修道院。这样，就可以给她体检，让她吃饱，送她上学。 埃德加修女在那个女孩身上看到了一种灵光四射的天恩，看到了摆脱灵墙地区无休无止的痛苦的希望。她甚至还看到了一种个人希望的源泉，觉得可以劝导这个女孩，逐步接受传统信仰。当一个灵魂在寒风中摇摆时，整个天堂都会震颤。埃德加觉得，必须把那个女孩从危险中拯救