White Noise - Don Delillo [57]
“I thought this would be a good time to cut down on fatty things,” she said.
“Why now especially?”
“This is a time for discipline, mental toughness. We’re practically at the edge.”
“I think it’s interesting that you regard a possible disaster for yourself, your family and thousands of other people as an opportunity to cut down on fatty foods.”
“You take discipline where you can find it,” she said. “If I don’t eat my yogurt now, I may as well stop buying the stuff forever. Except I think I’ll skip the wheat germ.”
The brand name was foreign-looking. I picked up the jar of wheat germ and examined the label closely.
“It’s German,” I told her. “Eat it.”
There were people in pajamas and slippers. A man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Kids crawling into sleeping bags. Babette gestured, wanting me to lean closer.
“Let’s keep the radio turned off,” she whispered. “So the girls can’t hear. They haven’t gotten beyond déjà vu. I want to keep it that way.”
“What if the symptoms are real?”
“How could they be real?”
“Why couldn’t they be real?”
“They get them only when they’re broadcast,” she whispered.
“Did Steffie hear about déjà vu on the radio?”
“She must have.”
“How do you know? Were you with her when it was broadcast?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Think hard.”
“I can’t remember.”
“Do you remember telling her what déjà vu means?”
She spooned some yogurt out of the carton, seemed to pause, deep in thought.
“This happened before,” she said finally.
“What happened before?”
“Eating yogurt, sitting here, talking about déjà vu.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“The yogurt was on my spoon. I saw it in a flash. The whole experience. Natural, whole-milk, low-fat.”
The yogurt was still on the spoon. I watched her put the spoon to her mouth, thoughtfully, trying to measure the action against the illusion of a matching original. From my squatting position I motioned her to lean closer.
“Heinrich seems to be coming out of his shell,” I whispered.
“Where is he? I haven’t seen him.”
“See that knot of people? He’s right in the middle. He’s telling them what he knows about the toxic event.”
“What does he know?”
“Quite a lot, it turns out.”
“Why didn’t he tell us?” she whispered.
“He’s probably tired of us. He doesn’t think it’s worth his while to be funny and charming in front of his family. That’s the way sons are. We represent the wrong kind of challenge.”
“Funny and charming?”
“I guess he had it in him all the while. It was a question of finding the right time to exercise his gifts.”
She moved closer, our heads almost touching.
“Don’t you think you ought to go over there?” she said. “Let him see you in the crowd. Show him that his father is present at his big moment.”
“He’ll only get upset if he sees me in the crowd.”
“Why?”
“I’m his father.”
“So if you go over there, you’ll ruin things by embarrassing him and cramping his style because of the father-son thing. And if you don’t go over, he’ll never know you saw him in his big moment and he’ll think he has to behave in your presence the way he’s always behaved, sort of peevishly and defensive, instead of in this new, delightful and expansive manner.”
“It’s a double bind.”
“What if I went over?” she whispered.
“He’ll think I sent you.”
“Would that be so awful?”
“He thinks I use you to get him to do what I want.”
“There may be some truth in that, Jack. But then what are stepparents for if they can’t be used in little skirmishes between blood relatives?”
I moved still closer, lowered my voice even more.
“Just a Life Saver,” I said.
“What?”
“Just some saliva that you didn’t know what to do with.”
“It was a Life Saver,” she whispered, making an O with her thumb and index finger.
“Give me one.”
“It was the last one.”
“What flavor—quick”
“Cherry.”
I puckered my lips and made little sucking sounds. The black man with the tracts came over and squatted next to me.