White Noise - Don Delillo [83]
“He is now one person. We went to a grubby little motel room. Never mind where or when. It had the TV up near the ceiling. This is all I remember. Grubby, tacky. I was heartsick. But so, so desperate.”
“You call this an indiscretion, as if we haven’t had a revolution in frank and bold language. Call it what it was, describe it honestly, give it the credit it deserves. You entered a motel room, excited by its impersonality, the functionalism and bad taste of the furnishings. You walked barefoot on the fire-retardant carpet. Mr. Gray went around opening doors, looking for a full-length mirror. He watched you undress. You lay on the bed, embracing. Then he entered you.”
“Don’t use that term. You know how I feel about that usage.”
“He effected what is called entry. In other words he inserted himself. One minute he was fully dressed, putting the car rental keys on the dresser. The next minute he was inside you.”
“No one was inside anyone. That is stupid usage. I did what I had to do. I was remote. I was operating outside myself. It was a capitalist transaction. You cherish the wife who tells you everything. I am doing my best to be that person.”
“All right, I’m only trying to understand. How many times did you go to this motel?”
“More or less on a continuing basis for some months. That was the agreement.”
I felt heat rising along the back of my neck. I watched her carefully. A sadness showed in her eyes. I lay back and looked at the ceiling. The radio came on. She began to cry softly.
“There’s some Jell-O with banana slices,” I said. “Steffie made it.”
“She’s a good girl.”
“I can easily get you some.”
“No, thank you.”
“Why did the radio come on?”
“The auto-timer is broken. I’ll take it to the shop tomorrow.”
“I’ll take it.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s no trouble. I can easily take it.”
“Did you enjoy having sex with him?”
“I only remember the TV up near the ceiling, aimed down at us.”
“Did he have a sense of humor? I know women appreciate men who can joke about sex. I can’t, unfortunately, and after this I don’t think there’s much chance I’ll be able to learn.”
“It’s better if you know him as Mr. Gray. That’s all. He’s not tall, short, young or old. He doesn’t laugh or cry. It’s for your own good.”
“I have a question. Why didn’t Gray Research run tests on animals? Animals must be better than computers in some respects.”
“That’s just the point. No animal has this condition. This is a human condition. Animals fear many things, Mr. Gray said. But their brains aren’t sophisticated enough to accommodate this particular state of mind.”
For the first time I began to get an inkling of what she’d been talking about all along. My body went cold. I felt hollow inside. I rose from my supine position, once again propping myself on an elbow to look down at her. She started to cry again.
“You have to tell me, Babette. You’ve taken me this far, put me through this much. I have to know. What’s the condition?”
The longer she wept, the more certain I became that I knew what she was going to say. I felt an impulse to get dressed and leave, take a room somewhere until this whole thing blew over. Babette raised her face to me, sorrowing and pale, her eyes showing a helpless desolation. We faced each other, propped on elbows, like a sculpture of lounging philosophers in a classical academy. The radio turned itself off.
“I’m afraid to die,” she said. “I think about it all the time. It won’t go away.”
“Don’t tell me this. This is terrible.”
“I can’t help it. How can I help it?”
“I don’t want to know. Save it for our old age. You’re still young, you get plenty of exercise. This is not a reasonable fear.”
“It haunts me, Jack. I can’t get it off my mind. I know I’m not supposed to experience such a fear so consciously and so steadily. What can I do? It’s just there. That’s why I was so quick to notice Mr. Gray’s ad in the tabloid I was reading aloud. The headline hit home. FEAR OF DEATH, it said. I think about it all the time. You’re disappointed. I can tell.”
“Disappointed?”
“You