A Shower of Gold
A Shower of Gold (第1/3页)
BecauseheneededthemoneyPetersonansweredanadthatsaid"WellpayyoutobeonTVifyouropinionsarestrongenoughoryourpersonalexperienceshaveaflavoroftheunusual."HecalledthenumberandwastoldtocometoRoom1551intheGraybarBuildingonLexington.ThishedidandafterspendingtwentyminuteswithaMissArborwhoaskedhimifhehadeverbeeninanalysiswasokayedforaprogramcalledWhoAmI?"Whatdoyouhavestrongopinionsabout?"MissArborasked."Art,"Petersonsaid,"life,money.""Forinstance?""Ibelieve,"Petersonsaid,"thatthelearningabilityofmicecanbeloweredorincreasedbyregulatingtheamountofserotonininthebrain.Ibelievethatschizophrenicshaveahighincidenceofunusualfingerprints,includinglinesthatmakealmostcompletecircles.Ibelievethatthedreamerwatcheshisdreaminsleep,bymovinghiseyes.""Thatsveryinteresting!"MissArborcried."ItsallintheWorldAlmanac,"Petersonreplied.
"Iseeyoureasculptor,"MissArborsaid,"thatswonderful.""Whatisthenatureoftheprogram?"Petersonasked."Iveneverseenit.""Letmeansweryourquestionwithanotherquestion,"MissArborsaid."Mr.Peterson,areyouabsurd?"Herenormouslipsweresmearedwithaglowingwhitecream."Ibegyourpardon?""Imean,"MissArborsaidearnestly,"doyouencounteryourownexistenceasgratuitous?Doyoufeeldetrap?Istherenausea?""Ihaveanenlargedliver,"Petersonoffered."Thatsexcellent!"MissArborexclaimed."Thatsaverygoodbeginning!WhoAmI?tries,Mr.Peterson,todiscoverwhatpeoplereallyare.Peopletoday,wefeel,arehiddenawayinsidethemselves,alienated,desperate,livinginanguish,despairandbadfaith.Whyhavewebeenthrownhere,andabandoned?Thatsthequestionwetrytoanswer,Mr.Peterson.Manstandsaloneinafeatureless,anonymouslandscape,infearandtremblingandsicknessuntodeath.Godisdead.Nothingnesseverywhere.Dread.Estrangement.Finitude.WhoAmI?approachestheseproblemsinarootradicalway.""Ontelevision?""Wereinterestedinbasics,Mr.Peterson.Wedontplayaround.""Isee,"Petersonsaid,wonderingabouttheamountofthefee."WhatIwanttoknownow,Mr.Peterson,isthis:areyouinterestedinabsurdity?""MissArbor,"hesaid,"totellyouthetruth,Idontknow.ImnotsureIbelieveinit.""Oh,Mr.Peterson!"MissArborsaid,shocked."Dontsaythat!Youllbe""Punished?"Petersonsuggested."Youmaynotbeinterestedinabsurdity,"shesaidfirmly,"butabsurdityisinterestedinyou.""Ihavealotofproblems,ifthathelps,"Petersonsaid."Existenceisproblematicforyou,"MissArborsaid,relieved."Thefeeistwohundreddollars."
"Imgoingtobeontelevision,"Petersonsaidtohisdealer."Aterribleshame,"Jean-Clauderesponded."Isitunavoidable?""Itsunavoidable,"Petersonsaid,"ifIwanttoeat.""Howmuch?"Jean-ClaudeaskedandPetersonsaid:"Twohundred."Helookedaroundthegallerytoseeifanyofhisworkswereondisplay."Aridiculouscompensationconsideringtheinfamy.Areyouusingyourownname?""Youhaventbyanychance""Nooneisbuying,"Jean-Claudesaid."Undoubtedlyitistheweather.Peoplearethinkingintermsof——whatdoyoucallthosethings?——Chris-Crafts.Toboatwith.YouwouldnotconsideragainwhatIspoketoyouaboutbefore?""No,"Petersonsaid,"Iwouldntconsiderit.""Twolittleoneswouldmovemuch,muchfasterthanasinglehugebigone,"Jean-Claudesaid,lookingaway."Tosawitacrossthemiddlewouldbeaverysimplematter.""Itssupposedtobeaworkofart,"Petersonsaid,ascalmlyaspossible."Youdontgoaroundsawingworksofartacrossthemiddle,remember?""Thatplacewhereitsaws,"Jean-Claudesaid,"isnotverydifficult.Icanputmytwohandsaroundit."Hemadeacirclewithhistwohandstodemonstrate."InvariablywhenIlookatthatpieceIseetwopieces.Areyouabsolutelysureyoudidntconceiveitwronglyinthefirstinstance?""Absolutely,"Petersonsaid.Notasinglepieceofhiswasonview,andhisliverexpandedinrageandhatred."Youhaveaveryromanticimpulse,"Jean-Claudesaid."Iadmire,dimly,theposture.Youreadtoomuchinthehistoryofart.Itestrangesyoufromthosepossibilitiesforauthenticselfhoodthatinhereinthepresentcentury.""Iknow,"Petersonsaid,"couldyouletmehavetwentyuntilthefirst?"
PetersonsatinhisloftonlowerBroadwaydrinkingRheingoldandthinkingaboutthePresident.HehadalwaysfeltclosetothePresidentbutfeltnowthathehad,inagreeingtoappearonthetelevisionprogram,donesomethingslightlydisgraceful,ofwhichthePresidentwouldnotapprove.ButIneededthemoney,hetoldhimself,thetelephoneisturnedoffandthekitteniscryingformilk.AndImrunningoutofbeer.ThePresidentfeelsthattheartsshouldbeencouraged,Petersonreflected,surelyhedoesntwantmetogowithoutbeer?Hewonderedifwhathewasfeelingwassimpleguiltathavingsoldhimselftotelevisionorsomethingmoreelegant:nausea?HislivergroanedwithinhimandheconsideredasituationinwhichhisnewrelationshipwiththePresidentwasannounced.Hewasworkingintheloft.ThepieceinhandwastobecalledSeasonsGreetingsandcombinedthreeautoradiators,onefromaChevroletTudor,onefromaFordpick-up,onefroma1932Essex,withpartofaformertelephoneswitchboardandotheritems.Thearrangementseemedrightandhebeganwelding.Afteratimethemasswasfreestanding.Acoupleofhourshadpassed.Heputdownthetorch,liftedoffthemask.Hewalkedovertotherefrigeratorandfoundasandwichleftbyafriendlyjunkdealer.Itwasasandwichmadehastilyandwithoutinspiration:athinsliceofhambetweentwopiecesofbread.Heateitgratefullynevertheless.Hestoodlookingatthework,movingfromtimetotimesoastoviewitfromanewangle.ThenthedoortotheloftburstopenandthePresidentranin,trailingasixteen-poundsledge.HisfirstblowcrackedtheprincipalweldinSeasonsGreetings,thetwohalvespartinglikelovers,clingingforamomentandthenrushingoffinoppositedirections.TwelveSecretServicemenheldPetersoninaparalyzingcombinationofsecretgrips.Heslookinggood,Petersonthought,verygood,healthy,mature,fit,trustworthy.Ilikehissuit.ThePresidentssecondandthirdblowssmashedtheEssexradiatorandtheChevroletradiator.Thenheattackedtheweldingtorch,theplastersketchesontheworkbench,theRodincastandtheGiacomettistickmanPetersonhadboughtinParis."ButMr.President!"Petersonshouted."Ithoughtwewerefriends!"ASecretServicemanbit
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