to take this into account； this tendency toward grandiose deeds； toward pursuing a dream。〃
〃A dream？ How do your students reply？〃
〃Just the way you did。 'A dream？' All that blood and glass； that screeching rubber。 What about the sheer waste； the sense of a civilization in a state of decay？〃
〃What about it？〃 I said。
〃I tell them it's not decay they are seeing but innocence。 The movie breaks away from plicated human passions to show us something elemental； something fiery and loud and head…on。 It's a conservative wish…fulfillment； a yearning for na？veté。 We want to be artless again。 We want to reverse the flow of experience； of worldliness and its responsibilities。 My students say； 'Look at the crushed bodies； the severed limbs。 What kind of innocence is this？'〃
〃What do you say to that？〃
〃I tell them they can't think of a car crash in a movie as a violent act。 It's a celebration。 A reaff？rmation of traditional values and beliefs。 I connect car crashes to holidays like Thanksgiving and the Fourth。 We don't mourn the dead or rejoice in miracles。 These are days of secular optimism； of self…celebration。 We will improve； prosper； perfect ourselves。 Watch any car crash in any American movie。 It is a high…spirited moment like old…fashioned stunt flying； walking on wings。 The people who stage these crashes are able to capture a lightheartedness； a carefree enjoyment that car crashes in foreign movies can never approach。〃
〃Look past the violence。〃
〃Exactly。 Look past the violence； Jack。 There is a wonderful brimming spirit of innocence and fun。〃
29
Babette and I moved down the wide aisle； each with a gleaming cart。 We passed a family shopping in sign language。 I kept seeing colored lights。
〃How do you feel？〃 she said。
〃I'm fine。 I feel good。 How are you？〃
〃Why don't you have a checkup？ Wouldn't you feel better if you found out nothing was there？〃
〃I've had two checkups。 Nothing is there。〃
〃What did Dr。 Chakravarty say？〃
〃What could he say？〃
〃He speaks English beautifully。 I love to hear him speak。〃
〃Not as much as he loves to speak。〃
〃What do you mean he loves to speak？ Do you mean he takes every possible opportunity to speak？ He's a doctor。 He has to speak。 In a very real sense you are paying him to speak。 Do you mean he flaunts his beautiful English？ He rubs your face in it？〃
〃We need some Class Plus。〃
〃Don't leave me alone；〃 she said。
〃I'm just going to aisle five。〃
〃I don't want to be alone； Jack。 I believe you know that。〃
〃We're going to e through this thing all right；〃 I said。 〃Maybe stronger than ever。 We're determined to be well。 Babette is not a neurotic person。 She is strong； healthy； outgoing； affirmative。 She says yes to things。 This is the point of Babette。〃
We stayed together in the aisles and at the checkout。 Babette bought three tabloids for her next session with Old Man Treadwell。 We read them together as we waited on line。 Then we went together to the car； loaded the merchandise； sat very close to each other as I drove home。
〃Except for my eyes；〃 I said。
〃What do you mean？〃
〃Chakravarty thinks I ought to see an eye man。〃
〃Is it the colored spots again？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Stop wearing those dark glasses。〃
〃I can't teach Hitler without them。〃
〃Why not？〃
〃I need them； that's all。〃
〃They're stupid； they're useless。〃
〃I've built a career；〃 I said。 〃I may not understand all the elements involved but this is all the more reason not to tamper。〃
The déjà vu crisis centers closed down。 The hotline was quietly discontinued。 People seemed on the verge of forgetting。 I could hardly blame them even if I felt abandoned to a certain extent； left holding the bag。
I went faithfully to German lessons。 I began to work with my teacher on things I might say in weling delegates to the Hitler conference； still a number of weeks off。 The windows were totally blocked by furniture and debris。 Howard Dunlop sat in the middle of the room； his oval face floating in sixty watts of dusty light。 I began to suspect I was the only person he ever talked to。 I also began to suspect he needed me more than I needed him。 A disconcerting and terrible thought。
There was a German…language book on a ruined table near the door。 The title was lettered in black in a thick heavy ominous typeface： Das Aegyptische Todtenbuch。
〃What's that？〃 I said。
〃The Egyptian Book of the Dead；〃 he whispered。 〃A best…seller in Germany。〃
Every so often； when Denise wasn't home； I wandered into her room。 I picked up things； put them down； looked behind a curtain； glanced into an open drawer； stuck my foot under the bed and felt around。 Absentminded browsing。
Babette listened to talk radio。
I started throwing things away。 Things in the top and bottom of my closet； things in boxes in the basement and attic。 I threw away correspondence； old paperbacks； magazines I'd been saving to read； pencils that needed sharpening。 I threw away tennis shoes； sweat socks； gloves with ragged fingers； old belts and neckties。 I came upon stacks of student reports； broken rods for the seats of director's chairs。 I threw these away。 I threw away every aerosol can that didn't have a top。
The gas meter made a particular noise。
That night on TV I saw newsfilm of policemen carrying a body bag out of someone's backyard in Bakersville。 The reporter said two bodies had been found； more were believed buried in the same yard。 Perhaps many more。 Perhaps twenty bodies； thirty bodies— no one knew for sure。 He swept an arm across the area。 It was a big backyard。
The reporter was a middle…aged man who spoke clearly and strongly and yet with some degree of intimacy； conveying a sense of frequent contact with his audience； of shared interests and mutual trust。 Digging would continue through the night； he said； and the station would cut back to the scene as soon as developments warranted。 He made it sound like a lover's promise。
Three nights later I wandered into Heinrich's room； where the TV set was temporarily located。 He sat on the floor in a hooded sweatshirt； watching live coverage of the same scene。 The backyard was floodlit； men with picks and shovels worked amid mounds of dirt。 In the foreground stood the reporter； bareheaded； in a sheepskin coat； in a light snow； giving an update。 The police said they had solid information； the diggers were methodical and skilled； the work had been going on for over seventy…two hours。 But no more bodies had been found。
The sense of failed expectations was total。 A sadness and emptiness hung over the scene。 A dejection； a sorry gloom。 We felt it ourselves； my son and I； quietly watching。 It was in the room； seeping into the air from pulsing streams of electrons。 The reporter seemed at first merely apologetic。 But as he continued to discuss the absense of mass graves； he grew increasingly forlorn； gesturing at the diggers； shaking his head； almost ready to plead with us for sympathy and understanding。 I tried not to feel disappointed。
30
In the dark the mind runs on like a devouring machine； the only thing awake in the universe。 I tried to make out the walls； the dresser in the corner。 It was the old defenseless feeling。 Small； weak； deathbound； alone。 Panic； the god of woods and wilderness； half goat。 I moved my head to the right； remembering the clock…radio。 I watched the numbers change； the progression of digital minutes； odd to even。 They glowed green in the dark。
After a while I woke up Babette。 Warm air came rising from her body as she shifted toward me。 Contented air。 A mixture of forgetfulness and sleep。 Where am I； who are you； what was I dreaming？
〃We have to talk；〃 I said。
She mumbled things； seemed to fend off some hovering presence。 When I reached for the lamp； she gave me a backhand punch in the arm。 The light went on。 She retreated toward the radio； covering her head and moaning。
〃You can't get away。 There are things we have to talk about。 I want access to Mr。 Gray。 I want the real name of Gray Research。〃
All she could do was moan； 〃No。〃
〃I'm reasonable about this。 I have a sense of perspective。 No huge hopes or expectations。 I only want to check it out； give it a try。 I don't believe in magical objects。 I only say； 'Let me try； let me see。' I've been lying here for hours practically paralyzed。 I'm drenched in sweat。 Feel my chest； Babette。〃
〃Five more minutes。 I need to sleep。〃
〃Feel。 Give me your hand。 See how wet。〃
〃We all sweat；〃 she said。 〃What is sweat？〃
〃There are rivulets here。〃
〃You want to ingest。 No good； Jack。〃
〃All I ask is a few minutes alone with Mr。 Gray； to find out if I qualify。〃
〃He'll think you want to kill him。〃
〃But that's crazy。 I'd be crazy。 How can I kill him？〃
〃He'll know I told you about the motel。〃
〃The motel is over and done。 I can't change the motel。 Do I kill the only man who can relieve my pain？ Feel under my arms if you don't believe me。〃
〃He'll think you're a husband with a grudge。〃
〃The motel is frankly small grief。 Do I kill him and feel better？ He doesn't have to know who I am。 I make up an identity； I invent a context。 Help me； please。〃
〃Don't tell me you sweat。 What is sweat？ I gave the man my word。〃
In the morning we sat at the kitchen table。 The clothes dryer was running in the entranceway。 I listened to the tapping sound of buttons and zippers as they struck the surface of the drum。
〃I already know what I want to say to him。 I'll be descriptive； clinical。 No philosophy or theology。 I'll appeal to the pragmatist in him。 He's bound to be impressed by the fact that I'm actually scheduled to die。 This is frankly more than you could claim。 My need is intense。 I believe he'll respond to this。 Besides； he'll want another crack at a live subject。 That's the way these people are。〃
〃How do I know you won't kill him？〃
〃You're my wife。 Am I a killer？〃
〃You're a man； Jack。 We all know about men and their insane rage。 This is something men are very good at。 Insane and violent jealousy。 Homicidal rage。 When people are good at something； it's only natural that they look for a chance to do this th