dk.nightchills-第6部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


lling　if　she　was　a　blonde；　brunette；　or　redhead。　They　remembered　that　her　breasts　were　uncovered；　but　they　couldn't　say　for　sure　whether　she　was　wearing　a　hat　or　was　clothed　from　the　waist　down。　（She　had　no　hat　and　was　nude。）　None　of　them　had　trouble　describing　the
　wreath；　for　it　was　there　that　the　subconscious　had　been　riveted。
　〃Do　you　see　why？〃　Salsbury　asked。　〃There's　not　a　walnut　in　that　'walnut'　wreath。　It's　posed　of　objects　that　resemble　the　heads　of　penises　and　vaginal　slits。〃
　Unable　to　speak；　Dawson　leafed　through　the　other　advertisements　without　asking　Salsbury　to　explain　them。　Finally　he　said；　〃Camel　cigarettes；　Seagram's；　Sprite；　Bacardi　Rum　Some　of　the　most　prominent　panies　in　the　country　are　using　subliminals　to　sell　their　products。〃
　〃Why　shouldn't　they？　It's　legal。　If　the　petition　uses　them；　what　choice　does　even　the　most　morally　uplifted　pany　really　have？　Everyone　has　to　stay　petitive。　In　short；　there　are　no　individual　villains。　The　whole　system　is　the　villain。〃
　Dawson　returned　to　his　executive　chair；　his　face　a　book　of　his　thoughts。　One　could　read　there　that　he　disliked　any　talk　against　〃the　system〃　and　that　he　was　nonetheless　shocked　by　what　he　had　been　shown。　He　was　also　trying　to　see　how　he　could　make　a　profit　from　it。　He　operated　with　the　conviction　that　God　wanted　him　to　sit　in　an　executive　chair　at　the　pinnacle　of　a　billion…dollar　corporation；　and　he　was　certain　that　the　Lord　would　help　him　to　see　that；　although　subliminal　advertising　had　a　cheap　and　possibly　immoral　side　to　it；　there　was　also　an　aspect　of　it　that　could　aid　him　in　his　divine　mission。　As　he　saw　it；　his　mission　was　to　pile　up　profits　for　the　Lord；　when　he　and　Julia　were　dead；　the　Dawson　holdings　would　belong　to　the　church。
　Salsbury　returned　to　his　seat　in　front　of　the　desk。　The　litter　of　magazine　pages　on　the　blotter　and　bare　oak　seemed　like　a　collection　of　pornography。　He　felt　as　if　he　had　been　trying　to　titillate　Dawson。　Irrationally；　he　was　embarrassed。
　〃You've　shown　me　that　a　great　deal　of　creative　effort　and　money　goes　into　subliminal　mercials　and　ads；〃　Dawson　said。　〃Evidently；　there's　a　generally　held　theory　that　subconscious　sexual　stimulation　sells　goods。　But　does　it？　Enough　to　be　worth　the　expense？〃
　〃Unquestionably！　Psychological　studies　have　proved　that　most　Americans　react　to　sexual　stimuli　with　subconscious　anxiety　and　tension。　So　if　the　subliminal　half　of　a　television　mercial　for
　XYZ　soda　shows　a　couple　having　intercourse；　the　viewer's　subconscious　starts　bubbling　with　anxiety…and　that　establishes　a　motivational　equation。　On　the　left　side　of　the　equals　sign；　there's　anxiety　and　tension。　To　plete　the　equation　and　cancel　out　these　bad　feelings；　the　viewer　buys　the　product；　a　bottle　or　a　case　of　XYZ。　The　equation　is　finished；　the　blackboard　wiped　clean。〃
　Dawson　was　surprised。　〃Then　he　doesn't　buy　the　product　because　he　believes　it　will　give　him　a　better　sex　life？〃
　〃Just　the　opposite；〃　Salsbury　said。　〃He　buys　it　to　escape　from　sex。　The　ad　fills　him　with　desire　on　a　subconscious　level；　and　by　buying　that　product　he　is　able　to　satisfy　the　desire　without　risking　rejection；　impotence；　humiliation；　or　some　other　unsatisfactory　experience　with　a　woman。　Or　if　the　viewer　is　a　woman；　she　buys　the　product　to　satisfy　desire　and　thus　avoids　an　unhappy　affair　with　a　man。　For　both　men　and　women；　the　desire　is　well　relieved　if　the　product　has　an　oral　aspect。　Like　food　or　soda。〃
　〃Or　cigarettes；〃　Dawson　said。　〃Could　that　explain　why　so　many　people　have　trouble　giving　up　cigarettes？〃
　〃Nicotine　is　addictive；〃　Salsbury　said。　〃But　there's　no　question　that　subliminals　in　cigarette　ads　reinforce　the　habit　in　most　people。〃
　Scratching　his　square　chin；　Dawson　said；　〃If　these　are　so　effective；　why　don't　I　smoke？　I've　seen　the　ads　before。〃
　〃The　science　hasn't　been　perfected　yet；〃　Salsbury　said。　〃If　you　think　smoking　is　a　disgusting　habit；　if　you've　decided　never　to　smoke；　subliminals　can't　change　your　mind。　On　the　other　hand；　if　you're　young；　just　entering　the　cigarette　market；　and　have　no　real　opinions　about　the　habit；　subliminals　can　influence　you　to　pick　it　up。　Or　if　you　were　once　a　heavy　smoker　but　kicked　the　habit；　subliminals　can　persuade　you　to　resume　smoking。　Subliminals　also　affect　people　who　have　no　strong　brand　preferences。　For　example；　if　you　don't　drink　gin　or　don't　like　to　drink　at　all；　subliminals　in　the　Gilbey's　ad　won't　make　you　run　out　to　the　liquor　store。　If　you　do　drink；　and　if　you　do　like　gin；　and　if　you　don't　care　which　brand　of　gin　you　drink；　these　ads　could　establish　a　brand　preference　for　you。　They　work；
　Leonard。　Subliminals　sell　hundreds　of　millions　of　dollars'　worth　of　goods　every　year；　a　substantial　percentage　of　which　the　public　might　never　buy　if　it　were　not　subliminally　manipulated。〃
　Dawson　said；　〃You've　been　working　on　subliminal　perception　up　there　in　Connecticut　for　the　last　ten　years？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃Perfecting　the　science？〃
　〃That's　correct。〃
　〃The　Pentagon　sees　a　weapon　in　it？〃
　〃Definitely。　Don't　you　see　it？〃
　Quietly；　reverently；　Dawson　said；　〃If　you've　perfected　the　science　。　。　。　you're　talking　about　total　mind　control。　Not　just　behavior　modification；　but　absolute；　ironlike　control。〃
　For　a　moment　neither　of　them　could　speak。　〃Whatever　you've　discovered；〃　Dawson　said；　〃you　apparently　want　to　keep　it　from　the　Defense　Department。　They　might　call　that　treason。〃
　〃I　don't　care　what　they　call　it；〃　Salsbury　said　sharply。　〃With　your　money　and　my　knowledge；　we　don't　need　the　Defense　Department…or　anyone　else。　We're　more　powerful　than　all　the　world's　governments　bined。〃
　Dawson　couldn't　conceal　his　excitement。　〃What　is　it？　What　have　you　got？〃
　Salsbury　went　to　the　windows　and　watched　the　snow　spiraling　down　on　the　city。　He　felt　as　if　he　had　taken　hold　of　a　live　wire。　A　current　buzzed　through　him。　Shaking　with　it；　almost　able　to　imagine　that　the　snowflakes　were　sparks　exploding　from　him；　feeling　himself　to　be　at　the　vortex　of　a　God…like　power；　he　told　Dawson　what　he　had　found　and　what　role　Dawson　could　play　in　his　scenario　of　conquest。
　Half　an　hour　later；　when　Ogden　finished；　Dawson…who　had　never　before　been　humble　anywhere　but　in　church…said；　〃Dear　God。〃　He　stared　at　Salsbury　as　a　devout　Catholic　might　have　gazed　upon　the　vision　at　Fatima。　〃Ogden；　the　two　of　us　are　going　to…inherit　the　earth？〃　His　face　was　suddenly　split　by　an　utterly　humorless　smile。
　3
　Saturday；　August　13；　1977
　IN　ONE　OF　THE　THIRD…FLOOR　GUEST　BEDROOMS　of　the　Edison　house；　Paul　Annendale　arranged　his　shaving　gear　on　top　of　the　dresser。　From　left　to　right：　a　can　of　foam；　a　mug　containing　a　lather　brush；　a　straight　razor　in　a　plastic　safety　case；　a　dispenser　full　of　razor　blades；　a　styptic　pencil；　a　bottle　of　skin　conditioner；　and　a　bottle　of　after…shave　lotion。　Those　seven　items　had　been　arranged　in　such　an　orderly　fashion　that　they　looked　as　if　they　belonged　in　one　of　those　animated　cartoons　in　which　everyday　items　e　to　life　and　march　around　like　soldiers。
　He　turned　from　the　dresser　and　went　to　one　of　the　two　large　windows。　In　the　distance　the　mountains　rose　above　the　valley　walls；　majestic　and　green；　mottled　by　purple　shadows　from　a　few　passing　clouds。　The　nearer　ridges…decorated　with　stands　of　pines；　scattered　elms；　and　meadows…sloped　gently　toward　the　town。　On　the　far　side　of　Main　Street；　birch　trees　rustled　in　the　breeze。　Men　in　short…sleeved　shirts　and　women　in　crisp　summer　dresses　strolled　along　the　sidewalk。　The　veranda　roof　and　the　sign　for　Edison's　store　were　directly　below　the　window。
　As　his　gaze　moved　back　and　back　from　the　distant　mountains；　Paul　became　aware　of　his　own　reflection　in　the　window　glass。　At　five　ten　and　one　hundred　fifty　pounds；　he　was　neither　tall　nor　short；　heavy　nor　thin。　In　some　ways　he　looked　older　than　thirty…eight；　and　in　other　ways　he　looked　younger。　His　Crinkly；　almost　frizzy　light　brown　hair　was　worn　full　on　the
　sides　but　not　long。　It　was　a　hair　style　more　suited　to　a　younger　man；　but　it　looked　good　on　him。　His　eyes　were　so　blue　that　they　might　have　been　chips　of　mirrors　reflecting　the　sky　above。　The　expression　of　pain　and　loss　lying　beneath　the　surface　brightness　of　those　eyes　belonged　to　a　much　older　man。　His　features　were　narrow；　somewhat　aristocratic；　but　a　deep　tan　softened　the　sharp　angles　of　his　face　and　saved　him　from　a　haughty　look。　He　appeared　to　be　a　man　who　would　feel　at　ease　both　in　an　elegant　drawing　room　and　in　a　waterfront　bar。
　He　was　wearing　a　blue　workshirt；　blue　jeans；　and　black　square…toed　boots；　however；　he　did　not　seem　to　be　casually　dressed。　Indeed；　in　spite　of　the　jeans；　there　was　an　air　of　formality　about　his　outfit。　He　wore　those　clothes　better　than　most　men　wore　tuxedos。　The　sleeves　of　his　shirt　had　been　carefully　pressed　and　creased。　His　opened　collar　stood　up　straight　and　stiff；　as　if　it　had　been　starched。　The　silvery　buckle　on　his　belt　had　been　carefully　polished。　Like　his　shirt；　his　jeans　seemed　to　have　been　tailored。　His　low…heeled　boots　shone　almost　like　patent　leather。
　He　had　always　been　pulsively　neat。　He　couldn't　remember　a　time　when　his　friends　hadn't　kidded　him　about　it。　As　a　child　he　had　kept　his　toy　box　in　better　order　than　his　mother　had　kept　the　china　closet。
　Three　and　a　half　years　ago；　after　Annie　died　and　left　him　with　the　children；　his　need　for　order　and　neatness　had　bee　almost　neurotic。　On　a　Wednesday　afternoon；　ten　months　after　the　funeral；　when　he　caught　himself　rearranging　the　contents　of　a　cabinet　in　his　veterinary　clinic　for　the　seventh　time　in　two　hours；　he　realized　that　his　pulsion　for　neatness　could　bee　a　refuge　from　life　and　especially　from　grief。　Alone　in　the　clinic；　standing　before　an　array　of　instruments…forceps；　syringes；　scalpels…he　cried　for　the　first　time　since　he　learned　Annie　was　dead。　Under　the　misguided　belief　that　he　had　to　hide　his　grief　from　the　children　in　order　to　provide　them　with　an　example　of　strength；　he　had　never　given　vent　to　the　powerful　emotions　that　the　loss　of　his　wife　had　engendered。　Now　he　cried；　shook；　and　raged　at　the　cruelty　of　it。　He　rarely　used　foul　language；　but　now　he　strung　together　all　the　vile　words　and　phrases
　that　he　knew；　cursing　God　and　the　universe　and　life…and　himself。　After　that；　his　pulsive　neatness　ceased　to　be　a　neurosis　and　became；　again；　just　another　facet　of　his　character；　which　frustrated　some　people　and　charmed　others。
　Someone　knocked　on　the　bedroom　door。
　He　turned　away　from　the　window。　〃e　in。〃
　Rya　opened　the　door。　〃It's　seven　o'clock；　Daddy。　Suppertime。〃
　In　faded　red　jeans　and　a　short…sleeved　white　sweater；　with　her　dark　hair　falling　past　her　shoulders；　she　looked　startlingly　like　her　mother。　She　tilted　her　head　to　one　side；　just　as　Annie　use　to　do；　as　if　trying　to　guess　what　he　was　thinking。
　〃Is　Mark　ready？〃
　〃Oh；〃　she　said；　〃he　was　ready　an　hour　ago。　He's　in　the　kitchen；　getting　in　Sam's　way。〃
　〃Then　we'd　better　get　down　there。　Knowing　Mark's　appetite；　I'd　say　he　has　half　the　food　eaten　already。〃
　As　he　came　toward　her；　she　stepped　back　a　pace。　〃You　look　absolutely　marvelous；　Daddy。〃
　He　smiled　at　her　and　lightly　pinched　her　cheek。　If　she　had　been　plimenting　Mark；　she　would　have　said　that　he　looked　〃super；〃　but　she　wanted　him　to　know　that　she　was　judging　him　by　grown…up　standards；　and　she　had　used　grown…up　language。