Don DeLillo - Americana

Boy. Experience is important.

Girl. Experience is something I'd like to have without going through all the trouble of getting it.

Boy. As I see it, there's no reason why we shouldn't get married. We like each other a lot. We have mutual respect for each other's taste in clothes. We like to do a lot of the same things. And everybody says we're an attractive couple.

Girl. Aren't there other things to consider?

Boy. One doesn't keep books.

Girl. That really is an amusing remark.

Boy. I promise you one thing. If we get married I'll definitely put you in my film. We're supposed to use students as actors but I'm sure they'll make an exception in this case. It'll even have a soundtrack.

Girl. Can I wear what I'm wearing?

Boy. You can wear whatever you want. And you can say whatever you want.

Girl. It'll be wild. It'll be super. It'll be too much.

When Austin was dressed I asked him to leave and he said he'd wait outside in his car. Carol put on one of my shirts and read quietly through the next scene. I tried not to sneak looks at her as I played with the tape recorder. I felt it was important to keep things on a strictly professional level and I wanted to make a casual remark, something technical about sound or lighting, but nothing very scientific arrived at the tip of my tongue. Then Brand showed up, surprisingly, on time. Carol went into the bathroom and Brand stripped down to his shorts, long white things with green alarm clocks on them. She came out wearing a thigh-length nightgown and walked toward the bed without looking at either of us. Glances carefully prepared to indicate nothing more than mild interest were exchanged between Brand and me as we noted the soft commanding bounce of her breasts. Carol stood on the bed, hands on hips, looking about her as if to make sure the set had been cleared of all but essential personnel, and then lowered herself to a pillow, where she sat wrapped in her own limbs, an entrance and a place-taking of totally serious humor, one level of personality already in role and trying to demand obedience of the other, which perhaps was beginning to hate the camera. Brand sat on the other pillow. I told him to take off his glasses. Then we discussed what was to follow. Although Brand assured me that he had memorized his lines, I insisted on an improvised scene, first because I didn't trust him, second because I didn't like what I had written. I told them to retain the spirit of the thing and forget the details. Carol stared at the inkblue dogs on Brand's arm, the fornicating dogs. He blinked several times and reached for his glasses but I moved them out of reach. I set up camera and tripod at the foot of the bed.

Man. There was a red moon.

Woman. Schenectady is famous for its moons.

Man. Right away you start in. It's better you don't know anyway. I'm not supposed to tell you anything but you always get me to tell you.

Woman. You tell me where but that's all.

Man. That's enough. That's too much. Sometimes I wonder about you. Always asking. Isn't it better you don't know? You're too interested. You shouldn't be that interested.

Woman. You're my sweetheart. I want to know what you do on your business trips.

Man. It's not right that you should want to know. There's something wrong with it. Sometimes I wonder about you.

Woman. What's fascinating about people like you is your blazing sense of morality. Your devotion to the concept of a place for everything and everything in its place. When you get right down to it, that's what morality means to a moralist. It means shoot to kill but not in a hospital zone. You might wake the patients.

Man. What are you talking about? What's she talking about?

Woman. I'm talking about your underwear. Did you buy those shorts in Schenectady? Was it before or after you fulfilled the contract? I've never seen them before. They're marvelous. They go beyond the outlandish into some private area of metaphysics. All the clocks say nine forty-five. Do you suppose that's morning or evening? Somehow it seems terribly important. You must give me the name of the store so I can call them and ask. In the meantime I want you to tell me very specifically whether you were wearing those shorts when you fulfilled the contract.

Man. Let's get back to what we were saying.

Woman. You don't even remember what we were saying. Now answer my question. Were you wearing those shorts when you carried out the terms set down in the small print?

Man. Okay, I was wearing these shorts.

Woman. Now tell me exactly what time it was when you killed him.

Man. You know I don't talk about that. It's bad enough I tell you where. Details cause trouble. You learn that in this business. Details cause trouble.

Woman. Tell me what time it was. What harm could that possibly do?

Man. It was ten after one.

Woman. Repeat that.

Man. It was about ten after one in the morning.

Woman. I thought so. I knew it.

Man. How did you know?

Woman. It's written all over you. It's literally written all over you. Those clocks on your shorts are a dead giveaway.

Man. The clocks say nine forty-five.

Woman. Exactly. That's exactly the point. You've got to burn them as soon as possible. We can drive down to Nell's place and burn them there.

Man. Look, if you have to know exactly how I did it, I'll tell you.

Woman. I'm not interested.

Man. The last show was coming out. The ticket window was closed. The marquee was dark. Only about ten people came out. I got out of the car and walked up to him. I put out my hand as if I wanted to shake hands with him. It's your natural reaction when a guy puts out his hand like I did that you take it. I knew who he was but he didn't know me like from Adam. He never saw me before. But he put out his hand anyway. That's the natural reaction. Anyone would have done the same thing. We stood there shaking hands and I had a big smile on my face and I called him by his name. He wanted to let go but I kept a tight grip on his hand. Then I put my left hand in my jacket, still holding him with the other hand, and I took out the.38 and fired three times right into the breast pocket of his shirt. There was a war movie playing.

Woman. What did it sound like?

Man. What's the difference what it sounded like?

Woman. Did it make a bang? Did it make a whimper? Did it crack, resound, boom, ping?

Man. It was like 20mm cannon fire. It was like hosing down an LZ with your 20 mike-mike. There's the slang again. There it is.

Woman. How did you feel later?

Man. How would you feel? It was a hospital zone.

Woman. You broke the cardinal rule.

Man. I broke the cardinal's back. He was riding his bike, this Buddhist cardinal, when I double-indemnitized him.

Woman. What were his politics, sweetheart?

Man. Slightly to the left of God.

Woman. That would make him a Taft Republican.

Man. Which Taft?

Woman. Which God?

Man. The one that made little green clocks.

Woman. And little white boys to wear them.

Man. Respect for your husband.

Woman. You're not my husband. My husband is black. Blacker. Blackest black.

Austin's car left the curb in a burst of hysterical rubber. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep for a while so I walked out to Howley Road with Brand. We moved along, jogging part of the way, fighters doing roadwork, snapping out short lefts and rights as we dance-jogged, doing 360-degree turns without breaking stride, hog-grunting on the dark road. We slowed to a walk.