Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts 精彩片段：
A Picture History of the War
Kellerman, gigantic with gin, runs through the park at noon with his naked father slung under one arm. Old Kellerman covers himself with both hands and howls in the tearing wind, although sometimes he sings in the bursting sunlight. Where there is tearing wind he howls, and where there is bursting sunlight he sings. The park is empty except for a pair of young mothers in greatcoats who stand, pressed together in a rapturous embrace, near the fountain, "What are those mothers doing there," cries the general, "near the fountain?" "That is love," replies the son, "which is found everywhere, healing and beautiful." "Oh what a desire I have," cries the general, "that there might happen some great dispute among nations, some great anger, so that I might be myself again!" "Think of the wrack," replies the son. "Empty saddles, boots re?versed in the stirrups, tasteful eulogies --" "I want to tell you something!" shrieks the general. "On the field where this battle was fought, I saw a very wonderful thing which the natives pointed out to me!"
On the night of the sixteenth, Wellington lin?gered until three in the morning in Brussels at the Duchess of Richmonds ball, sitting in the front row. "Showing himself very cheerful," according to Muffling. Then with Muffling he set out for the windmill at Brye, where they found Marshal Bliicher and his staff. Kellerman, followed by the young mothers, runs out of the park and into a bar.
"Eh, hello, Mado. A Beaujolais."
"Eh, hello, Tris-Tris," the barmaid replies. She is wiping the zinc with a dirty handkerchief. "A Beaujolais?"
"Cut the sentimentality, Mado," Kellerman says. "A Beaujolais. Listen, if anybody asks for me --"
"You havent been in."
"Thanks, Mado. Youre a good sort."
Kellerman knocks back the Beaujolais, tucks his naked father under his arm, and runs out the door.
"You were rude with that woman!" the general cries. "What is the rationale?"
"Its a convention," Kellerman replies. The Bel?gian regiments had been tampered with. In the melee, I was almost instantly disabled in both arms, losing first my sword, and then my reins, and fol?lowed by a few men, who were presently cut down, no quarter being asked, allowed, or given, I was carried along by my horse, till, receiving a blow from a sabre, I fell senseless on my face to the ground. Kellerman runs, reading an essay by Paul Goodman in Commentary. His eye, caught by a line in the last paragraph ("In a viable constitu?tion, every excess of power should structurally gen?erate its own antidote"), has wandered back up the column of type to see what is being talked about ("I have discussed the matter with Mr. and Mrs. Beck of the Living Theatre and we agree that the following methods are tolerable").
"Whats that?" calls the first mother. "On the bench there, covered with the overcoat?"
"Thats my father," Kellerman replies cour?teously. "My dad."
"Isnt he cold?"
"Are you cold?"