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Crossroads

Электронная книга - «Crossroads». Краткое содержание книги:

It's December 23, 1971, and the Hildebrandt family is at a crossroads. The patriarch, Russ, the associate pastor of a suburban Chicago church, is poised to break free of a marriage he finds joyless-- unless his brilliant and unstable wife, Marion, breaks free of it first. Their eldest child, Clem, is coming home from college afire with moral absolutism, having taken an action that will shatter his father. Clem's sister, Becky, long the social queen of her high-school class, has veered into the era's counterculture, while their younger brother Perry, fed up with selling pot to support his drug habit, has firmly resolved to be a better person. Each of the Hildebrandts seeks a freedom that each of the others threatens to complicate.
Universally recognized as the leading novelist of his generation, Jonathan Franzen is often described as a teller of family stories. Only now, though, in *Crossroads* , has he given us a novel in which a family, in all the intricacy of its...
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In the first-floor men’s room, even before he saw Perry’s feet in the farther stall, he sensed an airless stickiness, a male adolescent anxious to be left alone.

“Perry?”

The voice in the stall was muffled. “Yeah, Dad. One second.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Coming coming coming.”

“A hundred and forty people are waiting for you.”

On the rim of the sink were Perry’s wire-framed eyeglasses, newly prescribed for astigmatism. The frames weren’t the least expensive or most rugged that Marion could have let him choose, and indeed he’d already broken them. Finer wire was tightly wound around the damaged bridge.

The toilet roared, and Perry banged out of the stall, went to the sink, and splashed water on his face. His corduroys, though belted, were halfway down his hips. He no longer had any bottom to speak of; had altogether lost a lot of weight.

“What’s going on?” Russ said.

Perry violently pumped the paper-towel dispenser and tore off a yard-long sheet. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Everything is A-OK.”

“You don’t seem right to me.”

“Just pre-road nerves. A little episode of you-know-what.”

But there was no smell of diarrhea in the air.

“Are you on drugs?”

“Nope.” Perry put on his glasses and snagged his knapsack from the stall. “All set.”

Russ gripped him by his scrawny shoulder. “If you’re on drugs, I can’t let you on the bus.”

“Drugs, drugs, what kind of drugs.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, there you go. I’m not on drugs.”

“Look me in the eye.”

Perry did so. His face was blotched with crimson, clear mucus seeping from his nose. “I swear to God, Dad. I’m clean as a whistle.”

“You don’t seem clean to me.”

“Clean as a whistle and frankly wondering why you’re asking.”

“David Goya is worried about you.”

“David should worry about his own pot dependency. As a matter of fact, I wonder what a search of his luggage might turn up.” Perry held up his knapsack. “You’re free to search mine. Go ahead and pat me down. I’ll even drop my pants, if you can stand the embarrassment.”

He was giving off a very sour mildew smell. Russ had never felt more repelled by him, but he didn’t have hard enough evidence to send him home to Marion. Time was passing, and the responsibility was his. He made himself take it.

“I want you in Kitsillie with me. You can have Becky’s place.”

A laugh burst from Perry like a sneeze.

“What?” Russ said.

“Could there be anything that either of us wants less than that?”

“I’m concerned that you don’t seem well.”

“I’m trying to help you, Dad. Don’t you want me to help you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll stay out of your business if you’ll stay out of mine.”

“My business is your welfare.”

“Then you must be—” Perry snickered. “Very busy.” He shouldered his knapsack and wiped his nose.

“Perry, listen to me.”

“I’m not going to Kitsillie. You’ve got your business, I’ve got mine.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Really? You think I don’t know why you’re going on this trip? It would be too hilarious if I knew it and you didn’t. Do you need me to spell it out for you? She’s a total F-O-X. And I don’t mean some esoteric oxyfluoride salt of xenon, although, interestingly, they’ve synthesized some salts like that, in spite of the supposed completeness of xenon’s outermost electron shell, which you’d think couldn’t happen, and, yes, I realize I digress. My point in mentioning chemistry was that it’s not the point, but you must admit it’s pretty incredible. Everyone assumed that xenon was inert, I mean it’s such a credit to the fluorine atom—its oxidizing powers. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s incredible?”

Perry smiled at Russ as if he believed he was following his nonsense and enjoying it.

“You need to calm down,” Russ said. “I’m not at all sure you should be coming with us.”

“I’m talking about a valence of zero, Dad. If we’re comparing your qualifications with mine, do you even know what a chemical valence is?”

Russ made a helpless gesture.

“I didn’t think so.”

Outside the bathroom, in the hallway, Kevin Anderson was calling Perry’s name.

“Coming,” Perry shouted cheerfully.

Before Russ could stop him, he was out the door.

Glancing at the mirror above the sink, he was dismayed to see a father with responsibilities. What he wanted more than anything was to have nothing to do with his son. At the thought of letting Perry’s disturbance and his mildew stink be Kevin’s problem, he felt a melting warmth in his loins. The warmth, which also related to Frances, plainly told him that the thought was evil. But every other scenario—getting Ambrose involved, locating Marion and making her deal with Perry, forcibly removing Perry from the bus, forgoing the trip himself or dragging Perry to Kitsillie—seemed worse than the next. Each of them would grossly delay the group’s departure, and Frances was waiting on the bus. To have her even once seemed worth whatever price God might later make him pay.

After Jesus had returned to his friends, eaten breakfast with them, let them touch him, he ascended to heaven and was never on earth again in body. What followed, as recounted in Acts, was a radical insurgency. The earliest Christians had all things in common—sold their possessions, shared whatever they had—and were militant in their counterculture. They never passed up a chance to remind the Pharisees of their hand in nailing the Christ to a tree. Their leaders were persecuted and forever on the run, but their ranks kept growing. It no doubt helped that Peter and Paul could perform miracles, but more crucial was Peter’s inspiration to extend his ministry to the Gentiles. From a fire that had started within the Jewish community and might have been safely contained there, sparks flew into the greater Roman Empire. Paul, who’d begun his career as the most zealous of persecutors, holding the cloaks of the mob that stoned Stephen to death, was the most tireless of the fire spreaders. When last seen, in Acts, he’d made it all the way to Rome and was living, unmolested, in a rented house. Unmolested but still an outsider, still an insurgent.

What gave the new religion its edge was its paradoxical inversion of human nature, its exalting of poverty and rejection of worldly power, but a religion founded on paradox was inherently unstable. Once the old religions had been routed, the insurgents became the Pharisees. They became the Holy Roman Church and did their own persecuting, fell into their own complacency and corruption, and betrayed the spirit of Christ. Antithetical to power, the spirit took refuge and expressed itself in opposition—in the gentle renunciations of Saint Francis, the violent rebellion of the Reformation. True Christian faith always burned from the edge.

And no one understood this better than the Anabaptists. They began as a rebuke to the Reformation in northern Europe, which had retained the practice of universal infant baptism. For the Anabaptists, the voluntary choice of baptism, as an adult, was decisive. The book of Acts, an account of Christians so original that some of them had known Jesus personally, abounded with stories of adults seeing the light and requesting baptism. The Anabaptists were radical in the strict sense, returning to the earliest roots of their faith. They were correspondingly feared by Reformation authorities, such as Zwingli, and cruelly persecuted—banished, tortured, burned at the stake—in the first half of the sixteenth century. The effect was to confirm the radicalism of the Anabaptists who survived. In the Bible, after all, to be Christian was to suffer persecution.

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