The Seventh Function of Language

“Even in what Sarl calls ‘real life,’ the possibility of parasitic contamination is already there—that ‘real life’ of which he is so assured, with a confidence that is almost, not quite, inimitable, of knowing what it is, where it begins and where it ends; as if the meaning of those words (‘real life’) could immediately create unanimity, without the slightest risk of parasitical contamination, as if literature, theater, lying, infidelity, hypocrisy, infelicity, parasitical contamination, the simulation of real life did not form part of real life!”

[Words spoken by Derrida at the Cornell conference, 1980, or dreamed by Simon Herzog.]

77

They are bent over like slaves in antiquity pushing blocks of stone, but these are students puffing and panting as they roll barrels of beer across the floor. It is going to be a long evening and they will need reserves. The Seal and Serpent Society is an old fraternity founded in 1905, one of the most prestigious and therefore, in American terminology, one of the most “popular.” Lots of people are expected because we are celebrating the end of the conference tonight. All the guest speakers are invited and this is the last chance for the students to see the stars until their next visit. In the entrance to the fraternity’s Victorian lodge, someone has written on a sheet: “Uncontrolled skid in the linguistic turn. Welcome.” Though entry is theoretically reserved for undergrads, tonight the lodge is hosting people of all ages. Of course, this doesn’t mean that it is open to just anyone: there are always those who come in and those who remain outside the door, in accordance with universal social and/or symbolic criteria.

Slimane is unlikely to forget this, being regularly refused entry in France, and it looks as though it’s going to be the same old story here when a pair of students acting as bouncers bar his way. But, without anyone knowing how he does it, or in what language, he talks to them briefly and passes through, his Walkman around his neck, watched enviously by the outcasts in acrylic turtleneck sweaters.

The first person he sees, inside, is telling an audience of young people: “Heraclitus contains everything that is in Derrida and more.” It’s Cruella Redgrave alias Camille Paglia. She holds a mojito in one hand and in the other a cigarette holder, with a black cigarette exhaling a sweet perfume. Next to her Chomsky is talking with a student from El Salvador, who explains that the Revolutionary Democratic Front has just been decapitated by his country’s paramilitaries and government forces. In fact, there is no remaining left-wing opposition, which seems to greatly worry Chomsky, who sucks nervously at a joint.

Perhaps because he is used to back rooms, Slimane goes down to look around in the basement, where Black Sabbath’s “Die Young” is playing. He finds bunches of well-dressed and already drunk students, lap dancing haphazardly. Foucault is there too, in a black leather jacket, without his sunglasses (so he can taste the fog of life, thinks Slimane, who knows him well). He gives him a friendly wave and points to a student in a skirt who is entwined around a metal pole like a stripper. Slimane notes that she is not wearing a bra but is wearing white knickers that match her white Nike sneakers, each with a large red swoosh (like Starsky and Hutch’s car, but with the colors reversed).

Kristeva, who is dancing with Paul de Man, spots Slimane. De Man asks her what she’s thinking about. She replies: “We are in the catacombs of the first Christians.” But her eyes do not leave the gigolo.

He looks as though he’s searching for someone. He climbs upstairs. Bumps into Morris Zapp on the staircase, who winks at him. The stereo plays “Misunderstanding” by Genesis. He grabs a paper cup of tequila. Behind bedroom doors, he hears students fucking or vomiting. Some doors are open and inside the rooms he sees them smoking, drinking beers, sitting cross-legged on single beds, talking about sex, politics, literature. Behind one closed door he thinks he recognizes Searle’s voice, and some strange growling noises.