White Noise by Don DeLillo

Gladney and Siskind walk companionably across campus. Gladney’s hands are folded monkishly under his robe and across his abdomen. They discuss Gladney’s progress in learning German. Howard Dunlop is teaching Gladney some opening remarks for the convention, but there is something about the man which makes Gladney uneasy. Siskind lists several aspects of the man which make him uneasy, and Gladney agrees.

Dunlop’s skin is too soft, he has dried saliva in the corners of his mouth, looks at people over their shoulders, and walks rigidly even though he shuffles when he walks; but there is something even worse. Gladney is certain Siskind will be able to identify what has been eluding Gladney, but Siskind just walks and nods. He nods all the way to their destination, but he never offers Gladney the answer he seeks. Four days later, Siskind calls Gladney at one o’clock in the morning and whispers this observation: Dunlop looks like a man who “finds dead bodies erotic.”

Gladney has one final German lesson. The windows in Dunlop’s room are still covered, and the things piled in front of them seem to Gladney to be encroaching on the rest of the room. Dunlop closes his eyes and recites useful traveling phrases, as usual, but Gladney has to force himself to continue sitting there; Siskind’s assessment is exactly what Gladney had felt, but now that it has been iterated his feelings have changed. What had seemed “strange and half creepy” now feels like a disease. Despite that, Gladney will miss the lessons just as he misses the German shepherds which were sent to Blacksmith to sniff out toxic chemicals but have just left.

Tonight the insane asylum burns down, and Gladney and Heinrich drive closer to watch the conflagration. Other father-son pairs are there to observe, as well, as if fire somehow draws men...