Literary Analysis

T 7 O N , I O D r J LT E X T S F O R W R I T E R S

o f b l a c k A r n e r i c a n s r o s e i z e l o c a l e n r r e p r e n e u r i a l o p p o r t u n i t i e s i s c o f a i l

to accept our role as leaclersof our own comrntrnity. Not to dernand

thar each member of the black cc-rmmunity accept individual respon-

s i b i l i t y f o r h e r o r h i s b e h a v i o r w h e t h e r t h a t b e h a v i o r a s s u l n e s t h e-

f o r m o f b l a c k - o n ' b l a c k h o r n i c i d e , g a n g m e r n b e r s v i o l a t i n s t h e s a n c t i t y

of the chtrrch, Lrnprotected sexual acdvity, gangster rap lyrics, what-

e v e r - i s f o r u s t o f u n c t i o n r l e r e l y a s e t h n i c c h e e r l e a d e r s s e l l i n g w o o f

tickers frorn calnpus or sr.rburbs,rather thar-r saying the dilficult things

r h a r m e y b e u n p o p u l a r w i t h o u r f e l l o w s . B e i n g a l e a d e r d o e s n o t n e c e s -

sarily rneen beir-rg loved; loving one's community lneans daring to risk

esrrangelrrer-rrand alienation fi'om ir in che shclrc rttn in order to break

t h e c y c l e o f p o v c r t y a n d d e s p a i r i n w h i c h w e f i n d o u r s e l v e s , o v e r t h e

l o n g r u n . F o r w h a t i s a t s t a k e i s n o t h i n g l e s s t l - r a n r h e s u r v i v a l o f o u r

coLrlltr y, a nd rl-re Afi ican- Atne rican p'teoplethetn selves.

T h o s c o f u s o n c a r n p u s c a n a l s o r e a c h o l l t r o r h o s e o f u s l e f t b e h i n d

on rhe streers. l}e historically black colleges and universities and Afro-

Arnerican Srudics .-leparrments ir-r ti-ris cour-rtry can ir-rstitutionalize

s o p h o r n o r e : r n d j u n i o r y e : r r i n r e r n s h i p s f o r c o m m u n i t y d e v e l o p r n e n r

rlrrough orga.nizationssuch as the Childrens Defense Ftrnd. Together

w e c a n c o m b a t t e e n a g e p r e g n a n c i e s , b l a c k - o n - b l a c k c r i m e , a n d t h e

s p r e a d o f A I D S i r o r n d r u g a b u s e a n d L l l l p r o t e c t e d s e x r , r a lr e l a t i o n s , a n d

c o r r n t e r t h e s p r e a d o f d e s p a i r a n d h o p e l e s s n e s si n o u r c o u r t n u u i t i e s .

D r . K i n g d i d n o t d i e s o t h a t h a l f o f u s w o u l d r n a k e i t , h a l f o f u s p e r i s h ,

forever rarnishir-rg two centuries of agitation for our equal rights. We,

t h e m e m b c r s o f c h e T a l e n t e d T e n t h , r n L r s t a c c e p r o u r h i s t o r i c a l r e s p o n -

s i b i l i t y a n d l i v e D r . K i n g s c r e c J o t h a t n o n e o F u s i s f r e e u n t i l a l l o f u s a r e

f r e e . A n d r h a r a l l o f u s a r e b r o t h e r s a n d s i s t e r s , a s D r . K i n g s a i d s o l o n g

ago whire and bl:rck, Protestant and Caclrolic, Ger-rtile and Jew and-

M t r s l i r n , r i c h a n d p o o r - e v e n i f w e a r e n o t b r o t h e r s - i n - l a w .

T i m O ' B r i e n

On the RainyRiver

T i mO ' B r i e nw a sb o r n i n 1 9 4 6 i n A u s t i n , M i n n e s o t a ,t o a n i n s u r a n c e s a l e s m a na n d a n e l e m e n t a r y s c h o o lt e a c h e r .B o t ho f h i s p a r e n t s w e r ev e t e r ? f l S :h i s f a t h e r h a d b e e n i n t h e N a v y i n l w o J i m a a n d O k i n a w ad u r i n gW o r l d W a r l l , a n d h i s m o t h e r h a d s e r v e d w i t ht h e W A V E S( W o m e nA c c e p t e df o r V o l u n t e e rE m e r g e n c yS e r v i c e ) .A s a c h i l d ,O ' B r i e ns p e n tt i m e r e a d i n g i n t h e c o u n t y l r b r a r y ,l e a r n i n gt o p e r f o r mm a g i ct r i c k s ,a n dp l a y i n gb a s e b a l l( h i sf i r s tp i e c eo f f i c t i o n w a sc a l l e d" T i m m yo f t h e L i t t l e L e a g u e " ) .

O ' B r i e na t t e n d e dM a c a l e s t e rC o l l e g ei n S a i n t P a u l , M i n n e s o t a , m a j o r i n gi n p o l i t i c a ls c i e n c e .W h e nh eg r a d u a t e di n 1 9 6 8 , h e h o p e d t o j o i nt h e S t a t e D e p a r t m e n ta sa d i p l o m a t - b u t i n s t e a d ,j u s tw e e k s a f t e rg r a d u a t i o n ,h e w a s d r a f t e di n t ot h eA r m y .O ' B r i e nn e a r l yf l e dt o C a n a d a :d u r i n gh i s t r a i n i n g i n F o r tL e w i s ,W a s h i n g t o n ,h e p l a n n e d t o d e s e r t , b u t h e w e n t o n l ya s f a r a s S e a t t l e b e f o r et u r n i n g b a c k . I n 1 9 6 9 ,a t t h e a g e o f 2 2 , h e w e n t t o Q u a n gN g a i ,V i e t n a m ,f i r s t a s a r i f l e m a n a n d l a t e ra s a r a d i ot e l e p h o n eo p e r a t o ra n d c l e r k . H e c o m p l e t e da 1 3 - m o n t ht o u r o f d u t y , e a r n i n ga P u r p l eH e a r t a n d a B r o n z eS t a r .

A f t e r h i s r e t u r nt o t h e U n i t e d S t a t e si n 1 9 7 0 , O ' B r i e ne n r o l l e di n H a r v a r d ' sd o c t o r a lp r o g r a mi n g o v e r n m e n ta n d s p e n t h i s s u m m e r s w o r k i n ga s a n i n t e r nf o r t h e W a s h r n g t o n P o s t .H e b e c a m e a f u l l - t i m e n a t i o n a l a f f a i r sr e p o r t e r ,c o v e r i n gS e n a t eh e a n n g sa n dp o l i t i c a l e v e n t s .S e v e r a ly e a r sl a t e r ,O ' B r i e nl e f t b o t h h i s g r a d u a t ew o r ka n d h i sj o b a t t h e P o s f t o p u r s u ea c a r e e ra s a w r i t e r . l n a m e m o i r , s e v e n n o v e l s ,a n d m a n y s h o r ts t o r i e s ,O ' B r i e nh a se x p l o r e dt h e q u e s t i o n o f m o r a l r e s p o n s i b i l i t y : f o rt h e 5 8 , 0 0 0 A m e r i c a nW h o i s r e s p o n s i b l e s o l d i e r sa n d m o r e t h a na m i l l i o n V i e t n a m e s e p e o p l ek i l l e di n b a t t l e b e t w e e n1 9 6 5 a n d 1 9 7 5 ?

" O nt h e R a i n y R i v e r " d e s c r i b e sa y o u n gm a n w h o h a s t o c h o o s e b e t w e e ng o i n gt o V i e t n a ma n d f l e e i n g t o C a n a d at o e v a d e t h e d r a f t . H e b l a m e st h e w a r o n e v e r y o n e - t h e p r e s i d e n t ,t h e j o i n t c h i e f s o f s t a f f , t h e k n e e - j e r k p a t r i o t si n h i s h o m e t o w n - b u t u l t i m a t e l v

1 7 I

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1 7 2 M o D E L T E X T S F o R w R T T E R S

t a k e s h i s p l a c ea m o n gt h e m , c h o o s i n g t o g o t o w a r . H i s d e c i s i o n precipitatesthe events of the book, TheThingsThey Carried, just as O ' B r i e n ' so w nc o n f l i c t e dd e c i s i o nt o g o t o w a rs e t t h e c o u r s e o f h i s l i f e ,f i r s t a s a s o l d i e ra n d t h e n a s a w r i t e r .

The Things TheyCarried(1990)was a finalistfor both the Pulitzer P r i z ea n d t h e N a t i o n a l B o o kC r i t i c s C i r c l e A w a r d . O ' B r i e n ' s o t h e r significantbooks include lf I Die in a Combat Zone,Box Me Up and Ship Me Home(1973), Goingafter Cacciato(I978), The Nuclear A g e( I 9 8 5 ) , a n dl n t h e L a k e o f t h e W o o d s ( 1 9 9 4 ) .T i m O ' B r i e n l i v e s i n T e x a sw i t h h i s w i f e a n d s o n .H e t e a c h e s c r e a t i v ew r i t i n ga t T e x a s S t a t e U n i v e r s i t v .

his is one story I've never rold before. Not to anyone. Not to my f

I parents,not to my brother or sister,not even to my wife, To go inro it, I've always thought, would only cause embarrassmenr for all of us, a sudden need to be elsewhere, which is che natural response to a confession.Even now I'll adrnit, the story makesme squirm, For more than twenty yearsI've had to live wirh ir, feeling rhe shame, rrying ro puslr ft away, and so by this act of remembrance, by putting the facts down on paper,I'm hoping to relieveat least some of the pressureon my dreams. Sdll, it's :r hard story to tell. All of us, I suppose,like to believe that in a moral emergency we will behave like the heroes of our youth, bravelyand forthrightly,without thought of personalloss or discredit. Cercainly chac was my conviccion back in the surnmer of 1968. Tim O'Brien: a secrethero.The Lone Ranger.If the stakes everbecamehigh enough if the evilwere evil enough, if the goodweregood enough I would simply Ap a secretreservoirof couragethat had beenaccumulat- ing inside me over the years.Courage,I seemed to think, comes to us in 6nite quantities,like an inheritance,and by being frugal and stashingit awayand letting it earn interest,we steadily increaseour moral capital in p''rsp2l"xtionfor that day when the account must be drawn down. It was a comforting tl-reory.It dispensedwith all those bothersome little accs of daily courage; it offered hope and gracero the repetitivecoward; it justified the past while amortizing the future.

InJune of 7968,amonth afrcr graduatingfrom MacalescerCollege,I wasdrafted to 6ght a war I hated' I was twenty-one yearsold. Young,yes, and politically naive, but evenso the American war in Vietnam seemed

O ' B r i e n * O n r h e R a i n y R i v e r I 7 3

ro me wrong. Certain blood wasbeing shed for uncerrain reasons. I saw no uniry of purpose,no consensuson marrers of philosophy or history or law. The very factswere shrouded in uncerrainty:Was ir a civil war? A war of national liberarior-ror simpleaggressioniWho startedit, and when,and whyi What realLyhappenedro rhe llSS Maddox onthat dark night in the Gulf of Tonkini Was Ho Chi Minh a Communisr stooge, or a nationalistsavior, or both, or neitheri What abour the Geneva Accordsi What about SEATO and rhe Cold Wari Whar about domi- noesi America was divided on theseand a thousand orher issues,and the debate had spilled out acrossthe floor of the United Srares Senate and into the streers, and smarr men in pinsrripescould not agree on eventhe rnosr fundamental rnactersof public policy.The only cerraincy that summer was moral confusion. It was my view then, and still is, that you don't rnakewar without knowing why. Knowledge, of course, is alwaysimperfect,but it seemedro me thar when a narion goesro war ir rnust have reasonable confidencein the jr-rsticeand imperative of irs cause.You can't fix your misrakes.Once people are dead, you canr make rhernundead.

In any case rhose were my convicrions,and back in collegeI had taken a modesr srand againstrhe war. Norhing radical,no horhead scufl just ringing a few doorbells for Gene McCarrhy, composing a few tedious, uninspired edirorialsfor che campus newspaper.Oddly, though, it was almosr enrirely an inrellectualacrivity.I broughr some energyro it, of course,bur ir was rhe energythat accompanies almost any abstract endeavor; I felt no personaldanger,I felt no sense of an irnpendingcrisisin my life. Srupidly,wirh a kind of smugremovalthat I cant begin to farllom, I assumedrhar rhe problemsof killing and dying did not fall wirhin my special province.

The draft noticearrived onJune 17,1968.Ir wasa humid afrernoon, I remembeacloudy and very quiec, and Id jusr conle in from a round of golf. My mother and farher were having lunch our in the kitchen. I remember opening up the letter, scanning the firsr few lines, feeling rhe blood go rhick behind my eyes. I remember a sound in my head. It wasnt rhinking,jusr a silenr horvl. A million rhingsall ar once - I was rco good for rl-riswar. Too sffrarc,too compassionate,too everything. It couldn't happen. I was above it. I had the world dicked - Phi Bera Kappa and summa cum laude and president of rhe srudenrbody and a Full-ridescholarshipfor grad studiesat Harvard. A mistake, maybe- a

1 , 7 4 M o D E LT E X T sF o Rw R r r E R S

foul-up in the paperwork.I was no soldier.I haced Boy Scouts.I hated campingout. I hateddirt and tents and mosquiroes.The sight of blood made me queasy,and I couldn'r tolerareauthority, and I didn't know a rifle from a slingshot. I was a liber,tl, for Christ sake:If rhey needed freshbodies,wl-rynot draft someback-to-rhe-srone-agehawki Or some dumb jingo in his hard har and Bornb Hanoi burron,or one of LBJs pretty daughrers,or Wesrmoreland'swhole handsomefamily - neph- ewsand nieces and baby grandson.There should be a law I thought. If you support awar, if you think ir'sworth rhe price, rhat's fine,bur you haveto Put your own preciousfluids on rhe line.You haveto head for the front and hook up with an infantry unir ar-rdhelp spill the blood. A'd you have ro bring along your wife, or ),our kids, or your lover. A l a w , I t h o u g h r .

s I rememberrhe rage in my sromach.Later ir burned down to a snrolderingself-pity,rhen to numbness.Ar dinner rhat nighr my father askedwhat my planswere.

"Norhing,"I said. " Wait."

I spcnr rhe surnmer of i968 u'orkingin an Armour rnear-packingplant ir-r rny homero'uvnof Worrhington, Minnesora. The planr specialized in pork products,and for eighr hours a day I srood on a quarrer-mile assemblyline - more properly,a disassemblyline - removing blood clots frorn the necksof dead pigs. Myjob rirle, I believe,was Declotter. After slaughrer,rhe hogswere de.:apitated,splir down the length of the belly,pried open, eviscerated,and srrlrngup by rhe hind hockson a high conveyerbelr.Then gravity rook over.By che rime a carcass reachedmy spot on the line, chefuids had rnostly drained ouc,everyrhingexcepr for thick clots of blood in rhe neck and upper chestcavity.Tor.,nou. the stuf{, I used a kind of water gun. The machine was heavy,maybe eighrypounds,and was suspended from the ceiling by a heavyrubber cord.There was somebouncero it, an elasricup-and-downgive,and the rrick was ro maneuverrhe gun with your whole body, noc lifting with the anns,jusr lerrir-rgrhe rubber cord.do the work for you. At one cnd was a tigger; ar rhe muzzle end was a small nozzleand a steel roller brush. As a carcasspassed by, youd lean forward and swing the gun up againsrrhe clors and squeeze the tigger, all in one morion, and rhe brush would whirl and water would come shooringour and youd heara quick splarering sound as rhetlots dissolvedinto a fine red misr.

O ' B r i c n o O n r h e R a i n y R i v e r I 7 5

It was nor pleasanrwork. Goggleswerea necessicy, and a rubber apron, but evenso it waslike srandi.g for eighrhours ^ i^yunder a l,rk"warm blood-shower.At nighr Id go home sleiling of pig.It wouldn'rgo away. Evenafter a hot barh,scrubbinshard, rh" srink *i, ,h..I _ like

"l-"y,old bacon,or sausage,a densegreas/pig-srinkthar soakeddeepinto rny ski'and hair.Arno.g ocherrhings,I rernernbecir wastoughg.rrirrg datesrhar summer.I felr isolared;I spenta lor of cimealone.A"; rhere was alsochardrafr noricetucked awayin my wallet.

In rhe eveningsId somerimesborrow my farher'scar and d,rive aimlesslyaround rown, feelingsorry fo, *y.eli rhinking about the war and the pig factory and how rny life seemedro be collapring toward slaughter.I felr paralyzed.All around me the oprions seemedro be narrowing,as if I were hurrling down a huse black funnel, rhe whole world_squeezingin righr. Tlrere was no h"ppy way our. The govern- ment had endedmosr graduareschooldefermenrs;the wairingiirt, fo, rhe National Guard and Reserveswereimpossiblylong; my health was

-solid; I didn't qualifyfor co srarus no religiousgrounds,no hisrory as a pacifrst.Moreover,I could nor claim ro be c-rpposed,ro war as a-fherematcerof generalprinciple. were occasions,i believed, when a nation wasjusrified in using nrilitary forceto achieveirs end,s,ro srop a Hitler or somecomparableevil,and I told myself thar in such circum- stancesI would've willingly marched off to rhe battle.The problem, though,was thar a draft board did not let you choose your war.

Beyond all this, or ar rhe very cenrer,was the raw fact of terror. I did nor wanr ro die. Not evcr.But certainlynor rhen, not there,nor in a wrong war. Driving r-rpMain srreer,pasr rhe courrhouseand che Ben Franklin srore,I somecirnesfelr rh" i"a. spreadinginside me like weeds.I irnaginedmyselfdead.I imaginedmyselfdoing things I could not do - charging an enemy position, caking aim at another human being.

Ar somepoint in mid-JulyI beuanthinking seriouslyabout Canada. 1o f}e border lay a few hundred miles norrh, an eight-hour drive. Boch-ro my conscienceand my insri'crs were telling ffre make a break for it, just rake off and run like hell and neversrop.In the beginningrhe idea seemedpurely absrract,the word canada printing ir."f o,rr ii -y head;bur aftera rime I could seeparricula.shap"sorrdl-"g"s, rhe ror.y details of rny own future - a horel room in ivinnip eg, a-batteredold suitcase,rny fbrher'seyesas I rried ro explainmyselfou., ,h. relephone.

f 7 6 M o D E L T E X T S F o R w R r r E R S

I could almost hear his voice, and my morhers. Run, Id think. Then Id think, Impossible. Then a second later Id think, Run.

It was a kind of schizophrenia. A moral split. I couldn't make up my mind. Ifeared the war, yes,but I also fearedexile. I was afraid of walking away from my own Iife, my friends and my family, my whole history,everythingchat matcered to me. I feared losing the respecrof my parents.I feared the law. I feared ridicule and censure. My home- town was a conservative little spot on the prairie, aplace where tradition counted,and it was easy to imagine peoplesitting around a rable down at the old Gobbler Caft on Main Streer, coffee cups poised,the conver- sation slowly zerorngin on the young O'Brien kid, how rhe damned sissy had taken off for Canada. At night, when I couldn't sleep, Id sometimes carry on 6erceargumentswith thosepeople.I d be scream- ing at them, telling them how much I detested their blind, thoughtless, automatic acquiescenceto it aIl, their simple minded patriotism, their prideful ignorance,their love-it-or-Ieave-it pladrudes, how they were sendingme offto 6ght awar they didn't undersrand and didn't wanr ro understand.I held them responsible. By God, yes,I did. AIlof rhem - I held them personally and individually responsible the polyestered-

Kiwanis boys,the merchants and farmers, the pious churchgoers,the chatty housewives,the PTA and the Lions club and the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the 6ne upstanding gentryour ar rhe country club. Th.y didnt know Bao Dai from the man in the moon. Th"y didn't know history. Th"y didn't know the 6rst thing about Diem's tyranny, or the nature of Vietnamese nationalism, or the long colonialisrn of the

-French this was all too damned compli car.ed, it required some read- irg - but no matter, it was a war to stop the Communisrs, plain and simple, which was how rhey liked things, and you were a rreasonous pussy if you had second thoughts abour killing or dying for plain and simple reasons.

I was bitter, sure. But it was so much more than thar. The emotions went from outrage to terror to bewilderment to guilt to sorrow and then back again to outrage. I felt a sickness inside me. Real disease.

Most of rhis I've rold before, or ar least hint ed ar, bur what I have never told is the full rrurh. How I cracked. How at work one morn- ing, standing on the pig line, I felr somerhing break open in my chest. I don't know what it was. I'll neVer know. Bur it was real, I know rhar much, it was a physicalruprure - a cracking-leaking-popping feeling. I

. , - l

C ) ' l J r i e n * O n t h e l l . a i n y R i v e r 1 7 7

rememberdropping my wacergun. Quickly, ahnosrwirhout rhougl-rt,I took offmy apron and walked our of rhe planr and drovehome.Ir *", midrnorr-ri'g I remember, and the housewasempry.Down in my chest therewassrill rhat leakingsensarion,somerhingverywarln andprecious spilling out, and I was .ou.r"d wirh blood ;rnd hog-stink, for a

",ldlong while I just concentratedon holding myself rogetl-rer.I rernernber taking a hor shower.I remernberpackinga suitcase and carrying ir our to the kitchen, standingvery srill for a few rninures,looking carefully at the familiar objectsall around rne.The old chrome roasrer,rhe tele- phone,the pink and whire Forrnicaon rhe kitchen counrers.The room was full of brighr sunshine.Everythingsparkled.My hor_rse,I thoughr. My life. I'm nor surehow long I srood rhere,bur later I scribbledour a short note to my parenrs.

whar ir said, exactIy,Idon'r recall now.Somerhingvaglre.Taking oll will call,loveTirn.

I drovenorth. 15 It's a blur now as ir was then, and all I rer'ernber is a sense of high

velocity and rhe feel of rhe steeringwheel in n-ryhands. I was ri.ling on adrenaline.A giddy feeling,in a way, exceprrhere was rhc drcamy edgeof impossibiliryro ir-like runnir-rga dead-enc-l rnaze-no way out - ir couldn'rcome to a happy conclusionand yet I was doing it anywaybecauseit was all I could rhink of ro do. Ir was pure llighr, fast and mindless.I had no plan.Jusr hir rhe border at high .p""d and crashrhrough and keep on running. Near dusk I passedrhrough Bemidji, then rurned northeasttoward L-rternarionalFalls.I .p..rr rt" night in the car behind a closed-down gesstariona half mile from rfie border.In rhe morning,afrergassing'p, I headedsrraighrwest along the Rainy River,which separaresMinnesora frorn Canada,and which for me separated or-relife from another.The l:rndwasmosrlywilderness. Here and thereI passeda morel or bait shop,but otherwiserhecounrry

'lhoughunfolded in great sweeps of pine and birch and sumac. ir -a., still August, the air alreadyhad the smell of Ocrober,foorb"il season, piles of yellow-redleaves,everyrhingcrispand clean. I rernernbera huge blue sky.off ro rny righr was the Rainy River,wide as a lake in places, and beyond rhe Rainy fuver was Canada.

For a while I just drove,noc airning ar anything, rhen in rhe lare morning I begar-rlooking for a placeto lie low for a day or rwo. I was

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I 7 B M o D E L T E X T S F o R w R I T E R S

exhausted,and scaredsick,and around noon I pulled inro an old fish- ing resort calledthe Tip Top Lodge.Actually it was nor a lodge ar all, just eight or nine tir-ryyellow cabins ch-rsreredon a peninsulathar-jutted northward into the Rainy River.The placewas in sorry shape.There was a dangerouswooden dock, an old minnow rank, a flimsy tar paper boarhousealong the shore. The main building, wl-richsrood in a clus- ter of pir-reson high ground, seemed ro lean l'teavilyro one side,like a cripple,rhe roof saggingroward Canada.Briefly,I rhoughr abour rurn- ing around,jusr giving up, buc rhen I gor our oi rhe car and walkedup to the fronr porch.

The man who openedthe door rhar day is che hero of my life. How do I say rhis withour sounding sappyi Blurr ir our - rhe man saved, me. He ollered exactlywhat I needed,wirhour questions,withour any words at all. He took me in. He was therear rhe criricalcime- a silent, watchful Presence.Six days larer,when ir ended,I was r-rnablero find a proper way ro rhank hirn, and I neverhave,and so, if norhing else,tfiis story representsa small gesrure of gracicudetwenty years overdue.

Evenafter two decadesI can closemy eyesand return ro that porch at che Tip Top Lodge.I cansee che old guy sraring ar me. Elroy Berdahl: eighry-oneyears old, skinny and shrunken and rnosrly bald. He wore a Ilannelshirt andbrown work pants.Inonehand,I remernber,he carried, a green apple, a small paring knife in the other.His eyes had the bluish graycolorof a razorblade,the sarne polishedshine,and ashe peeredup at me I felt a strange sharpness,almost painful, a curting sensarion,as if his gaze were somehowslicingme open.In parr, no doubr,ir wasmy own senseof guilt, but evenso I'm absolutelycertainrhar rhe old man took one look and went right to the hearr of rhings- a kid in rrouble. When I askedfor a room, Elroy made a little clicking sound wich his rongue.He nodded,led me our ro one of the cabins, and dropped a key in my hand. I rernembersmiling ar him. I also remember wishing I hadn't.The old man shook his head as if to tell rne ir wasn'rworrh rhe bother.

20 "Dinner ar five-thi rryi'he said."youearfishi" 'Anything,"

I said. Elroy grur-rredand said, "Illbet!'

we spenr six days rogerherar rlre Tip Top Lodge.Jusr rhe rwo of us. Tourist seasonwas over,and there were no boarson the river,and the

-d

O ' B r i e n m O n r h e R a i n y R i v e r 7 7 9

wilderness seemed to withdraw into a great permanent stillness.Over those six daysElroy Berdahl and I took most of our meals togecher. In

the rnorningswe sornetimes went out on long hikes into the woods, and

at night we played Scrabble or listened to records or satreadingin front

of his big scone fireplace.At times I felt the awkwardness of an incruder,

buc Elroy acceptedme into his quiet routine without fuss or ceremony.

He took my presencefor granted,the sameway he might've sheltered a stray ca(. no wasted sighs or pity and there was neverany talk

aboutit.Jusr the opposite. Whar I remember morc than anything is the

man's willful, almosr ferocious silence.In all that time together, all those

hours, he never asked the obvious questions:Why was I therei Why

aloneiWhy so preoccupiediIf Elroy was curious about any of this, he

was careful never to put it into words. My hunch, though, is that he alreadyknew. At leastthe basics.After

all,it was 1968, and guyswereburningdraft cards, and Canada was just

a boar ride away. Elroy Berdahl was no hick. His bedroom, I remember,

wascluttered with books and newspapers.He killed me at the Scrabble

board, barely concentrating, and on those occasions when speech was

necessaryhe had a way of compressing Iargethoughts into small , cryp-

tic packetsof language. One evening,just at sunset, he pointed up at an

owl circling over rhe violer-lighted forest to the west. "H"y, O'Brien,"he said."There'sJesus." The man was sharp - he didn't miss much. Those razor eyes.Now

and then hecl catch me staring out at the river, at the far shore, and I

could almosr hear rhe tumblers clicking in his head. Maybe I'm wrong,

but I doubt it.

One thing for certain, he knew I was in desperate trouble. And he

knew I couldn't talk about it. The wrong word even the right

word and I would've disappeared. I was wired and jittery. My skin-

felt too tight. After supperone evening I vomited and went back to my

cabin and lay down for a few moments and then vomited again; another

time,in the middle of the afternoon,I begansweating and couldn'r shut

it ofl. I went through whole days feeling dizzy with sorrow.I couldn't

sleep;I couldn'r lie srill. At night I d ross around in bed, half awake,

half dreaming, imagining how Id sneak down ro the beach and quietly

push one of the old man's boats our into the river and starr paddlingmy

way toward Canada. There were times when I thoughr Id goneoffthe

psychicedge.I couldn't tellup from down, I wasjust falling and late in

25

- -

t 8 0 M o D E L T E X T S F o R w R r r E R S

the night Id, lie there watching weird pictr-rresspin rhrough nry l-read. Getting chased by the Border Patrol- hclicoptersand searchlighcs and barking dogs IA be crashing through rhe woods,I d be down on -

rny hands and knees peopleshoutinsour my name rhe law clos- ing in on all sides my hornetown draft board and the FBI and the-

Royal Canadian Mounted Police. it all seemed t^zy and irnpossible. Twenty-oneyearsold, an ordinary kid with all the ordinary dreamsand ambitions, an.1 all I wanted was to live the life I was borr-r ro a main--

streamlfe- I loved baseball and harnburgcrs and cherry Cokes and-

now I wasoffon the margins of exile,leaving my counrry forever,and it seemedso impossibleand terrible and sad.

Iin not surehow I rnade it rhrough those six days. Mosr of ir I can'c remember,On two or three afternoons, to passsome time, I helped Elroy get the place ready for winter, sweepingdown the cabins and hauling in rhe boats, lirrle chores rhar kepr my body moving. The days were cool and bright. The nights were very dark, One morning rhe old man showed rne how to splic and stack firewoocl, and for several hours wejust workedin silence or,rrbehind his house. Ar one poinc,I remcrn- ber,Elroy put down his maul and looked at rne for a long rime, his lips drawn as if framing a difficult question, br-rt rhen he shook his head and wenc back to work. Thc rnans sel{-control was antazing. He never pried. He neverput me in a position that required lies or denials.To an extent,I suppose,his rericence was rypical of thar part of Minne- soca, where privacy sdll held value, and evenif I cl bee n walking around with some horrible defbrmity - four arms and three heac{s l'11 s111s-

the old man would've talkedabout everything except those exrra arms and heads. Simple politenesswas parr c-rf it. Bur even rrrore rhan that, I think, the man understood that words wefe insufficient. The problem had gone beyond discussion. Dtrring that long sun-unerI d been over and over the various argumenrs,all rhe pros and cons,and ir was no longer a questionthat could be decided by an act of pure reason. Intel- lect had come up against emotion. My consciencetold rne ro run, bur someirrational and powerful forcewas resistine like a weighr pr-rshing me toward the war. What it came down to, srupidly,was a sense of sharne. Hot, scupicl sharne. I did nor wanr peoplero rhink badly of me. Not rny parents,not my brother and sister, not even rhe folks .lown ar the Gobbler Cafe.I was ashamed to be rhere at ttre Tip Top Lodge. I was asharned of my conscience,as[amed ro be doing the righr thing.

O ' B r i e n o O n t h e R a i n y R i v e r 1 8 1

Sorneof this Elroy must've understood. Not the details,of course, but the plain fact of crisis.

Although the old man never confronted me abouc it, there was one

occasion when he came closeto forcing the whole thing out into the

open.It was early evening, and wedjust finished supper, and over coffee

and dessert I asked hirn aboucrny bill, how much I owed so far. For a

long while the old man squinted down at the tablecloth. "We11,chebasic rate',' he said,"is fifty bucks a night. Not counting

rneals.This rnakes four nighrs,righti"

I nodded. I had three hundred and twelve dollars in my wallet. Elroy kept his eyeson the tablecloth."Now that's an on-season price.

To be fair,I suppose we should knock it down apegor twol'He leaned

back in his chair."What's a reasonablenumber,you figurei" "I dont knowj'I said."Forty?" "Forty'sgood. Forry a night. Tl-ren we tack on food say another 3 5-

hundredi Two hundred sixry cotali" "I guessl' He raised his eyebrows."Too muchi" "No, thar'sfair. Its fine. Tomorrow, rhough . . . I rhink Id betrer take

offtomorrow." Elroy shrugged and began clearing rhe table. For a time he fussed

with the dishes, whistiing to himself as if the subject had been settled.

After a second he slapped his hands together. "You know what we forgoti" he said. "We forgot wages. Those odd 4 0

jobs you done. What we have to do, we have to figure out what your time's worth. Your last job - how much did you pull in an houri"

"No[ enough," I said. 'A

bad one?" "Yes.Pretty badi'

Slowly then, without intending any long sermon, I told him about

my days at the pig plant. It began as a straight recitation of the facts,

but before I could stop myself I was talking about the blood clots and

the water gun and how the smell had soaked into my skin and how I

couldn'twash it away.I went on for a long rime. I told hirn about wild

hogs squealing in my dreams, the sounds of butchery, slaughterhouse

sounds,and how Id sometimeswake up with that greasypig-scinkin

my throat. When I was finished, Elroy nodded at me.

I 8 2 M o D E L T E X T S F o R w R I T E R S

"we11,ro be honesri' he said, "when you firsC showed up here, I

aroma, I mean. Smelled like you waswondered about all chat. fhe

awful {amned fond of pork chopsi' The old man almost smiled. He

mad"ea snuflling sound, then sar down wirh a pencil and a piece of

paper."Sowhard rhis crudjob pay?Ten bucks an hour?Fifreeni"

" L e s s i '

Elroy sl-rookhis head."Let's make it fifteen. You pur in twenty--{ive

Thar's three hundred seventy-fivebucks total wdges.hours 6ere,easy.

we subrracrrhe two hundred sixty for food and lodging,I still owe you

a hundred and 6fteen'

He took four fifties out of his shirt pocket and laid them on the

table. "Call it eveni'he said' "Noi' "Pick it up. Get YourseLfahaircur''

The mon-eylay on the table for the rest of the evening. It was still

rherewhen I went backto my cabin.In the morning, thorrgh,I found an

envelopetackedro my door.Insidewere the four fiftiesand a two-word

FUND'nore rhar said EIr,4ERGENCY

l n e l - l t a n I

K n e w .

Looking back afrer rwenry years,Isornetimeswonder if the events of

didn't happen in some other dimension, a placewhereth"t ,,rl-er

your life existsbefore you ve livedir, ancl where it goesafterward.Nonc

real.During nly titne at the Tip Top l.odge I had the of ir everseerned

feelingthat I d slipped out of my own skin, hovering a few feer away

while sornepoor yo-yo with nry name and facetried to make his way

toward a furure he didnt understandand didn't want. Even now I can

seemyselfasI wasthen.It'slikewatchingan old home movie:I'm young

of it. I don't smoke or drink. I'mand tan and fir. I've got hair -lots

wearingfadedbluejeansand a white polo shirt. I can see rnyself sitting

on Elroy Berdahlsdock neardusk one evening, the sky a bright shim-

mering pink, and I'm finishingup a letrer lo. my Parentschat tells what

to do and why I'm doingit and how sorry I am thar I d neverI'- "bo,rt

found the courageto talk to thernabout it. I ask them not to be angry'

I rry to explainsomeof my feelings,but there aren't enoughwords,and

so I just r"y th"r its a thing tharhas to be done.At the end of the letter

we usedto take up in this north country,at aI talk abour the vacations

O ' B r i e n . O n t h e R a i n y R i v e r 1 8 3

placecalledWhitefish Lake,and how the scenery here reminds me of

ihor. good times.I tell them I'm fine. I tell them I'11write agairtfrorn

Winnipeq or Montreal or whereverI end up.

On my lasr full day,rhe sixth d:ry,che old man took tne out fishing

on tlre Rainy River.The afiernoon was sunny and cold. A stiff \̂reeze

cameir-rfrom the north, and I rememberhow the little fourteen-foot

boat madesharprocking motions aswe pushedofl from the dock. The

current was fast.All around us,I remember, therewas a vastness to the

world, an unpeopledrawness,just the treesand the sky and the warer

reachingout toward nowhere.The air had the brirle scent of October'

For ten or fifteen minucesElroy held a courseuPstrealn,the river

cl-rop,pyand silver-gray,tl-renhe turned straightnorth and put the engine

on fr-rllrhrotrle.I felt the borv lift benearhme. I rememberthe wind in

my ears,the sound of the old outboardEvinrude.For a time I didn't pay

arrention to anything,just feelingthe cold sPrayagainstmy face,but

then it occttrred to ffIe that at solnepoint we must ve passedinto Cana-

dian waters,acrossthat dotted line betweentwo differencworlds,and I

remembera sudden cightnessin rny chest as I looked up and warched

the f'arshorecome at me. Tl-riswasnt a daydrearn.It was tangibleand

real.As we came in toward land, Elroy cut the engitre,letting the boat

fishtaillightly about twenty yards off shore.The old man didn't iook at

me or speak.Bendingdown, he openedup his tacklebox and busied

hirnselfwith a bobber and a piece of wire leader,hurnming to himselfl,

his eyesdown.

It struck lne then that he lnustve plannedit. I'll neverbe certain,

of course, but I think he tneantto bring me uP againstthe realities,to

guide rneacrossthe river and to take me to the edgeand to stand a kind

of vigil as I chose a life for myself.

I remember staring ar the old man, rhen at my hands, then at

Canada.The shorelinewas densewith brush and tirnber. I could see

tiny red berrieson the bushes.I could seea squirrelup in one of the

birch trees,a big crow looking at me frorn a boulder along the river'

- - and I could seethe delicatelatticeworkThar close rwenry yards

of the leaves,the texture of rhe soil, the browned needlesbeneaththe

pines,the configurationsof geologyand human history.Twenty yards'

I could'vedone it. I could've jurnped and startedswitnming for my life'

Inside me,in my chest, i felt a terrible squeezingPressure.Evennow, as

1 8 5 1 8 4 M O D E L T E X T S F O R W R I T E R S

I write this, I can scill feel that tightness. And I want you to feel ic - the

wind coming off the river,the waves, the silence, the wooded frontier.

You'reat the bow of a boat on the Rainy fuver.You'retwenty-one years

old, you're scared, and there'sa hard squeezingPressurein your chest.

What would you do?

Would you jumpi Would you feel pity for yourselfi Would you

rhink about your farnily and your childhood and your dreams and all

you re leavir-rg behindi Would it hurt? Would it feel like dyingi Would

you cry, as I did?

I tried to swallowit back.I tried to smile, excePtI wascrying.

Now perl-raps,you can understand why I've never told this story

before.It's not just the embarrassffIentof tears.That's part of it, no

doubt, but what embarrasses lne rnuch rrore, and always will, is the

paralysisthat took rny l-reart. A moral freeze:I couldn't decide,I couldn't

act,I couldn'tcorxportrnyself with evena Pretenseof modest human

dignity. A11I could do was cry.Quietly,not bawling, just the chest-chokes.

6 5 At the rear of tl-re boar Elroy Berdahl pretended not to notice.He

held a fishingrod in his hands, his head bowed to hide his eyes. He

kept l-rumminga soft, monotonous little tune. Everywhere, it seemed,

in the trees and water and sky,a greatworldwide sadnesscamepressing

down on me, a crushing sorrow,sorrow like I had never known it before.

And what was so sad, I reahzed,was that Canada had become a pidful

fantasy. Silly and hopeless.It was no longer a possibiliry. Right then,

with the shore so close, I understoodthat I would not do what I should

do.I would not swim away frorn rny hometown and my country and my

life. I would not be brave. That old imageof rnyself as a hero, as a man

of conscienceand courage, all that wasjust a threadbarepipe dream'

Bobbingthereon the Rainy River,looking back at the Minnesota shore,

I felt a suddenswell of helplessnesscomeovcr mc, a drowning sensation,

as if I had toppled overboard and was being swePt away by the silver

waves.Chunks of my own history {lashedby. I saw a seven-year-old boy

in a white cowboyhat and a Lone Ranger mask and a pair of holstered

six-shooters;I saw a twelve'year'oldLittle League shortstop pivoting

to turn a double play; I saw a six[een-year-oldkid decked out for his

first prom, looking.pifry in a white tux and a black bow tie, his hair cut

shorr and flat, his shoes freshlypolished.My whole life seemedto spill

out into the river, swirling away fr0in me, everything I had ever been

O ' B r i e n * O n t h e l { a i n Y R i v e r

or everwanted to be. I couldn't ger my breath; I couldnt stay afloat; I

couldnt tell which way to swim.A hallucination,I suppose,but it was

as real as anyrhing i would ever feel.I saw my Parentscalling to 1xe

I saw rny brother and sister,all the townsfolk'from rhe faruhorii.,".

the rnayorand the entire Chamber of Commerce anclall n-ryold teach-

.r, girlfriendsand high schoolbuddies.Like someweird sPorting ".,i -

evenr:.ri.rybody ,.r"arrrir-rgfrotn the sidelines,rooting me on a loud - stadium smells,stadiurn heat'stadium roar. Hotdogs and PoPcorn

A squad of cheerle"d"r, did carrwheelsalong the banks of the Rainy

R.iver;they had megaphonesand pompoms and smooth brown thighs.

The crowd swayedl"i, righr. A marching band playedfight songs.

All my aunrsand uncles "trd

were there,and Abraharn Lincoln, and Saint

George,and a nine,year-oldgirl namedLinda who had cliedof a brain

,tl-o-l. back in fifth grade,and severalmemberspf the United States

Senate,and a blind plet scribblingnores,and LBJ,and Huck Finn, and

rhe deadsoldiersback from the grave, and theAbbie Hoffman, ar",J

many rhousandswho "il were later to die - villagerswith terrible burns'

- Yes,and tl-reJointChiefs of Staffwerelittle kids withour arms or legs

there,ancla couple of popes, and a 6rst lieutenantnanledJimrny Cross,

and rhe lastsurvivi,',gu.t"r"n of the AmericanCivil War, andJaneFonda

dressedup as Barbarella,and an old man sprawledbesidea pigpen, and

rny grandfather,and Gary Cooper,and a kind-facedwoman cxrying

and a rnillion ferociousciti-.r*br"lla and a copy of Plato'sRepublic, "., - peoplein hard hats,peoplezenswavingflagsof shapesand colors

- they "ll

were all wl-roopingand chanting end urging mein headbands

toward one shore or the otl-rer.I saw facesfrom rny c-listantpast and

distanr future. My wife was rhere.My unborn daughterwavedaf me,

and my rwo sons hopped up and down, and a drill sergeantnamed

Blyton sneeredand shot up a frngerand shook his l-read.There was a

choir in brighr purple robes.There was a cabbiefrom the Bronx.There

was a slim young man I would one day kill with a hand grenade along a

red claytrail outsidethe villageof My Khe'

The litrle aluminum boat rocked softly beneathme. There was the

wind and the sky.

I tried to will mYselfoverboard.

I gripped rhe edge of rhe boat and leaned forward and thought,

Now. I did try. It just wasn'tPossible.

t* r*r '

1 8 6 M o D E L T E X T S F o R w R r r E R S

70 A11 those eyes on me - the rown, the whole universe- and I couldn'c risk che embarrassment.ft was as if therewere an audiencero my Iife, that swirl of faces along rhe river,and in my head I could hear peoplescrearringat me.Traitor! they yelled.Turncoar! Pussy!I felt myself blush. I couldn't rolerare it. I couldn'r endure the mockery, or the disgrace, or the parrioricridicule. Even in my imagination, the shore just twenry yards away,Icouldn'r make myself be brave. Ir had norhing to do with n-rorality.Embarrassmenr,thar'sall ir was.

And right chen I submitred. - -

embarrassednot ro. That was the sad thing. And so I sar in rhe bow of rhe boat and

cried. It was loud now. Loud, hard crying.

7 5 Elroy Berdahl remai'ed quier. He kepr fishing. He worked his line with rhe tips of his fingers , pariently,squinring our ar his red and whice bobber on rhe Rainy River. His eyeswere flat and irnpassive. He didn't speak. He was sirnply rhere, like rhe river and the late-sLrmlnersun. And yet by his presence,his mure warchfulness,he made ir real. He wasthe true audience.He was a wirness,likeGod, or like the gods,who look on in absolutesilenceas we live our lives,as we make our choices or fail to rnake thern.

I would go ro the war I would kill and maybedie becauseI w:rs

'Ain'c bitingi' he said.

Then afrcra time the old rnan pr-rlled in his line and turned rhe boat back toward Minnesota.

I don't remember saying goodbye. Thar lasr nighr we had .linner together,and I went to bed early,and in rhe morning Elroy fixed break- fasc for rne.When I rold him Id be leaving,rhe old rnan nodded as if he alreadyknew.He looked down at the table and smiled.

At some point later in the morning ir's possible thar we shook h a n d s - I j u s t d o n ' t r e m e m b e r - b u r I d o k n o w r h a t b y r h e t i m e I d finished packing the oid man had disappeared.Around noon, whe' I took my suircase our ro rhe car, I noticed rhar his old black pickup truck wasno longerparked in front of the house.I went inside and wairedfor a while, bur I fek a bone cerr.ainry thar he wouldn'r be back. In a way, I thought, it was appropriate. I washed up rhe breakfasr dishes,lefr his

O ' B r i e n * O n r h e R : r i r . r yR i v e r l B 7

two hundred dollarson the kitchen counter,got into the car,and drove

south toward home.

The day was cloudy.I passedthrough towns with familiar names, 8 0

and rhen to Vietnam'tlrrough the pine forestsand down to the Pralrre, wlrere I was a soldier,and then home again,I survived,but it's not a

hrppy ending.I was a coward. I went to the war'