Tim O’Brien - Northern Lights

She walked with her chin forward. Perry wanted to laugh. He was smiling and watching and sweating. Her hair lay over her shoulders in two black heaps, and she was lean and athletic, walked with long loping steps, on her heels, her arms swinging.

Perry watched her come down the beach. Her shoulders were brown.

Then, like a deer, she stopped. She seemed to look in his direction, her head turning up. Then she sprang for the water.

It startled him. He called out, but she dived headlong for the lake and white spray flashed and she was gone under and the lake bubbled ivory from the spot where she dived.

Finally emerging, she shook her head. Then she sprang high like a fish. She seemed to hover there, a strong golden arc suspended over the water, then she went under, her feet kicking at the last instant.

She emerged again further out.

‘Addie!’ he shouted. He stood up and waved.

She raised her hand. He couldn’t be sure if it were a wave or another swimming stroke, for the hand poised for only a moment then it was gone and she was swimming again for the centre of the lake. He grinned. She could be very quick. He could not make out her face. He waved hard.

She swam straight out, long arched strokes, and soon he saw only the wake of her swimming. He felt fine. He walked away slowly, for it was a hot day.

That July was quiet. The forest was being burnt out. People in town talked about forest fires, and the farmers talked about how the corn was already ruined, and Perry and Harvey walked and fished and played some tennis.

Except for the heat, it was not a bad time. Harvey was cheerful, always eager to get into the woods. He talked about building a house in Nassau, about taking a bike tour through Canada, about going to live in Montana or Oregon. While he never talked much about the war or losing his eye, he didn’t seem bitter and even sometimes appeared to treat it all as a great adventure that, if opportunity came, he wouldn’t mind repeating. At night they sometimes played Scrabble, sometimes watched television, sometimes drove in for a beer at Franz’s Glen. It was not such a bad time. The newspaper sent out a reporter and Harvey was written up again, the lead story, and Grace clipped the piece and pasted it into a scrapbook. She had a scrapbook for Harvey and another for Perry. Harvey’s was nearly full. She said she was keeping them for her old age and for her children when they came. In town, everyone asked about Harvey, raved about the newspaper article. There were pictures of Harvey and Perry and Grace and the old house.

‘It’s a pack of lies,’ said Harvey.

‘It says you’re a hero. See here?’

‘True, true enough,’ he said. ‘But it’s still a pack of lies. I’m gonna sue and retire to Tibet. I’ve always wanted to retire to Tibet. You two can visit me. How does that sound? I’ll have you flown out. I’ll sue them for every penny.’

‘It calls you a hero,’ Grace said. ‘Look at that. You’re a hero.’

‘That’s the only truth in the whole article.’

‘It says you’re fondly remembered by everyone in town. Look, it’s got Herb Wolff saying what a fine fellow you are. And Bishop Markham and the mayor. It says the mayor’s going to give you a parade.’

‘Should hope so. My God. How many heroes does one town need before they fork over a few parades? I should hope so. Maybe I won’t sue if they fork over a nice parade. Does it say the hero lost his eye?’

‘No,’ Grace said. ‘It says you were badly wounded and that you served your community and country and everything.’

Harvey had his stocking feet near the fire. He was lying on the floor, head on a pillow. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘This is some ticklish decision. I’ll have to get myself a crooked lawyer. I don’t know. Suing is always ticklish, you know. Maybe I’ll just accept the parade and sordid apologies. A tough decision. What do you think? Tibet sounds awfully good, doesn’t it? Or maybe Africa. A hundred thousand could take us a long way. A trip to Africa, small enough price for a pack of lies. Let’s have a beer. Let’s drink to Jud’s parade, what do you say?’

Harvey’s face was red by the fire. It was relaxing time, after-supper time, and they drank beer and played Scrabble.

In a while, Harvey got up and went outside. Perry knew where he was going. An hour later, Harvey was still in the bomb shelter.

Through July, they stayed close to the house. Harvey settled himself into the upstairs bedroom, sleeping late, sometimes walking alone into the woods.

There was no rain.

They stayed close to the house, but with Harvey there was a new sense of motion, energy that seemed to bundle and gather. At night Perry sometimes heard him through the old timbers, pacing upstairs, moving things, flushing the toilet, going out to sit in the bomb shelter. They stayed close to the house and surrounding woods. Perry would drive in to work, roll up the blinds, daydream, drive home. He didn’t see anything of Addie. She was awfully young anyway.

Harvey talked about Africa and Nassau, talked on and on. He talked about fishing and the woods and the old days with their father. He talked about buying a sailboat and sailing the Mediterranean with a locker full of food and drink, getting a tan, getting healthy, enjoying things, having some adventures. He talked about buying a house in Alaska. Or Boston or Miami or Las Vegas or Berlin or Australia, jumbling them all together sometimes, getting red and eager.

‘We’ve got to get out and really see these woods,’ he said one Saturday. ‘Seriously. Do you realize these woods are the best left in the entire country? Seriously. Lord knows how long they’ll last. You’ve got to get deep into them. None of this piddling around on the outskirts, you’ve got to get right in. When you start to think about it, there just isn’t a lot of forest left anymore. We ought to go, you and me.’

‘Not me, Harv. Mosquitoes and all that. You know how I hate mosquitoes.’

Harvey made a face. ‘Some day it’s going to be maggots. Think about old Jud. All he’s got to look forward to is worms and maggots. Seriously. We could go deep into the woods. Bring backpacks and make a trip out of it. I can show you some of the places the old man took me.’ He picked up steam. ‘I mean, seriously. You can’t believe how wild it is once you get a way in. Nothing but trees and lakes. Wild is the wrong word. What’s the word?’

‘Nasty.’

‘Wild.’

‘Bugs.’

‘Then we’ll go this winter. How’s that? You won’t find mosquitoes in the winter. I’ll guarantee it.’

‘Snow.’

‘You don’t like snow? What the devil’s wrong with some snow? God’s own stuff. Clean and pretty and white. Beautiful stuff. God’s own stuff.’

‘Snow, cold, freeze. They go together. They give me the creeps. Why don’t we go down to Iowa for a nice vacation? That sounds better. We can visit Grace’s folks and have a fine time.’

‘Iowa,’ Harvey said with scorn. ‘Some adventure. What we need is a good adventure.’

‘I have an adventure,’ Perry said. ‘I’m a pioneer in this town. Scratching for a living, married, trying to help a bunch of crazy farmers grow corn in the woods, living in my father’s house. That’s an adventure.’

‘Curses to you.’

‘Ha.’

‘Damns and darns.’

‘Sorry.’

‘We’ll go to Africa then,’ Harvey said. ‘Off to Africa. Do you have a problem with Africa?’

‘I suppose not. More bugs. Tigers and lions and cannibals. Minor stuff. Do you know anything about Africa, Harv?’

‘I’ll learn. I learned about My Khe. I can learn about Africa.’

‘My Khe. Is that in Africa?’

‘My Khe is a place in Asia,’ Harvey said. ‘Asia, Africa, Australia, Alaska. The big As. Adventure, the big A.’