Archive for 2008 年 01 月

Good Form

   
    It’s time to be blunt.
    I’m forty-three years old, true, and I’m a writer now, and a long time ago I walked through Quang Ngai Province as a foot soldier.
    Almost everything else is invented.
    But it’s not a game. It’s a form. Right here, now, as I invent myself, I’m thinking of all I want to tell you about why this book is written as it is. For instance, I want to tell you this: twenty years ago I watched a man die on a trail near the village My Khe. I did not kill him. But I was present, you see, and my presence was guilt enough. I remember his face, which was not a pretty face, becasue his jaw was in his throat, and I remember feeling the burden of responsibility and grief. I blamed myself. And rightly so, because I was present.
    But listen. Even that story is made up.
    I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth.
    Here is the happening-truth. I was once a soldier. There were many bodies, real bodies with real faces, but I was young then and I was afraid to look. And now, twenty years later, I’m left with faceless responsibility and faceless grief.
    Here is the story-truth. He was a slim, dead, almost dainty young man of about twenty. He lay in the center of a red clay trail near the village of My Khe. His jaw was in his throat. His one eye was shut, the other eye was a star-shaped hole. I killed him.
    What stories can do, I guess, is make things present.
    I can look at things I never looked at. I can attach faces to grief and love and pity and God. I can be brave. I can make myself feel again.
    "Daddy, tell the truth," Kathleen can say, "did you ever kill anybody?" And I can say, honestly, "Of course not."
    Or I can say, honestly, "Yes."
 
— from ‘The Things They Carried’