'NO, MA'AM!' said Owen Meany.
To me, she said: 'They're not going to let you be a graduate student in English. What do they care about English*? They barely speak it!'
'Yes, ma'am,' I said.
'You can't hide in graduate school-believe me, it won't work,' said Mrs. Hoyt. 'And unless you've got something wrong with you-I mean, physically-you're going to die in a rice paddy. Is there anything wrong with you?' she asked me.
'Not that I know of, ma'am,' I said.
'Well, you ought to think of something,' Mrs. Hoyt told me. 'I know someone who does psychiatric counseling; he can coach you-he can make you seem crazy. But that's risky, and you've got to start now-you need time to develop a history, if you're going to convince anybody you're insane. It's no good just getting drunk and smearing dog shit in your hair the night before your physical-if you don't develop a mental history, it won't work to try to fake it.'
That, however, is what Buzzy Thurston tried-and it worked. It worked a little too well. He didn't develop a 'history' that was one day longer than two weeks; but even in that short time, he managed to force enough alcohol and drugs into his body to convince his body that it liked this form of abuse. To Mrs. Hoyt, Buzzy would be as much a victim of the war as her Harry; Buzzy would kill himself trying to stay out of Vietnam.
'Have you thought about the Peace Corps?' Mrs. Hoyt asked me. She said she'd counseled one young man-also an English major-to apply to the Peace Corps. He'd been accepted as an English teacher in Tanzania. It was a pity, she admitted, that the Red Chinese had sent about four hundred ' 'advisers'' to Tanzania in the summer of '; the Peace Corps, naturally, had withdrawn in a hurry. 'Just think about it,' Mrs. Hoyt said to me. 'Even Tanzania is a better idea than Vietnam!'
I told her I'd think about it; but I thought I had so much time! Imagine this: you're a university senior, you're a virgin-do you believe it when someone tells you that you have to make up your mind between Vietnam and Tanzania?
'You better believe it,' Hester told me. That was the year-, in February-when the Senate Foreign Relations Committee began televised hearings on the war.
'I think you better talk to Mrs. Hoyt,' my grandmother told me. 'I don't want any grandson of mine to have anything to do with this mess.'
'Listen to me, John,' Dan Needham said., 'This is not the time to do what Owen Meany does. This time Owen is making a mistake.'
I told Dan that I was afraid I might be responsible for sabotaging Owen's desire for a 'combat arms designator'; I confessed that I'd told Colonel Eiger that Owen's 'emotional stability' was questionable, and that I'd agreed with the colonel that Owen was not suitable for a combat branch. I told Dan I felt guilty that I'd said these things 'behind Owen's back.'
'How can you feel 'guilty' for trying to save his life?' Dan asked me. Hester said the same thing, when I confessed to her that I had betrayed Owen to Colonel Eiger.
'How can you say you 'betrayed' him? If you love him, how could you want what he wants? He's crazy!'' Hester cried. 'If the Army insists that he's not 'fit' for combat, I could even learn to love the fucking Army!'
But everyone was beginning to seem 'crazy' to me. My grandmother just muttered away at the television-all day and all night. She was beginning to forget things and people-if she hadn't seen them on TV-and more appalling, she remembered everything she'd seen on television with a mindless, automatic accuracy. Even Dan Needham seemed crazy to me; for how many years could anyone maintain enthusiasm for amateur theatricals, in general-and for the question of which role in A Christmas Carol best suited Mr. Fish, in particular? And although I did not sympathize with the Gravesend Gas Works for firing Mrs. Hoyt as their receptionist, I thought Mrs. Hoyt was crazy, too. And those town 'patriots' who were apprehended in the act of vandalizing Mrs. Hoyt's car and garage were even crazier than she was. And Rector Wiggin, and his wife, Barbara . . . they had always been crazy; now they were claiming that God 'supported' the U.S. troops in Vietnam-their implication being mat to not support the presence of those troops was both anti-American and ungodly. Although the Rev. Lewis Merrill was-with Dan Needham- the principal spokesman for what amounted to the antiwar movement within Gravesend Academy, even Mr. Merrill looked crazy to me; for all his talk about peace, he wasn't making any progress with Owen Meany.
Of course, Owen was the craziest; I suppose it was always a toss-up between Owen and Hester, but regarding the subject of Owen wanting and actively seeking a combat-branch assignment, there was no doubt in my mind that Owen was the craziest.
'Why do you want to be a hero?' I asked him.
'YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND,' he said.
