anyway. Because I was teaching ninth-grade Expository Writing at Gravesend Academy in the fall, I wasn't going to work this summer. Even a part-time job at Gravesend Academy would more than compensate for my graduate-school expenses; even a part-time job-for the whole school year-was worth more than another summer working for Meany Granite. Besides: my grandmother had given me a little money, and Owen would be in the Army. He had treated himself to thirty days between his graduation and the beginning of his active duty as a second lieutenant. We'd talked about taking a trip together. Except for his Basic Training-at Fort Knox or Fort Bragg-Owen had never been out of New England; I'd never been out of New England, either.
'Both of you should go to Canada,' Hester had told us. 'And you should stay there!'
The salt water rushed in and out of the breakwater; pools of water were trapped in the rocks below the high-tide mark. Owen stuck his face in one of these tide pools; his nose had stopped bleeding, but his lip was split quite deeply-it continued to bleed-and there was a sizable swelling above one of his eyebrows. He had two black eyes, one very much blacker than the other and so puffy that the eye was closed to a slit.
'YOU THINK VIETNAM IS DANGEROUS,' he said. 'YOU OUGHT TO TRY LIVING WITH HESTERl'
But he was so exasperating! How could anyone live with Owen Meany and, knowing what he thought he knew, not be moved to beat the shit out of him? We sat on the breakwater until it grew dark and the mosquitoes began to bother us.
'Are you hungry?' I asked him. He pointed to his lower lip, which was still bleeding. 'I
DON'T THINK I CAN EAT ANYTHING,' he said, 'BUT I'LL GO WITH YOU.'
We went to one of those clam-shack restaurants on 'the strip.' I ate a lot of fried clams and Owen sipped a beer- through a straw. The waitress knew us-she was a University of New Hampshire girl.
'You better get some stitches in that lip before it falls off,' she told Owen. We drove-Owen in the tomato-red pickup, and I followed him in my Volkswagen-to the emergency room of the Gravesend Hospital. It was a slow night-not the summer, and not a weekend-so we didn't have to wait long. There was a hassle concerning how he intended to pay for his treatment.
'SUPPOSE I CAN'T PAY?' he asked. 'DOES THAT MEAN YOU DON'T TREAT ME?'
I was surprised that he had no health insurance; apparently, there was no policy for coverage in his family and he hadn't even paid the small premium asked of students at the university for group benefits. Finally, I said that the hospital could send the bill to my grandmother; everyone knew who Harriet Wheelwright was-even the emergency-room receptionist- and, after a phone call to Grandmother, this method of payment was accepted.
'WHAT A COUNTRY!' said Owen Meany, while a nervous-looking young doctor-who was not an American- put four stitches in his lower lip. 'AT LEAST WHEN I GET IN THE ARMY, I'LL HAVE SOME HEALTH INSURANCE!'
Owen said he was ashamed to take money from my grandmother-'SHE'S ALREADY GIVEN ME MORE THAN I DESERVED!' But when we arrived at Front Street, a different problem presented itself.
'Merciful Heavens, Owen!' my grandmother said. 'You've been in afightl'
'I JUST FELL DOWNSTAIRS,' he said.
'Don't you lie to me, Owen Meany!' Grandmother said.
'I WAS ATTACKED BY JUVENILE DELINQUENTS AT HAMPTON BEACH,' Owen said.
'Don't you lie to me!' Grandmother repeated. I could see that Owen was struggling to ascertain the effect upon my grandmother of telling her that her granddaughter had beaten the shit out of him; Hester-except for her vomiting- was always relatively subdued around Grandmother. Owen pointed to me. 'HE DID IT,' Owen said.
'Merciful Heavens!' my grandmother said. 'You should be ashamed of yourself!' she said to me.
'I didn't mean to,' I said. 'We weren't having a reed fight-we were just roughhousing.'
'IT WAS DARK,' said Owen Meany. 'HE COULDN'T SEE ME VERY CLEARLY.'
'You should still be ashamed of yourself!'' my grandmother said to me.
'Yes,' I said. This little misunderstanding seemed to cheer up Owen. My grandmother commenced to wait on him, hand and foot-and Ethel was summoned and directed to concoct something nourishing for him in the blender: a fresh pineapple, a banana, some ice cream, some brewer's yeast. 'Something the poor boy can drink through a straw!' my grandmother said.
