Owen Meany was the love of her life; after him, she never allowed herself to become so seriously involved. She says: 'I like a young boy, every so often. In keeping with the times, you know, I'm in favor of 'safe sex'; therefore, I prefer a virgin. And those young boys don't dare lie to me! And they're easy to say good-bye to-in fact, they're even kinda grateful. What could be better?' my cousin asks me. I have to smile back at her wicked smile. Hester the Molested I have all her albums, but I don't have a record player; I have all her tapes, too, but I don't own a tape deck-not even the kind that fits in a car. I don't even own a car. My students can be relied upon to keep me informed about Hester's new rock videos.
'Mister Wheelwright! Have you seen 'Drivin' with No Hands'?' I shudder at the idea. Eventually, I see them all-you can't escape the damn things; Hester's rock videos are notorious. The Rev. Katherine Keeling herself is addicted! She claims it's because her children watch them, and Katherine wants to keep up with whatever new atrocity is on her children's minds. Hester's videos are truly ugly. Her voice has gotten louder, if not better; her accompanying music is full of electric bass and other vibrations that lower her nasal tones to the vocal equivalent of an abused woman crying for help from the bottom of an iron barrel. And the visual accompaniment is a mystifying blend of contemporary, carnal encounters with unidentified young boys intercut with black-and-white, documentary footage from the Vietnam War. Napalm victims, mothers cradling their murdered children, helicopters landing and taking off and crashing in the midst of perilous ground fire, emergency surgeries in the field, countless GI's with their heads in their hands-and Hester herself, entering and leaving different but similar hotel rooms, wherein a sheepish young boy is always just putting on or just taking off his clothes. The age group of that young boy-especially, young girlsl- thinks that Hester the Molester is both profound and humane.
'It's not like it's just her music, or her voice, you know-it's her whole statement,' one of my students told me; I felt so sick to my stomach that I couldn't speak.
'It's not even her lyrics-it's her whole, you know, like commentary,' said another student. And these are smart girls-these are educated young women from sophisticated families! I don't deny that Hester was damaged by what happened to Owen Meany; I'm sure she thinks she was damaged even more than I was damaged-and I wouldn't argue the point with her. We were both damaged by what happened to Owen; who cares about morel But what an irony it is that Hester the Molester has converted her damage into millions of dollars and fame-that out of Owen's suffering, and her own, Hester has made a mindless muddle of sex and protest, which young girls who have never suffered feel they can 'relate to.'
What would Owen Meany have said about that? I can only imagine how Owen would have critiqued one of Hester the Molester's rock videos:
'HESTER, ONE WOULD NEVER SUSPECT-FROM THIS MINDLESS MESS-THAT YOU WERE A MUSIC MAJOR, AND A SOCIALIST. ONE WOULD TEND TO CONCLUDE-UPON THE EVIDENCE OF THIS DISJOINTED WALLOWING-THAT YOU WERE BORN TONE-DEAF, AND THAT YOU ARE DRAWING, ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY, UPON YOUR EXPERIENCES AS A WAITRESS*'
And what would Owen Meany have made of the crucifixes? Hester the Molester likes crucifixes, or else she likes to mock them-all kinds, all sizes; around her neck and in her ears. Occasionally, she even wears one in her nose; her right nostril is pierced.
'Are you Catholic?' an interviewer asked her once.
'Are you kidding?' Hester said. The English major in me must point out that Hester has an ear for titles, if not for music.
'Drivin' with No Hands' Church, No Country, No More 'I Don't Believe in No Soul'
'Gone to Arizona'; 'No ; 'Just Another Dead Hero'; 'You Won't See Me at His Funeral'; 'Life After You'; 'Why the Boys Want Me'; 'Your Voice Convinces Me'; 'There's No Forgettin' Nineteen Sixty-eight.'
I've got to admit, Hester's titles are catchy; and she has as much of a right as I have to interpret the silence that Owen Meany left behind. I should be careful not to generalize 'the silence'; in my case, Owen didn't leave me in absolute peace and quiet. Twice, in fact, Owen has let me hear from him-I mean, in both cases, that he let me hear from him after he was gone. Most recently-only this August-I heard from him in a manner typical of Owen; which is to say, in a manner open to interpretation and dispute. I was staying up late at Front Street, and I confess that my senses were impaired; Dan Needham and I were enjoying our usual vacation-we were drinking too much. We were recalling the measures we took, years ago, to allow Grandmother to go on living at Front Street as long as possible; we were remembering the incidents that finally led us to commit Grandmother to the Gravesend Retreat for the Elderly. We hated to do it, but she left us no choice; she drove Ethel crazy-we couldn't find a maid, or a nurse, whom Grandmother couldn't drive crazy. After Owen Meany was gone, everyone was too dull-witted to keep Harriet Wheelwright company. For years, her groceries had been delivered by the Poggio brothers-Dominic Poggio, and the dead one, whose name I no longer remember. Then the Poggios stopped making all home deliveries. Out of fondness for my grandmother-who was his oldest-living customer, and his only customer who always paid her bills on time-Dominic Poggio generously offered to continue to make deliveries to Front Street. Was Grandmother appreciative of Dominic's generosity? She was not only wnappreciative; she could not remember that the Poggios didn't deliver to anyone else-that they were doing her a special favor. People had always done special favors for Harriet Wheelwright; Grandmother took such treatment for granted. And she was not only unappreciative; she was complaining. She telephoned Dominic Poggio almost daily, and she upbraided him that his delivery
