dirt floor at the foot of the stairs-when a small, strong hand (or something like a small, strong hand) guided my own hand to the light switch; a small, strong hand, or something like it, pulled me forward from where I teetered on the top step of the stairs. And his voice- it was unmistakably Owen's voice-said: 'DON'T BE AFRAID. NOTHING BAD IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO YOU.'
I screamed again. When Dan Needham opened the door, it was his turn to scream. 'Your hairl' he cried. When I looked in a mirror, I thought it was the cobwebs-my scalp appeared to have been dusted with flour. But when I brushed my hair, I saw that the roots had turned white. That was this August; my hair has grown in all-white since then. At my age, my hair was already turning gray; even my students think that my white hair is distinguished-an improvement. The morning after Owen Meany 'spoke' to me, Dan Needham said: 'Of course, we were both drunk-you, especially.'
'Me, 'especially'!' I said.
'That's right,' Dan said. 'Look: I have never mocked your belief-have I? I will never make fun of your religious faith-you know that. But you can't expect me to believe that Owen Meany's actual hand kept you from falling down those cellar stairs; you can't expect me to be convinced that Owen Meany's actual voice 'spoke' to you in the secret passageway.'
'Dan,' I said, 'I understand you. I'm not a proselytizer, I'm no evangelist. Have I ever tried to make you a believer? If I wanted to preach, I'd be a minister, I'd have a congregation- wouldn't I?'
'Look: I understand you,' Dan said; but he couldn't stop staring at the snow-white roots of my hair. A little later, Dan said: 'You actually felt pulled-you felt an actual tug, as if from an actual hand?'
'I admit I was drunk,' I said. And a little later, Dan said: 'It was his voice-you're sure it wasn't something / said that you heard? It was his voice?'
I replied rather testily: 'How many voices have you heard, Dan, that could ever be mistaken for his voice?'
'Well, we were both drunk-weren't we? That's my point,' Dan Needham said. I remember the summer of , when my finger was healing-how that summer slipped away. That was the summer Owen Meany was promoted; his uniform would look a little different when Hester and I saw him again- he would be a first lieutenant. The bars on his shoulder epaulets would turn from brass to silver. He would also help me begin my Master's thesis on Thomas Hardy. I had much trouble beginning anything-and, according to Owen, even more trouble seeing something through.
'YOU MUST JUST PLUNGE IN,' Owen wrote to me. 'THINK OF HARDY AS A MAN WHO WAS ALMOST RELIGIOUS, AS A MAN WHO CAME SO CLOSE TO BELIEVING IN GOD THAT WHEN HE REJECTED GOD, HIS REJECTION MADE HIM FEROCIOUSLY BITTER. THE KIND OF FATE HARDY BELIEVES IN IS ALMOST LIKE BELIEVING IN GOD-AT LEAST IN THAT TERRIBLE, JUDGMENTAL GOD OF THE OLD TESTAMENT. HARDY HATES INSTITUTIONS: THE CHURCH-MORE THAN FAITH OR BELIEF-AND CERTAINLY MAR- RIAGE (THE INSTITUTION OF IT), AND THE INSTITUTION OF EDUCATION. PEOPLE ARE HELPLESS TO FATE, VICTIMS OF TIME-THEIR OWN EMOTIONS UNDO THEM, AND SOCIAL INSTITUTIONS OF ALL KINDS FAIL THEM.
''DON'T YOU SEE HOW A BELIEF IN SUCH A BITTER UNIVERSE IS NOT UNLIKE RELIGIOUS FAITH? LIKE FAITH, WHAT HARDY BELIEVED WAS NAKED, PLAIN, VULNERABLE. BELIEF IN GOD, OR A BELIEF THAT- EVENTUALLY-EVERYTHING HAS TRAGIC CONSEQUENCES . . . EITHER WAY, YOU DON'T LEAVE YOURSELF ANY ROOM FOR PHILOSOPHICAL DETACHMENT. EITHER WAY, YOU'RE NOT BEING VERY CLEVER. NEVER THINK OF HARDY AS CLEVER; NEVER CONFUSE FAITH, OR BELIEF-OF ANY KIND- WITH SOMETHING EVEN REMOTELY INTELLECTUAL.
'PLUNGE IN-JUST BEGIN. I'D BEGIN WITH HIS NOTES, HIS DIARIES-HE NEVER MINCED WORDS THERE. EVEN EARLY-WHEN HE WAS TRAVELING IN FRANCE, IN -HE WROTE: 'SINCE I DISCOVERED SEVERAL YEARS AGO, THAT I WAS LIVING IN A WORLD WHERE NOTHING BEARS OUT IN PRACTICE WHAT IT PROMISES INCIPIENTLY, I HAVE TROUBLED MYSELF VERY LITTLE ABOUT THEORIES. I AM CONTENT WITH TENTATIVENESS FROM DAY TO DAY.' YOU COULD APPLY THAT OBSERVATION TO EACH OF HIS NOVELS! THAT'S WHY I SAY HE WAS 'ALMOST RELIGIOUS'-BECAUSE HE WASN'T A GREAT THINKER, HE WAS A GREAT FEELERl
'TO BEGIN, YOU SIMPLY TAKE ONE OF HIS BLUNT OBSERVATIONS AND PUT IT TOGETHER WITH ONE OF HIS MORE LITERARY OBSERVATIONS-YOU KNOW, ABOUT THE CRAFT. I LIKE THIS ONE: 'A STORY MUST BE EXCEPTIONAL ENOUGH TO JUSTIFY ITS TELLING. WE STORYTELLERS ARE ALL ANCIENT MARINERS, AND NONE OF US IS JUSTIFIED IN STOPPING WEDDING GUESTS, UNLESS HE HAS SOMETHING MORE UNUSUAL TO RELATE THAN THE ORDINARY EXPERIENCES OF EVERY AVERAGE MAN AND WOMAN.'
'YOU SEE? IT'S EASY. YOU TAKE HIS HIGH STANDARDS FOR STORIES THAT ARE 'EXCEPTIONAL' AND YOU PUT THAT TOGETHER WITH HIS BELIEF THAT
'NOTHING BEARS OUT IN PRACTICE WHAT IT PROMISES INCIPIENTLY,' AND THERE'S YOUR THESIS! ACTUALLY, THERE IS HIS THESIS-ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS FILL IN THE EXAMPLES. PERSONALLY, I'D BEGIN WITH ONE OF THE BITTEREST-TAKE ALMOST ANYTHING FROM JUDE THE OBSCURE. HOW ABOUT THAT TERRIBLE LITTLE PRAYER THAT JUDE REMEMBERS FALLING ASLEEP TO, WHEN HE WAS A CHILD?
'TEACH ME TO LIVE, THAT I MAY DREAD 'THE GRAVE AS LITTLE AS MY BED. 'TEACH ME TO DIE ...
'WHAT COULD BE EASIER?' wrote Owen Meany. And thus-having cut off my ringer and allowed me to finish graduate school-he started my Master's thesis for me, too. This August in Gravesend-where I try to visit every August-Dan's students in the summer school were struggling with Euripides; I told Dan that I thought he'd made an odd and merciless choice. For students the age of my Bishop Strachan girls to spend seven weeks of the summer memorizing The Medea and The Trojan Women must have been an exercise in tedium-and one that risked disabusing the youngsters of their infatuation with
