by Dave Eggers
—No. What I’m saying is that you moved the end zone. And you turned the grassy field into mud.
—I don’t know what to say to all that.
—You changed the rules.
—We did not change the rules.
—It just seems chaotic.
—You think it’s more chaotic now than when? The fucking frontier days? Then it was perfectly organized, kid? When people were sleeping on hay and eating squirrels?
—No. But during postindustrial …
—Post goddamned what? When you had to save a month for a radio? When having indoor plumbing was a sign you’d arrived? Jesus Christ, son, the worst thing your predecessors ever did for you young pricks was to succeed. We made everything so easy that you cry yourselves up a storm every time there’s a pebble in your path.
—Okay, at least tell me this: Is it all the same money?
—Is what all the same money?
—The money that could have saved the Shuttle, and the money we send to random countries, that we use to remake unchangeable countries ten thousand miles away.
—Is it the same money?
—Yeah, is it? I mean, you guys complain about not having money for schools, for health care, that everything’s broke and we have government shutdowns and every other goddamn thing, and then we look up and you’re spending 150 million on air-conditioning in Iraq.
—Listen, you’re preaching to the converted here.
—I don’t want to be preaching. I’m asking. I don’t know how that works. Where does the money come from? You guys fight over pennies for Sesame Street, and then someone’s backing up a truck to dump a trillion dollars in the desert.
—So you’re asking where does the money that finances wars come from?
—Yes.
—You’re smart enough to know that. We create that money. It’s not a standard part of a year’s budget. There isn’t a line item for war.
—So is it true that we’re essentially borrowing money from the Chinese to finance these wars?
—Oh shit. No. But we create and sell bonds, and people here and elsewhere, for example in China, see these bonds as a good investment. And no doubt the Chinese like the leverage it gives them, holding so much American debt.
—But couldn’t we just sell bonds to pay for Social Security, education for all, college for all? I mean, everyone wrings their hands about cutting or saving some microscopic government program, and Where oh where will we get the money?—but then we turn around and there’s a billion dollars for Afghani warlords. I mean, I know I’m stupid not to understand this, but I don’t.
—The problem with all those things you mention, education and whatnot, is those are chronic problems, as opposed to acute problems. We fund the things that are urgent, that everyone can rally around and more or less agree upon. And everyone agrees on funding the troops that are stationed abroad. You fund some advisors, then you inch it toward full engagement, and pretty soon no one wants to be the one denying body armor to our young people in uniform. So we find the money. We sell bonds, we borrow money. But will we get that kind of momentum to borrow money from China to pay for some national education reform? No. That’s not an acute problem. If there were an alien invasion tomorrow, and the only way to win against the aliens would be to fully fund Head Start, then sure, we would find that money.
—So it’s not a matter of possibility, but of will?
—What’s that?
—Will.
—Of course. Everything is a matter of will.
—My mom always said that.
—Well, she was right.
—Not often.
—Son, did you bring me here to talk about your mother?
—But don’t you think there should be a plan for people like me, for the guys you were talking about, the vets whose brains are scrambled?
—What sort of plan?
—Don’t you think …
—What, son?
—Don’t you think that the vast majority of the chaos in the world is caused by a relatively small group of disappointed men?
—
—
—I don’t know. Could be.
—The men who haven’t gotten the work they expected to get. The men who don’t get the promotion they expected. The men who are dropped in a jungle or a desert and expected video games and got mundanity and depravity and friends dying like animals. These men can’t be left to mix with the rest of society. Something bad always happens.
—Something bad like this. Like you bringing me here. I agree.
—When I see these massacres at malls or offices, I think, There by the Lake of God go I.
—Grace of God.
—What’s that?
—It’s “There but for the grace of God.”
—No. It’s “there by the Lake of God.”
—It’s “grace of God.”
—It can’t be.
—Son. It is.
—I’ve always had this picture in my mind of the Lake of God. And you walk by it.
—There’s no Lake of God.
—It was like this huge underground lake, and it was dark and cool and peaceful and you could go there and float there and be forgiven.
—I don’t know what to tell you, son. I’ve been teaching the Bible for thirty-eight years and there is no Lake of God in that book. There’s a Lake of Fire, but I don’t think that’s the place you’re picturing.
—See, even that.
—Even what?
—Even that’s a sign that the world has misused people like me.
How could I not know that, the difference between the Lake of God and the Lake of Fire?
—I don’t know if that misunderstanding is symptomatic of a societal failure. You got your lakes confused.
—But it is symptomatic. You and I read the same books and hear the same sermons and we come away with different messages. That has to be evidence of some serious problem, right? I mean, I shouldn’t have been left to live among the rest of society. There were so many days I looked at it all and wanted it wiped away, wanted it on fire.
—Sounds like you had a radicalizing moment, son. Were you beaten as a child, something like that?
—No sir.
—Saw some terrible thing that changed you?
—Do you remember the other guy with us in that car that day?
—No, I can’t say that I do.
—You don’t? It was unusual for our town to have a kid like that. He was half Vietnamese. Don Banh. You remember a kid like that?
—I’m sorry, I don’t. He was a friend of yours?
—He’s dead now.
—I’m sorry to hear that.
—He was shot.
—He was a soldier?
—No. Just in his backyard.
—I’m sorry, son. That’s too young. I’m truly sorry.
—I’m not saying that was some radicalizing moment for me. I feel like I had some fairly apocalyptic thoughts before that.
—Most young men do.
—I’ve tried to explain these thoughts to people but they get scared. They don’t understand. Or they pretend they don’t understand.
—Try me.
—Well, every day, about half of every day I’m among people in a city, I picture my arm sweeping across the city, wiping it all clean. Like it was a model set up on a card table, and I could just sweep it all onto the floor. Okay?
—Okay.
—You want to hear more?
—Sure.
—I’ll be walking down some crowded street and I’ll start boiling inside and I picture myself parting all these people like Moses with the Red Sea. You know, the people disappear, the buildings dissolve and when I’m done there’s all this empty space, and it’s quieter, and there aren’t all those people and all their dirty thoughts and idiotic talking and opinions. And that vision actually gives me peace. When I picture the landscape bare, free of all human noise and filth, I can relax.
—Ma
ybe you should live in the country.
—That’s not funny. I mean, that’s not the solution. I just wish I could function better in rooms, in buildings, in a line at the grocery store. And sometimes I do. But sometimes it makes me so fucking tense. I need to get out, drive awhile, get to the ocean as fast as I can.
—Son, I’m realizing I don’t know your name.
—Thomas.
—Thomas, nothing you say is unprecedented. There are others like you. Millions of men like you. Some women, too. And I think this is a result of you being prepared for a life that does not exist. You were built for a different world. Like a predator without prey.
—So why not find a place for us?
—What’s that?
—Find a place for us.
—Who should?
—You, the government. You of all people should have known that we needed a plan. You should have sent us all somewhere and given us a task.
—But not to war.
—No, I guess not.
—So what then?
—Maybe build a canal.
—You want to build a canal?
—I don’t know.
—No, I don’t get the impression you do.
—You’ve got to put this energy to use, though. It’s pent up in me and it’s pent up in millions like me. The only time I feel right is when I’m driving, or once in a while during a fight.
—So you box?
—No.
—Oh. Let me see your hands.
—They’re messed up right now.
—That they are. Son, who are you fighting?
—I don’t know. People.
—Do you win?
—Win what?
—These fights.
—No. Not really.
—Thomas, you know we can’t round up every confused young man and send them to some remote region. Even if I agreed with you, which I do, to some extent at least. I mean, this is why so many soldiers stay in the Army and why so many prisoners end up back in prison. They cannot hack polite society. They’re bored and they feel caged.
—But there’s no evidence of a plan, sir.
—What plan?
—Any plan. I mean, wasn’t that what Australia was all about? Some convict colony? We could have done that on the moon. All I ever wanted to do was get off this fucking planet and go to the next one, but there’s no way to do it. And Don, too. He didn’t belong in regular society after what happened to him.
—I don’t understand. After he died?
—No, before that. All along I knew what was going to happen. I knew something would happen but I didn’t know what. I mean, that’s when I first got the idea for all this. We used to mess around here at this base. We’d ride through these buildings on our bikes, and when we were older we’d sit around drinking here, and when Don was losing his shit a little, and he did a few rehabs, I used to think, You know, if I could just shackle him inside one of these buildings for a while, you know, keep him safe, dry him out, then maybe he could make it.
—Okay. I understand that. I truly do.
—But he was always just out there. In the world. Doing the wrong things, never doing anything I told him to do. I always knew what he needed to do, and I’d make a step-by-step for him, I’d even write that shit down. I’d write down a plan! A two-year plan, a five-year plan. And he wouldn’t even attempt it. I couldn’t make him do anything. I couldn’t keep him in rehab. I couldn’t lock him up. You know once I left him in jail for a month instead of bailing him out, because I thought it might be good for him? Jail was the safest place.
—Sometimes it truly is.
—I know he’d still be alive if I’d thought of this earlier, if I’d have brought him here and just locked him in one of these buildings until he had his shit straight.
—I understand that, too. This is familiar ground for me.
—I’m just pissed at myself I didn’t think of it sooner.
—Of chaining your buddy to a pole.
—Right.
—But you know that’s not a durable solution.
—Then what is?
—I don’t know. Rehab? Therapy?
—C’mon. Get serious.
—
—Really, why don’t we have some kind of plan for people like this? I guess the main government plan is to lock them all up, and I understand the impulse to keep them apart from decent society. I get that. But then there are guys like me and Don, who haven’t really done anything wrong, and there are soldiers like the ones you fought with, who come back with these terrible ideas and murdering skills, and there’s no place for any of us. We’ve been out in the wilderness and tasted raw meat, and now we can’t sit at the table using utensils. There’s got to be someplace for us. A place like this would actually work. This place is 28,000 acres, bordering the ocean. The ground’s fertile enough. I mean, you set this land aside for people like us, and I bet you’d reduce crime in this country by half.
—Where are we, did you say?
—I can’t tell you that.
—Thomas, what difference does it make?
—Okay. We’re at Fort Ord.
—Fort Ord? Like near Monterey?
—You should have deduced that, anyway, sir. There’s only one base this big on the coast of California.
—Shit. This is where I did my basic training. You know this is a public place? There’ll be hikers through here at first light.
—See, that’s so sad.
—What is?
—That you don’t know this park is closed. The whole place is locked for the foreseeable future. Budget cuts. The gate at the highway’s closed. I just snapped the lock with bolt cutters and put a new one on.
—And the budget cuts are my fault, too.
—No one had a plan for anything. I guess that’s the crushing thing, the thing that drives us all crazy. We all think there must be someone very smart at the controls, spending the money, making plans for our schools, parks, everything. But then it’s guys like you, who are just guys like me. No one has a fucking clue.
—So we’re out here alone?
—I haven’t seen a soul here in days.
—It’s a beautiful spot.
—You probably didn’t see the ice plants out there, but they’re everywhere, a dozen colors. They look like some stupid rainbow puked everywhere. And the light is so white here, so weightless and white. Part of me wants to stay here.
—But the longer you keep us here, son, the more likely you’ll die here.
—You mean they’ll kill me here.
—Son, you must know that’s a distinct possibility.
—I know.
—An ever-growing possibility.
—Yeah, I know.
—The longer you keep us here, the more it becomes a near certainty. They will find you, for sure. That is for damned sure. Then they’ll do a raid. And because no one will be watching out here, in the middle of nowhere, hell, some sniper might just shoot your head off for fun.
—I know, I know.
—Matter of fact, I know that is how it’ll go down. I really don’t think you’ll be taken in alive.
—Yeah, I guess. But things are really clarifying for me out here. I feel like this is really helping me. I’m sorry for the circumstances but I have to say that this has been really helpful so far.
—I don’t know what to say to that.
—At first it was just supposed to be Kev, but now having the two of you out here is really making a difference.
—Who’s Kev again?
—The astronaut. I thought I just needed to talk to him. But then it came to a point where I had questions for you, and your answers have been really illuminating.
—Okay.
—And I don’t mean to be rude, but now I have to go for a while. As we’ve been talking I’ve been thinking of someone else who should be here. I think I should get him while there’s time.
—Son, please don’t bring anyone else to this place.
—Just this one guy. I think you’d understand if you knew who he was.
—No, I wouldn’t. There’s no cause for bringing anyone else here. Please, just let us go, turn yourself in, and I can tell the police you were a decent enough young man. I promise to advocate for the best outcome here. I think you need help.
—I know I do. It’s just a matter of what kind of help. I’ll be back in a bit. Here’s your pills. You need water for the pills?
—Yes.
—Okay, I’ll just put it here. And here’s some granola bars. You’re probably hungry. I’ll be back in a little bit.
—Son.
—I got to go. But again, I just want to say how sorry I am that you’re here under these circumstances. My respect for you could not be greater and I’m really thankful for your kindness so far.
—Son.
—See you soon.
BUILDING 54
—Do you know why you’re here?
—No. Where am I?
—I’m not telling you that.
—How did you get me here?
—It wasn’t hard. I waited for you to bring out the recycling.
—Oh my god.
—You’re locked to that post, and you’ll stay there until we’re done.
—Don’t hurt me.
—I have no plans to do that. This is a deposition.
—A deposition.
—I think you know what it’s about.
—I don’t. Who are you?
—Maybe you could guess.
—You want me to guess?
—I want you to guess why you’re here. There’s no way the astronaut or the congressman knew why they were brought here, but you really might have an idea. I actually think you already know.
—I don’t.
—You do, though.
—Sir, I don’t know what you want.
—Sir? Wow, I like that. I like you calling me Sir. Thank you. That actually helps me see you in a more favorable light. Now do you remember me?
—No, I don’t. My head hurts so much. And I can’t see that far.
—Are these yours? I found them in my bag and I didn’t know whose they were. You didn’t wear glasses when I knew you.
—You were a student?
—Yes. I was a student in your class. Sixth grade. Ah, I just saw something in your eyes. Some flash of fear. Now do you know why I’m here and you’re here?