American Pastoral

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American Pastoral Page 33

by Philip Roth


  in. At home there is that tremendous discrepancy between the way she imagines

  the world to be and the way the world is for her. Well, no longer is there that

  dissonance to disturb her equilibrium. Here are her Rim-rockian fantasies, and

  the culmination is horrifying.

  Their disaster had been tragically shaped by time—they did not have enough time

  with her. When she’s your ward, when she’s there, you can do it. If you have

  contact with your child steadily over time, then the stuff that is off—the

  mistakes in judgment that are made on both sides—is somehow, through that

  * * *

  steady, patient contact, made better and better, until at last, inch by inch,

  day by day and inch by inch, there is remediation, there are the ordinary

  satisfactions of parental patience rewarded, of things working out… . But

  this. Where was the remediation for this? Could he bring Dawn here to see her,

  Dawn in her bright, tight new face and Merry sitting cross-legged on the pallet

  in her tattered sweatshirt and ill-shapen trousers and black plastic shower

  clogs, meekly

  · 238 ·

  composed behind that nauseating veil? How broad her shoulder bones were. Like

  his. But hanging off those bones there was nothing. What he saw sitting before

  him was not a daughter, a woman, or a girl; what he saw, in a scarecrow’s

  clothes, stick-skinny as a scarecrow, was the scantiest farmyard emblem of life,

  a travestied mock-up of a human being, so meager a likeness to a Levov it could

  have fooled only a bird. How could he bring Dawn here? Driving Dawn down

  McCarter Highway, turning off McCarter and into this street, the warehouses, the

  rubble, the garbage, the debris … Dawn seeing this room, smelling this room,

  her hands touching the walls of this room, let alone the unwashed flesh, the

  brutally cropped, bedraggled hair…

  He kneeled down to read the index cards positioned just about where she once

  used to venerate, over her Old Rimrock bed, magazine photos of Audrey Hepburn.

  I renounce all killing of living beings, whether subtile or gross, whether

  movable or immovable.

  I renounce all vices of lying speech arising from anger, or greed, or fear, or

  mirth.

  I renounce all taking of anything not given, either in a village, or a town, or

  a wood, either of little or much, or small or great, or living or lifeless

  things.

  I renounce all sexual pleasures, either with gods, or men, or animals.

  I renounce all attachments, whether little or much, small or great, living or

  lifeless; neither shall I myself form such attachments, nor cause others to do

  so, nor consent to their doing so.

  As a businessman the Swede was astute, and if need be, beneath the genial

  surface of the man’s man—capitalizing on the genial surface—he could be as

  artfully calculating as the deal required. But he could not see how even the

  coldest calculation could help

  239

  him here. Neither could all the fathering talent in the world collected and

  gathered up and mobilized in one man. He read through her five vows again,

  considered them as seriously as he could, all the while bewildering himself with

  the thought, For purity—in the name of purity.

  Why? Because she’d killed someone, or because she would have needed purity

  whether she’d never killed a fly? Did it have to do with him? That foolish kiss?

  That was ten years behind them, and besides, it had been nothing, had come to

  nothing, did not appear to have meant anything much to her even at the time.

  Could something as meaningless, as commonplace, as ephemeral, as understandable,

  as forgivable, as innocent … No! How could he be asked again and again to

  take seriously things that were not serious? Yet that was the predicament that

  * * *

  Merry had forced on him all the way back when she was blasting away at the

  dinner table about the immorality of their bourgeois life. How could anybody

  take that childish ranting seriously? He had done as well as any parent could

  have—he had listened and listened when it was all he could do not to get up from

  dinner and walk away until she’d spewed herself out; he had nodded and agreed to

  as much as he could even marginally agree to, and when he opposed her—say, about

  the moral efficacy of the profit motive—always it was with restraint, with all

  the patient reasonableness he could muster. And this was not easy for him, given

  that it was the profit motive to which a child requiring tens of thousands of

  dollars’ worth of orthodontia, psychiatry, and speech therapy—not to mention

  ballet lessons and riding lessons and tennis lessons, all of which, growing up,

  she at one time or another was convinced she could not survive without—might be

  thought to owe if not a certain allegiance then at least a minuscule portion of

  gratitude. Perhaps the mistake was to have tried so hard to take seriously what

  was in no way serious; perhaps what he should have done, instead of listening so

  intently, so respectfully, to her ignorant raving was to reach over the table

  and whack her across the mouth.

  But what would that have taught her about the profit motive—

  · 240 ·

  what would it have taught her about him? Yet if he had, if, then the veiled

  mouth could be taken seriously. He could now berate himself, “Yes, I did it to

  her, I did it with my outbursts, my temper.” But it seemed as though he had done

  whatever had been done to her because he could not abide a temper, had not

  wanted one or dared to have one. He had done it by kissing her. But that

  couldn’t be. None of this could possibly be.

  Yet it was. Here we are. Here she is, imprisoned in this rat hole with these

  “vows.”

  She was better off steeped in contempt. If he had to choose between angry, fat

  Merry stuttering with Communist outrage and this Merry, veiled, placid, dirty,

  infinitely compassionate, this raggedly attired scarecrow Merry … But why

  have to choose either? Why must she always be enslaving herself to the handiest

  empty-headed idea? From the moment she had become old enough to think for

  herself she had been tyrannized instead by the thinking of crackpots. What had

  he done to produce a daughter who, after excelling for years at school, refused

  to think for herself—a daughter who had to be either violently against

  everything in sight or pathetically for everything, right down to the

  microorganisms in the air we breathe? Why did a girl as smart as she was strive

  to let other people do her thinking for her? Why was it beyond her to strive—as

  he had every day of his life—to be all that one is, to be true to that? “But the

  one who doesn’t think for himself is you!” she’d told him when he’d suggested

  that she might be parroting the cliches of others. “You’re the living example of

  the person who never thinks for himself!” “Am I really?” he said, laughing.

  “Yes! You’re the most conformist man I ever met! All you do is what’s expec-

  expec-expected of you!” “That’s terrible too?” “It’s not thinking, D-d-dad! It

  isn’t! It’s being a s-s-stupid aut-aut-aut-aut-aut-automaton! A r-r-r-r-robot!”

&
nbsp; “Well,” he replied, believing that it was all a phase, a bad-tempered phase she

  would outgrow, “I guess you’re just stuck with a comformist father—better luck

  next time,” and pretended that he had not been terrified by the sight of her

  distended, pulsating, frothing lips hammering “r-r-r-r-robot” into

  241

  * * *

  his face with the ferocity of a lunatic riveter. A phase, he thought, and felt

  comforted, and never once considered that thinking “a phase” might be a not bad

  example of not thinking for yourself.

  Fantasy and magic. Always pretending to be somebody else. What began benignly

  enough when she was playing at Audrey Hepburn had evolved in only a decade into

  this outlandish myth of selflessness. First the selfless nonsense of the People,

  now the selfless nonsense of the Perfected Soul. What next, Grandma Dwy-er’s

  Cross? Back to the selfless nonsense of the Eternal Candle and the Sacred Heart?

  Always a grandiose unreality, the remotest abstraction around—never self-

  seeking, not in a million years. The lying, inhuman horror of all this

  selflessness.

  Yes, he had liked his daughter better when she was as self-seeking as everyone

  else rather than blessed with flawless speech and monstrous altruism.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked her.

  “Where?”

  “This room. This street. In Newark. How long have you been in Newark?”

  “I came six months ago.”

  “You’ve been …” Because there was everything to say, to ask, to demand to

  know, he could say no more. Six months. In Newark six months. There was no here

  and now for the Swede, there were just two inflammatory words matter-of-factly

  spoken: six months.

  He stood over her, facing her, his power pinned to the wall, rocking almost

  imperceptibly back on the heels of his shoes, as though in this way he might

  manage to take leave of her through the wall, then rocking forward onto his

  toes, as though at any moment to grab her, to whisk her up into his arms and

  out. He couldn’t return home to sleep in perfect safety in the Old Rimrock house

  knowing that she was in those rags in that veil on that mat, looking like the

  loneliest person on earth, sleeping only inches from a hallway that sooner or

  later had to catch up with her.

  This girl was mad by the time she was fifteen, and kindly and stupidly he had

  tolerated that madness, crediting her with nothing

  · 242 ·

  worse than a point of view he didn’t like but that she would surely outgrow

  along with her rebellious adolescence. And now look what she looked like. The

  ugliest daughter ever born of two attractive parents. I renounce this! I

  renounce that! I renounce everything! That couldn’t be it, could it? All of it

  to renounce his looks and Dawn’s? All of it because the mother was once Miss New

  Jersey? Is life this belittling? It can’t be. I won’t have it!

  “How long have you been a Jain?”

  “One year.”

  “How did you find out about all this?”

  “Studying religions.”

  “How much do you weigh, Meredith?”

  “More than enough, Daddy.”

  * * *

  Her eye sockets were huge. Half an inch above the veil, big, big dark eye

  sockets, and inches above the eye sockets the hair, which no longer streamed

  down her back but seemed just to have happened onto her head, still blond like

  his but long and thick no longer because of a haircut that was itself an act of

  violence. Who’d done it? She or someone else? And with what? She could not, in

  keeping with her five vows, have renounced any attachment as savagely as she had

  renounced her once-beautiful hair.

  “But you don’t look as though you eat anything” and despite his intention to

  state this to her unemotionally, he as good as moaned—unbidden a voice emerged

  from the Swede wretchedly laced with all his dismay. “What do you eat?”

  “I destroy plant life. I am insufficiently compassionate as yet to refuse to do

  that.”

  “You mean you eat vegetables. Is that what you mean? What is wrong with that?

  How could you refuse to do that? Why should you?”

  “It is an issue of personal sanctity. It is a matter of reverence for life. I am

  bound to harm no living being, neither man, nor animal, nor plant.”

  “But you would die if you did that. How can you be ‘bound’ to that? You would

  eat nothing.”

  243

  “You ask a profound question. You are a very intelligent man, Daddy. You ask,

  ‘If you respect life in all forms, how can you live?’ The answer is you cannot.

  The traditional way by which a Jain holy man ends his life is by salla khana—

  self-starvation. Ritual death by salla khana is the price paid for perfection by

  the perfect Jain.”

  “I cannot believe this is you. I have to tell you what I think.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I cannot believe, clever as you are, that you know what you are saying or what

  you are doing here or why. I cannot believe that you are telling me that a point

  will come when you will decide that you will not even destroy plant life, and

  that you won’t eat anything, and that you will just doom yourself to death. For

  whom, Merry? For what?”

  “It’s all right. It’s all right, Daddy. I can believe that you can’t believe

  that you know what I’m saying or what I’m doing or why.”

  She addressed him as though he were the child and she were the parent, with

  nothing but sympathetic understanding, with that loving tolerance that he once

  had so disastrously extended to her. And it galled him. The condescension of a

  lunatic. Yet he neither bolted for the door nor leaped to do what had to be

  done. He remained the reasonable father. The reasonable father of someone mad.

  Do something! Anything! In the name of everything reasonable, stop being

  reasonable. This child needs a hospital. She could not be in any greater peril

  if she were adrift on a plank in the middle of the sea. She’s gone over the edge

  of the ship—how that happened is not the question now. She must be rescued

  immediately!

  “Tell me where you studied religions.”

  “In libraries. Nobody looks for you there. I was in libraries often, and so I

  read. I read a lot.”

  * * *

  “You read a lot when you were a little girl.”

  “I did? I like to read.”

  “That’s where you became a member of this religion. In a library.”

  · 244 ·

  “Yes.”

  “And church? Do you go to some sort of a church?”

  “There is no church at the center. There is no god at the center. God is at the

  center of the Judeo-Christian tradition. And God may say, ‘Take life.’ And it is

  then not just permissible but obligatory. That’s all over the Old Testament.

  There are examples even in the New Testament. In Judaism and Christianity the

  position is taken that life belongs to God. Life isn’t sacred, God is sacred.

  But at the center for us is not a belief in the sovereignty of God but a belief

  in the sanctity of life.”

  The monotonous chant of the indoctrinated, ideologically armored from head to


  foot—the monotonous, spellbound chant of those whose turbulence can be caged

  only within the suffocating straitjacket of the most supercoherent of dreams.

  What was missing from her unstuttered words was not the sanctity of life—missing

  was the sound of life.

  “How many of you are there?” he asked, working fiercely to adjust to

  clarifications with which she was only further bewildering him.

  “Three million.”

  Three million people like her? It could not be. In rooms like this one? Locked

  away in three million terrible rooms? “Where are they, Merry?”

  “In India.”

  “I’m not asking you about India. I don’t care about India. We do not live in

  India. In America, how many of you are there?”

  “I don’t know. It’s unimportant.”

  “I would think very few.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Merry, are you the only one?”

  “My spiritual exploration I undertook on my own.”

  “I do not understand. Merry, I do not understand. How did you get from Lyndon

  Johnson to this? How do you get from point A to point Z, where there is no point

  of contact at all? Merry, it does not hang together.”

  245

 

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