In Persuasion Nation

by George Saunders

  No, I did not.

  What I did was I changed. I undertook what I like to think of as a classic American project of self-improvement. I made videos of myself talking, and studied these, and in time succeeded in training myself to speak more slowly, while almost never moving my hands. Now, if you ever meet me, you will observe that I always speak in an extremely slow and manly and almost painfully deliberate way, with my hands either driven deep into my pockets or held stock-still at the ends of my arms, which are bent slightly at the elbows, as if I were ready to respond to the slightest provocation by punching you in the face. As for my opinions, they are very firm. I rarely change them. When I feel like skipping, I absolutely do not skip. As for my long beautiful hair-well, I am lucky, in that I am rapidly going bald. Every month, when I recalculate my ranking on the Manly Scale, I find myself becoming more and more Manly, as my hair gets thinner and my girth increases, thickening my once lithe, almost girlish physique, thus insuring the continuing morality and legality of my marriage to “P.”

  My point is simply this: If I was able to effect these tremendous positive changes in my life, to avoid finding myself in the moral/legal quagmire of a Samish-Sex Marriage, why can’t “K,” “S,” “L,” “H,” “T,” and “O” do the same?

  I implore any of my readers who find themselves in a Samish-Sex Marriage: Change. If you are a feminine man, become more manly. If you are a masculine woman, become more feminine. If you are a woman and are thick-necked or lumbering, or have ever had the slightest feeling of attraction to a man who is somewhat pale and fey, deny these feelings and, in a spirit of self-correction, try to become more thin-necked and light-footed, while, if you find it helpful, watching videos of naked masculine men, to sort of retrain yourself in the proper mode of attraction. If you are a man and, upon seeing a thick-waisted, athletic young woman walking with a quasi-mannish gait through your local grocery, you imagine yourself in a passionate embrace with her, in your car, a car that is parked just outside, and which is suddenly, in your imagination, full of the smell of her fresh young breath-well, stop thinking that! Are you a man or not?

  I, for one, am sick and tired of this creeping national tendency to let certain types of people take advantage of our national good nature by marrying individuals who are essentially of their own gender. If this trend continues, before long our towns and cities will be full of people like “K,” “S,” “L,” “H,” “T,” and “O” “asserting their rights” by dating, falling in love with, marrying, and spending the rest of their lives with whomever they please.

  I, for one, am not about to stand by and let that happen.

  Because then what will we have? A nation ruled by the anarchy of unconstrained desire. A nation of willful human hearts, each lurching this way and that and reaching out for whatever it spontaneously desires, trying desperately to find some comforting temporary shred of warmth in a mostly cold world, totally unconcerned about the external form in which that other, long-desired heart is embodied.

  That is not the kind of world in which I wish to live.

  I, for one, intend to become ever more firmly male, enjoying my golden years, while watching P become ever more female, each of us vigilant for any hint of ambiguity in the other.

  And as our children grow, should they begin to show the slightest hint of some lingering residue of the opposite gender, P and I will lovingly pull them aside and list all the particulars by which we were able to identify their unintentional deficiency.

  Then, together, we will devise a suitable correction.

  And in this way, the race will go on.

  Sincerely,

  Ken Byron

  115 Delton Way

  Leadville, PA 13246

  the red bow

  Next night, walking out where it happened, I found her little red bow.

  I brought it in, threw it down on the table, said: My God my God.

  Take a good look at it and also I’m looking at it, said Uncle Matt. And we won’t ever forget it, am I right?

  First thing of course was to find the dogs. Which turns out, they were holed up back of the-the place where the little kids go, with the plastic balls in cages, they have birthday parties and so forth-holed up in this sort of nest of tree debris dragged there by the Village.

  Well we lit up the debris and then shot the three of them as they ran out.

  But that Mrs. Pearson, who’d seen the whole-well she said there’d been four, four dogs, and next night we found that the fourth had gotten into Mullins Run and bit the Elliotts’ Sadie and that white Muskerdoo that belonged to Evan and Millie Bates next door.

  Jim Elliott said he would put Sadie down himself and borrowed my gun to do it, and did it, then looked me in the eye and said he was sorry for our loss, and Evan Bates said he couldn’t do it, and would I? But then finally he at least led Muskerdoo out into that sort of field they call the Concourse, where they do the barbecues and whatnot, giving it a sorrowful little kick (a gentle kick, there was nothing mean in Evan) whenever it snapped at him, saying Musker Jesus!-and then he said Okay, now when he was ready for me to do it, and I did it, and afterwards he said he was sorry for our loss.

  Around midnight we found the fourth one gnawing at itself back of Bourne’s place, and Bourne came out and held the flashlight as we put it down and helped us load it into the wheelbarrow alongside Sadie and Muskerdoo, our plan being-Dr. Vincent had said this was best-to burn those we found, so no other animal would-you know, via feeding on the corpses-in any event, Dr. Vincent said it was best to burn them.

  When we had the fourth in the wheelbarrow my Jason said: Mr. Bourne, what about Cookie?

  Well no I don’t believe so, said Bourne.

  He was an old guy and had that old-guy tenderness for the dog, it being pretty much all he had left in the world, such as for example he always called it friend-of-mine, as in: How about a walk, friend-of-mine?

  But she is mostly an outside dog? I said.

  She is almost completely an outside dog, he said. But still, I don’t believe so.

  And Uncle Matt said: Well, Lawrence, I for one am out here tonight trying to be certain. I think you can understand that.

  I can, Bourne said, I most certainly can.

  And Bourne brought out Cookie and we had a look.

  At first she seemed fine, but then we noticed she was doing this funny thing where a shudder would run through her and her eyes would all of a sudden go wet, and Uncle Matt said: Lawrence, is that something Cookie would normally do?

  Well, ah… said Bourne.

  And another shudder ran through Cookie.

  Oh Jesus Christ, said Mr. Bourne, and went inside.

  Uncle Matt told Seth and Jason to trot out whistling into the field and Cookie would follow, which she did, and Uncle Matt ran after, with his gun, and though he was, you know, not exactly a runner, still he kept up pretty good just via sheer effort, like he wanted to make sure this thing got done right.

  Which I was grateful to have him there, because I was too tired in mind and my body to know what was right anymore, and sat down on the porch, and pretty soon heard this little pop.

  Then Uncle Matt trotted back from the field and stuck his head inside and said: Lawrence do you know, did Cookie have contact with other dogs, was there another dog or dogs she might have played with, nipped, that sort of thing?

  Oh get out, get away, said Bourne.

  Lawrence my God, said Uncle Matt. Do you think I like this? Think of what we’ve been through. Do you think this is fun for me, for us?

  There was a long silence and then Bourne said well all he could think of was that terrier at the Rectory, him and Cookie sometimes played when Cookie got off her lead.

  WHEN WE GOT to the Rectory, Father Terry said he was sorry for our loss, and brought Merton out, and we watched a long time and Merton never shuddered and his eyes remained dry, you know, normal.

  Looks fine, I said.

  Is fine, said Father Terry. Watch this: Merton, gen
uflect.

  And Merton did this dog stretchy thing where he sort of like bowed.

  Could be fine, said Uncle Matt. But also could be he’s sick but just at an early stage.

  We’ll have to be watchful, said Father Terry.

  Yes, although, said Uncle Matt. Not knowing how it spreads and all, could it be we’re in a better-safe-than-sorry type of situation? I don’t know, I truly don’t know. Ed, what do you think?

  And I didn’t know what I thought. In my mind I was all the time just going over it and over it, the before, the after, like her stepping up on that footstool to put that red bow in, saying these like lady phrases to herself, such as Well Who Will Be There, Will There Be Cakes?

  I hope you are not suggesting putting down a perfectly healthy dog, said Father Terry.

  And Uncle Matt produced from his shirt pocket a red bow and said: Father, do you have any idea what this is and where we found it?

  But it was not the real bow, not Emily’s bow, which I kept all the time in my pocket, it was a pinker shade of red and was a little bigger than the real bow, and I recognized it as having come from our Karen’s little box on her dresser.

  No I do not know what that is, said Father Terry. A hair bow?

  I for one am never going to forget that night, said Uncle Matt. What we all felt. I for one am going to work to make sure that no one ever again has to endure what we had to endure that night.

  I have no disagreement with that at all, said Father Terry.

  It is true you don’t know what this is, Uncle Matt said, and put the bow back in his pocket. You really really have no experience whatsoever of what this is.

  Ed, Father Terry said to me. Killing a perfectly healthy dog has nothing to do with-

  Possibly healthy but possibly not, said Uncle Matt. Was Cookie bitten? Cookie was not. Was Cookie infected? Yes she was. How was Cookie infected? We do not know. And there is your dog, who interacted with Cookie in exactly the same way that Cookie interacted with the known infected animal, namely through being in close physical proximity.

  It was funny about Uncle Matt, I mean funny as in great, admirable, this sudden stepping up to the plate, because previously-I mean, yes, he of course loved the kids, but had never been particularly-I mean he rarely even spoke to them, least of all to Emily, her being the youngest. Mostly he just went very quietly around the house, especially since January when he’d lost his job, avoiding the kids really, a little ashamed almost, as if knowing that, when they grew up, they would never be the out-of-work slinking-around uncle, but instead would be the owners of the house where the out-of-work slinking uncle etc., etc.

  But losing her had, I suppose, made him realize for the first time how much he loved her, and this sudden strength-focus, certainty, whatever-was a comfort, because tell the truth I was not doing well at all-I had always loved autumn and now it was full autumn and you could smell woodsmoke and fallen apples but all of the world, to me, was just, you know, flat.

  It is like your kid is this vessel that contains everything good. They look up at you so loving, trusting you to take care of them, and then one night-what gets me, what I can’t get over, is that while she was being-while what happened was happening, I was-I had sort of snuck away downstairs to check my e-mail, see, so that while-while what happened was happening, out there in the schoolyard, a few hundred yards away, I was sitting there typing-typing!-which, okay, there is no sin in that, there was no way I could have known, and yet-do you see what I mean? Had I simply risen from my computer and walked upstairs and gone outside and for some reason, any reason, crossed the schoolyard, then, believe me, there is not a dog in the world, no matter how crazy-

  And my wife felt the same way and had not come out of our bedroom since the tragedy.

  So Father you are saying no? said Uncle Matt. You are refusing?

  I pray for you people every day, Father Terry said. What you are going through, no one ever should have to go through.

  Don’t like that man, Uncle Matt said as we left the Rectory. Never have and never will.

  And I knew that. They had gone to high school together and there had been something about a girl, some last-minute prom-date type of situation that had not gone in Uncle Matt’s favor, and I think some shoving on a ball field, some name-calling, but all of this was years ago, during like say the Kennedy administration.

  He will not observe that dog properly, said Uncle Matt. Believe me. And if he does notice something, he won’t do what is necessary. Why? Because it is his dog. His dog. Everything that’s his? It’s special, above the law.

  I don’t know, I said. Truly I don’t.

  He doesn’t get it, said Uncle Matt. He wasn’t there that night, he didn’t see you carrying her inside.

  Which, tell the truth, Uncle Matt hadn’t seen me carrying her inside either, having gone out to rent a video-but still, yes, I got his drift about Father Terry, who had always had a streak of ego, with that silver hair with the ripples in it, and also he had a weight set in the Rectory basement and worked out twice a day and had, actually, a very impressive physique, which he showed off, I felt-we all felt-by ordering his priest shirts perhaps a little too tight.

  Next morning during breakfast Uncle Matt was very quiet and finally said well he might be just a fat little unemployed guy who hadn’t had the education some had, but love was love, honoring somebody’s memory was honoring somebody’s memory, and since he had no big expectations for his day, would I let him borrow the truck, so he could park it in the Burger King lot and keep an eye on what was going on over at the Rectory, sort of in memory of Emily?

  And the thing was, we didn’t really use that truck anymore and so-it was a very uncertain time, you know, and I thought: Well, what if it turns out Merton really is sick, and somehow gets away and attacks someone else’s-so I said yes, he could use the truck.

  He sat all Tuesday morning and Tuesday night, I mean not leaving the truck once, which for him-he was not normally a real dedicated guy, if you know what I mean. And then Wednesday night he came charging in and threw a tape in the VCR and said watch, watch this.

  And there on the TV was Merton, leaning against the Rectory fence, shuddering, arching his back, shuddering again.

  So we took our guns and went over.

  Look I know I know, said Father Terry. But I’m handling it here, in my own way. He’s had enough trouble in his life, poor thing.

  Say what? said Uncle Matt. Trouble in his life? You are saying to this man, this father, who has recently lost-the dog has had trouble in his life?

  Well, however, I should say-I mean, that was true. We all knew about Merton, who had been brought to Father Terry from this bad area, one of his ears sliced nearly off, plus it had, as I understood it, this anxiety condition, where it would sometimes faint because dinner was being served, I mean, it would literally pass out due to its own anticipation, which, you know, that couldn’t have been easy.

  Ed, said Father Terry. I am not saying Merton’s trouble is, I am not comparing Merton’s trouble to your-

  Christ let’s hope not, Uncle Matt said.

  All’s I’m saying is I’m losing something too, said Father Terry.

  Ho boy, said Uncle Matt. Ho boy ho boy.

  Ed, my fence is high, said Father Terry. He’s not going anywhere, I’ve also got him on a chain in there. I want him to-I want it to happen here, just him and me. Otherwise it’s too sad.

  You don’t know from sad, said Uncle Matt.

  Sadness is sadness, said Father Terry.

  Blah blah blah, said Uncle Matt. I’ll be watching.

  WELL LATER THAT WEEK this dog Tweeter Deux brought down a deer in the woods between the TwelvePlex and the Episcopal Church, and that Tweeter Deux was not a big dog, just, you know, crazed, and how the DeFrancinis knew she had brought down a deer was, she showed up in their living room with a chewed-off foreleg.

  And that night-well the DeFrancini cat began racing around the house, and its eyes took on this yellow c
olor, and at one point while running it sort of locked up and skidded into the baseboard and gave itself a concussion.

  Which is when we realized the problem was bigger than we had initially thought.

  The thing was, we did not know and could not know how many animals had already been infected-the original four dogs had been at large for several days before we found them, and any animal they might have infected had been at large for nearly two weeks now, and we did not even know the precise method of infection-was it bites, spit, blood, was something leaping from coat to coat? We knew it could happen to dogs, it appeared it could happen to cats-what I’m saying is, it was just a very confusing and frightening time.

  So Uncle Matt got on the iMac and made up these flyers, calling a Village Meeting, and at the top was a photo he’d taken of the red bow (not the real bow but Karen’s pinkish-red bow, which he’d color-enhanced on the iMac to make it redder and also he had superimposed Emily’s Communion photo) and along the bottom it said FIGHT THE OUTRAGE, and underneath in smaller letters it said something along the lines of, you know, why do we live in this world but to love what is ours, and when one of us has cruelly lost what we loved, it is the time to band together to stand up to that which threatens that which we love, so that no one else ever has to experience this outrage again. Now that we have known and witnessed this terrific pain, let us resolve together to fight against any and all circumstances which might cause or contribute to this or a similar outrage now or at any time in the future-and we had Seth and Jason run these around town, and on Friday night ended up with nearly four hundred people in the high school gym.

  Coming in, each person got a rolled-up FIGHT THE OUTRAGE poster of the color-enhanced bow, and also on these Uncle Matt had put in-I objected to this at first, until I saw how people responded-well he had put in these tiny teeth marks, they were not meant to look real, they were just, you know, as he said, symbolic reminders, and down in one corner was Emily’s Communion photo and in the opposite corner a photo of her as a baby, and Uncle Matt had hung a larger version of that poster (large as a closet) up over the speaker’s podium.