“Now for the evacuation plan. I have marked in blue pencil on a little map of Lawrence the route you will take. Either of two streets you can follow down the hill to the highway, turning right to be in accord with the flow of evacuees from the metropolitan area. After the bomb falls there will be thousands from the city fleeing in this direction. Highways will be jammed, an accident will make escape impossible, so drive cautiously but do not waste time and be positive you do not attempt to drive against the crowd. Go the same direction as everyone else, otherwise you will be lost.” He closed the flue of the fireplace and hurried to the radio. “I am marking the Conelrad frequencies,” he said as he took a pen from his vest pocket. He drew two stars on the radio dial.
Melvin walked quickly around the room, sat down and crossed his legs, but a moment later jumped up and stood with his fists clenched behind his back. His father ran up to him, stopped, and spoke in an urgent voice. Melvin was no longer listening; he was thinking of the notification to report for military service. Ever since receiving the order he had been wondering what to do. He had no idea what would happen if he defied the government. He was under the impression that if he belonged to some religious organization he might be exempted from duty, and had considered whether or not he might join such a group. It would not be difficult to pretend belief in the articles of faith, to lock himself to the organization, so to speak, as he might have locked the controls of the Dauntless heading out to sea. No one would be the wiser. But to oppose the government by himself would be disastrous. If he alone, on the basis of his own conviction, refused to comply with this order, some punitive action must follow. What this would be, he did not know; he supposed it would consist of a fine and imprisonment. Possibly there was a choice; but to pay the fine would negate the principle, since payment implied acquiescence. It became reasonably certain, therefore, that if he did not wish to declare himself devout, and did not choose to enter military service, he would soon enough be entering a federal prison. This thought did not particularly disturb him; he knew he could endure it, having been well tempered by the Navy. What concerned him was the mortification and the shame his imprisonment would bring down on his parents and his sister, and, of course, what it would mean to his wife, and, later, to his child.
He reflected that more than anything else he had always wanted to be free, and since he would be sacrificing that freedom if he should accede to this demand, he concluded he had never had a choice. There was no decision to be made. He knew what he would do. Just then he heard his father’s voice and looked around.
“Concerning emergency sanitation during nuclear attack, this official booklet is extremely helpful. Among other things, it is necessary, for instance, to maintain an adequate supply of safe drinking water. Instructions are contained in this booklet, such as how long to boil the water, how it should be labeled, and how long it will keep, together with vivid explanatory pictures. The flat taste caused by boiling water is easily removed. Simply add a pinch of salt. Or, if you prefer, the government suggests pouring the boiled water like a magician from one container to another until—”
At this instant Melvin’s hand reached forth, as it had done once before to save him from annihilation, and took the pamphlet. He tore it in half, looked around, and, catching sight of the garbage can, lifted the lid above his head and brought it down with a crash. Up went the sheep dog, high in the air with a phenomenal bark; over went the card table, end over end, the world and all, while Hephzibah shrieked and fled.
“Get it out of here,” Melvin said.
“What? What?” his father exclaimed, stepping backward in dismay.
“Now I know what happened to my wife. She won’t accept this equipment and I won’t either.”
“This is what our government recommends! I was explaining it when all at once, for no reason, she became hysterical. I was going to draw a little plan for a bomb shelter—a major general has testified before Congress that private shelters can be ninety-four per cent effective—but she ran away! I don’t know why.”
“You don’t, but I do,” Melvin said. “She and I feel the same. You take this garbage can with you when you go.”
“You don’t care to live?”
“I care,” Melvin replied.
“Exactly!” said his father, and gestured toward the supplies. “All of us want to live. There’s the answer.”
“Do you think so?”
“Certainly!”
Melvin looked at his father, and saw him for the first time.
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you listening? I’m pointing out how we can survive.” And he went on speaking, but Melvin did not hear a word.
Would it be the way to live, truly? To live underground, feeding from a garbage can, subdued, eternally fearful, helpless, wondering, caught like the most lowly creature. Would this be liberty—or would it be death? To emerge when the danger was past, anxiously studying the sky, only to scurry underground again, and again, and again, each time a shadow sailed overhead. It seemed to Melvin that this, more truly, was death. To exist like a rodent and perhaps be trapped while frantically seeking escape, or to stand up and behold the unity of the world, certain of the ultimate worth of mankind—perhaps thus to die, yet, if that came to pass, to die in freedom—these were the paths before him and he knew he must choose his way forever.
“When you go,” he repeated, quietly, to his father, “take with you what you’ve brought. I’ll live my life as I wish, and my wife also. We don’t intend to hide, not now or ever. We’re not digging any more holes. I’m in deep enough as it is,” he added, and walked to the desk where he rummaged about until he found the notice from the draft board. Having cleared his throat he said, “Greetings from the President,” and read the letter aloud.
“Amazing!” his father exclaimed when he had finished. “We live from day to day.”
“I doubt if they’ll actually send you to Korea,” said Horne.
“That’s irrelevant,” Melvin said. “I’m not going into military service again ever, that’s all. My mind is made up. I’m not going. I won’t go. I will not go. I refuse.”
“Impossible!” his father cried. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I know what I won’t do.” And here he paused. There was nothing more to say.
The Patriot Page 48