Sunday, July 25, 2004

They don't write books like that anymore...

"  What the hell's going on, I wonder. Frank Martin uncrosses his arms and takes a puff on the cigar.  He lets the smoke carry out of his mouth.  Then he raises his chin towards the hills and says, "Jack London used to have a big place on the other side of this valley.  Right over there behind that green hill you're looking at.  But alcohol killed him. Let that be a lesson.  He was a better man than any of us. But he couldn't handle the stuff, either." He looks at what's left of his cigar.  It's gone out. He tosses it into the bucket.  "You guys want to read something while you're here, read that book of his The Call of the Wild. You know the one I'm talking about? We have it inside, if you want to read something.  It's about this animal that's half dog and half wolf. They don't write books like that anymore. But we could have helped Jack London, if we'd been here in those days. And if he'd let us. If he'd ask for our help. Hear me? Like we can help you. If. If you ask for it and if you listen. End of sermon. But don't forget. If," he says again. Then he hitches his pants and tugs his sweater down. "I'm going inside," He says. " See you at lunch."

"I feel like a bug when he's around," J.P says. "He makes me feel like a bug. Something you could step on." J.P shakes his head. Then he says. "Jack London. What a name! I wish I had a name like that. Instead of the name I got."

-Raymond Carver, "Where I'm calling From" 

 

1 comment:

Daniela Kantorova said...

call of the wild... interesting. i read it as a kid - not getting this dimension at all. women who run with the wolves and dance with mara, take notice!