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Autobiography - of - F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper My Life, My Tapes
As heard by Scott Frost
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"I think it was Christmas 1967 when Dale got his first tape recorder.
We were both thirteen. My dad had given me one of those model gas
engine planes that fly around on control lines. I was standing out in
the middle of the street, turning around in circles, attempting my
first loop, when Dale came marching out of his house wearing his
Cub Scout backpack with this big tape recorder stuffed inside and
holding a microphone. It was one of those reel-to-reel jobs, and he
was dragging along this bright yellow extension cord plugged into
the house. He walked right over to me and asked, given my
experience in aviation, if I thought we were going to put men on the
moon within the next year. Right then the plane's engine failed and
it smacked into a snow emergency sign. Dale got it all on tape."
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Lewis Nordine
Childhood friend USAF, Ret. |
December 25, 1967
Testing, testing.
This is me, Dale Cooper, age thirteen, currently residing at 1127 Hillcrest Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It is a green house with yellow aluminum awnings that Dad bought from Sears to keep the fabric on the couch from fading. I am at present five feet three inches tall, have dark hair, can high jump four feet six inches. Expect at any moment I will begin a growth spurt that will take me to my ideal height of six feet. I have no sisters and one older brother named Emmet who is in college. My room is ten by twelve feet with two windows. I have a desk, bed, clothes chest, and a hook rug my mom made with a picture of a deer. Only people who know the password can come in my room. The word changes every week. This week it is Dark Passage. Above my bed on the wall is my most important personal item, a poster of Jimmy Stewart in the movie The FBI Story which only I can touch. I am talking into a Norelco B2000 reel-to-reel tape-playing recorder that I received as a Christmas present. I gave Dad a bottle of Old Spice and a pair of Totes, and Mom a nonstick spatula set.
I am in the eighth grade at Germantown Friends School which is run by the Quakers. Dad says that we are not Quakers, but that if we were to be a religion, he would consider them right up there with the Unitarians because of what they do with their minds. Dad is what he calls a free thinker. Last night he had us walk around the spruce tree in the front yard while holding candles because he thinks the churches have stolen Christmas. Mom calls him lazy with God because he had a bad experience in church when he was a boy. He is the owner of Cooper's Offset Printing on Germantown Road. There is a picture of Benjamin Franklin, who is one of Dad's heroes, above the door of the printing shop. When they gave me the tape recorder last night, Dad put the microphone in my hand and looked at me very seriously and said that this was the future and that he and everything he represents was a dinosaur. I asked Mom what he meant and she said it was the eggnog. Dad then read a page from The Grapes of Wrath and Christmas was over.
The machine is getting hot now. I think I will stop.
December 25, 2 P.M.
Dad has just plugged me into the wall socket next to the aquarium with the extension cord from the basement and I am now making my first trip out of the house with the recorder strapped into my scout pack. Mom is now opening the door, I'm stepping through, and am now on the porch. . . . You may now close the door! . . . The door is closed, I am on my own. just me, the recorder, and the extension cord, which I will call the tether of life. One step too far and I will lose all power.
Looking around from this position, I can see almost the entire street. The Nordines' house, the Schlurmans'. I'm moving off the porch now. In the street Lewis Nordine is flying a model airplane on a set of control lines. Unknown to him, his big brother Jim appears to be shooting at the plane with a BB gun from their attic window. I'm going to try and reach Lewis and warn him of his brother, though I must try not to attract too much attention. I've tangled with Lewis's brother before and . . . uh-oh, I believe he's seen the tether of life. I'm going to try to make it back to the porch. I believe the sound I just heard was Lewis's plane hitting the street sign. A BB just hit our mailbox, I'm almost to the porch . . . Dad!
December 25, 9 P.M.
Believe the extension cord has some severe limitations. One, I cannot travel more than seventy-five feet from the house, which will limit my investigations. Two, it draws attention to itself in a way that can be dangerous. I think a battery pack of some kind is the solution, and tomorrow will visit Simms' Hardware to find the answer. Dad said that words are tools, and that tools should be taken care of or else you won't drive a straight nail. Dad says a lot of things I don't understand.
This is the end of Christmas Day. My presents this year were the following: underwear, socks, corduroy pants, insect field guide, five dollars from my grandmother, and a Norelco B2000 tape recorder, which is not a toy. Signing off, this is Dale Cooper.
December 26, 3 P.M.
Have just returned from Simms' Hardware with set of batteries. According to Mr. Simms, who is a ham radio operator and talks to Germany at night because he was there during the war and lost a foot, each battery will last three hours. I bought three with the money my grandmother sent, which she thinks I am putting aside for college.
On my return from Simms', I made the following discoveries: Lewis's father discovered BB holes in the wings of the wrecked plane and grounded Lewis's brother. Bradley Schlurman received a new bike, a gold Stingray with a ribbed banana seat and a knobby rear tire. And his sister got new shoes that were supposed to make her a better dancer.
December 26, 10 P.M.
Have been thinking very hard all night that I must have a plan for my life now that I have the tape recorder. I can't think of one though.
December 27, 3 A.M.
Mom just left my room because I had an asthma attack. When I can't breathe I sometimes just he there and think that I'm dead and float away as she is rubbing my chest with VapoRub. I might not be able to go outside tomorrow if it's cold because of my lungs.
Mom told me another one of her dreams that she has been having. She said that she was alone on a field when thousands of birds filled the sky, blocking out all of the light. That's when she always wakes up. Mom says we can see things in our dreams that we can't see when we're awake. I asked her what she thought the dream meant but she just smiled and said it was nothing . . . I'm glad I have the recorder and someone I can always talk to.
I have never seen a dead person. I think I would like to, but not right now because I want to close my eyes and not think about being dead.
January 1, 1968, 10 A.M.
Bradley Schlurman's Stingray was stolen by members of the 24th Street gang yesterday. Two clues point to them. One, Bradley saw them as they knocked him off his bike. Two they said this bike now belongs to the 24th Street gang. The police have been called but so far they have come up empty. I have decided to take the case myself with the aid of my tape recorder. If I can follow them and get one of them on tape talking about the bike, I believe I will crack the case. I have not told Bradley this because he has locked himself in his room and will not come out.
January 1, 1 P.M.
Have started my stakeout. Two suspects are in view at this moment. Both are white, and very big. One is riding a ten-speed, which no doubt is also stolen. The other is on foot. I am going to try to follow them at a close enough distance to capture their confessions on tape. If necessary, I will attempt to trick them into talking about the bike by telling them I would like to join the gang. I have disguised the tape recorder by sticking it in my pack and covering it with potatoes. The microphone will be hidden inside a glove sticking out of my pocket. I'm moving in.
Three minutes of tape is unintelligible.
January 3, 8 P.M.
The 24th Street gang stole my tape recorder. My plan was working just as I had hoped. I followed the suspect for a block but was unable to get a confession on tape. I then attempted to fool the gangsters into believing that I would like to join the gang. It was at that point that they noticed the potatoes in my pack and began taking them. When they saw my tape recorder, they grabbed that and threw the potatoes at me as I ran for cover. For two days it was in the hands of the gang. And today was recovered by police when they arrested them for stealing a car outside the Band Box Theater. I have decided that if I am going to ever fight crime again, I must be better prepared. The recorder is undamaged. Dad has checked it and says that it is A-okay. He also said that he was very proud of me fighting against the gang, but that I should use better disguises than potatoes. I also discovered that you cannot record through a glove. There is still no sign of Bradley's bike.
January 10, 7 P.M.
Have decided today to write a letter to Efrem Zimbalist about my future. Hope he will have some good suggestions. This is what I have written:
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Dear Mr. Zimbalist, Like your show very much, also like "Hawaii Five-O" and "The Wild, Wild West." Because I sunburn very easily, I don't think being a policeman in Hawaii would be a very good idea for me. I would like to be a secret service agent if I could have my own train, but don't believe that is standard operating procedure anymore. I think the FBI is the place to be. What suggestions do you have for someone considering this as a career? Thank you for your time. |
Dale Cooper |
I am also thinking about writing Mr. Hoover, but think he must be very busy so I don't want to bother him unless I have to.
January 12, 7 A.M.
Noticed this morning that my pee smells like the asparagus we had for dinner. Wonder why this does not happen when I eat a hamburger. Also this morning Mom was very quiet around the breakfast table. I think she had another dream about the birds in the sky. This dream seems to frighten her and I do not know why.
January 12, 1 P.M.
At school in the library. The headmaster told everyone this morning that a man has come to the school and is in the meeting house seeking sanctuary from the draft. I came to the library and looked up the word and this is what it says: sanctuary, "a place of refuge and protection, immunity from the law." I saw the man. He is white, about twenty years old, and thin. He seems scared and held his arms close to his sides. During our daily meeting the older kids sat around him as if they were protecting him. No one said a word, but one of the older girls held his hand for almost the entire time. The headmaster then stood up and said thank-you and everyone walked out except the young man, who cannot go outside. I think things will go very badly for him. He is breaking the law, which is always supposed to be right. I do not understand.
January 14, 7:30 P.M.
Was preparing to continue my surveillance of the 24th Street gang when I noticed strange activity next door in the Schlurman house. Bradley's older sister, Marie, who is fourteen, was standing in front of the window in her bedroom wearing her mother's red wig and dancing in a very strange way. Her arms and wrists didn't seem connected, and her legs moved very slowly, like an ice skater on "Wide World of Sports." This all makes me feel very strange and I do not know why. I have never liked ice skating. I also have the feeling that she knew I was watching. Every once in a while she looked out the window in my direction, grabbed her knees, and smiled. A very frightening experience.
January 14, 8:15 P.M.
Have followed the 24th Street gang to an alley next to Fairmount Park, where they have set a trash can on fire and are dancing around it, banging baseball bats and sticks together. Wonder if this dance is at all connected to the one Marie was doing earlier. The dance seems the same but something must be different because my hands aren't sweaty. Maybe Marie is a secret member of gang. That could explain the bicycle.
January 20, 4 P.M.
Have completed my after-school study of asparagus and its effect on pee. The results are as follows:
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Broccoli - no smell. Potatoes - no smell, except for the ones made at Duva's Café that they put the chili on. Meat - no smell. Fish - some smell, if they were in the shape of sticks. Chicken - no smell. Conclusion: There is a something in asparagus when cooked by my mother that is like no other food. |
January 24, 5 P.M.
The FBI came today and arrested the man in the meeting hall who was hiding from the draft. There were two agents, one in a gray suit and one in a blue suit. They talked to the headmaster for several minutes, then did their duty as special agents. The draft dodger did get kissed by almost every girl in the senior class as they took him away, so it was not all bad for him.
Have decided that Marie is not a member of the gang. Today during meeting I noticed she looked at me several times. Her knees are not the knees of a gangster.
January 30, 9:30 P.M.
School library. Testosterone, "a male hormone that is produced by the testes or male secondary sex characters, and is a crystalline hydroxysteroid ketone." This seems to be a very inadequate explanation for what happened to me last night in my room. I was watching Marie dancing in her room next door. When she took off her shirt, exposing her bra, I began to experience things in my groin area. This was interesting. I believe I will have to spend a great deal of time investigating this in the future.
Tomorrow I am taking the pledge to become a full Tenderfoot Scout. I wonder if any of this disqualifies me.
January 31, 8 P.M.
At exactly 7:05 P.M. today I became a member of the Boy Scouts of America and immediately began my studies for my first merit badge. I expect with hard work I can attain the level of Eagle Scout in two years, far ahead of the average time required for most Scouts.
February 8, 9:05 P.M.
Marie's mother brought home her new brother from the hospital today. Her father had all the kids on the block line up outside the house to get a look at the new neighbor. As I moved up in line, Marie whispered to me to follow her up to her room past the picture of Old Faithful in the hallway. I had not been in a girl's room before, and did not stay long when Marie asked if I knew about breastfeeding. I do not understand why Marie seems interested in me except that she is bigger and stronger and can probably beat me in a wrestling match so is not afraid of me.
February 16, 5:10 P.M.
Tom Johnson's big brother, Will, got killed in Vietnam yesterday. When the men from the army came to their house to tell them, you could hear Tom's mother screaming all the way down the block. A doctor had to come and give her a shot so she would calm down. Tom ran out of the house down to Fairmount Park. I found him sitting by the oak tree where we used to play capture the flag. One of his hands was all bloody where he hit it with a rock a couple of times because he said he was mad at his brother. Then he started crying and ran off, swinging a stick at bushes and trees like we used to do when we were killing Japs. I could still hear the stick hitting things long after Tom was out of sight. Maybe I'll talk about it in meeting at school tomorrow, maybe I won't.
February 24, 2:30 P.M.
Efrem Zimbalist sent an autographed picture from Hollywood. It says "To Dale, Good luck." It is now on my wall next to the poster of The FBI Story. Kids lined up all the way out to the street to see it. I was charging a dime a person and was doing pretty good until Dad said that Mr. Zimbalist would be very disappointed to know that I was making money off his picture.
February 25, 1 P.M.
Tom's brother was buried this morning. Two soldiers in white gloves carefully folded the flag into a tight triangle and gave it to his mother. There was also an honor guard there with rifles who fired shots into the air after they gave her the flag. A girl who I think was Tom's brother's girlfriend started screaming and smacked one of the soldiers in the face, knocking his hat off. The soldier didn't move. He just reached down and picked up his hat and put it back on. Tom said he asked his dad if he could see his brother, but the army had sealed the coffin so no one could open it because of what happened to him. Two days ago Tom got a letter from him that his brother mailed before he was killed. Inside the envelope was a leaf of some jungle plant he had found that had hundreds of veins laid out so it looked like a map. It was still green.
March 2, 2 P.M.
Received my first merit badge today for knot tying. Would not have completed it so quickly without the help of Marie, who let me practice tying her up in her bedroom. After I finished with the double half hitch, Marie said it was her turn and tried to secure me to the bedpost with a square knot, which was actually a granny knot that slipped and I was able to get away. This is an important lesson in the value of a correct knot.
March 8, 10 P.M.
Grandmother Cooper had a stroke today and died. She had been visiting us this week. Mom said she had dreamed that something bad was going to happen, and this morning when Grandma was making a pie in our kitchen she had a stroke and fell to the floor with the pie.
I had never seen a dead person before. When I found her, she was lying straight as a board next to the kitchen counter. The pie had tipped over and some of the cherries landed on her cheek, staining it bright red so it looked like she had put too much makeup on. Her eyes were open and her left hand gripped her apron, which had yellow flowers on it.
Then Mom called Dad and the doctor. Then she took my hand and we looked at Grandma for several moments. She had me place my hand on Grandma's forehead so that I would know that death was nothing to be afraid of. I was not afraid. I thought she felt like an old leather handbag.
The doctor came and covered her with a brand-new sheet, and took her away. He said she had died quickly and that she never felt any pain.
I read in a science book that electricity is what keeps us alive. I do not understand where it comes from and where it goes when we are dead. Dad said that was the big question, and that he did not know the answer. Neither do I.
March 20, 1:30 A.M.
Mr. Botnick across the street just came running out of his house naked and ran down the block yelling that they were climbing all over him. I do not know who they are. And have not seen Mr. Botnick since he turned the corner ten minutes ago.
March 30, 7 P.M.
Have just finished reading about Sherlock Holmes in The Hound of the Baskervilles. I believe Mr. Holmes is the smartest detective who has ever lived, and would very much like to live a life like he did. It is the Friends School belief that the best thing one can do in life is to do good rather than do well. I believe that in Mr. Holmes I see a way to accomplish this.
April 2, 8 A.M.
It is the job of every detective to solve mysteries. Have therefore decided on my first case. At eight-thirty in Room Eleven every girl in the eighth grade goes to health class. What goes on behind those doors is a deep secret that all girls have been sworn to protect. I intend, to crack the case by crawling into the air vent above the classroom and taping the class with my tape recorder. I have told no one of my plan except Bradley, who said it was the greatest thing anyone could ever do. if I am caught, my prospects for a full and normal eighth grade are slim at best. But there is no turning back now.
April 2, 8:25 A.M.
Have entered the air vent in the janitor's closet and am proceeding along over Mr. Barstow's history class. Do not believe the vents have been dusted since the school was built or were designed to let a reel-to-reel in a knapsack pass through easily. Will have to come up with an explanation for my appearance when I have completed the mission. April 2, 8:30 A.M.
(Whispering) Below me is a sight that few living eighth graders have ever seen. Mrs. Winslow is standing at the front of the class next to the blackboard. On the board is a life-size picture of a naked woman with all her insides showing. On the table is a model of what I believe to be a breast made of clear plastic. It seems to be larger than any breast I have ever imagined with what appears to be a network of channels running through it. I guess that is where all the milk goes. Mm. Winslow has picked up her pointer. This is a great moment.
The following twenty minutes of tape were erased in 1968.
April 3, 5:30 P.M.
Suspicion, I believe, began when I failed to explain my presence in the air vent to Mr. Brumley, the janitor, as I climbed back into his closet. I attempted to tell him that I was studying the flow of air in confined spaces, but it is very hard to lie to a Quaker, so I just ran. This morning I was called into the headmaster's office when I arrived at school. With him were Mrs. Winslow, and Mr. Brumley, who had followed my trail of dust in the air vent. The tape is gone. I surrendered it to the headmaster. And I now have to write a five-hundred-word essay on respect of privacy. My tape recorder has also been banned from school for the rest of the school year unless I get written permission from a teacher.
April 4, 8 P.M.
Martin Luther King was assassinated today in Memphis, Tennessee. He was shot in the neck while standing on the balcony of a motel. I was in the car with Dad when the news came over the radio. He said shit. The first time I have ever heard him say that word. We then drove home and watched the news on the TV with Mom. There are riots in many places. I believe that the FBI must be on the trail of the man who killed him, and that they will catch him. I wish I was older. And that I knew more than I do.
April 19, 4 P.M.
Turned fourteen today. Mom and Dad gave me a Timex watch. submerged it in bathtub for fifteen minutes and it still ticks.
My brother has moved to Canada to become a lumberjack. At least that's what my mom said. She said we won't see him again until all the trees have been cut down. I think he's really gone cause his draft number is three.
April 20, 9 P.M.
Identified all local poisonous plants and became a second-class scout today. Then performed Heimlich maneuver on Mr. Tooley, the scoutmaster, when he choked on a dandelion during an "eating in the wilds" demonstration.
May 2, 11 P.M.
Marie told me today that she could no longer talk to me until I was older. I told her that I just had a birthday, but she didn't believe me, so I followed her after school and saw her kissing Daren Seedler outside Duva's Café. Believe there to be a connection between these events.
May 12, 7:30 P.M.
Invited Marie to party this afternoon but she did not want to come. The shades in her bedroom are always dosed now. Feel stupid talking into this machine.
June 6, 3:30 A.M.
Dad woke me up, telling me Bobby Kennedy had been shot in Los Angeles. Dad is still downstairs sitting in front of the television, waiting to hear if Bobby is alive. On the radio they played a tape of the shooting recorded by a reporter. You can hear the pop of the gunshots, then people yelling, "Get the gun, get the gun."
The three of us listened, then Mom made Dad a chicken sandwich and went to bed. Next door I can see that the light is on in Marie's room. She had been wearing a Kennedy button every day in school.
June 6, 5 A.M.
Bobby Kennedy died of a gunshot to the head. Dad has gone down to the printing shop. Mom is asleep. Marie's light went out a few minutes ago. The shade then opened and I could faintly see Marie standing in the dark, naked, looking toward my window. Her hands were straight down at her sides, and she stayed that way for almost a minute before stepping away into the dark. Why did she do that? Did she know I was here? I am very confused about very many things.
June 8, 9 P.M.
The train carrying Bobby Kennedy came through Philadelphia. The cars were led by two black engines that traveled very slowly. The tracks were lined with people standing and watching as it passed. Many men saluted as it went by. When it was gone I saw Marie standing alone, holding her Kennedy button in her hand. I walked over to her and said hi. She took my hand and walked with me over to the corner. She then kissed me on the lips, moving her tongue around inside my mouth in what I think was a clockwise motion. Then her eyes filled with tears and she turned and ran down the block out of sight. June 14, 4 P.M.
School is over. Bradley has been shipped off to camp somewhere in Maine, where he is supposed to learn how to talk French. Do not understand why he has to go to Maine to do that.
Maxie left this morning on a trip with her parents to the national parks. Dad took a picture of them standing in front of the station wagon all loaded up, holding a big map of the United States. Marie did not look happy. Have not talked to Marie since the day that the train came through. Called her house once, but her mother answered, so I hung up. Have thought about her a great deal and wondered what would have happened this summer if her father didn't want to see the Grand Canyon.
June 20, 1 P.M.
Have decided today that I am going to become an FBI agent, and that I must begin to work very hard at my dream if it is ever to become true. Wrote Mr. Hoover a long letter explaining my plans and asked for any advice that he could offer. Letter goes as follows:
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Dear Mr. Hoover,
Have made a decision today to become an FBI agent at earliest possible date. I am presently fourteen years old, and on road to becoming Eagle Scout by fifteen. Have never broken any laws, though if you look into my records you will discover that I was recently caught audiotaping a girls' sex education class while hidden in a heating vent. Do not feel this should be held against me, for my intent was purely scientific, and not for personal gain. Would like very much to come and meet you and discuss any experiences you may have had with audio tapes yourself. |
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Yours truly, Dale Cooper |
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"I remember exactly when it was that Dale got the letter from
Hoover. July 3, 1968. Dale was a second-class scout and I was a first.
He brought it to the troop meeting wrapped in a silk shirt he
borrowed from his mother. The scoutmaster, Mr. Tooley, had
everybody line up so they could get a look at it, then shake Dale's
hand. You could tell right then that Dale knew exactly what he was
going to do for the rest of his life. I remember because it was the
same day that me and two other first-class scouts made a rocket out
of match heads that we shot off after the troop meeting. Went
sideways through Mr. Nordstrom's screen porch and put a hole in a
painting of the Last Supper that his wife painted on a trip to the
Poconos."
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Newt Cummings
Boy Scout troop member Plumber |
July 3, 8 P.M.
Have received letter from Mr. Hoover congratulating me on my esprit de corps in the taping of the sex education class, and encouraging me not to let getting caught interfere with future projects, and that they certainly don't at the FBI. He also said that I was the kind of material that he wished he had more of at the Bureau, and invited me to come down for a special tour in Washington and meet a real special agent.
July 15, 11:30 A.M.
Bound for Washington on the ten-twenty express on my way to the FBI with Dad, and a pound cake that Mom made for Mr. Hoover. Am wearing my suit and tie, well-shined shoes, and have taped my first-class scout badge to my jacket pocket. We are to meet a special agent who will be showing us around, then will meet Mr. Hoover if he can fit us in.
July 15, 7 P.M.
On our way back to Philadelphia. Mr. Hoover liked the pound cake a great deal. Dad took a picture of me standing next to him, holding a Thompson sub-machine gun which he said he used to gun down gangsters back in the good old days. Then we went on a tour of the building with a special agent and got to shoot a service revolver on their gun range. The special agent scored well, hitting five out of his six shots within the mark. I outpointed him on the last shot with a round just inside the bull's-eye. Suggested he lean a little more into the pistol to compensate for the kick. He thanked me and asked that I not mention this to any of the other agents.
We finished our tour after we saw the eyeglasses John Dillinger was wearing when he was shot in Chicago. All in all an A-1 day.
July 15, 11:30 P.M.
Am back home. On the train ride Dad was very quiet, then told me a story about the war. He and some other soldiers were in a village in France. The townspeople all told them that a farmer was a collaborator and would tell the Germans that they were in the village. So the soldiers went to the farmhouse and found the man, his wife, and two daughters. The farmer gave them some wine and cheese, then took them to see his barn, and one of the soldiers shot and killed him. Dad then told me that he was very proud of me, but that I must be sure to make up my own mind about things in the world. I am not sure what he means, but he said someday I would understand. I asked him to tell me more about what he saw in the war, but he just looked out the window of the tram at the lights passing by and didn't say a word all the way home.
August 10, 6 P.M.
Marie returned from vacation today and I have noticed several changes. One, she seems to be smiling almost constantly. I attributed this to her being glad that she was home, but when I asked her she just laughed and started painting a big yellow flower on her forehead. I then told her that I had met Mr. Hoover and she said that I was an establishment pig and that my heart was rotten and that I would never achieve nirvana. I told her that was not true, but that I would have to check my scout manual to see if an Eagle Scout was required to have nirvana or not. She just laughed again and started painting another flower on her face. I have since looked up nirvana and this is what it says: "A place or state of oblivion to care, pain, or external reality: a goal hoped for but apparently unattainable." I am not sure what Marie saw in the Grand Tetons, but I believe she must have had a very powerful experience.
September 1, 4 P.M.
The following incident happened at about 3 P.M. today. While inside of Simms' Hardware, a large colored bird flew in through the door and landed near the bins of nails and screws. Mr. Simms then tried to get the bird back out the door with a broom and it panicked, flying right into my head. I then ran into the plumbing section with the bird hanging on to my hair, where Mr. Simms smacked me in the face with the broom, knocking me to the floor and sending the bird into an air duct, where it was chopped up by a fan. I do not like birds. Mr. Simms gave me a free claw hammer for being a good sport.
September 9, 8 P.M.
First day of school. Am signed up for science, mythology, math and English. Also had the choice between acting in the school play or joining stage. I chose stage crew. Marie is among the drama group, and I do not believe it would be a good idea to be close to her as long as the flowers are still on her face.
September 20, 6 P.M.
At four-thirty today I found the following while walking home through Fairmount Park: a pair of sandals, the kind made out of old car tires; three used wooden matches; a small pile of burnt ashes and cigarette paper; a toothpick; several buttons from a shirt; an earring; several deep trenches dug into the ground; and the remains of a cheese steak sandwich. After close examination of the scene I do not believe foul play is involved, and that the following events explain what happened. A man and a woman, while sharing a steak sandwich, lost an earring. In looking for the earring several buttons were lost from a shirt. The sandals were then misplaced as darkness fell and the couple left the scene to find a flashlight, but were unable to retrace their steps. I still have not been able to explain the trenches in the ground.
September 30, 11 P.M.
Uncle Al, the magician, paid a visit over the weekend. The last time we saw him was when we took a trip to the Poconos, where he was performing as Ricardo the Great in the dinner show with a dog act. Don't think Dad likes to see his brother too often. I think he thinks of him as irresponsible and untrustworthy. The magic business has been slow, so Uncle Al is on his way to Florida to sell Bibles. On Saturday he taught me how you can count all the different cards you use when playing twenty-one so you know that other people aren't cheating. We then went down to a men's social dub, where a number of men were playing cards and, I believe, gambling. Uncle Al was right, you can keep track of every card in the deck, and I did not find any evidence that any of the other players were cheating. We were doing quite well when a large man with an ear missing suggested that it was my bedtime and that we leave. I was not at all sleepy, but Uncle Al said I was. He picked me up and we ran all the way home. When I awoke the next morning he had gone, but left a note saying that a big order for hymn books had come in and he had to leave in the middle of the night.
October 6, 10:30 P.M.
I am now looking out my window toward Marie's. Firmly believe that there are two people in the room and that one of them is a boy named Howard. Do not believe that they are doing homework, as her parents have gone out to eat at Mr. Steak and I saw Howard sneak in the back door without any books. I believe that whatever hope I had of Marie liking me is now gone.
October 7, 7 P.M.
Marie was found unconscious in the meeting hall today and taken to the hospital. When she was taken away in the ambulance I saw her face. Her eyes were rolling around, and I believe she had thrown up. The headmaster called the school together and said that he believed she had taken some drugs and had overdosed. He asked anyone who had any information about the incident to please come and talk to him. Her parents say that she is in stable condition but she must stay m the hospital for several days for observation.
October 10, 9 P.M.
Visited Marie in the hospital today by telling the nurse that I was her brother. When I got into her room Marie seemed very alert, happy, and had her wrists strapped to the bed. She asked me about the school play, how I like math, what my favorite TV show was, and if I still wanted to be an FBI agent. She then told me that she had tried to kill herself by taking too many pills and that if I would help her escape she would let me touch her anywhere I wanted, and that she would suck my dick.
The scout law is very clear on matters of this kind. "A scout is helpful. A scout is concerned about other people. He willingly volunteers to help others without expecting payment or reward." I would have clearly violated this law if I were to accept any of Marie's offer. I said I was sorry but that I could not accept. She started banging her head against the bed's railing and screaming, "I want my drugs!" I tried to stop her and she bit my arm. A nurse then came in and asked me to leave. This is not the same Marie that I tied up earlier in the year.
November 2, 9:30 P.M.
Received a letter from Marie today from the clinic she is locked in. It goes as follows:
|
Dear Dale,
Sorry about the way I behaved when you came to visit me in the hospital. I had had a bad day. Am doing much better now and only want drugs once or twice a day instead of all the time. Made friends with a man who is a poet, and teaches at a university. He says the world is a sweet-smelling pile of dung and we're all stuck in it. I think that is very beautiful. He jumped off a bridge last year and broke his legs in eleven places. Hope you are well. I'm feeling better since I shaved my head. Say hi to everyone at school. |
| Marie |
Believe Marie has a way to go yet.
November 6, 1 A.M.
Nixon has been elected president. Not sure what that means.
November 28, 6 P.M.
Thanksgiving. Dad invited an American Indian he met on a bus to dinner. Man's name was Michael Bishop Tree. Never said a word through dinner, although chuckled a number of times at something. Left with his coat pockets full of pie as soon as we finished.
December 18, 7 A.M.
Had asthma very bad last night. Mom was up most of the night with me, and now I feel very weak. Will not go to school today. Had a dream in the middle of the night that frightened me a great deal. A man who I have never seen was trying to break into my room. He kept calling my name and said that he wanted me. He then screamed, and after a moment it turned into a kind of roar as if he were some kind of animal. I told Mom about it and she said that she knew about "him," and that she has the same dream, and that I must never let the man into my room. I don't understand what it means. My chest hurts a great deal. I think I will go to sleep now. I am very tired.
No tapes exist for the next month.
January 20, 1969, 8 P.M.
Have been sick for some time and did not feel like talking much. An infection spread through my lungs and I felt very weak for a long time. Had the dream of the Man several more times, but did not let him in the door.
Marie came and visited me yesterday, wearing a cheerleader uniform. I believe she is feeling better. She says she is recovering and will be for the rest of her life. She looked very good and win look even better when all her hair grows back. She then kissed me on the cheek and told me that the poet had hung himself and that Jesus was now her personal savior and that she would help me see the fight if I would let her. She then did a cheer which she said would make me feel better.
Believe there are certain elements of the "old" Marie that I like better than the "new" one. Though she does look very good in her cheerleader uniform. I have been thinking almost constantly about it since the moment she left. I would like very much to remove her knee socks. Am not sure whether this is a result of my illness or not. But I am sure that her legs are the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life.
February 10, 3 P.M.
Am standing on the corner of Chelton and Greene. It is raining lightly. On the street several feet from the gutter is the body of a man. A police tape circles the body in a wide arc. He is white, dark hair, about six feet tall, wearing a green jacket, tan pants, and brown shoes. He is lying facedown. Blood is gathered around his neck and in a small pool by his feet. I have never seen anything like this in my entire life, and I feel like I may get sick.
A witness said the man was stabbed a block away and ran this way screaming "no." Someone else said he was stabbed in the neck. I have watched the detectives very closely. They knelt next to the body and carefully inspected the man's pockets without moving him. They removed a wallet, a small address book, some money in a paper clip, and keys on a rabbit's foot. I am trying to think the way Holmes would think but I mostly want to throw up. They are now about to roll the body over. . . .
February 10, 8 P.M.
Have just finished cleaning my microphone. When they rolled the body over I recognized the man as one of the card players at the club I went to with Uncle Al. I then got sick. After several minutes I informed the police about the card game and the man with no ear. They thanked me and told me to go home, change my shirt, and lock every door and window, which I have done. Believe I will let the police wrap up the rest of the case, and I will finish my math assignment.
February 14, 4 P.M.
Received a valentine today. A large drawing of Marie in her cheerleading uniform holding baby Jesus. Wasn't sure what to think.
February 28, 7 A.M.
Have noticed that with great frequency I am waking up with an erection. Understand this to be part of the dream process in all mammals. Find it interesting that there is a part of the body that I seem to have no control over, which can be embarrassing when it happens at school. I have discovered, though, that by thinking very intently about Disneyland, I can suppress an erection with some success. Am not sure why this works. I seem to remember the submarine ride to be very stimulating in a number of ways.
March 11, 4 P.M.
A new girl arrived at school today. She has long blond hair, and has just moved from somewhere in the Midwest, where there are lots of cows and corn. I was seated next to her in the meeting at school today. When it was over she stood, looked at me, and said, "Hello, my name is Anne." She shook my hand, and I introduced myself as Ale when I stumbled on my tongue. She has blue eyes and long, perfect fingers except for a small scar on her little finger. I have not been able to think of anything else all day long but her, and have never met anyone like her, even Marie before she shaved her head.
__ Chapter __
3
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"The first time Dale really fell in love, not counting tying my sister
up, which really had more to do with merit badges than true love,
was toward the end of ninth grade. We called her the Goddess of the
Plains because she had just moved from Minnesota. Anne Sweeny
looked like she breathed milk. Dale took one look at her and knew
immediately that he had seen the girl he was going to spend the rest
of his life with.
"The problem was that so had everyone else in school, including Nancy Nordstrom, a tenth grader who wore a lot of peace buttons and was a goaltender on the field hockey team. She used to let people score because she felt stopping them was an act of aggression. Dale took it very hard. Started wearing a Nixon button." |
April 19, 5 P.M.
Have turned fifteen . . . Why?. . . Does it matter? . . . Peace with honor . . . I hate field hockey. . . The signs of a heart attack are . . . uncomfortable pressure, squeezing, fullness, or pain in the chest behind the breastbone. The feeling may spread to the shoulders, arms, neck, jaw, and back . . .
May 12, 7 P.M.
Mother's Day. Dad cooked dinner, bought Mom a blender and perfume. I gave her coasters for the coffee table. She told me that I have been acting strangely and that she was worried about me. Decided that she is right and that I must take action to feel better. Have come up with several plans:
|
Plan A. Eat semipoisonous mushroom and write letter to Anne from deathbed. She then comes to my side. Her presence saves my life and she falls in love with me. Plan B. Blow up her house while she is at school and we take them in as an act of kindness. Plan C. Blow up Nancy Nordstrom's house while she is in it. Plan D. Forget Anne and devote myself to becoming a better scout and member of the community. |
Each plan has merit, and risk. Though all, I believe, will be very satisfying in the end.
May 20, 9 P.M.
Blew up Nancy's mailbox and feel much better. Believe I am now ready for the long climb to Eagle Scout and a responsible role in the community.
June 10, 6 P.M.
School has ended for the year. Anne is moving back to the Great Plains, where her father has bought a large feed store. Saw her in the bookstore where she was buying a Willa Cather book for Nancy. Do not believe I will ever see her again but will always remember the first time I saw her and the sound of the mailbox blowing up.
June 30, 7 P.M.
George, one of the pressmen down at Dad's shop, got his hand caught in one of the presses today. Took it off just below the wrist. The hand fell to the floor flattened out like a piece of paper with the printing of a real estate agency written on the palm. George started swearing and kicked the severed hand across the floor in anger.
I immediately applied pressure to stop the arterial bleeding that was shooting out of his wrist like a drinking fountain. We then laid him down and covered him, as he began to go into shock. It took several minutes to locate the hand, which had slid under a counter. An argument then started as to who was going to pick it up. I settled it by picking it up myself and wrapping it in a towel. An ambulance arrived and took George and his hand to the hospital.
All in all a very exciting day. Still find that my whole body feels as if I had been injected with electricity. Imagine this is the kind of feeling an FBI agent must have at the end of almost every day.
July 16, 10:50 A.M.
The flight of Apollo 11 has begun toward the moon. In another hour's time they will fire the third rocket, increasing their velocity to 24,245 mph, and will break away from the earth and start for the moon. All systems seem go at this time. I cannot imagine the feeling the men in that rocket must feel right now.
July 16, 1 P.M.
They are on their way. Marie came over and said that she expects they will meet God on the moon and he will tell them to go back where they belong. She looks very good, all her hair has grown back to where it used to be, and says she has not touched amphetamines for almost six months. It is interesting that Marie is the only girl I have ever seen naked and I can remember almost nothing of it. Our families are going to get together and watch the landing and moon walk. Bradley is going to bring over his bean bag chairs so we can simulate the lunar surface. I wonder if Marie still has any feelings for me other than religious ones.
July 20, 3:08 P.M.
Bradley has arrived with the bean bag chairs. The Eagle has wings, and is on its way toward the Sea of Tranquility. Marie is not coming over until the moon walk.
July 20, 4:17 P.M.
The Eagle has landed.
July 20, 10:56 P.M.
The voice of Neil Armstrong.
"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."
It is not clear who the following voices belong to.
We're on the moon! We're on the moon! . . . Shut up, quiet, look, look . . . right there, right there . . . I don't see it . . . that's his foot. Are you sure? . . . He's the only one there. Of course it's his foot . . . Oh, there he is . . . look at that . . . look at that . . . shhh . . . shhh . . . God will not forgive us. . . .
July 21, 2 A.M.
Armstrong and Aldrin are back in the LM (lunar module). Dad still sits in front of the TV, eating peanuts. Mom has gone to bed. Bradley and his folks went home an hour ago. Am not sure how to describe what happened with Marie. Looked in the scout manual under outdoor adventures but could find nothing that resembled what took place. The following is as close as I can come to the events in the backyard.
Shortly after Aldrin joined Armstrong on the surface, Marie picked up one of the bean bag chairs and motioned me to go out into the backyard with her. When I arrived, she was out behind the lilacs lying down on the bean bag chair, staring up at the moon. She said I should lie down next to her, which I did. For several moments we looked at the moon and said nothing. Then Marie said it.
"Dale, do you ever think about me . . . you know?"
I swallowed, and carefully tried to examine the way the question was phrased. It was the "you know" part of the question that I was most unsure about. I answered, "I think so."
Marie thought a moment, then replied, "I think about you."
I nodded, and said, "Good."
Marie smiled. "I didn't understand it until I saw men walking on the moon, but I believe God has a plan for everyone, and we are part of it. Do you understand, Dale?"
I said that I thought I did.
"Are you sure, Dale?"
I said I was.
"So am I," said Marie. She then picked up my hand in hers and hit the nail on the head.
"Pray with me, Dale."
There are moments in a person's life that you dream about and hope for. This turned out not to be one of those moments. For two hours we lay there together holding hands. Marie's eyes closed in prayer. Mine opened in bewilderment. The astronauts got back into their spaceship. The moon passed behind some clouds. Marie thanked me for sharing this time with God and took the bean bag chair home. Tomorrow I leave for the scout jamboree, where I will try to forget.
July 21, 1 P.M.
Believe the moon landing had a profound effect on my father. As I left for the jamboree this morning, he handed me a new compass and then told me to bring the ship home safely.
July 21, 5 P.M.
Have arrived at the jamboree. Camp is made, the beans are on the fire. Believe there is a troop from Pittsburgh that is made up of Nazis. They are all very tall and very clean.
Have thought about the events of last night several times. Should have tried to kiss Marie when she had her eyes closed and was praying. Wonder if I'm condemned to forever be a virgin. This situation must take full priority right behind achieving Eagle status.
July 23, 11 P.M.
The Nazis attacked our camp shortly after sunset. Our flag is gone. We are bruised and battered. One member of our troop is in the hospital, two have called their parents. I suffered a chipped tooth and numerous bruises. Find my thoughts turn to Marie stretched out in the bean bag chair, the moon reflecting off her white tennis shoes. The astronauts collecting rocks overhead. The Nazis will pay.
July 25, 3 P.M.
Killed an animal today. A crow. One clean shot as it circled overhead, searching for a road kill. Have never killed a living thing before, not counting insects. When it was hit it began to tumble as if it had been tripped. Then the tumbling stopped and it fell straight down like a wet shirt. The feeling at first was much the same as when I stopped the bleeding on the severed hand at the print shop. I ran to where it fell into the tall grass and picked it up. And then the feeling was gone. I do not know why I shot the bird. At the moment I squeezed the trigger it seemed that the only two things in the world were the crow and myself. And now there is just me.
July 30, 8 A.M.
Have decided to forgo the bus ride home and will be traveling overland by myself. Am calling this my first Great Adventure. Expect that by the time I arrive home I will have experienced events that I see as vital to a complete education.
Last note on the jamboree. The Nazis suffered a mysterious case of food poisoning. Much vomiting and retching could be heard all last night. Never slept better.
July 30, 10 A.M.
Have traveled six miles on foot so far, 170 to go. Have had no experiences to speak of yet. Believe it is about to rain.
July 30, 12 P.M.
I was right about the rain. Still waiting for first experience.
July 30, 2:30 P.M.
Am at the Post and Beam restaurant on Route 487. Cannot describe the taste of warm cherry pie to a wet and weary traveler. Have also had my very first cup of coffee, and my second. My feet seem to tingle and are very agitated. I feel like running very fast while screaming like an Indian. I believe I will consider this my first experience.
July 30, 4 P.M.
Have met a couple named Star and April, both in their early twenties, traveling in a VW bus. I am sitting in the back under a small crystal pyramid glued to the ceiling, which according to April increases the electric field as they are making love. Do not remember this being covered in health class.
Star and April are on their way to Washington to chain themselves to the doors of the Pentagon. Think I will ride along for as long as I am welcome, which they seem agreeable to since neither has ever met a real Boy Scout before. I told them about why I am traveling by myself and April promised they will do their best to provide as many new experiences as they can. Then they both began to laugh and took some small white pills.
July 30, 6 P.M.
I am driving. I do not have a license, I have never driven before, and am in a vehicle that I believe could put a drugstore out of business. April said I would do just fine and kissed me very long and hard. If caught will probably spend most of my life in jail. Strangely, I do not seem to care. It has stopped raining. April and Star are under the pyramid in a sleeping bag making love. In a few hours we will stop and put up the tepee for the night
July 30, 11 P.M.
We are camped in a large field on the edge of a forest. I am in a tepee. Star is outside asleep on a rock. Was going to tell April that I am a virgin and that any help in this matter would be greatly appreciated, but before I could she took off all her clothes and went outside to chase fireflies. I attempted to follow but stepped on a stick and cut my foot several steps from the tepee. Could do nothing but watch as her naked body ran off into the field, chasing bugs. Lost sight of her as she caught her first fly. Have dressed and cleaned the foot wound. Expect full recovery. Do not know when or if April will return. Have found a bottle of raspberry brandy in the van and have filled my camp cup. Believe Star just fell off the rock.
July 31, 9 A.M.
Have said good-bye to Star and April as they turned south toward the Pentagon and I do not think chaining myself to the front door would help my chances of becoming a special agent.
My head feels very bad. Last night I drank three cups full of brandy and threw up when April came back into the tepee with a firefly. I lay there unable to move, watching the little light fly around above my head. Wanted to tell April that I was a virgin but could not seem to make my mouth move. Then the ground began to spin around in circles and I think I began to cry. Am not sure, but I think April held my head in her lap. I seem to remember opening my eyes and seeing breasts spinning around the tepee. When I woke this morning Star and April were in the van eating Rice Krispies and chaining themselves to the van's door handle. I told them that I thought it was time for me to head home and April said she wanted to give me something before I left and took me by the hand into the tepee. She then gave me a tiny pyramid and told me to keep it near me anytime I make love. Then we kissed and she pressed my face into her breasts, where I would have stayed all day if she hadn't let go. It is just a suspicion, but I think April knew that I had never had sex.
July 31, 3 P.M.
The following is a conversation with an Allen K. Boyle, who picked Dale up outside of Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania.
DALE: Speak right into there.
ALLEN: The sun is dying. I travel all over this state and not one person realizes that the sun is dying and that time as we know it is coming to an end, everything we do is of no importance, and not one person seems to want to do a goddamn thing about it. Art, books, television, religion - none of it matters. What we need to start doing is planning to live without our bodies once the sun craps out on us. But no one wants to talk about it. I've got a plan, but no one wants to listen. They would rather just walk around and pretend the sun is going to come up tomorrow just like it did today. And where do you think all those people are going to be when Mr. Sun doesn't come up? In trouble, that's where they are going to be, but not me. Not Allen K. Boyle. I got a plan. . . .
DALE: What do you do?
ALLEN: I sell men's hairpieces. Notice I don't use the word wig.
July 31, 8 P.M.
Camped outside of Reading, Pennsylvania, Dale met a man named Sparks.
DALE: Talk into this.
SPARKS: You're making some kind of a record, aren't ya? Goddamn, goddamn. Ya know, I was a Boy Scout. Goddamn right I was. That was a long time ago. . . . I'm forty-nine, be fifty next, goddamn right, if I don't git killed by a goddamn train or thief. . . . What do ya want me to say? Got sunk on two goddamn boats in the war. One right after the other. Ain't had a good job since. No goddamn way.
Had one wife till she got sick of me and threw me out. Don't blame her. I've been a shit most of my life. She had a kid. Don't even know its name, though I saw it once when I needed some money. It was riding around in circles on a red bicycle. Don't remember if it was a boy or a girl. Never did get any money. Think it was a girl. Just move on all the time, all the time. Don't blame no one. No sir. I ain't got noth'n' else to say.
August 1, 9 P.M.
Arrived home this afternoon. Am glad to be back in my room. Mom made smothered chicken and mashed potatoes, and said if I ever did anything foolish like this again, she would beat me within an inch of my life. Dad just seemed to sit and watch me at dinner, then afterward asked me if I saw anything interesting. I said I thought I had. He said good, then grounded me for a week. The moon landing seems to have had quite an effect on him, has an idea that he thinks will make a lot of money, printing maps of the moon. Good to be home. Nothing on the news about the Pentagon. The sun is expected to rise at 6:55. Have glued the pyramid above the bed on the ceiling. Good-bye, April.
__ Chapter __
4
|
"I remember that Dale had this rock glued on the ceiling above his
bed. Something to do with sex or magnetic fields or something. I
don't think it helped in either way. Came unglued once and he had
this big bump on his forehead. Went around for a week wearing a
hat.
"It was in the fall of '69 that his mother started having these terrible dreams. I remember because we were camping out back one time and we woke up, hearing his mother screaming. Dale knew something was wrong before anyone else did. I don't know how, but I remember him telling me one night that something was going to happen. And it did." |
|
Carl Engler
Friend Electrician |
November 1, 7 P.M.
Have felt for a while that something was wrong. Do not know what. Mom had another dream last night. She said that he almost got in the door. Dad has been very busy printing maps of the moon. I asked him about the dreams and he said it was something I probably understood better than he did. I don't, and am worried. Mom says that everything is fine, but I know that she is not telling the truth.
November 15, 5 A.M.
St. Joseph's Hospital. Mom went to bed early last night after dinner. She seemed fine, told me to finish my civics homework and then went upstairs. At midnight Dad woke me and told me we were going to the hospital, that Mom was unconscious. The doctors said it was a brain aneurysm. They operated to relieve the pressure and now we are just waiting to find out what happens.
Dad said that she had gotten up about eleven-thirty to get a glass of water and take an aspirin. He asked her if she was feeling all right and she said, "Oh, you know." She didn't say anything else, just that. "Oh, you know." I don't understand, and I hate hospitals.
November 15, 6 A.M.
,An aneurysm is a permanent abnormal blood-filled dilatation of a blood vessel resulting from disease of the vessel wall. It isn't that bad.
November 15, 8:20 A.M.
Around seven this morning Mom began to bleed in her brain. The doctors operated again but she stopped breathing at around 7:30. . . . They took her back to her room and we saw her. Her head was wrapped in a bandage. . . . Dad held her hand and whispered something in her ear, then put my hand between his and hers. . . . I need her still, and I don't know what to do. She was just here.
November 16, 3 P.M.
Uncle Al has come to help out. The Schlurmans are helping. The refrigerator is full of ham and chicken that people have brought over. Dad is going to have her cremated. I never finished my civics paper. Marie came over. Started to tell me something about Mom being with God and I told her if she said one more word I'd knock her goddamn teeth out. I want to get out of here.
November 17, 10 P.M.
There was a service today. Everyone said good-bye. A Unitarian minister said something about the spirit living on. I don't think he had any idea what he was talking about. Many people came over to the house afterward, drank punch and ate Jell-O salad and ham. Tomorrow Dad and I will take her ashes north of Philadelphia to a small river where they went to before I was born.
I wish my brother Emmet could come, but if he crosses the border he will be arrested. Dad talked to Emmet on the phone and told him he understood why he couldn't come back. I wish I understood. Bradley said Emmet was a coward and that was why he was in Canada. I smacked Bradley . . . I wonder if he's right, though.
November 18, 6 P.M.
Mom is on her way to the ocean. Small grayish pebbles. We each took a handful and tossed them into the water. They sank and then the current started to take them along, bouncing across the bottom. Saw a small perch eat one and then spit it out. A crayfish picked up another one in its claw and walked away with it into the deep water.
For a long time we just stood and watched and listened to the water. Then Dad said that in a few weeks ice will start to form on the banks, and in a month or so after that, the stream will freeze all the way across, and if we stood in the same place then, we wouldn't hear a whisper.
No tapes exist for the remainder of 1969.
February 25, 1970, 8 P.M.
Have not talked for a very long time. Didn't seem to be much point. Mom has been gone for over three months now. Don't know what Dad would have done without the moon map business. He talks of little else but the moon now. Spends each night before going to bed on the roof with a telescope looking into the sky, drawing pictures of craters.
I feel different now. Nothing seems to be the same as it was before she died. Not my friends, not the neighborhood, school, anything. I would very much like to go away where no one knows who I am or anything about me.
April 19, 7 P.M.
Turned sixteen. Dad gave me some aftershave. Marie came by and gave me a card with a dog on it. Something must happen soon or I will go crazy.
April 20, 9 P.M.
Dad has found and named a new crater on the moon. He seems very happy.
April 21, 4 P.M.
Sat down in English class today and Mrs. Peale introduced our new student teacher, Miss Larken. It was April. Her hair was back in a ponytail. Her breasts were in the same place as I last left them. We saw each other after class and I asked her how Star was and she said that they had had a fight at the Pentagon and have not seen each other since. She also suggested that it would be a good idea if the Quakers didn't find out about us meeting each other before, and asked me if I had had any success with the pyramid. Not wanting to give the wrong impression, I said, "Some."
Then she said it was good to see me and that I better be ready to learn because she was a very strict teacher. Our first assignment is to write a sonnet. I told her that I have never liked or understood poetry. She said that she would do her best to change that, then she walked away. I believe I have rounded a corner.
April 23, 8 P.M.
In English today April told the class that poetry was much more than what we have ever thought it to be. She then read a D. H. Lawrence poem, "Gloire de Dijon," to the class, and kept her eyes on me the whole time. Unfortunately, I only remember the last few lines:
|
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts Sway like full-blown yellow Gloire de Dijon roses. |
Had an erection throughout Mr. Hord's early American history class.
May 2, 11 P.M.
Have finished my first poem. Am seeking a balance between the erotic and the sublime.
|
Alone in a tepee full of breasts hovering above him like angels He dreams of fireflies and pyramids and stars sleeping on rocks. |
Think this does the trick.
May 3, 4 P.M.
April suggested that poetry may not be my field of expertise.
May 17, 6 P.M.
The end of the year is fast approaching. Believe my chances of ever being alone with April again are slipping away. She gave me a D on my middterm exam. Am beginning to believe that she is only interested in sleeping with dead poets.
May 25, 3 A.M.
Just awoke from a dream where I was visited by Mom. She was not the same as I remember her. She seemed to be younger, barely a woman. Her face was smooth and pale, her hair was long and fell onto her shoulders. She was trying to tell me something, but I was not able to hear her. She reached out, touched my hand, and then was gone.
I woke to find myself clutching a small gold ring in my hand. I do not know where it came from, and am sure it was not there when I went to sleep. I believe she was here, and at the same time I cannot believe it. These things do not happen, there is an explanation for this as there must be for everything. The ring is now locked in the drawer of my desk. Mom is dead, and it was only a dream. I will not believe this.
May 25, 7 A.M.
The ring fits on my small finger as if it was made for it. However, it will remain in the desk until I remember where it came from.
May 26, 9 P.M.
Found an old photograph in an album of Mom when she was a teenager. On her finger was the ring I found in my hand the other night. I asked Dad about it and he said that when they were first dating he remembers Mom wearing it. That it had been her father's and that her mother had given it to her when he died.
I asked Dad what happened to the ring and he said that he had not seen it for years, that she had stopped wearing it when they got married. I do not know what to think.
June 3, 5 P.M.
Told April today that I must talk to her about something that was troubling me. She told me to come to her apartment. Am due there in one hour. Have drunk seven cups of coffee. Feel somewhat sick to my stomach. Am trying very hard not to think about raspberry brandy.
June 3, 5:30 P.M.
Started to yawn one time after another. Drank three more cups of coffee to perk me up. Feel like my feet want to crawl out of my ears.
June 3, 11:30 P.M.
Arrived at April's apartment several minutes early, so I began counting cracks in the sidewalk. Was up to 207 when April leaned out of the window and asked me what I was doing. I said that I was counting cracks in the sidewalk. She asked why. I said that I was not sure, that I was not sure of anything anymore. Then before I could stop myself I said that if she preferred that I remain outside, and talk through the window, that was all right with me. She then came downstairs and opened the door and invited me in. I told her that I thought there were more than 207 cracks in her sidewalk, but that was as far as I'd gotten, but if she wanted a complete count, I would be glad to finish. She said thanks, but that it was not necessary. I said fine, and she said fine. And then we went inside and she closed the door.
The apartment was small: a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen with a small eating area. We sat down in the living room around a small table and she looked me in the eye and asked me what I wanted. I told her about the dream, and the ring. And that I thought she was the only person who could help me find the answer. She looked at me for a long moment, then got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of wine and Mr. Hord, the American history teacher, who had been cutting up cheese. "You have an interesting problem," said Mr. Hord.
I told April how Mrs. Laudner had tripped on a crack in the sidewalk in front of her house, smashing her nose flat against her cheek, and now always looks like she's walking sideways. A few minutes later I left after Mr. Hord talked about how George Washington's wooden teeth disappeared after his death and then mysteriously were found thirty years later under his bed by a maid looking for loose change.
I still have no answers, and apparently little chance with April, who suggested that maybe someone closer to my own age could be of more help.
June 10, 5 P.M.
The school year is over. The summer is ahead. Dad very busy all the time with moon maps. Saw April one last time before she and Mr. Hord left for a commune in Colorado. She wished me luck, then gave me a C in English. Believe I will accelerate my studies so I can graduate early and get the hell out of here.
July 1, 11 A.M.
Just learned that Dad has agreed to go on a trip with the Schlurmans up to the Poconos. Have examined various ways to get out of it but all seems bleak at the moment. He's packed the Scrabble game. Marie has packed her Bible. I am doomed.
July 4, 3 P.M.
Have arrived at Promised Land Lake. The Schlurmans are slowly turning around in circles in a rowboat. Dad is asleep on the couch on the porch. Believe Marie is out trying to convert the creatures of the forest to Christianity. A cookout, sack races, and fireworks are planned for later. This is more than I ever dreamed of.
July 4, 4 P.M.
Marie lies on the swimming float in her bathing suit, reading a waterproof Bible. Observed her for some time when she was swimming from underwater with my mask and snorkel. Very much wanted to grab her legs from below and pull her into the mud.
July 4, 7 P.M.
Finished the cookout and are now waiting for the fireworks. Noticed that as Marie was skewering her hotdog she kept glancing at me as she slowly slid the stick through the wiener. This must be my imagination. I have been in the wilderness too long.
July 5, 1 A.M.
The following record is as close to fact as I am able to remember at this time:
At approximately 9 P.M. the Schlurmans and Dad boarded a rowboat and headed to sea to watch the fireworks. I was preparing to cast off another when I heard Marie say, "Us kids will stay ashore." I looked around and quickly realized that there was no "us," just Marie and me. The folks waved and drifted out. I looked at Marie. She looked at me and then ran into the woods.
There are those within the scouting world who say that the skill of tracking has outlived its time. I disagree. The ability to follow a trail is fundamental to understanding the world.
Marie's trail was clear in both direction and intent. Fifty yards into the woods I picked up the first trace. Her shirt, hanging on a tree. The first bottle rocket exploded somewhere to the south. Twenty-five yards farther on another sign-her bermuda shorts. I quickened my pace. A shoe was next, then another. From the lake I could hear the first oohs and aahs as a cluster rocket exploded. On a branch ahead hung a small white sock with daisies on it. I gathered it up, and moved cautiously on around a large tree, under a deadfall, into a small clearing. Marie rose up out of the grass, unhooked her bra, and slid it down off her arms. Although I do not actually remember doing it, at that time I apparently removed my clothes. We then stood inches apart, her breasts touching my chest.
"Do you believe in God?" asked Marie.
I said I most certainly did. She smiled, kissed my chest, then slid her tongue all the way down to my penis and took it into her mouth.
The explosion that followed was unlike any I have ever experienced before. The rocket landed within thirty yards and exploded with a concussion that knocked me over. Then smaller clusters began exploding and streaming into the air. I believe at that point Marie stopped sucking and began screaming. I pulled her down and shielded her as best I could from the missiles landing around us. It was with only the greatest of luck that we did not suffer a direct hit. They landed to the left of us, the right of us, above us in the trees. And then it was quiet. I told Marie that it was all right, that we were safe. She sat up, looked at me, wiped away a tear, then emitted a scream of such a high pitch as to render it almost inaudible, and ran off into the night.
Few forces in nature are as frightening as fire. Particularly when one is naked. The battle that followed lasted for almost an hour. What is left of my pants could hardly make a handkerchief. The hope that Marie had run off to get help was a false one. With only my clothes as weapons, the fire and I fought a running battle up and down the clearing from one hot spot to another. I lost my shirt to a small spruce, Marie's to a blueberry bush, and most of my pants to a large clump of grass. Believe Marie's socks and bra were also victims because I was not able to locate them after the flames were out.
I left Marie's blackened tennis shoes outside of the Schlurmans' cabin. Dad took one look at me when I returned and asked me what happened to my pants.
"Wildfire," I replied. He nodded, thought for a moment, then we both agreed that fire was a very dangerous thing and not to be taken lightly.
July 5, 11 A.M.
Saw Marie this morning. She thanked me for saving her tennis shoes, and said that she was sorry that I was going back to the city. She then swam out to the float and began reading her Bible.
I lied last night. I do not believe in God, at least one who isn't actively working against me.
July 12, 9 P.M.
Finished last requirement for Eagle Scout status by giving a five-minute speech on fire safety and prevention. The scoutmaster said I brought an excitement and realism to the subject that he had rarely heard.
July 14, 11 P.M.
Received news today that Marie drowned this morning at Promised Land Lake. She apparently hit her head while diving off the swimming platform. She was alone at the time, so there was no one there to know she was in trouble. When they found her it was too late.
I do not believe in goodness in the world anymore. What is good either dies or is killed. I know that if I had been there, I could have saved her. I also know that does not matter and that wanting something to be different will not make it so. Marie is dead, and I feel empty and sad.
"Thanks for saving my sneakers" was the last thing I will ever hear her say.
"Sure thing" I said back to her.
I want to remember it having been better than that. I want to remember saying all the things I had never said and wanted to say to every person I had ever known. "Don't forget your civics homework."
"Thanks for saving my sneakers."
Moments of silence.
Sure thing.
July 17, 10 P.M.
They buried Marie today in a bright silver coffin. There were large white clouds in the sky. She would have liked that.
July 20, 1 A.M.
Do not see the meaning of it.
August 2, 4 A.M.
Cannot sleep, cannot sleep, cannot sleep.
August 15, 3 A.M.
Talked with Dad for much of the night. Both agreed that change is needed, or I will lose my marbles. Dad always seems to find the right words. Told him that I feel very guilty because I was not in love with Marie and that she might be alive if I had been. He said that the only way love ever affected death was in making it more painful. He then told me the French farmer that they had killed during the war was not a collaborator, and that the villagers who told them that just owed him money. We both sat for a very long time without saying a word. Then he told me that we all fail, and that we would again and again, and that was just the way it was.
September 11, 9 A.M.
Have completed all necessary requirements for graduation from school. Dad has given me a thousand dollars, saying that it would give me a good start. Do not know where it is that I'm going or for how long. All I know is that I do not believe in anything anymore and that I must find something to believe in or I will cease to be. I know that there are people, there must be people in the world who do have answers.
Dad said that no matter where I go there are two things that I must watch out for. Bad water, and snakes. I promised that I would be very careful in both of these areas. We then hugged each other for a very long time, and he left for work to print more moon maps. I hope he will be well when I'm away.
Have decided not to take along the tape recorder, it would not be practical, and I do not feel the need of its companionship, if that is what it has provided for the last several years. Will stop on the way out of town at Marie's grave to leave a note and the small glass pyramid April gave me. Have also made some calculations. Expect that by the time I cross my first ocean, the lightest of Mom's ashes will be drifting out to sea.
A strange thing happened last night. I woke to find her ring back on my finger. That is where it will stay.
Several seconds of silence.
This is me, Dale Cooper.
__ Part __
2
__ Chapter __
1
On September 10, 1970, Dale tested out of the remaining requirements for graduation from school. On the eleventh he made one more recording, then stepped into a bus on Germantown Road, and was not seen for three years. The following letters are the only clues as to his whereabouts for those years.
January 1, 1971
|
Dear Dad,
Water bad, have seen no snakes. Health sound. Moon very bright. Would like very much to eat some good chocolate. Hope you are well. |
|
Love, Dale |
January 1, 1972
|
Dear Dad,
Snakes very bad. Water good. Saw some nice rocks. Need a good ship. |
|
Love, Dale |
January 1, 1973
| Stopped looking. |
| Dale |
__ Part __
3
__ Chapter __
1
|
"It was the spring of '73 when I saw Dale again. I had just bought a
Dodge Charger, midnight blue with a silver racing stripe, was
stopped at a red light, and there he was. Standing on a corner of
Germantown Road, in a black suit. I could tell right away that this
was not the same Dale I had seen three years earlier. He seemed
older, stronger, and his eyes had an intensity I had never seen
before. I remember asking him how the trip had been, and all he said
was "Damn good." I don't know what it was that he saw or did out
there, but it was obviously a very powerful experience. I can only
imagine that it was somewhat like the car accident that started me
on the road to the ministry."
|
|
Bradley Schlurman
Best friend Minister |
April 19, 1973, 9 P.M.
The moon map business seems to have taken a downward plunge. Dad otherwise seems well. Will make no attempt to record the events of the last three years, other than to say the whole universe is one bright pearl, and there is no need to understand it.
Have noted the following changes have taken place while I've been away. Heels on shoes are larger. Tempers shorter. Awnings seem to be declining in popularity. Trust and elm trees are disappearing. And J. Edgar Hoover is dead. Do not know whether any or all of these events are related.
Am not sure of the direction my life will take at this juncture. I am sure of nothing except that to believe you know where you are headed is not to understand where one is at the moment. Saying that, there are several things I am interested in. The circus, puzzles, and sex.
May 7, 7 P.M.
Have taken the SAT test in preparation for college should I find myself there instead of the circus. Believe both offer great opportunities to explore my stated interests. Noted several inaccuracies in the verbal portion of test and have passed these along to testing officials.
I know that it had been my intention for many years to enter into the service of the FBI. I must admit that my experience of the past several years does not lend itself to the belief that good can or will defeat evil. This is not a pessimistic view, but simply an observation of facts as I have experienced them.
May 20, 7 P.M.
Have received test scores back. Believe the concentration techniques that I learned on my travels did do some good. Scored 800 in both English and math. I find the need for testing in this manner to be of little use in truly evaluating an individual. A truer test, I believe, is the challenge of emptying a mind. A good leap from a bamboo tower with a vine tied around your ankles would go a long way in filling our colleges with a better caliber of students.
May 30, 11 P.M.
Have decided to seek employment for the summer. Have compiled a list of skills that I believe will be useful in acquiring needed funds.
- Fire building
- Map reading
- Walking
- Knife throwing
- Chanting
- Breath control
- Bread baking
- Juggling
- Rice planting
- Sitting in small dark rooms
June 10, 9 P.M.
Have gotten a job digging holes for trees to be planted in. Could not be happier. Dug eighteen very good holes today. My digging partner is a man of about fifty who I believe was once incarcerated in prison from the look of a tattoo he has on a forearm. He is black, from the South, and walks with a slight Iimp, but that is all I know of him at this time. We dug together for eight hours and didn't exchange one word. I believe there is much to learn from this man.
June 12, 8 P.M.
Note that my knife-throwing skills have eroded to a less than satisfactory level. Lost several dollars in a test of skill to my digging partner, who I now know as Jim. He hit the mark ten out of ten times, whereas I missed on my tenth throw, splitting the toe of my boot. Jim said that I wasn't seeing the target. I asked him if he practiced Zen, and he said that all he practiced was staying alive.
June 18, 1 A.M.
Accompanied Jim to his room in a run-down section of downtown tonight. In the many places I have seen, never have I walked into one single room and seen such a sight. The room was. small, maybe ten by twelve. It had a bed, a chair, but no other furniture. A single bare light bulb hung from the wall. It was full - floor to ceiling - of boxes of paper that Jim said he had been writing on for twenty years. He called it his remembrances. No one had ever seen this before. He said that I was the first. "Just so someone would know, someone who would remember." Then he told me that I dug a good hole and that I should get out of here before someone started thinking something was going on.
On the bus ride back to home the meaning of the visit to his room became apparent to me. By the time I was able to catch another bus back downtown, already too much time had passed. The firemen were just mopping up. Jim's room and several of the surrounding ones were gone. The firemen said the place went up like a torch. There was little they could do but stop it from spreading to the entire building. Jim's body was not found in the room, and no one saw him leave the building. The firemen suspect that the heat was so intense from all the paper that only a forensic examination of the room will turn up any remains.
I do not believe they will find any. As I stood watching the firemen wrap up their hoses, the shadow of a man became faintly visible for an instant in an alley across the street. I then detected what I thought to be the muffled sound of crying. I moved through the crowd toward the alley and soon realized as I drew closer and closer that it was not crying at all, but laughter. When I reached the alley it was empty. I called out, searched up and down to no avail. All that was there was a freshly sharpened pencil where the laughter had come from. A message, I suspect.
July 1, 7 P.M.
Have been rejected by a small traveling circus that I sent a letter of introduction to. The owner of the circus pointed out that anyone who would write a letter seeking employment from a circus was probably not the kind of person they were looking for. He also said that he was plumb full of knife throwers already and was only looking for a bearded lady at the moment. I have therefore accepted an offer to attend Haverford College just outside of Philadelphia.
I should note that I have been greatly disappointed in the amount of sex I have been encountering since my return. Do not seem to meet many women while digging holes. And my tendencies toward quiet meditation do not foster contact with the opposite sex. Wonder if attending an all-male college is a mistake.
July 6, 8 A.M.
Dad woke up this morning and decided we were going to take a trip together before I went off to school. I pointed out that the school was only several miles away. We leave this morning for Mt. Rushmore. This brings to a close my career as a hole digger. Good honest work. However, it has not been the same since Jim disappeared into the night.
July 9, 1 P.M.
Dad went on at some length that Lincoln would not have wanted to be remembered as a large piece of granite hanging on the side of a mountain with rain dripping off his nose.
July 9, 10 P.M.
Am camped in Custer State Park. Dad has turned in and is sound asleep in the tent. Discovered the real reason that Dad wanted to make this trip. Found him standing in front of the map of the presidents' faces booth holding a sign reading GIVE IT BACK TO THE SIOUX, arguing with a retired couple from Indiana who were threatening to hit him with their cameras. After several minutes of sometimes heated discussion, I persuaded him to attempt another form of protest that would result in less chance of bodily injury. Have always known Dad was a bit of a free thinker, but this is a new form of expression that I have not witnessed before.
As a compromise we found a secluded stop sign and sawed it in half. He seemed much more relaxed after that and had a very good time roasting marshmallows over the fire and talking ethics. Tomorrow we head back home and I will make a point not to pass by any large monuments. Have never broken the law with Dad before. In a strange way it was terribly satisfying. I do, however, worry that without Mom at his side, his interests may lead him into trouble.
July 15, 11 P.M.
Have arrived back home without incident. Dad seems happy to be back at the shop. In fact, upon return found an order to print calendars for the National Park Service had been received. The world is a very strange place.
August 21, 11 P.M.
Traveled to Haverford today. Passed on the orientation tour and instead delivered a copy of curriculum improvements to the president that I felt would help the school. He seemed cooperative and someone that I could work with. Expect it to be a fruitful relationship.
Witnessed something called a pep rally. A large group of students chanting "Kill, Quakers, kill, kill, Quakers, kill" as the football team was introduced. While another group of students was chanting "Kill Nixon, kill Nixon." Do not remember anything like this in my religion classes. Have accepted a suite in one of the dorms on campus. Both the college officials and I felt that my experience would lend itself to leadership. I will soon be in charge of an entire floor of eighteen-year-olds.
September 12, 10 A.M.
Packed and headed off for the new apartment. Dad gave me a new tape recorder that is the size of a notebook and uses cassettes of tape rather than reels. He told me to work hard and not believe a damn thing anyone tells me.
September 15, 6 A.M.
Do not believe that the majority of students on my floor are interested in a higher level of consciousness unless it is aided by chemicals of one form or another. Appears from the silence that none dominates the floor, and that the last can of beer has finally been consumed. While I have experienced a number of mind-altering fungi and natural fauna used by what we refer to as primitive cultures, never have I witnessed a tribal display of debauchery that could hold a candle to a large group of of eighteen-year-old Americans away from home for the first time.
My attempts at reason and quiet diplomacy fell on deaf ears as they began to wrap themselves in toilet paper from head to foot and chant "We want women." I retreated to the relative quiet of my room and read the writing of a monk who lived alone on a mountaintop for thirty-seven years in search of a deeper understanding of the world. His main conclusion, when he came down, was that you can see very far on top of a mountain unless it is cloudy. Imprisoned for his radical ideas, he died several years later in jail. The only writing from this time period that survived is the line: "There are no clouds in a prison."
Believe I will make a trip down the street to the women's college, Bryn Mawr, in the hope of making contact with thinking human beings.
September 16, 9 A.M.
Am suffering from the worst case of post-alcohol abuse I have ever experienced. Made contact with a group of Bryn Mawr students at the student union. We entered into a wide-ranging conversation that drifted through several bottles of tequila, rum and Coke, beer, bourbon, and a mixture one of the women made herself from common household chemicals. While the company was, without a doubt, on a much higher intellectual level than that of the students sharing my building, I was not prepared for the fact that women as a general rule are wild savages. At least those that are studying philosophy. Believe I may also have taken quite a liking to a junior who was studying either comparative literature or law. Do not remember her name, or even if I would recognize her if I saw her again. Believe she was either blond or red-haired. Will try to return to Bryn Mawr when my legs begin to work.
September 25, 9 P.M.
Have tested out of the classes I had signed up for and have arranged to study independently on related projects. In general I find the professors to be of high quality though many seem to suffer from a malaise of an undetermined nature. Have as yet failed to find the woman I may have met on my night at Bryn Mawr. Firmly believe that she does exist and is not a product of sexual frustration on my part.
Called Dad this morning and all seems well. Is doing a brisk business in "imprison Nixon" posters. Will have lunch with him this weekend.
September 26, 3 A.M.
Woke from a dream. I was sitting in a darkened room. There was a door with light coming through a crack. On the outside I could hear voices. One, I thought, was my mother's. The other was indistinct. I believe it was death. She was attempting to open the door and walk back into the room. The door handle began to turn. I heard her call my name and I realized that it was not my mother but Marie. I heard her say "Please, I'm not ready," then her voice grew fainter and fainter until it was gone. I wish Marie was at peace, but I do not think she is at this time, and I wonder what it is that she knows that those in the physical world can never understand.
October 20, 5 P.M.
Returned to Bryn Mawr today in search of the woman I'm sure I have met. Sat for more than an hour in the union to no avail, was on my way back to Haverford when I was passing an athletic field and was struck on the back of the head by a field hockey ball. I then seemed either to have lost consciousness for a brief moment or was a sign painter in a small Mexican village. Upon waking I found myself staring at a vision of beauty in a plaid skirt, holding a very large wooden club. I believe I told her that I was in love with her or else I had slipped back into the Mexican village and was yelling at a dog who had spilled my paint. Her name is Andy, her eyes are blue, her hair red, and I apparently did not tell her that I was in love with her because she apologized for spilling my paint. We talked for a short time after locating some ice for my head, and decided that we would meet at the homecoming bonfire tomorrow night. She then returned to the field hockey game, where she moved with the grace of a dancer and delivered a cracker-jack body check to an opposing forward.
October 21, 8 P.M.
The stacks of wood for the bonfire stand some fifteen feet tall. All around stand students, many who appear to be lovers holding hands and staring into the torches that are poised to light the blaze. All proper safety precautions seem to have been taken. Am somewhat nervous about meeting a woman anywhere near or in the proximity of fire, given my past history. The torches have been put to the wood. The smoke and flames are beginning to rise. Detect a distinct sense of urgency in the air . . . no, make that frenzy. I hope she . . .
October 22, 5:30 A.M.
The sun is rising like a soft, warm orange in the eastern sky. While it may at first appear to be no different from the countless sunrises that have welcomed each day for a millennium, I am sure there has never been one of this intensity before. Andy walked into the circle of light thrown out by the fire just as the first flames were reaching the crown of the bonfire. The words we exchanged were few. I told her how I had walked barefoot across a bed of burning embers in a very faraway and distant culture. She told me her father was a fireman. We kissed by the fire for many minutes. Then as if our minds were the same, we got up and walked out of the circle of light into the darkness.
I do not know where it was that we made love. We ran into the darkness away from the flames. I believe the sound of running water could be heard. We reached a spot shaded from the moon by several large trees. We kissed. Our clothes seemed to fall away without the slightest touch. We lay in tall grass that seemed to wrap around us, covering our bodies like snakes. Her body moved and swayed next to mine as though we had been together for more years than either of us had lived. A stick jabbed my right buttock, causing a momentary halt so Andy could apply some firm pressure to stop the bleeding.
We then continued, exploring every part of each other until the moment that I slid inside her. My mind turned to dolphins slipping in and out of the surface of the ocean as we swayed and rolled together. At that point I realized we had moved down a small embankment and into a small body of water. Andy then began to scream "Yes! Yes! Yes!" with a conviction of purpose and vocal power that I have never witnessed. I don't remember much of anything after that except that I was sure I understood what it was like to break the sound barrier.
We lay for many minutes clutching each other in the shallow water before I realized that the lights I saw reflecting on the water's surface were not the stars, but tiki lamps illuminating the Haverford and Bryn Mawr faculty barbecue celebrating the joining of our two schools on this special evening.
We then with some difficulty managed to evade several curious members of the physical education department who had come to the water's edge, thinking that someone was drowning. We quickly dressed, then Andy informed me that this very morning she was leaving for an exchange trip to Holland and said she would look me up when she finished studying dike construction . . . in six months. She told me not to follow her because she was meeting her husband at the airport. I do not claim or pretend to understand the world. The sun comes up. The sun goes down. That is all that appears certain from where I sit at the moment.
November 2, 7 P.M.
A chemistry student today walked into the president's office and said he had made a bomb and that he was going to blow the "whole fucking building to pieces and take the president with him." As luck would have it, he is one of my students at the dorm whom I had developed a working relationship with when he had tried to restructure the dorm into Communist cells that would strike out at imperialism across the campus. The plan petered out when he was unable to find any.
Hoping to contain the situation without resorting to the use of local law enforcement officers, the president summoned several members of the psychology department, myself, and a prominent member of the Quaker community.
The student's demands were simple. The prosecution of Nixon, and an incomplete instead of the failing grade he received on a midterm exam in semantics. The psychology department sent its people in first. The bomb went off a few moments later. The exact relationship between the two events is somewhat clouded by the confusion that followed the blast. They appeared to have gone like this:
Upon entering the president's office, the two professors jumped the student and wrestled him to the floor. This action set off the explosive. The student is now hospitalized, as are the two members of the faculty.
This is a clear example that the use of force in conflict resolution must be tried only when all other options have been exhausted. It is also an example of how too much education can be a dangerous thing.
November 5, 11 P.M.
Received a postcard from Holland of a breach in a dike. Never would have suspected that a picture of muddy water flowing through a large earthworm could elicit such strong emotions. Miss Andy a great deal. Realize that her marriage would make further contact complicated, yet I still find myself thinking about her almost constantly. Find that I am slipping into a feeling of loneliness that I have not experienced since Marie's death. Alcohol seems to relieve this solitary feeling yet I know that is no answer to the way that I feel. A solution must be found. Although I find myself at a loss as to where I should begin. It is a terrible thing to want something that you know you cannot have.
November 7, 8 P.M.
Traveled home to visit Dad in hopes of picking up my spirits. Found him having lunch with a much younger woman who is a potter and had mud under all her fingernails. Notice that Dad has also begun wearing sandals. It is only a suspicion, but I believe they may be sleeping together.
Far from improving my spirits, this sent me into a dark depression that I still find myself in. I know that I should be happy for my father, and indeed am. But the events only pointed out even more clearly to me that I have for most of my life been a loner, and unless drastic changes occur will remain one.
November 7, 10 P.M.
Am going with Howard, a geology student down the hall, in search of mature and fully formed formations to a local bar. He says I need to get laid in the worst way. Can't imagine what he thinks the worst way to get laid is, but anything is better than sitting in my room.
November 7, 11:30 P.M.
From the look of the woman I last saw Howard with, I have every reason to believe that getting laid in the worst way is exactly what he is in for. I am now on my way back to campus alone, but at least disease free, which is something I suspect Howard will soon envy.
For the last several blocks I have been shadowing a man whose actions I believe are criminal in intent. His movements have been those of a predator. At this point I do not believe he is aware of my presence and will continue my surveillance until such a time that it appears unnecessary.
Several seconds of silence.
Dammit, dammit, I've lost him.
The exact time of the next entry is unclear.
Oh, God . . . oh, dear God . . . no . . . no . . . no.
__ Chapter __
2
|
"I wasn't with Dale when he found the body. We had gone to a bar,
and I had ended up going home with a woman. From what I
remember, Dale had been walking home and started following a
man that he thought suspicious. Dale always seemed to have a
second sense about that kind of thing. Never have I met anyone in
my life who could read people the way he did.
"What he found must have been shocking. The newspapers described it as a stabbing. A young woman. But from the way Dale looked the next morning, I believe it must have been much worse than that. They never solved it. No arrests were ever made. A fact that I do not think was lost on Dale." |
|
Howard Teller
College friend |
November 8, 5 A.M.
Have not slept all night. The face of the young woman lying in a pool of blood will not let me. The possibility that I may remember something of use to the authorities forces me to reexamine the scene as closely as I can remember it, though I do this with great reluctance. At approximately eleven-thirty I lost sight of the man who . . . check that, there is no evidence that it was a man, that is an assumption on my part.
For the next fifteen minutes I continued in what I could best determine to be the direction the figure had taken. I searched several alleys, and traversed a number of streets to no avail. At what I can only estimate to be eleven forty-five I gave up and proceeded home. It was within two minutes of that time that I came across the body of the victim. She was lying facedown, her clothes partially removed. Multiple stab wounds visible over much of her torso. Her face had been badly beaten.
What I felt at that time I now realize was more than terror or shock. I firmly believe that the killer was within striking distance of myself, and could easily have claimed me as his second victim. This is not intuition. The presence of the killer was as real as the shaking in my hand at this moment. I do not understand the dark forces that result in so much brutality. But I now know that it is a real thing. And is out there at this very moment. I must find someone who can help me to understand and fight this. But who?
I began the evening last night looking for the companionship and warmth that so often seem to elude me. I have now slipped even farther into that lonely place I was trying to escape from.
November 20, 1 A.M.
Woke from a terrible dream and found myself staring at Marie sitting on the corner of my bed. It was not a dream, and yet I cannot compel myself to believe that it was real, though I know in my heart it was.
She spoke not a word though her lips seemed to mouth the word stop. I asked her to help me, and moved closer to her.
She shook her head no and disappeared.
The room seems so very hot. I fear I am losing my mind.
Times of the next entries are again not clear.
I am . . . no. Falling, falling, no, no, don't touch her don't touch her . . . Marie? No! Look out! Falling, falling, no! No! The ground! The ground! Coming, coming coming coming.
November 22, 3 P.M.
Woke screaming from a terrible dream and found the gentle hands of a nurse caressing my forehead. I am in the school infirmary, and am told I have been delirious with fever for almost two days. Was found by Howard, screaming in my bed at demons I can now only imagine. I am very tired and want to sleep . . . just sleep.
November 22, 7 P.M.
The gentle face of a nurse is as sure a remedy to infection as the strongest antibiotics. I do not know her name, but if angels do exist, she must be one.
November 23, 5 P.M.
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