“Speaking of Courage” War was over—nowhere in particular to go Norman Bowker—took out his dad’s car that summer. His town , the pretty houses, and the lake didn’t change. Lake—town’s first cause of existence (formed by a glacier) and where back in high school he would talk with his friends about “God and theories of causation” After the war--many of the girls Bowker knew were married, Sally got married and bought a house, Max drowned in the lake Bowker kept driving around the 7 mile lake for 3 hours—he didn’t stop and talk to Sally. (Remember—he’s experienced war while she had lived in civilian life.) Sun dipped down—Bowker could still tell time without clocks. He thinks about stopping to see Sally and to tell her about his time telling trick. He wanted to ask her what it was like to be married and tell her that he almost won a Silver Star for valor. He wanted to tell his father he almost won the Silver Star—he won 7 other medals. His father is watching baseball. He imagines talking to him, but doesn’t get around to talking to him. Bowker knew he would have to tell his father why he didn’t win the Silver Star. Bowker imagines telling his father about the Song of Tra Bong, it’s overflowing banks, the muck, constant rain. He imagines telling his father about one night he wasn’t brave. He couldn’t take the smell. Bowker kept driving. He said everything seemed dead. “Through the windows, as if in a stopmotion photograph, the place looked as if it had been hit by nerve gas, everything still and lifeless, even the people. The town could not talk, and would not listen. ‘How’d you like to hear about the war?’ he might have asked, but the place could only blink and shrug. It had no memory, therefore no guilt.” July 4th—Bowker asks workmen if they want to hear about the Silver Star he almost won. None of the workmen looked up. He would have told about the constant rain and swampy grounds. The Vietnamese women (mama-sans) ran out and started yelling. They were attempting to tell the soldiers that they shouldn’t set up camp in that spot. Bowker couldn’t take the smell—it was the village toilet (He imagines telling Sally this and how she would correct his foul language when he talked about the sewage.) Bowker kept driving—past the beach, A&W stand, by houses, parks, past two little boys again, water-skiers, woman in pedal pushers, workmen who were setting up fireworks. “Courage was not always a matter of yes or no. Sometimes it came in degrees, like the cold; sometimes you were brave up to a point and then beyond that point you were not so brave. In certain situations you could do incredible things, you could advance toward enemy fire, but in other situations, which were not nearly so bad, you had trouble keeping your eyes open.” Bowker remembers the war—Kiowa screaming in the dark. He heard rounds being shot. All he could do was watch—Kiowa was being sucked into the muck. He attempted to save Kiowa, but he kept sinking into the sewage. He let Kiowa go because he was ingesting sewage—it was in his mouth and nose. Bowker had to decide if he wanted to save Kiowa or himself. The only thing he wanted at that moment was a bath. Bowker believes if it wasn’t for the smell he would have won the Sliver Star. Bowker—realizes no one in town wanted to hear his story. Bowker kept driving. “He felt invisible in the soft twilight.” He attempted to order burgers. The waitress tells him he needs to press the button to order (she just carries the trays). His dialogue with the intercom sounds like a radio exchange in war (he says affirmative, copy clear, out). He wanted to tell the intercom operator his war story. He couldn’t talk to anyone else about what happened.