Fear

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 62 of 529 · 20 per page

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  25 Luther himself knew that the event was significant. “I must note the day,” he observed, adding, “yesterday I was sent to school”: It was an experience from which he had to learn his lesson. 26 Luther located the collapse in his “heart.” It resulted in an extreme coldness and ringing in the ears, which the doctors treated by giving him plenty of warmed cushions. Luther distinguished between the bodily illness, which his friends thought very severe, and the attacks of the Devil, which continued for a long time afterward. He certainly expected to die, and summoned his wife and young son. He told them that he had no money except the coins they had been given at their wedding, and commended them both to God, “the judge of the widow.” He had already made his confession to Bugenhagen earlier that day, because he had planned to receive Communion the next day. In line with his beliefs, he did not ask for extreme unction. It is hard to know exactly what these “attacks of the Devil” were. Luther spoke of fearing that he would lose his faith, and yet all his letters radiate certainty, alongside the conviction that those who took a different line from him were led by the Devil. He prayed the seven Penitential Psalms. Always aware of his own sinfulness, this time he worried only that he had been too harsh in his polemic and that he had sometimes used “careless” words—neither very severe sins. 27 He knew he was bitter in polemic, and although he had apologized for this fault at Worms in 1521, he had not really modified his tone. Equally striking was what Luther did not regret. He did not worry about his attack on the papacy, feel guilt about his marriage, or show concern about his conflict with Karlstadt. Rather, he seemed gripped by the fear that he might lose his faith. Thus these Anfechtungen were as serious as anything he had suffered when he was a monk and when he had needed Staupitz’s reassurance; indeed, he would later claim that they were the worst he had ever experienced. He had thought that, once he had passed the first years of marriage unmolested, the temptations had disappeared forever. They clearly had not. Writing to Spalatin a few days later, on July 10, Luther made light of the attack. Spalatin too had been ill, so Luther began by comforting him before turning to his own illness. He had thought he would die, Luther wrote, but God had quickly made him recover. 28 In fact, it took months before he was well again; as late as November he was still complaining that he could not write or work as he usually did because of his illness and Satan’s attacks (although he was actually steadily translating the Old Testament). 29 The attack of 1527 was a major collapse and was followed by periods of extreme exhaustion.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  26 Yet it also demonstrated to the evangelicals how weak and outnumbered they were. Melanchthon wrote in panic that “everyone else hates us most cruelly”; Jonas worried that “[t]he emperor is surrounded by cardinals…they are in his palace every day, and there is a swarm of priests like bees around him, who burn with hatred against us.” 27 The squabble with the Zwinglians temporarily forgotten, the evangelicals now thought only of the papists and what lay in store for them. And indeed, no sooner had the emperor arrived than the struggles over religion began. The very next day, trumpeters processed through the streets of Augsburg to announce a ban on preaching, except by licensed priests; only through negotiation did the Lutherans manage to get preaching by radical Catholics suppressed as well. The blanket ban on preaching did have its upside for the Lutherans, however, as it meant that the Zwinglians too lost their platform. Jonas might have mocked the official preachers, who did little more than read the lessons and give “childish” homilies, not interpreting Scripture; but at least they did not incite the populace. 28 Luther had no trouble agreeing with the Catholics on one subject: The sacramentarians were heretics, and could be punished as such. Because they have separated themselves from us, he wrote, we can have no compunction about cutting them off. Although he did not say so, he seems to have been willing to expose them to the risk of being sent to Rome and burned for their beliefs. Melanchthon now also argued that as public blasphemers, Anabaptists merited the death penalty. 29 In the printed version of the Augsburg confession, no fewer than five clauses condemned them for their refusal to accept the baptism of infants. 30 Melanchthon believed that the sacramentarians should neither be tolerated nor be negotiated with at the Diet. In line with this policy, he at first refused to meet with either Wolfgang Capito or Martin Bucer when they came to the Diet. While Zwingli produced a printed pamphlet stating his beliefs, the Fidei ratio, which he wanted to present to the emperor independently, Bucer now wished to make common cause with the Lutherans. He met several when he arrived on June 27, including Johannes Brenz, and in mid-July, under pressure from Philip of Hesse, Melanchthon also met him and agreed to review a letter of compromise Bucer planned to send to Luther.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  For a while I just drove, not aiming at anything, then in the late morning I began looking for a place to lie low for a day or two. I was exhausted, and scared sick, and around noon I pulled into an old fishing resort called the Tip Top Lodge. Actually it was not a lodge at all, just eight or nine tiny yellow cabins clustered on a peninsula that jutted northward into the Rainy River. The place was in sorry shape. There was a dangerous wooden dock, an old minnow tank, a flimsy tar paper boathouse along the shore. The main building, which stood in a cluster of pines on high ground, seemed to lean heavily to one side, like a cripple, the roof sagging toward Canada. Briefly, I thought about turning around, just giving up, but then I got out of the car and walked up to the front porch. The man who opened the door that day is the hero of my life. How do I say this without sounding sappy? Blurt it out—the man saved me. He offered exactly what I needed, without questions, without any words at all. He took me in. He was there at the critical time—a silent, watchful presence. Six days later, when it ended, I was unable to find a proper way to thank him, and I never have, and so, if nothing else, this story represents a small gesture of gratitude twenty years overdue. Even after two decades I can close my eyes and return to that porch at the Tip Top Lodge. I can see the old guy staring at me. Elroy Berdahl: eighty-one years old, skinny and shrunken and mostly bald. He wore a flannel shirt and brown work pants. In one hand, I remember, he carried a green apple, a small paring knife in the other. His eyes had the bluish gray color of a razor blade, the same polished shine, and as he peered up at me I felt a strange sharpness, almost painful, a cutting sensation, as if his gaze were somehow slicing me open. In part, no doubt, it was my own sense of guilt, but even so I'm absolutely certain that the old man took one look and went right to the heart of things—a kid in trouble. When I asked for a room, Elroy made a little clicking sound with his tongue. He nodded, led me out to one of the cabins, and dropped a key in my hand. I remember smiling at him. I also remember wishing I hadn't. The old man shook his head as if to tell me it wasn't worth the bother. "Dinner at five-thirty," he said. "You eat fish?" "Anything," I said. Elroy grunted and said, "I'll bet."

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  "Morty's luck gets all used up," Bowker said. His hand still rested on my knee, very lightly. "A few days later, maybe a week, he feels real dizzy. Pukes a lot, temperature zooms way up. I mean, the guy's sick. Jorgenson says he must've swallowed bad water on that swim. Swallowed a VC virus or something." "Bobby Jorgenson," I said. "Where is he?" "Be cool." "Where's my good buddy Bobby?" Norman Bowker made a short clicking sound with his tongue. "You want to hear this? Yes or no?" "Sure I do." "So listen up, then. Morty gets sick. Like you never seen nobody so bad off. This is real kickass disease, he can't walk or talk, can't fart. Can't nothin’. Like he's paralyzed. Polio, maybe." Henry Dobbins shook his head. "Not polio. You got it wrong." "Maybe polio." "No way," said Dobbins. "Not polio." "Well, hey," Bowker said, "I'm just saying what Jorgenson says. Maybe fuckin' polio. Or that weird elephant disease. Elephantiasshole or whatever.' "Yeah, but not polio." Across the hootch, sitting off by himself, Azar grinned and snapped his fingers. "Either way," he said, "it goes to show you. Don't throw away luck on little stuff. Save it up." "There it 1s," said Mitchell Sanders. "Morty was due," Dave Jensen said. "Overdue," Sanders said. Norman Bowker nodded solemnly. "You don't mess around like that. You just don't fritter away all your luck." "Amen," said Sanders. "Fuckin' polio," said Henry Dobbins. We sat quietly for a time. There was no need to talk, because we were thinking the same things: about Morty Phillips and the way luck worked and didn't work and how it was impossible to calculate the odds. There were a million ways to die. Getting shot was one way. Booby traps and land mines and gangrene and shock and polio from a VC virus. "Where's Jorgenson?" I said. Another thing. Three times a day, no matter what, I had to stop whatever I was doing. I had to go find a private place and drop my pants and smear on this antibacterial ointment. The stuff left stains on the seat of my trousers, big yellow splotches, and so naturally there were some jokes. There was one about rear guard duty. There was another one about hemorrhoids and how I had trouble putting the past behind me. The others weren't quite so funny. During the first full day of Alpha's stand-down, I didn't run into Bobby Jorgenson once. Not at chow, not at the EM club, not even during our long booze sessions in the Alpha Company hootch. At one point I almost went looking for him, but my friend Mitchell Sanders told me to forget it.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  It was a moral split. I couldn't make up my mind. I feared the war, yes, but I also feared exile. I was afraid of walking away from my own life, my friends and my family, my whole history, everything that mattered to me. I feared losing the respect of my parents. I feared the law. I feared ridicule and censure. My hometown was a conservative little spot on the prairie, a place where tradition counted, and it was easy to imagine people sitting around a table down at the old Gobbler Café on Main Street, coffee cups poised, the conversation slowly zeroing in on the young O'Brien kid, how the damned sissy had taken off for Canada. At night, when I couldn't sleep, I'd sometimes carry on fierce arguments with those people. I'd be screaming at them, telling them how much I detested their blind, thoughtless, automatic acquiescence to it all, their simpleminded patriotism, their prideful ignorance, their love-it-or-leave-it platitudes, how they were sending me off to fight a war they didn't understand and didn't want to understand. I held them responsible. By God, yes, I did. All of them—I held them personally and individually responsible—the polyestered Kiwanis boys, the merchants and farmers, the pious churchgoers, the chatty housewives, the PTA and the Lions club and the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the fine upstanding gentry out at the country club. They didn't know Bao Dai from the man in the moon. They didn't know history. They didn't know the first thing about Diem's tyranny, or the nature of Vietnamese nationalism, or the long colonialism of the French—this was all too damned complicated, it required some reading—but no matter, 1t was a war to stop the Communists, plain and simple, which was how they liked things, and you were a treasonous pussy if you had second thoughts about killing or dying for plain and simple reasons. I was bitter, sure. But it was so much more than that. The emotions went from outrage to terror to bewilderment to guilt to sorrow and then back again to outrage. I felt a sickness inside me. Real disease. Most of this I've told before, or at least hinted at, but what I have never told is the full truth. How I cracked. How at work one morning, standing on the pig line, I felt something break open in my chest. I don't know what it was. I'll never know. But it was real, I know that much, it was a physical rupture—a cracking-leaking-popping feeling. I remember dropping my water gun. Quickly, almost without thought, I took off my apron and

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ὑπογρύζω, to mutter privately, Liban. 4. 813, Eust. ὑπόγρῦπος, ov, with a rather hooked nose, Philostr. 725. ὑπόγυιος or (v. sub fin.) ὑπόγυος, ov: under one’s hand, nigh at hand, ὑπ. μοι τῆς τοῦ βίου τελευτῆς οὔσης Isocr. 310D; ὑπόγυον, used absol., near the end, at the approach of death, Hipp. 1225 Ο, Ε, Ε; εἴ τινων ὑπ. ἡ ἀφαίρεσις τῶν καρπῶν Theophr. C. P. 1.13, 10; τοῦτ᾽ ἐστιν ὗπο- γυιότατον πρὸς αὐτάρκειαν the readiest means, Arist. Pol. 6. 8, 3; ὗπο- γύου οὔσης τῆς ἑορτῆς Arist. Oec. 2, 7; τῶν χρόνων ὑπ. ὄντων Dem. 841. 6. IT. just out of hand, fresh, new, Lat. recens, 6 πόλεμος ὁ ὑπογυιότατος Isocr. 290 Ε; ὑπογυιοτέροις παραδείγμασι χρῆσθαι Dem. 1415. αι; τὰ ὑπογυιότατα δεινὰ πεπονθέναι Philipp. ib. 162.13; ὗπο- υιότερα τοῖς χρόνοις Id. 1301. 21; ὑπόγυιόν ἐστι ἐξ οὗ .., it is a very short time since .., Isocr. 376E; ἐν τοῖς ὑπ. λόγοις, Opp. to τοῖς ἄνω, Arist. G. A. 3. 7, 3:—Adv. ὑπογυίως or - γύως, recently, lately, Ath, 206 D; τὸ ὑπογυιότατον Isocr. 207 E. III. sudden, ὅσα θάνατον ἐπιφέρει ὑπόγυια ὄντα Arist. Eth. N. 3.6, 10:—éé ὑπογύου out of hand, off hand, on the spur of the moment, Xen. Cyr. 6. I, 43, Plat. Menex. 235 C, Isocr. 43C; ἐξ im. γίγνεσθαι, opp. to ἐκ πολλοῦ χρόνου σκέψασθαι, Arist. Rhet. 1. 1, 7, etc.; like ἐκ χειρός (cf. χείρ 11. 6. e). 2. of persons, ὑπ. τῇ ὀργῇ in the first burst of anger, Atist. Rhet. 2. 3, 13.—The forms ὑπό-γυιος and —yvos vary continually in Mss., so much so that the erroneous Compar. forms ὑπογυιώτερος πώτατος, and ὑπογυότερος -ὄτατος occur: L. Dind., Xen. Cyr. 61, 43, proposes always to write ὑπόγυος, on the analogy of ἀμφίγυος (4. ν.), and éyyvos. ὑπογυμνᾶσίαρχος, ov, 6, an under-~gymnasiarch, C. 1. 2386, 2416 :— ὑπογυμνᾶσιαρχέω, to be under-gymnasiarch, Ib. 2183., 2430, -66. ὑπογυμνόω, ἐο make partly bare, τὸ σκέλος Aristaen. I. 27. ὑπογύναιος, ov, subject to a wife, married, Eccl. ὑπόγυος, ov, -- ὑπόγυιος, q. v. ὑπογύπωνες, of, a sort of dancers, in Poll. 4. 104. 1626 ὑπόγῦρος, ov, somewhat curved, Nicet. 78 B:—itoyipdw, to bend a little, Ib. 71D. ὑποδαίω, to light, kindle under, ὑπὸ δὲ ξύλα δαῖον 1]. 18. 3.47. ὑποδάκνω, to bite privily, App. Civ. 1. τοι. ὑπόδακρυς, v, in tears, Hesych. ὑποδακρύω, to weep a little or secretly, Luc. D. D. 6. 2, Synes. 244 C: —to drop slowly, Oribas. 149 Matth.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  "Creepy," Azar said. "Wet pants an' goose bumps." He held a beer out to me, but I shook my head. We sat in the dim light of my hootch, boots off, listening to Mary Hopkin on my tape deck. "What next?" "Wait," I said. "Sure, but I mean—" "Shut up and Jisten." That high elegant voice. Someday, when the war was over, I'd go to London and ask Mary Hopkin to marry me. That's another thing Nam does to you. It turns you sentimental; it makes you want to hook up with girls like Mary Hopkin. You learn, finally, that you'll die, and so you try to hang on to your own life, that gentle, naive kid you used to be, but then after a while the sentiment takes over, and the sadness, because you know for a fact that you can't ever bring any of it back again. You just can't. Those were the days, she sang. Azar switched off the tape. "Shit, man," he said. "Don't you got music?" And now, finally, the moon was out. We slipped back to our positions and went to work again with the ropes. Louder now, more insistent. Starlight sparkled in the barbed wire, and there were curious reflections and layerings of shadow, and the big white moon added resonance. There was nothing moral in the world. The night was absolute. Slowly, we dragged the ammo cans closer to Bobby Jorgenson's bunker, and this, plus the moon, gave a sense of approaching peril, the slow belly-down crawl of evil. At 0300 hours Azar set off the first trip flare. There was a light popping noise, then a sizzle out in front of Bunker Six. The night seemed to snap itself in half. The white flare burned ten paces from the bunker. I fired off three more flares and it was instant daylight. Then Jorgenson moved. He made a short, low cry—not even a cry, really, just a short lung-and-throat bark—and there was a blurred sequence as he lunged sideways and rolled toward a heap of sandbags and crouched there and hugged his rifle and waited. "There," I whispered. "Now you know." I could read his mind. I was there with him. Together we understood what terror was: you're not human anymore. You're a shadow. You slip out of your own skin, like molting, shedding your own history and your own future, leaving behind everything you ever were or wanted or believed in. You know you're about to die. And it's not a movie and you aren't a hero and all you can do is whimper and wait. This, now, was something we shared. I felt close to him. It wasn't compassion, just closeness. His silhouette was framed like a cardboard cutout against the burning flares. In the dark outside my hootch, even though I bent toward him, almost nose to nose, all I could see were the glossy whites of Azar's eyes. "Enough," I said. "Oh, sure." "Seriously."

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  On ambush, or other night missions, they carried peculiar little odds and ends. Kiowa always took along his New Testament and a pair of moccasins for silence. Dave Jensen carried night-sight vitamins high in carotene. Lee Strunk carried his slingshot; ammo, he claimed, would never be a problem. Rat Kiley carried brandy and M&M's candy. Until he was shot, Ted Lavender carried the starlight scope, which weighed 6.3 pounds with its aluminum carrying case. Henry Dobbins carried his girlfriend's pantyhose wrapped around his neck as a comforter. They all carried ghosts. When dark came, they would move out single file across the meadows and paddies to their ambush coordinates, where they would quietly set up the Claymores and lie down and spend the night waiting. Other missions were more complicated and required special equipment. In mid-April, it was their mission to search out and destroy the elaborate tunnel complexes in the Than Khe area south of Chu Lai. To blow the tunnels, they carried one-pound blocks of pentrite high explosives, four blocks to a man, 68 pounds in all. They carried wiring, detonators, and battery-powered clackers. Dave Jensen carried earplugs. Most often, before blowing the tunnels, they were ordered by higher command to search them, which was considered bad news, but by and large they just shrugged and carried out orders. Because he was a big man, Henry Dobbins was excused from tunnel duty. The others would draw numbers. Before Lavender died there were 17 men in the platoon, and whoever drew the number 17 would strip off his gear and crawl in headfirst with a flashlight and Lieutenant Cross's .45-caliber pistol. The rest of them would fan out as security. They would sit down or kneel, not facing the hole, listening to the ground beneath them, imagining cobwebs and ghosts, whatever was down there—the tunnel walls squeezing in—how the flashlight seemed impossibly heavy in the hand and how it was tunnel vision in the very strictest sense, compression in all ways, even time, and how you had to wiggle in—ass and elbows—a swallowed-up feeling—and how you found yourself worrying about odd things: Will your flashlight go dead? Do rats carry rabies? If you screamed, how far would the sound carry? Would your buddies hear it? Would they have the courage to drag you out? In some respects, though not many, the waiting was worse than the tunnel itself. Imagination was a killer.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  φρϊκίασις, ews, 7, a shivering, Diosc. Noth. p. 478, cf. Fabr..B. Gr. a. 654 (ed. 1). φρτκιάω, (ppié) like φρικάζω, to shudder, shiver, esp. from δρᾷς, Eccl. φρικνός, ἡ, όν, --φρικαλέος, Hesych. φρϊκόομαι, Pass., -- φρικάζω, to shudder or shiver, Gloss. φρῖκο-ποιός, dv, causing a shuddering, Diphil. Siphn. ap. Ath. 74 C. φρῖκος, cos, τό, -- φρίκη, a shuddering, shivering, Nic. Th. 778. φρικτο-βόας, ov, 6, one who shouts terribly, Theod. Prodr. ᾿ φρικτός, 7), dv, verb. Adj. of φρίσσω, to be shuddered at, horrible, Orph. H. 13. 6, Plut. Οἷς, 49, and often in Anth.: Comp. —é7epos, Plut. Num. 10; Sup. -ότατος, Ath. 440E. Adv. -τῶς, Lxx (Sap. 6. 5). φρικτο-τελής, ἐς, awfully sacred, consecrated, Jo. Damasc. φρτκώδης, ες, (εἶδος) attended with shivering, πυρετὸς pp. a fever with shivering fits, a kind of ague, Hipp. Epid. 1. 949; δυσουρία pp. Id. Aph. 1247 :—TO pp. roughness, unevenness of the skin, as in aguish fits, Hipp., Galen. ΤΙ. that causes shuddering ot horror, awful, horrible, ὄψις Ar. Ran. 1336 (lyr.); τὰ δεινὰ καὶ φρικώδη Andoc. 5. 5; φρικώδη κλύειν horrible to hear, Eur. Hipp. 1202; and often in late Prose, as Arist. Mirab. 130, 2, Plut., etc. :—mneut. φρικῶδες, as Adv. horribly, Eur. Hipp. 1216 :—also of religious awe, Plut. T. Gracch. 21, Aristid. 1. 256: —Adv. -δῶς, φρικωδέστατα ἔχειν, of the terrors of a court of justice, . Dem, 644. 18. dpikwdia, 7, horribleness, Nicom. ap. Phot. Bibl. 143. 29. dbpipaypos, ὁ, a snorting, generally, of any motions of rampant animals, of horses, Lyc. 244; of goats, Poll. 5.88; cf. sq. φρϊμάσσομαι, Att. -rropar: fut. ξομαι: Dep. To snort and leap: to jump or toss about, to wanton, of goats, Theocr. 5. 141, cf. Poll. 5. 88 ; also of high-mettled horses, φριμάξασθαι καὶ χρεμετίσαι Hdt. 3. 87, cf. Anth. P. 9. 281 ;—though of them φρυάσσομαι is said to be the proper word, Ael. N. A. 6. 44, Valck. Ammon., Thom. M. p. 901, Schaf. Dion. de Comp. 196; also of dogs, cf. Opp. C. 1. 491.—An Act. φριμάω occurs in Opp. C.1. 490. (Akin perh. to Lat. fremo.) φρίξ, ἡ, gen. ppixds: (ppioow):—the ruffling of a smooth sur- face: I. the ripple caused by a gust of wind sweeping over the smooth sea, Lat. horror, ὑπὸ φρικὸς Bopéw Il. 23. 692; μελαίνῃ φρικὲ καλυφθείς, of Proteus coming to the surface, Od. 4. 402 (v. sub ὑπαΐσσωλ); Ζεφύροιο ἐχεύατο πόντον ἔπι φρίξ ripple spread over the sea, from the west wind, Il. 7.63 (v. sub vv. μελάνει, φρίκη) ; 50, μαλακὴν φρῖκα φέροι Ζέφυρος Anth. P. 7. 668; φρικὶ χαρασσόμενα κύματα Anth. P. Io. 14, cf. το. 2 :—rare in Prose (v. Ael. N. A. 15. 1), φρίκη being the word there used. II. a bristling up, as of the hair, κριὸς βαθείῃ φρικὶ μαλλὸν ὀρθώσας Babr. 93. 7 ; a shivering-fit, Hipp. 485.153 pplé ἔπεσχεν ὦτα καὶ κνήμας Babr. 95. 59- ν ὶ

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  Σκύλλα, 7s, ἡ, Od. 12. 235; elsewhere in Od. EKvAAn, Scylla, daughter of Crataeis, a monster barking like a dog, with twelve arms, and six necks, who inhabited a cavern in the Straits of Sicily, Od. 12. 85 sq., 108, 230, 245; cf. Aesch. Ag. 1233, etc.;—a fable that afterwards underwent many changes, v. Dict. of Biogr. 5. v. -- Σκύλλαν αὐλεῖν, in allusion to a drama bearing that name, Arist. Poét. 26, 3. (From σκύλλω, because she rent her prey and barked like a σκύλαξ, Od. 12. 86, 96, 245.) σκύλλᾶρος, v.1. for κύλλαρος in Arist. H. A. 4. 4, 32- σκυλλο-πνίκτης, ov, 6, dog-throttler, choke-dog, as interp. of the Lydian name Can-daules, Tzetz. Hist. 6. 482; v. Curt. Gr. Et. no. 84. σκύλλος or σκύλος, 6,=oxtAag, E. M. 720. 191, Hesych. σκύλλω, aor. ἔσκῦλα :—Pass., aor. ἐσκύλθην Eust. 769. 41., 1516. 57: in Eccl. also ἐσκύλην [Ὁ] : pf. ἔσκυλμαι, v. infr. (From /2KTA come also σκῦλ-ον, oxvA-pa, σκυλ-μός, Ξκύλ-λα, σκύλ-αξ :—Curt. com- pares also κο-σκυλ-μάτια, Lat. qui-squil-iae.) Torend, mangle :—Med., σκύλαιο κάρη may’st thou tear thy hair, Nic. Al. 412 :—Pass., σκύλλον- ται, of dead bodies torn by fish, Aesch. Pers. 577; ἔσκυλται .. κίκιννος Anth.P.5.175; ἔσκυλται δὲ κόμη Ib. 259. 2. metaph. fo trouble, annoy, Lat. vexare, σκύλας καὶ ὑβρίσας Hdn. 7.3; ox. τὸν στρατόν Id. ‘4.133 μὴ σκύλλε τὸν διδάσκαλον Ev. Marc. 5. 35, Ev. Luc. 8. 49:— Pass. and Med., μὴ σκύλλου trouble not thyself, Ev. Luc. 7.6; σκυλῆναι 1405 σκύλμα, τό, hair plucked out, κόμης σκύλματα Anth. P. 5.130; σκύλ- pa κόμης Ib. 248; cf. Ruhnk. Ep. Cr. 73. σκυλμός, ὁ, (σκύλλων) a rending, mangling, laceration, Anth. Ῥ, 5. 199, Schol. Il. 17. 62 :—in pl. vexations, Lxx (3 Macc. 3. 25.» 4. 6), Artemid. 2. 30, Manetho 4. 364. σκὕλοδεψέω, to tan hides, Ar. Pl. 514 (as Bentl. for σκυτοδεψεῖν). σκῦὕλοδέψης, ov, ὁ, (δέφω, Sepéw) a tanner of hides, Ar. Av. 490, Eccl. 420; cf. σκυτοδέψης, from which it differs only in the quantity of the first syllable :—so σκῦλό-δεψος, 6, Dem. 781.18; v. σκυλαδέψης, —os. σκῦλον, τό, mostly in pl. σκῦλα, like ἔναρα, the arms stript off a slain enemy, spoils, Lat. spolia, Soph. Ph. 1428, 1431, I. T. 74, El. 7, 1000, Thuc. 4. 1343 εἰς σκῦλα γράφειν to write one’s name on arms gained as spoils, which were then dedicated to a deity, Eur. Phoen. 574, cf. Cycl. 9, Thue. 2. 13., 3. 57:—rarely in sing., like ἕλωρ, booty, spoil, prey, σκῦλον οἰωνοῖς Eur. El. 897, cf. Rhes. 620; τὰς πτέρυγας... τῇ Νίκῃ φορεῖν ἔδοσαν, .. σκῦλον ἀπὸ τῶν πολεμίων Aristopho Πυθαγ. 2. 9; σκῦλον τὴν ὑπατείαν φέρεσθαι Plut. Mar. 9. (For the Root, ν. σκεῦος; akin to σῦλ-ον, σύλ-η, συλ-άω, and to Lat. spol-ia:—peth. also to σκύλος [Ὁ], cf. σκῦτος, κύτος.)

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ai ναίουσι κτλ. Hes. Th. 274. yopyorns, nTos, ἡ, fierceness, hastiness, freq. in Eust., etc. Γοργοτομία, ἡ, (τέμνω) a cutting off the Gorgon’s head, Strabo 379. 316 γοργ-όφθαλμος, ov, -- γοργωπός, Suid. s. v. γοργῶπις. LTopyo-évos, ov, Gorgon-killing, Eur. ap. Plut. 2. 747 D: fem. Γοργο- φόνη, as a name of Athena, Id. Ion 1478. γόργῦρα, Ion. -py, 7, an underground drain or sewer, Alcman (124), ap. E. M. 228 (in form yépyupa), cf. A. B. 233, Zonar., Hesych.: used as a dungeon, Hdt. 3. 145, cf. Harpocr., Suid., Poll. 9. 45. Ῥοργώ, 7, (v. sub fin.) :—the Gorgon, i.e. the Grim One (cf. γοργός); she dwelt (acc. to Od. 11. 635) in the nether world, cf. Heinr. Hes. Sc. 224. Hes. (in Sc. 230) speaks of several Gorgons; whereas in Th. 276 he names three (daughters of Phorcys and Ceto), Euryalé, Stheino, Medusa,—the last being tke Gorgon; her snaky head was fixed on the aegis of Athena, and all who looked on it became stone, Eur. Or. 1520.—The regular sing. is Topyw, Il. 11. 36, Eur. Rhes. 306, gen. Top- yous Il. 8. 349, Hes. Sc. 224, Eur. Or. 1521, Ion 1003, etc.; dat. Γοργοῖ (restored by Seidl.) Id. Hec. 1316: but when the metre requires it, cases are formed as if from a nom. Γοργών, sc. gen. Γοργόνος Eur. ap. Lycurg. 161.46; so, without necessity, Id. Phoen. 458; dat. Γοργόνι Id. Alc. 1118 ; and, in pl., Γοργόνες, acc. —as, are the only forms admitted (v. γοργός 11), Hes. Sc. 230, Aesch. Pr. 799, Cho. 1048, Eum. 48, Eur.; gen. Γοργόνων Pind. P. 12. 12, Eur. Bacch. 990. ᾿ γοργ-ωπός, όν, fierce-eyed, grim-eyed, Aesch. Pr. 356, Eur. H. F. 868, Ion 210:—also γοργώψ, ὥπος, ὃ, ἡ, Id. El. 1257, Or. 261; fem. yop- yams, δος, of Athena, Soph. Aj. 450, Fr. 724.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  δειλός, 7, dv, (δέος): 1. of persons, cowardly, craven, opp. to ἄλκιμος, 1]. 13. 278; hence, in the heroic age, vile, worthless, Il. 1. 293; δειλαί τοι δειλῶν γε καὶ ἐγγύαι Od. 8. 351, ubi ν. Nitzsch; and also, opp. to ἐσθλός, much like κακός, low-born, mean, Hes. Fr. 55; ἀγαθοὶ δειλῶν ἐπὶ δαῖτας ἴασιν Eupol. Χρυσ. yev.143; v. sub ἀγαθός 1. 1 :— δειλός τινος afraid of .., Anth. P. 9. 410; soc. inf., Ib. 6. 232. 2. more commonly, miserable, luckless, wretched, Hom., with a compas- sionate sense, like Lat. miser, δειλοὶ βροτοί poor mortals! freq. in Hom.; ἃ δειλέ poor wretch! ἃ δειλοί poor wretches! so, ἃ δειλὲ ξείνων Od. 14. 361; Πατροκλῆος δειλοῖο 1]. 17. 670. 11. of things, miserable, wretched, γῆρας Hes. Op. 113; τὰ δ. κέρδη Soph. Ant. 326; ἔργα, λόγος, etc., Theogn. 307, Eur. Androm. 757, etc.—The Att. used δειλός chiefly in former sense, δείλαιος in latter. Cf. δεινός. δειλότης, 7TOs, ἧ, -- δειλία, cowardice, Hesych. 5. ν. δειλίην. δειλό- ψῦχος, ον, fainthearted, Joseph. Macc. 8. 16. δεῖμα, τό, (δείδω) fear, affright, δεῖμα φέρων Δαναοῖσι Il. 5. 682; δείματι πάλλων Soph. Ο. T. 153; δεῖμα λαμβάνει τινά Hat. 6. 74: ἐς δεῖμα πεσεῖν, ἐν δείματι κατεστάναι Id. 8. 118, 26 :—pl., Soph. ΕἸ. 626, Ο. T. 294; φόβοι καὶ ὃ. Thuc. 7. 80, etc. II. an object of fear, a terror, horror, ὦ πῦρ av καὶ πᾶν δ. Soph. Ph. 927; ἐκ δ. τοῦ νυκτέρου Id. El. 410; ἀντιπάλοις δ. a terror to them, Epigr. Gr. 343 ;— esp. in pl., Aesch. Pr. 691, Cho. 524; δειμάτων ἄχη fearful plagues or monsters, Ib. 586; δείματα θηρῶν Eur. H.F. 700: cf. νυκτίφοιτος. δειμαίνω, only used in pres. and impf., (fut. δειμανεῖ in Aesch. Eum. 510 is merely a conj., and most Edd. prefer that of Dobree—del μένεινν : —to be afraid, in a fright, h. Hom. Ap. 404, Hdt. 3. 51, etc.—Con- struct. as with ded; absol., h. Hom. Ap. 404, Soph., etc.; πέρί τινι, ὑπέρ τινος Hdt. 3. 35., 8. 140; ἀμφί τινι Soph. O. C. 492. 2. fol- lowed by a relat. clause with μή .., Theogn. 541, Hdt. 1. 165, Soph. Tr. 481. 3. c. acc. to fear a thing, Hdt. 1. 159; πάντα δ. Aesch. Pers. 600, cf. Pr. 41:—c. acc. cogn., δεῖμ᾽ ὃ δειμαίνεις Eur. Andr. 868 :— Pass. to be feared, Q. Sm. 2. 499. δειμαλέος, a, ov, timid, Mosch. 2. 20, Arist. Physiogn. 6, 2 :—Adv. πλέως, Or. Sib. ΤΙ. horrible, fearful, Batr. 289, Theogn. 1124. δειμάτιος, ov, 6, epith. of Zeus, the Scarer, Dion. H. 6. go. δειματόεις, εσσα, ev, frightened, scared, Anth. P. 9. 244. δειμάτο-στἄγής, és, (στάζω) reeking with horror, Aesch. Cho. 842; but most Edd. have adopted Stanley’s emend. αἱματοσταγές. δειμἄτόω, to frighten, Hdt. 6. 3, Ar. Ran.144; cf. dexuardw.—Pass. to be frightened, Aesch. Cho. 845, Soph. Fr. 147, Eur. Andr. 42, etc., Plat. Ax. 370 A. δειματώδης, es, (εἶδος) frightful, Hesych. -

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  δεινός, 7, dv, (from δέος, properly Seeds, cf. ἐλεεινός from ἔλεοϑ) :— fearful, terrible, dread, dire; the chief sense in Hom., who uses it of persons and things, θεός, Χάρυβδις, κλαγγή, ὅπλα, etc.; often also of battle-cries and the like, δεινὸν aire’v, βροντᾶν to shout, thunder derribly, Il.; δεινὸν δέρκεσθαι, παπταίνειν to look terrible, Hom.; δεινὰ ἰδών 1.15.13; but also, δεινὸς ἰδέσθαι fearful to behold, Od. 22. 405 ; δειψὸς μὲν ὁρᾶν, δ. δὲ κλύειν Soph. O. C. 141; δεινόν τῳ ἀκοῦσαι Thue. 1. 122; δεινὴ παρὰ τοῖς εἰδόσιν ἡ [βάσανος] Andoc. 5.13 :—also in milder sense, awful, δεινή τε καὶ αἰδοίη θεός Il. 18. 394, cf. 3.172, Od. 8, 22, etc.:—so also in all later writers—From Hdt. downwards, τὸ δεινόν danger, suffering ; but, τὸ δ. also anything horrible, Aesch. Cho. 634; awe, terror, Id. Eum. 516; ὅπου τὸ ὃ., ἐλπὶς οὐδὲν ὠφελεῖ Soph. Fr. 205 ; πρὸς τὸ δ. ἔρχεσθαι Ib. 322; so in pl., τὰ Sev’ ὁρᾶν Id. Ph. 504; εἰ dew’ ἔδρασας, δεινὰ καὶ παθεῖν σε δεῖ 14. Fr. 11, etc. :---δεινὸν yiyve- ται μή ..there is danger that.., Hdt. 7. 157; also, οὐδὲν δεινοί, μὴ ἀποστέωσιν no fear of their revolting, Id. 1.155, εἴο. :---δεινόν ἐστι c. inf., it is dangerous to do, Lys. 128. 16:---δεινὸν ποιεῖσθαι (so, δεινὰ ποιεῖν Hdt. 3.14), to take tll, complain of, be indignant at a thing, Lat. aegre ferre, often in Hdt., etc.; absol. or c. inf., 451. 127., 5. 41, etc.; also, δεινόν τι ἔσχε αὐτόν, c.inf., 1.61: δεινὰ παθεῖν, more rarely sing. δεινὸν π., to suffer dreadful, illegal, arbitrary treatment, freq. in Att., Elmsl. Ach. 393: cf. δεινο-λογέομαι, --παθέω, -ποιέω, and v. sub σχέτ- Avos fin—So also in Adv., δεινῶς φέρειν Hdt. 2. 121, 3; 5. ἔχειν to be in straits, Antipho 111. 34, Xen. An. 6. 4, 223 ; δεινῶς διατεθῆναι τυπτό- μενος Lys. 98. 38. 11. to this sense is added a notion of Force or Power, marvellously strong, mighty, powerful, for good or ill; hence often in Hom. of the gods without any notion of terrible; so, δεινὸν σάκος | the mighty shield, Il. 7. 245 :—and then, simply, wondrous, marvellous,

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  φόβου πλέα τις εἶ very full of fear, Aesch. Pr. 696, cf. Theb. 977, Ag. 1140; ὡς ταχεῖά τις .. χάρις διαρρεῖ with what great swiftness, Soph. Aj. 1266, cf. Hdt. 4. 198. 9. with numerals and Adjs. implying number, size or the like, εἷς δέ τις ἀρχὸς ἀνὴρ... ἔστω some one man (but only one), 1]. 1.144; ἕνα τιν᾽ ἂν καθῖσεν Ar. Ran. 911; δώσει δέ τι ἕν γε φέρεσθαι Od. 15. 83; τινὰ μίαν νύκτα Thuc. 6. 61; ἕπτά Tives some seven, i.e. seven or so, Id. 7. 34; ἐς διακοσίους τινάς Id. 3. 111, cf, 7. 87., 8. 21; so without an actual numeral, ἡμέρας τινάς some days, i.e. several, many, Id. 3.52; στρατῷ τινι of certain amount, considerable, Id. 8.3; ἐνίαυτόν τινα a year or so, Id. 3. 68; so, οὐ πολλοί τινες, τινες οὐ πολλοί Aesch. Pers. 510, Thuc., etc.; ὀλίγοι τινές or τινὲς ὀλίγοι Id. 2. 17, etc.; οὔ τινα πολλὸν χρόνον no very long time, Hdt. 5. 48; τις στρατιὰ οὐ πολλή Thuc. 6. 61 :—so also ὅσος τις χρυσός what a store of gold, Od. 1ο. 45, cf. Hdt. 1. 193, etc. ; πόσις τις Hdt. 7. 234, Aesch. Pers. 334, etc. :---πηλίκος τις Isocr. 396 A: —with a notion of space, πολλὸς γάρ τις ἔκειτο 1]. 7. 156. 10. with Pronominal words, ἀλλά τί μοι τόδε θυμὸς .. μερμηρίζει something here, Od. 20. 38, cf. 380; οἷός τις what sort of a man, Il. 5. 638, etc. ; ποῖός and ὁποῖός τις Soph. Ant. 42, Xen., etc.; τις τοιόσδε Hdt. 3. 139, Xen., etc.; τοιοῦτός τις Xen. An. 5. 8, 7. 11. with the Ar- ticle, a. when a Noun with the Art. is in appos. with τις, as ὅταν δ᾽ 6 κύριος παρῇ τις when the person in authority, whoever he be, is here, Soph, O. C. 288; τοὺς αὐτοέντας... τιμωρεῖν τινας Id. O. T. 107; κατὰ βραχύ τι τὸ πρὸς τὴν θάλασσαν Thue. 7. 2, cf. 55; (but in τὸ βραχύ τι τοῦτο, 1. 140, the τι applies to the word βραχύ in signf. 8). b. in Philosophic writers, τίς (accentuated) is added to the Art. to individualise a general term, ὁ tls ἄνθρωπος such or such a man, opp. to ἄνθρωπος (the class man), 6 τὶς ἵππος, 7 τὶς γραμματική Arist. Categ. 2, 2., 5, 11 sq.; τὸ τὶ the individual, opp. to τὸ ὄν, ἑνὸς γὰρ δὴ τό γε τὶ φήσεις σημεῖον εἶναι, τὸ δὲ τινὲ δυοῖν, τὸ δὲ τινὲς πολλῶν Plat. Soph. 227 Ὁ, cf. Arist. Pol. 3. 12, 6, Sext. Emp. P. 2. 223 :—7ls is also used alone in this way, τὸ μεῖζον τοῦθ᾽.. ἑτέρου λέγεται' τινὸς yap λέγεται μεῖζον greater than some individual, Arist. Categ. 7, 1: c. often in opposed clauses, ὁ μέν Tis.., 6 δὲ... Eur. Med. 1141, Plat., etc.; ὁ μέν Tus .., ἄλλος δὲ .. Eur. 1. T. 14073 6 pev.., 6 δέ ms.. Xen. Cyr. 1. 4,15; pl., of wey reves.., of 5¢.. Thuc. 2. gl, cf. Hdt.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  φὕγό-πτολις, 6, 77, poet. for φυγόπολις (which occurs in E, M.), Maxim. π. κατ. 340. φύζα (not φῦζα, Arcad. 96), 7, expl. as 7 μετὰ δειλίας φυγή (Aristarch. ap. Apollon. Lex. s.v.), headlong flight, rout, φύζα, φόβου κρυόεντος ἑταίρη Il. 9. 2, cf. 14. 140; ἀνάλκιδα φύζαν évopoas 15. 62; θάνατον καὶ φ. ἑταίρων 17. 381; Ζεὺς... φύζαν ἐμοῖς ἑταροῖσι κακὴν βάλεν Od. 14. 269, εἴ. 17. 438. φυζᾶακϊνός, ἡ, dv, flying, runaway, shy, ἔλαφοι 1]. 13. 102. φυζαλέος, a, ov, =foreg., Anth. P. 6. 237 :—oulndos, ἡ, dv, Hesych. φυζάνω, collat. form of φεύγω, Hesych. :—vfw, late Ion., acc. to Eust. 1643. 2 :—part. aor. pass. φυζηθέντες (from φυζάομαι), Nic. Th. 825. vn, Dor. hud, ἡ, (φύω) growth, stature, esp. fine growth, noble stature, like εὐφυΐα, often in Hom., always (as in Hes.) of the human form, and only in acc., θηήσαντο φυὴν καὶ εἶδος ἀγητόν 1]. 22. 370; φυὴν ἐδάην καὶ μήδεα 3. 2ο8 ; but commonly in adv. sense, Νέστορι δίῳ εἶδός τε μέγε- θός τε φυήν T ἄγχιστα ἐῴκει both in shape and in stature and in size (or growth), 2. 58, cf. Od. 6. 152; οὔ ἑθέν ἐστι χερείων, οὐ δέμας οὐδὲ φυήν, οὔτ᾽ ἂρ φρένας Il. 1. 114, cf. Od. 5. 212., 7. 210., 8. 168; φυήν γε μὲν οὐ κακός ἐστι Il. 7. 210, Od. 8. 134 :—later, in gen., οὔτε φυῆς ἐπιδευέες οὔτε νόοιο Theocr. 22. 160; once only in Trag., φυὸν Topyévos ἴσχειν Eur. ΕἸ. 461; cf. δέμας, εἶδος. 2. after Hom. of oxen, ἐμβάλλων ἐριπλεύρῳ φυᾷ κέντρον Pind. P. 4. 410; of roses, Mosch. 2. 36, Luc.; of things, ἀνέβη ἡ φ. τοῖς τείχεσιν their original form was restored, Lxx (Neh. 4. 7). II. poét. for φύσις, one’s natural powers, nature, genius, σοφὸς ὃ πόλλ᾽ εἰδὼς φυᾷ Pind. O. 2.1543 μάρ- νασθαι pug Id. N. 1. 38, cf. 1. 7 (6). 323 φυᾷ τὸ γενναῖον ἐπιπρέπει Id. Ρ. 8. 62; τὸ δὲ φυᾷ ἅπαν κράτιστον Id. O. 9. 151; δεινὸς φυήν Cratin. Ἰροφ. τ. III. the ripe age of manhood, flower or prime of age, εὐάνθεμος φυά Pind. Ο. 1. 109. IV. substance, ἀναίμων ἐστὶ put μελέων Opp. Η. τ. 639, cf. Aretae. Sign. Diut. 2. 3. V. like φῦλον, φυὴ μερόπων the race of men, Anth, Plan. 183.—Poét. word, used in late Prose. ty or uty, v. sub φύω. φύημα, τό, dub. 1. for φῦμα, Hipp. 1200. fin. φυίω, Acol. for φύω (v. pw A. τι). φυκᾶρίζω, -- φυκόω, Schol. Opp. H. τ. 127. φύυκάριον, τό, -- φῦκος, Hesych. 5. v. ἄφυκα, Zonar. φύκης, ov, 6, (φῦκος) a fish living in sea-weed (said to be the forked hake), Arist. H. A. 6. 13, 8:—the female was φῦκίς, (50s, Epich. ap. Ath. 319 C, Mnesim. Ἵπποτρ. 1. 38, cf. Arist: l.c., 8. 2, 29, Antiph. Κύκλ. 1, Anaxandr. Πρωτ. 1. 49; but Alex. Kparev. I. 12 and 13, mentions φυκίς and φύκης, as if they were diff. kinds. φυκία, ἡ, -- φῦκος, dub. in Math. Vett. p. 85.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  We hiked over to the EM club and worked our way through a six-pack. Mitchell Sanders was there, at another table, but he pretended not to see me. Around closing time, I nodded at Azar. "Well, goody gum drop," he said. We went over to my hootch, picked up our gear, and then moved through the night down to the wire. I felt like a soldier again. Back in the bush, it seemed. We observed good field discipline, not talking, keeping to the shadows and joining in with the darkness. When we came up on Bunker Six, Azar lifted his thumb and peeled away from me and began circling to the south. Old times, I thought. A kind of thrill, a kind of dread. Quietly, I shouldered my gear and crossed over to a heap of boulders that overlooked Jorgenson's position. I was directly behind him. Thirty-two meters away, exactly. Even in the heavy darkness, no moon yet, I could make out the kid's silhouette: a helmet, a pair of shoulders, a rifle barrel. His back was to me. He gazed out at the wire and at the paddies beyond, where the danger was. I knelt down and took out ten flares and unscrewed the caps and lined them up in front of me and then checked my wristwatch. Still five minutes to go. Edging over to my left, I groped for the ropes I'd set up that afternoon. I found them, tested the tension, and checked the time again. Four minutes. There was a light feeling in my head, fluttery and taut at the same time. I remembered it from the boonies. Giddiness and doubt and awe, all those things and a million more. It's as if you're in a movie. There's a camera on you, so you begin acting, you're somebody else. You think of all the films you've seen, Audie Murphy and Gary Cooper and the Cisco Kid, all those heroes, and you can't help falling back on them as models of proper comportment. On ambush, curled in the dark, you fight for control. Not too much fidgeting. You rearrange your posture; you measure out your breathing. Eyes open, be alert—old imperatives, old movies. It all swirls together, clichés mixing with your own emotions, and in the end you can't tell one from the other. There was that coldness inside me. I wasn't myself. I felt hollow and dangerous. I took a breath, fingered the first rope, and gave it a sharp little jerk. Instantly there was a clatter outside the wire. I expected the noise, I was even tensed for it, but still my heart took a hop. Now, I thought. Now it starts.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  The butterfly was making its way along the young man's forehead, which was spotted with small dark freckles. The nose was undamaged. The skin on the right cheek was smooth and fine-grained and hairless. Frail- looking, delicately boned, the young man would not have wanted to be a soldier and in his heart would have feared performing badly in battle. Even as a boy growing up in the village of My Khe, he had often worried about this. He imagined covering his head and lying in a deep hole and closing his eyes and not moving until the war was over. He had no stomach for violence. He loved mathematics. His eyebrows were thin and arched like a woman's, and at school the boys sometimes teased him about how pretty he was, the arched eyebrows and long shapely fingers, and on the playground they mimicked a woman's walk and made fun of his smooth skin and his love for mathematics. The young man could not make himself fight them. He often wanted to, but he was afraid, and this increased his shame. If he could not fight little boys, he thought, how could he ever become a soldier and fight the Americans with their airplanes and helicopters and bombs? It did not seem possible. In the presence of his father and uncles, he pretended to look forward to doing his patriotic duty, which was also a privilege, but at night he prayed with his mother that the war might end soon. Beyond anything else, he was afraid of disgracing himself, and therefore his family and village. But all he could do, he thought, was wait and pray and try not to grow up too fast. "Listen to me," Kiowa said. "You feel terrible, I know that." Then he said, "Okay, maybe I don't know." Along the trail there were small blue flowers shaped like bells. The young man's head was wrenched sideways, not quite facing the flowers, and even in the shade a single blade of sunlight sparkled against the buckle of his ammunition belt. The left cheek was peeled back in three ragged strips. The wounds at his neck had not yet clotted, which made him seem animate even in death, the blood still spreading out across his shirt. Kiowa shook his head. There was some silence before he said, "Stop staring."

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  "No," I said. "All that's finished." The Ghost Soldiers I was shot twice. The first time, out by Tri Binh, it knocked me against the pagoda wall, and I bounced and spun around and ended up on Rat Kiley's lap. A lucky thing, because Rat was the medic. He tied on a compress and told me to ease back, then he ran off toward the fighting. For a long time I lay there all alone, listening to the battle, thinking I've been shot, I've been shot: all those Gene Autry movies I'd seen as a kid. In fact, I almost smiled, except then I started to think I might die. It was the fear, mostly, but I felt wobbly, and then I had a sinking sensation, ears all plugged up, as if I'd gone deep under water. Thank God for Rat Kiley. Every so often, maybe four times altogether, he trotted back to check me out. Which took courage. It was a wild fight, guys running and laying down fire and regrouping and running again, lots of noise, but Rat Kiley took the risks. "Easy does it," he told me, "just a side wound, no problem unless you're pregnant." He ripped off the compress, applied a fresh one, and told me to clamp it in place with my fingers. "Press hard," he said. "Don't worry about the baby." Then he took off. It was almost dark when the fighting ended and the chopper came to take me and two dead guys away. "Happy trails," Rat said. He helped me into the helicopter and stood there for a moment. Then he did an odd thing. He leaned in and put his head against my shoulder and almost hugged me. Coming from Rat Kiley, that was something new. On the ride into Chu Lai, I kept waiting for the pain to hit, but in fact I didn't feel much. A throb, that's all. Even in the hospital it wasn't bad. When I got back to Alpha Company twenty-six days later, in mid- December, Rat Kiley had been wounded and shipped off to Japan, and a new medic named Bobby Jorgenson had replaced him. Jorgenson was no Rat Kiley. He was green and incompetent and scared. So when I got shot the second time, in the butt, along the Song Tra Bong, it took the son of a bitch almost ten minutes to work up the nerve to crawl over to me. By then I was gone with the pain. Later I found out I'd almost died of shock. Bobby Jorgenson didn't know about shock, or if he did, the fear made him forget. To make it worse, he bungled the patch job, and a couple of weeks later my ass started to rot away. You could actually peel off fillets of meat with your fingernail.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  On my last full day, the sixth day, the old man took me out fishing on the Rainy River. The afternoon was sunny and cold. A stiff breeze came in from the north, and I remember how the little fourteen-foot boat made sharp rocking motions as we pushed off from the dock. The current was fast. All around us, there was a vastness to the world, an unpeopled rawness, just the trees and the sky and the water reaching out toward nowhere. The air had the brittle scent of October. For ten or fifteen minutes Elroy held a course upstream, the river choppy and silver-gray, then he turned straight north and put the engine on full throttle. I felt the bow lift beneath me. I remember the wind in my ears, the sound of the old outboard Evinrude. For a time I didn't pay attention to anything, just feeling the cold spray against my face, but then it occurred to me that at some point we must've passed into Canadian waters, across that dotted line between two different worlds, and I remember a sudden tightness in my chest as I looked up and watched the far shore come at me. This wasn't a daydream. It was tangible and real. As we came in toward land, Elroy cut the engine, letting the boat fishtail lightly about twenty yards off shore. The old man didn't look at me or speak. Bending down, he opened up his tackle box and busied himself with a bobber and a piece of wire leader, humming to himself, his eyes down. It struck me then that he must've planned it. I'll never be certain, of course, but I think he meant to bring me up against the realities, to guide me across the river and to take me to the edge and to stand a kind of vigil as I chose a life for myself. I remember staring at the old man, then at my hands, then at Canada. The shoreline was dense with brush and timber. I could see tiny red berries on the bushes. I could see a squirrel up in one of the birch trees, a big crow looking at me from a boulder along the river. That close—twenty yards— and I could see the delicate latticework of the leaves, the texture of the soil, the browned needles beneath the pines, the configurations of geology and human history. Twenty yards. I could've done it. I could've jumped and started swimming for my life. Inside me, in my chest, I felt a terrible squeezing pressure. Even now, as I write this, I can still feel that tightness. And I want you to feel it—the wind coming off the river, the waves, the silence, the wooded frontier. You're at the bow of a boat on the Rainy River. You're twenty-one years old, you're scared, and there's a hard squeezing pressure in your chest. What would you do?

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  Leaking to death, I thought. Like a genie swirling out of a bottle—like a cloud of gas—I was drifting upward out of my own body. I was half in and half out. Part of me still lay there, the corpse part, but I was also that genie looking on and saying, "There, there," which made me start to scream. I couldn't help it. When Bobby Jorgenson got to me, I was almost gone with shock. All I could do was scream. I tightened up and squeezed, trying to stop the leak, but that only made it worse, and Jorgenson punched me and told me to knock it off. Shock, I thought. I tried to tell him that. I tried to say, "Shock," but it wouldn't come out right. Jorgenson flipped me over and pressed a knee against my back, pinning me there, and I kept trying to say, "Shock, man, treat for shock." I was lucid—things were clear—but my tongue wouldn't fit around the words. Then I slipped under for a while. When I came back, Jorgenson was using a knife to cut off my pants. He shot in the morphine, which scared me, and I shouted something and tried to wiggle away, but he kept pushing down hard on my back. Except it wasn't Jorgenson now—it was that genie—he was smiling down at me, and winking, and I couldn't buck him off. Later on, things clicked into slow motion. The morphine, maybe. I focused on Jorgenson's brand-new boots, then on a pebble, then on my own face floating high above me—the last things I'd ever see. I couldn't look away. It occurred to me that I was witness to something rare. Even now, in the dark, there were indications of a spirit world. Azar said, "Hey, you awake?" I nodded. Down at Bunker Six, things were silent. The place looked abandoned. Azar grinned and went to work on the ropes. It began like a breeze, a soft sighing sound. I hugged myself. I watched Azar bend forward and fire off the first illumination flare. "Please," I almost said, but the word snagged, and I looked up and tracked the flare over Jorgenson's bunker. It exploded almost without noise: a soft red flash. There was a whimper in the dark. At first I thought it was Jorgenson. "Please?" I said. I bit down and folded my hands and squeezed. I had the shivers. Twice more, rapidly, Azar fired up red flares. At one point he turned toward me and lifted his eyebrows. "Timmy, Timmy," he said. "Such a specimen." I agreed. I wanted to do something, stop him somehow, but I crouched back and watched Azar pick up a tear-gas grenade and pull the pin and stand up and throw. The gas puffed up in a thin cloud that partly obscured Bunker Six. Even from thirty meters away I could smell it and taste it.