Sadness

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.

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• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  The three men moved with slow, heavy steps. It was hard to keep balance. Their boots sank into the ooze, which produced a powerful downward suction, and with each step they would have to pull up hard to break the hold. The rain made quick dents in the water, like tiny mouths, and the stink was everywhere. When they reached the river, they shifted a few meters to the north and began wading back up the field. Occasionally they used their weapons to test the bottom, but mostly they just searched with their feet. "A classic case," Azar was saying. "Biting the dirt, so to speak, that tells the story." "Enough," Bowker said. "Like those old cowboy movies. One more redskin bites the dirt." "I'm serious, man. Zip it shut." Azar smiled and said, "Classic." The morning was cold and wet. They had not slept during the night, not even for a few moments, and all three of them were feeling the tension as they moved across the field toward the river. There was nothing they could do for Kiowa. Just find him and slide him aboard a chopper. Whenever a man died it was always the same, a desire to get it over with quickly, no frills or ceremony, and what they wanted now was to head for a ville and get under a roof and forget what had happened during the night. Halfway across the field Mitchell Sanders stopped. He stood for a moment with his eyes shut, feeling along the bottom with a foot, then he passed his weapon over to Norman Bowker and reached down into the muck. After a second he hauled up a scummy green rucksack. The three men did not speak for a time. The pack was heavy with mud and water, dead-looking. Inside were a pair of moccasins and an illustrated New Testament. "Well," Mitchell Sanders finally said, "the guy's around here somewhere." "Better tell the LT." "Screw him." "Yeah, but—" "Some lieutenant," Sanders said. "Camps us in a toilet. Man don't know shit." "Nobody knew," Bowker said. "Maybe so, maybe not. Ten billion places we could've set up last night, the man picks a latrine." Norman Bowker stared down at the rucksack. It was made of dark green nylon with an aluminum frame, but now it had the curious look of flesh. "It wasn't the LT's fault," Bowker said quietly. "Whose then?" "Nobody's. Nobody knew till afterward."

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  Now, in the dull morning rain, the boy seemed frantic. He waded quickly from spot to spot, leaning down and plunging his hands into the water. He did not look up when Lieutenant Jimmy Cross approached. "Right here," the boy was saying. "Got to be right here." Jimmy Cross remembered the kid's face but not the name. That happened sometimes. He tried to treat his men as individuals but sometimes the names just escaped him. He watched the young soldier shove his hands into the water. "Right here," he kept saying. His movements seemed random and jerky. Jimmy Cross waited a moment, then stepped closer. "Listen," he said quietly, "the guy could be anywhere." The boy glanced up. "Who could?" "Kiowa. You can't expect—" "Kiowa's dead." "Well, yes." The young soldier nodded. "So what about Billie?" "Who?" "My girl. What about her? This picture, it was the only one I had. Right here, I lost it." Jimmy Cross shook his head. It bothered him that he could not come up with a name. "Slow down," he said, "I don't—" "Billie's picture. I had it all wrapped up, I had it in plastic, so it'll be okay if I can ... Last night we were looking at it, me and Kiowa. Right here. I know for sure it's right here somewhere." Jimmy Cross smiled at the boy. "You can ask her for another one. A better one." "She won't send another one. She's not even my gir/ anymore, she won't ... Man, I got to find it." The boy yanked his arm free. He shuffled sideways and stooped down again and dipped into the muck with both hands. His shoulders were shaking. Briefly, Lieutenant Cross wondered where the kid's weapon was, and his helmet, but it seemed better not to ask. He felt some pity come on him. For a moment the day seemed to soften. So much hurt, he thought. He watched the young soldier wading through the water, bending down and then standing and then bending down again, as if something might finally be salvaged from all the waste. Jimmy Cross silently wished the boy luck. Then he closed his eyes and went back to working on the letter to Kiowa's father. ok ok ok Across the field Azar and Norman Bowker and Mitchell Sanders were wading alongside a narrow dike at the edge of the field. It was near noon now. Norman Bowker found Kiowa. He was under two feet of water. Nothing showed except the heel of a boot. "That's him?" Azar said. "Who else?" "T don't know." Azar shook his head. "I don't know." Norman Bowker touched the boot, covered his eyes for a moment, then stood up and looked at Azar. "So where's the joke?" he said. "No joke." "Eating shit. Let's hear that one." "Forget it."

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  As PFCs or Spec 4 s, most of them were common grunts and carried the standard M-16 gas-operated assault rifle. The weapon weighed 7.5 pounds unloaded, 8.2 pounds with its full 20-round magazine. Depending on numerous factors, such as topography and psychology, the riflemen carried anywhere from 12 to 20 magazines, usually in cloth bandoliers, adding on another 8.4 pounds at minimum, 14 pounds at maximum. When it was available, they also carried M-16 maintenance gear—rods and steel brushes and swabs and tubes of LSA oil—all of which weighed about a pound. Among the grunts, some carried the M-79 grenade launcher, 5.9 pounds unloaded, a reasonably light weapon except for the ammunition, which was heavy. A single round weighed 10 ounces. The typical load was 25 rounds. But Ted Lavender, who was scared, carried 34 rounds when he was shot and killed outside Than Khe, and he went down under an exceptional burden, more than 20 pounds of ammunition, plus the flak jacket and helmet and rations and water and toilet paper and tranquilizers and all the rest, plus the unweighed fear. He was dead weight. There was no twitching or flopping. Kiowa, who saw it happen, said it was like watching a rock fall, or a big sandbag or something—just boom, then down—not like the movies where the dead guy rolls around and does fancy spins and goes ass over teakettle —not like that, Kiowa said, the poor bastard just flat-fuck fell. Boom. Down. Nothing else. It was a bright morning in mid-April. Lieutenant Cross felt the pain. He blamed himself. They stripped off Lavender's canteens and ammo, all the heavy things, and Rat Kiley said the obvious, the guy's dead, and Mitchell Sanders used his radio to report one U.S. KIA and to request a chopper. Then they wrapped Lavender in his poncho. They carried him out to a dry paddy, established security, and sat smoking the dead man's dope until the chopper came. Lieutenant Cross kept to himself. He pictured Martha's smooth young face, thinking he loved her more than anything, more than his men, and now Ted Lavender was dead because he loved her so much and could not stop thinking about her. When the dustoff arrived, they carried Lavender aboard. Afterward they burned Than Khe. They marched until dusk, then dug their holes, and that night Kiowa kept explaining how you had to be there, how fast it was, how the poor guy just dropped like so much concrete. Boom-down, he said. Like cement. 2K OK ok

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  And so in the morning Rat Kiley and two other medics tagged along as security while Mark and Mary Anne strolled through the ville like a pair of tourists. If the girl was nervous, she didn't show it. She seemed comfortable and entirely at home; the hostile atmosphere did not seem to register. All morning Mary Anne chattered away about how quaint the place was, how she loved the thatched roofs and naked children, the wonderful simplicity of village life. A strange thing to watch, Rat said. This seventeen-year-old doll in her goddamn culottes, perky and fresh-faced, like a cheerleader visiting the opposing team's locker room. Her pretty blue eyes seemed to glow. She couldn't get enough of it. On their way back up to the compound she stopped for a swim in the Song Tra Bong, stripping down to her underwear, showing off her legs while Fossie tried to explain to her about things like ambushes and snipers and the stopping power of an AK-47. The guys, though, were impressed. "A real tiger," said Eddie Diamond. "D-cup guts, trainer-bra brains." "She'll learn," somebody said. Eddie Diamond gave a solemn nod. "There's the scary part. I promise you, this girl will most definitely learn." In parts, at least, it was a funny story, and yet to hear Rat Kiley tell 1t you'd almost think it was intended as straight tragedy. He never smiled. Not even at the crazy stuff. There was always a dark, far-off look in his eyes, a kind of sadness, as if he were troubled by something sliding beneath the story's surface. Whenever we laughed, I remember, he'd sigh and wait it out, but the one thing he could not tolerate was disbelief. He'd get edgy if someone questioned one of the details. "She wasn't dumb," he'd snap. "I never said that. Young, that's all I said. Like you and me. A gir, that's the only difference, and I'll tell you something: it didn't amount to jack. I mean, when we first got here—all of us—we were real young and innocent, full of romantic bullshit, but we learned pretty damn quick. And so did Mary Anne." Rat would peer down at his hands, silent and thoughtful. After a moment his voice would flatten out. "You don't believe it?" he'd say. "Fine with me. But you don't know human nature. You don't know Nam." Then he'd tell us to listen up. A good sharp mind, Rat said. True, she could be silly sometimes, but she picked up on things fast. At the end of the second week, when four

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  Indeed, the man who had done so much to fight for conscience and freedom and against spiritual tyranny was in danger of creating a church that was in some respects less tolerant than the one he had attacked. Other matters also troubled him. At the height of his collapse, and ready to die, Luther had prayed repeatedly to “Christ who shed his blood for us,” addressing God: “You know that there are many, whom you have allowed now to shed their blood for the gospel, and I believed that I would be one who would shed my blood for your name, but I am not worthy of it. Let your will be done.” 37 These remarks reveal that Luther was again preoccupied with martyrdoms, recent and ongoing. 38 Just a few months before, on April 23, Georg Winkler of Halle—an evangelical who had formerly been a close advisor of Albrecht of Mainz—was murdered on his way back from an interrogation by the archbishop’s officials. 39 Luther had heard of his death the week before his collapse, and suspected that Albrecht might have had Winkler assassinated. And another case was worrying him as well. Leonhard Kaiser, a former Catholic cleric who had started to preach Lutheran doctrine in Bavaria, had been arrested, and on his release in 1525 he had gone to study in Wittenberg, where he became well known to Luther and Melanchthon. But then, after eighteen months in Wittenberg, his father fell seriously ill and he had returned home to Bavaria, only to see his father die just a few hours after he arrived. Unwise enough to preach again, Kaiser was soon arrested by the Bavarian duke’s officials as a recidivist heretic, and on March 7, 1527, he was imprisoned once more. Luther and Melanchthon both wrote him letters of spiritual comfort, as did the Saxon Elector. The news of Kaiser’s imprisonment and impending martyrdom weighed heavily on Luther. In December 1524, “Brother Henry”—a Dutch Lutheran who had also been a student at Wittenberg and a follower of Karlstadt—had been murdered by hostile peasants. Luther had written a pamphlet about his martyrdom, one of the first of many martyrologies of the Reformation. 40 His reaction to the Kaiser case, however, was much more emotional and was pervaded by a strong sense of foreboding. On May 20, a month and a half before his breakdown, he wrote to Kaiser, and was in no doubt about what fate awaited him. 41 In October, still under the impact of his collapse, Luther continued to write about how he felt “unequal” to Kaiser; he was nothing but a “wordy preacher,” whereas “Leo” was a powerful man of action, a “lion” and “emperor” true to his name. 42 It is not surprising that Luther should have identified with Kaiser. There would be even more surprising parallels as the case unfolded.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  For his part, Staupitz wrote sadly to Wenzeslaus Linck in October 1521 that he was now his only friend, “destitute of the other, oh sorrow, whose voice I never once hear nor whose face do I see.” 14 Luther’s disenchantment was complete when, in 1522, Staupitz suddenly became a Benedictine abbot and retired to his beloved Salzburg, to which he had earlier invited Luther. “It is my wish, that you should leave Wittenberg for a time and come to me, so that we may live and die together,” Staupitz had written, probably in December 1518. 15 Yet although Luther felt this as a betrayal, it is hard not to see this decision as utterly in character for a man who loved a good and ordered life, whose friend Ursula Pfeffinger, abbess of the Frauenchiemsee convent, secured the best fish for him, and whose other friend Christoph Scheurl sent him oranges. 16 For Luther, the betrayal would have been multiple. Church law only permitted a monk to transfer to a stricter order, not to one that was more lax. The principle naturally led to much argument over which order was the most demanding but it could hardly be contended that the Benedictines were stricter than the observant Augustinians. The move also marked Staupitz’s retreat from the dramatic changes that had been taking place in the Augustinian order, at just the moment when, as Luther saw it, the transformations for which Staupitz had fought seemed to be coming to fruition. Last but not least, even if Staupitz shared some of the fundamentals of the Augustinian theology Luther espoused, Luther was not wrong to believe that his confessor’s retreat to Salzburg—where he would be near the implacable opponent of the Reformation, Cardinal Matthaeus Lang—was a withdrawal of affection. The favorite pupil, protégé, and confessional son had (in Staupitz’s words) “shat through his hands on his head.” 17 Each man had idealized the other; now both were bitterly disappointed. In June 1522, after sixteen months of silence, Luther wrote to Staupitz, incredulous at his decision to leave the order, but determined not to judge. The tone was now distant, telling him what “we”—he, Linck, and others—were doing to “publicize the pure Word among the people.”

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

  εὐρὺ κατηρεφές Od. 13. 349; κλισίας τε κατηρεφέας 1]. 18. 589; ἐν σίμβλοισι κατηρεφέεσσι Hes. Th. 594; μέγα κῦμα .. κατηρεφές, like κῦμα κυρτόν, Od. 5. 367 :—c. dat., σπέος δάφνῃσι κατηρεφές shaded by, embowered in them, 9. 183, cf. Hes. Th. 778:—so in Trag., «. πέτρος, of a cave, Soph. Ph. 272; so, ἐν «. στέγῃ χθονός Id. El. 381; «. τύμβῳ Id. Ant. 885 ; κ. αὐτῇ τῇ πέτρᾳ Plat. Criti.116 B :—of trees, thickleaved, Theocr. 7. 9: --κ. πόδα τιθέναι to keep the foot covered, of Pallas when seated, and the robe falls over her feet, opp. to ὀρθὸν πόδα 7., when she steps forward, Aesch. Eum. 294, cf. Porph. Il.6.273. 2. c.gen., στέγην, ἧς κατηρεφεῖς δόμοι Eur. Hipp. 468; τράπεζαι x. παντοίων ἀγαθῶν covered with, full of, Anacr. 136: cf. Schaf. Mel. p.137; ν. συνηρεφής. κατήρης, ες, (*dpw) fitted out or furnished with a thing, χλανιδίοις Eur. Supp. 110; ὀσμῇ Id. El. 498; δένδρεα .. καρπῶν ἀφθονίῃσι κατήρεα (Nake κατήορα) Emped. 436; [ἕρπυλλος] φύλλοισι x. Nic. Th. 69:— esp. of ships, furnished with oars, εἶχε πλοῖον κατῆρες ἑτοῖμον had a rowing boat ready, Hdt. 8. 21; but, τάρσος x, a well-jitted oar, Eur. 1.T. 1362, v. Herm. and cf. εὐήρης. κατήφεια, Ion. and Ep. —ety or -ίη [1], 7, (carnpns) :—dejection, sor- row, shame (λύπη κάτω βλέπειν ποιοῦσα, Plut. 2. 528 E), δυσμενέσιν μὲν χάρμα κατηφείην δέ σοι αὐτῷ Il. 3. 51; κατ. καὶ ὄνειδος τό. 498., 17.550; κ. τέ τις καὶ κατάμεμψις σφῶν αὐτῶν πολλὴ ἣν Thuc. 7. 75; δυσθυμία καὶ x. Plut. Them. g; ἄχος καὶ κ. Id. Cor. 20; κ. καὶ σύννοια Philo 2. 204; πατηφίη καὶ ὀϊζύς Rhian. ap. Stob. 54.13. κατηφέω, to be downcast, to be mute with horror or grief,or7 δὲ κατη- φήσας Il. 22. 293; ἀκάχοντο κατήφησάν τ᾽ ἐνὶ θυμῷ Od. 16. 342, cf. Call. Ep. 21, Ap. Rh. 2. 443, etc.; τί δὴ κατηφεῖς ὄμμα; Eur. Med. 1012; of animals, Arist. H. A. 2. 24, 4. κατηφής, és, with downcast eyes, downcast, mute, κατηφέες ἐσσόμεθ᾽ αἰεί Od. 24. 4323 τὸν μὲν κατηφῆ Eur. Or. 881; «. ὄμμα Eur. Heracl. 633; «. ὀφθαλμοί Hipp. 1217 A; of animals, af ἵπποι ὅταν ἀποκείρων- ται, γίνονται κατηφέστεραι Arist. H. A. 6.18, 14; τὸ κατηφές Id. Physiogn. 3, 8, cf. 2 ;---θεοῖς καταχθονίοις .. λαὸς κατηφής Inscr. Syrac. in C. I. 5394. 2. metaph. dim, obscure, dusk, νύξ Anth. P. 6. 658; χωρίον Poll. 5.110; of colour, κ. «at μέλας Philostr. 556, cf. Himer. 12.7. (Deriv. uncertain.) κατηφιάω, -- κατηφέω, Anth. P. 14. 3, Philo 2. 519, Plut. 2.119 C; Ep. part. κατηφιόων, Ap. Rh. τ. 461, etc. κατηφίη [1], 7, v. κατήφεια sub fin. κατηφών, ὄνος, 6, one who causes grief or shame, as Priam calls his sons κατηφόνες, dedecora, Il. 24. 253, v. Spitzn. ad 1.

• From Shunned (2018)

  I was grateful for the dark respite of the theater, the familiar torpor setting in. I sat with arms crossed, declining offers of popcorn and M&M’S. “What is the matter with you?” Ross asked, as we got in the car to drive home. “You were so . . . so bitchy.” “Give me a break,” I said, as we both closed our doors. “Do we really need to hear the long version of the story about how you landed the ‘big sale’ for the Overhead Door Company?” I realized this was a very condescending thing to say but said it anyway, like the bitch he had accused me of being. “Erik and Marie loved that story, especially the punch line,” he said, leaning back, both hands resting on the steering wheel. “Linda, you are not allowed to make fun of my work. I don’t make light of what you do, running all around the country, thinking you’re better than me. That’s not okay. Especially in front of our good friends.” His eyes were watery. I took a few deep breaths but couldn’t ignore the miasma of frustration and sadness hanging between us. I wiped a tear from my cheek. Ross was looking straight ahead. We were headed in a direction I wasn’t ready to go in, and I wanted to slow things down, to escape. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice lower. “You’re right. I acted like a child.” “Linda,” Ross said, turning in his seat to face me, “do you still love me?” His directness startled me. He was looking right at me, holding my gaze. “Of course I love you, Ross,” I said, putting my hand on his. “Of course.” But I had paused too long, giving him time to read the truth behind my eyes. It was a perfect day for a barbecue. We had been asked to bring a blueberry cheesecake, a bottle of wine, and a six-pack of 7UP to Jerry and Julia Mendez’s for a going-away party. Scott Chapman had realized his boyhood dream of being accepted into Bethel, the worldwide headquarters of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Brooklyn, New York. The entire congregation was very proud of him, especially those who had watched him mature from a snot-nosed punk into a handsome, articulate young man of nineteen. It was difficult to find a parking space. The streets were filled with the cars of Scott’s well-wishers. “We should have come earlier,” Ross said, wedging the car into a narrow space four blocks from the party. “Excuse me,” I replied, “but I don’t recall you offering to help make this dessert.” It was Sunday, so our morning had been consumed attending the two-hour service at the Kingdom Hall. After we’d shopped for ingredients and arrived home, we’d had just enough time to assemble the cheesecake and allow it to set in the fridge.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  A friend of his gets killed, so about a week later Rat sits down and writes a letter to the guy's sister. Rat tells her what a great brother she had, how together the guy was, a number one pal and comrade. A real soldier's soldier, Rat says. Then he tells a few stories to make the point, how her brother would always volunteer for stuff nobody else would volunteer for in a million years, dangerous stuff, like doing recon or going out on these really badass night patrols. Stainless steel balls, Rat tells her. The guy was a little crazy, for sure, but crazy in a good way, a real daredevil, because he liked the challenge of it, he liked testing himself, just man against gook. A great, great guy, Rat says. Anyway, it's a terrific letter, very personal and touching. Rat almost bawls writing it. He gets all teary telling about the good times they had together, how her brother made the war seem almost fun, always raising hell and lighting up villes and bringing smoke to bear every which way. A great sense of humor, too. Like the time at this river when he went fishing with a whole damn crate of hand grenades. Probably the funniest thing in world history, Rat says, all that gore, about twenty zillion dead gook fish. Her brother, he had the right attitude. He knew how to have a good time. On Halloween, this real hot spooky night, the dude paints up his body all different colors and puts on this weird mask and hikes over to a ville and goes trick-or-treating almost stark naked, just boots and balls and an M-16. A tremendous human being, Rat says. Pretty nutso sometimes, but you could trust him with your life. And then the letter gets very sad and serious. Rat pours his heart out. He says he loved the guy. He says the guy was his best friend in the world. They were like soul mates, he says, like twins or something, they had a whole lot in common. He tells the guy's sister he'll look her up when the war's Over. So what happens? Rat mails the letter. He waits two months. The dumb cooze never writes back.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  "No," I said, "I won't." Spin The war wasn't all terror and violence. Sometimes things could almost get sweet. For instance, I remember a little boy with a plastic leg. I remember how he hopped over to Azar and asked for a chocolate bar—"GI number one," the kid said—and Azar laughed and handed over the chocolate. When the boy hopped away, Azar clucked his tongue and said, "War's a bitch." He shook his head sadly. "One leg, for Chrissake. Some poor fucker ran out of ammo." I remember Mitchell Sanders sitting quietly in the shade of an old banyan tree. He was using a thumbnail to pry off the body lice, working slowly, carefully depositing the lice in a blue USO envelope. His eyes were tired. It had been a long two weeks in the bush. After an hour or so he sealed up the envelope, wrote FREE in the upper right-hand corner, and addressed it to his draft board in Ohio. On occasions the war was like a Ping-Pong ball. You could put fancy spin on it, you could make it dance. I remember Norman Bowker and Henry Dobbins playing checkers every evening before dark. It was a ritual for them. They would dig a foxhole and get the board out and play long, silent games as the sky went from pink to purple. The rest of us would sometimes stop by to watch. There was something restful about it, something orderly and reassuring. There were red checkers and black checkers. The playing field was laid out in a strict grid, no tunnels or mountains or jungles. You knew where you stood. You knew the score. The pieces were out on the board, the enemy was visible, you could watch the tactics unfolding into larger strategies. There was a winner and a loser. There were rules. I'm forty-three years old, and a writer now, and the war has been over for a long while. Much of it is hard to remember. I sit at this typewriter and stare through my words and watch Kiowa sinking into the deep muck of a shit field, or Curt Lemon hanging in pieces from a tree, and as I write about these things, the remembering is turned into a kind of rehappening. Kiowa yells at me. Curt Lemon steps from the shade into bright sunlight, his face brown and shining, and then he soars into a tree. The bad stuff never stops happening: it lives in its own dimension, replaying itself over and over. But the war wasn't all that way. Like when Ted Lavender went too heavy on the tranquilizers. "How's the war today?" somebody would say, and Ted Lavender would give a soft, spacey smile and say, "Mellow, man. We got ourselves a nice mellow war today."

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

  ὄτλος, 6, suffering, distress, arising from a thing, παιδείας ὄτλον Aesch. Theb. 18; νυμφείων ὄτλον Soph. Tr. 7 (as the Schol., though the Ms. gives ὄκνον). (ὄτλος, ὀτλέω, ὀτλήμων seem to be formed from 4/TAA, τάλας, τλῆναι, τλήμων, with o euphon., just as ἄτλας, ἄθλιος, come from same Root, with a euphon.) ὄτοβος, 6, any loud, wild, startling noise, as the din of battle, or. ἄπλη- tos Hes. Th. 709; the rattling of chariots, Aesch. Theb. 151, 204; the crash of thunder, Soph. O. C. 1479; also of the flute, γλυκὺν αὐλῶν or. Id. ΑἹ]. 1202 ; ὄτ. κροτάλων Antim. 94. So the Verb ὀτοβέω, to sound loud, sound wildly, κοτύλαις ὀτοβεῖ Aesch. Fr. 55; οἵ. troroBéw.— The freq. Mss. reading ὀττοβέω, ὄττοβος is disproved by the metre. (Doubtless onomatop.) ὀτοτοῖ (not ὀττοτοῖ, as often in the Mss.), an exclamation of pain and grief, ak! woe! Trag.; doubled, Eur. Andr, 1197, etc.; also lengthd., ὀτοτοτοῖ Aesch. Pers. 268, al.; ὀτοτοτοῖ τοτοῖ Id. Ag. 1072; ὀτο- ToToTot τοτοῖ Soph. El. 1245; ὀτοτοτοτοτοτοῖ Eur. Tro. 1294, Ion 789. ὀτοτύζω, to cry ὀτοτοῖ, to wail aloud, Ar. Pax 1011, Thesm. 1081; fut. ὀτοτύξομαι, Id. Lys. 520:—Pass. to be bewailed, ὀτοτύζεται .., Aesch. Cho. 329. Cf. dv—, ἐπ-οτοτύζω. Ὀτοτύξιοι, of, Com. pr.n. in Ar. Av. 1043, men of Wails, with a play on Ὀλοφύζξιοι (men of Olophyxus near Mount Athos). ὀτρᾶλέος, a, ov, (v. ὀτρύνω) =sq., Opp. H. 2. 273, Q. Sm. 11. 107 :— used by Hom. and Hes. only in Adv. ὀτρἄλέως, quickly, readily, as 1]. 3, 260, Od. 1g. 100, Hes. Sc. 410. ὀτρηρός, a, dv, (v. ὀτρύνω) quick, nimble, busy, ready, epith. of θερά- mov, Il. τ. 321, Od. 1. 109., 4. 23, etc., cf. Ar. Av. gog; of ταμίη, 1]. 6. 381; μάζῃ ὀτρηρῇ, comically, Matro ap. Ath. 136 Ὁ :—Adv. —pés, = ὀτραλέως, Od. 4. 735. II. = ὀξύς, sharp, cutting, painful, Opp. H. 2. 529. ὄτρἴχες, nom. pl. of ὄθριξ. ὀτρὕγηφάγος [a], ον, -- τρυγηφάγος, Archil. 31. ὀτρυντήρ, ἦρος, 6, (ὑτρύνω) one who stirs up, Hesych. ὀτρυντικός, 7, ov, stirring up, rousing, Eust. 831. 29. ὀτρυντύς, vos, 7, Ion. for ὄτρυνσις (which does not occur), a cheering on, exhortation, Il. 19. 234, 235. [ς, vos.]

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

  παρόψημα, τό, a dainty sidedish, Ath. 367 C; παροψήματα τῶν ἀμ- πέλων, i.e. the grapes, Philostr. 662 :—Dim. --ημάτιον, τό, Poll. 6.56. παροψίδιον, τό, Dim. of παροψίς, Poll. 6. 56 : παρόψιον, Hieracosoph. b Beh τ ψὶς; ίδος, ἡ, (GWov) a dainty sidedish, Pherecr. Χειρ. 4, Ar. Fr. 236, al., Xen. Cyr. 1. 3, 4: metaph., τῶν κακῶν παροψίδες fresh tastes of misery, Magnes Avoy. 1, ubi v. Meineke; cf. παροψώνημα. II. a dish on which such meats are served, Antiph. Bowwr. 3, Alex. ‘Ho. 2.—Though freq. in Com. writers (v. Ath. 367 D sq.), the Atticists condemn the use of the word, Lob. Phryn. 176. παρόψομαι, v. sub παρουράω. παροψωνέω, to buy things to eat besides the regular fare, to buy dainties, Cratin. KAeoB. 8, Ar. Eccl. 226. παροψώνήμα, τό, an addition to the regular fare, a dainty, metaph., εὐνῆς π. τῆς ἐμῆς χλιδῆς a new relish to the pleasures of my bed, Aesch. Ag. 1447; cf. παροψίς 1. πάρπᾶγος, 6, ν. παράπαγος. παρπεπιθών, Ep. redupl. part. aor. 2 of παραπείθω. παρπόδιος, ov, post. for παραπόδιος. παρράλιος, 7, ov, Ep. for παράλιος. παρρέκτηϑξ, ov, 6, =mavodpyos, Hesych. παρρησία, ἡ, (pjows) freespokenness, openness, frankness, claimed by the Athenians as their privilege, ἐλεύθεροι παρρησίᾳ θάλλοντες οἰκοῖεν πόλιν κλεινῶν ᾿Αθηνῶν Eur. Hipp. 442, cf. lon 672; παρρησίᾳ φράζειν Id. Bacch. 668; π. ἔχειν Id. Phoen, 391; παρρησίας οὔσης Ar. Thesm. 541; m. διδόναι τισί Isocr. 20 C; ἐλευθερίας ἡ πόλις μεστὴ Kal π. γίγνεται Plat. Rep. 557 Β; τἀληθῆ μετὰ παρρησίας ἐρῶ Dem. 73. 17; τὴν ὑπὲρ τῶν δικαίων π. ἀποδόμενος Dinarch. 105. 6. 2. in bad sense, licence of tongue, Isocr. 229 B, cf. Plat. Phaedr. 240 E. παρρησιάζομαι, fut. άσομαι Plat., Xen.: aor. ἐπαρρησιασάμην Isocr. 221 A, Aeschin.: pf. (v. infr.): Dep., only used in Prose. To speak freely, openly, boldly, Plat. Gorg. 487D; τινί τι Ib. 491 E, cf. Aeschin. II. 36; πρός τινα Plat. Lach. 178 A, etc.; τινε περί τινος Id. Charm. 156 A, Dem. 287. 13; πολλὰ κατά τινος Polyb. 12. 13, 8 :—pf. πεπαρ- ρησίασμαι in act. sense, ἃ γιγνώσκω πάνθ᾽ ἁπλῶς .. wen. Dem. 55. 1; but τὰ πεπαρρησιασμένα in pass. sense, free expressions, Isocr. 312 B; ἡ ἀλήθεια ἐπαρρησιάζετο Anna Comn. 1. 411.—The Act. in Eust. Opusc. 265. 82. παρρησιαστής, ov, 6, a free speaker, an outspoken person, Arist. Eth. N. 4.3, 28, Diod. 14. 5, Luc. Deor. Conc. 3. παρρησιαστικός, 7, dv, disposed to speaking freely, freespoken, Arist. Rhet. 2.5,11. Adv. --κῶς, Joseph. B. J. 2. 21, 4. παρρησιώδηξ, es, (εἶδος) freespoken: Comp. Adv. -ἔστερον, Diod. 15. 6. παρσένος, Lacon. for παρθένος, Aleman, Ar. Lys. 1263. παρσταίη, παρστᾶσα, etc., Ep. for παραστ-. παρστήετον, Ep. 2 dual subj. aor. 2 of παρίστημι, Od. 18. 183. παρτέμνω, παρτᾶμεϊν, παρτὶϊθεϊ, Ep. for παρατ-. παρτομίς, ίδος, 7, α small book, Hesych. παρυβρίζω, to insult besides, Eccl. παρυγραίνω, to moisten or soften a little, Ath. 356 E, Oribas. 72 Matth. πάρυγρος, ov, somewhat wet, Manetho 1.87 (Axt mavuypos) :---τὸ π. a kind of plaster, Galen.

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

  παρήγησις, ἡ, the task of instruction, Numen. ap. Eus. P. E. 737 B. παρηγμένως, Adv. of παράγω, redundantly, of a compound word, part of which loses its significance, Apoll. Lex. Hom. s. v. τανύηπκες. παρηγορέω, Trag.: impf. παρηγόρουν Aesch., Pr. 646, Ion. παρηγορέ- eoxe Ap. Rh. 4.1740: fut. -ἤσω Plut.: aor. -ησα Eur. Hec, 288, Plat. Ax. 364 C:—Med., impf. Hdt. 1]. citand.: aor. -σάμην Luc. Amor. 52: —Pass., pres., Ath. 687 D: fut. (in med. form) -ἤσομαι Hipp. 47. 17, Aretae.: aor. -ἤθην Plut. Caes. 28, etc.: (maphyopos). To address, exhort, τινα Hdt. 9. 54, Aesch. Pr. 646, etc.; ὀχλεῖς μάτην pe κῦμ’ ὅπως παρηγορῶν Ib. Loor, cf. Eum. 507; 7. ὡς .. to advise, give counsel that .. , Eur. Hec. 288 :—c. acc. pers. et inf., Soph. Fr. 186; so in Med., τὸν Τόργον παρηγορέετο ἀπίστασθαι Hadt. 5. 104, cf. 7. 13; π. τινα μὴ κινδυνεύειν Id. 9. 55 (and so Bekk. for παρηγόρεον in 9. 54), cf. Pind. O. g. 117. II. to console, comfort, appease, soothe, Aesch. Pers. 530; π. τινα ὡς .. to console him [by saying] that .., Eur. Phoen. 1449; τὰ παρηγοροῦντα consolations, emollients, Dem. 1400. 8. Za ον 200: rei, 20 assuage, soothe, τὰ κακὰ δι᾿ ἑτέρων κακῶν Philem. Incert. 52 c, cf. 79; τὴν λύπην, τὰ πάθη Dion. H.1. 77, Plut. 2.156C; τὴν χωλό- τητα Plut. Popl. 16; τὸν βίον τρυφῇ π. Epigr. Gr. 261. 10 :—me- taph. of medicines which allay irritation, 7. τὸν πλεύμονα Hipp. Acut. 393 :—Pass., Epigr. Gr. 1096. 6.—In correct Att. Prose παραμυθέομαι prevails. παρηγόρημα, τό, exhortation, consolation, ἄτεγκτος παρηγορήμασιν Aesch. Fr. 413; π. βίου Philo 2. 39: a remedy, Plut..2. 543 A. παρηγόρησιξ, ews, 7, a mode of curing, Moschio de Mul. παρηγορητέον, verb. Adj. one must apply remedies, πρός τι Galen. παρηγορητικός, v. sub παρηγορικός. παρηγορία, Ion. -ίη, 7, exhortation, persuasion, Ap. Rh. 2. 1281:— metaph., χρίματος .. ἀδόλοισι παρηγορίαις Aesch. Ag. 95 :—ion παρη- yopia, = ἰσηγορία, Wytt. Ep. Cr. p. 173. 2. a surname, Joseph. II. consolation, Tod πένθους Plut. Cimon 4, cf. Pericl. 345 vioto for his loss, Epigr. Gr. 502. 4 :—assuwagement, τοῦ παροξυσμοῦ Aretae, Cur. M. Diut. 1. 3. παρηγορικός, 7, dv, encouraging, consoling, ddyou Poll. 3. 100; so παρηγορητικός, Ib., Schol. 1]. 13. 736. II. soothing, βηχός Hipp. Acut. 392, cf. Aph. 1253 :—Adv. --ἰκῶς, by gentle means, Hipp. Art. 828 :—so, πλάσματα παρηγορητικά Galen. παρήγορος, Dor. mapay-, ov, (ἀγορεύω) consoling, soothing, Ap. Rh. 1.479 :—as Subst. a comforter, Soph. El. 229, Epigr. Gr. 344; and Παρή- Yopos, 77, as a goddess, like Πειθώ, Paus. 1. 43, 6. 2. c. gen., π. δίψης καὶ λιμοῦ assuaging them, M. Anton. (?) ap. Justin. M. Apol. τ. 71. παρηδύνω [Ὁ], ἐο sweeten or season a little, Dorio ap. Ath. 309 F; metaph. of language, Dion. H. de Demosth. 45. παρηθέω, to filter through, Hipp. 267. 37, 40, Galen. :--- παρήθημα, 76, filterings, Galen. Lex. Hipp.

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

  αἰψηρο- -κέλευθος, ov, swift-speeding, epith. of Boreas, Hes. Th. 379. αἰψηρός, ά, ov, (aia) quick, speedy, sudden, αἰψηρὸς δὲ κόρος κρυεροῖο γόοιο satiety in grief comes soon, Od. 4. 103; λῦσεν δ᾽ ἀγορὴν αἰψηρήν he dismissed the assembly so that it quickly broke up, i.e. in haste, Il. 19. 276, Od. 2. 257; like θοὴν ἀλεγύνετε δαῖτα Od. 8. 38.—Not used in Att. : cf. λαιψηρός. ἀΐω [a], Ep. word, often used by Trag. in lyrics (and so Hermipp. Movp. 2)3 once only i in dialogue (Soph. O. C. 304); found only in pres. and impf. : but cf. ἐπαΐω: (v. sub fin.). To perceive by the ear, to hear, c. ace. Tei, ov ἀΐεις ἅ τέ φησι; Il. 15.130, cf. 248; Νέστωρ δὲ πρῶτος κτύπον | 2. metaph. huge, enormous, Eur. Cycl. and so some explain it when used of horses, but better E¢nean, 43 die το. 532, cf. 21. 388, Aesch. Ag. 55, Supp. 59, Eur. Med. 148, etc. ; c. gen. rei, Soph. O. C. 304, Ph. 1410; c. gen. pers., ἀΐει μου... βασιλεύς Aesch. Pers. 633, cf. 874:—also to perceive by the eye, to see, Od. 18. 11, Soph. O. C. 181:—generally, to perceive, ov ἀΐεις ws Τρῶες... ciara ἄγχι νεῶν ; 1]. το. 160. 2. to listen to, give ear to, δίκης Hes. Op. 211: to obey, Aesch. Pers. 874, Ar. Nub. 1166; cf. ἐπαΐω. (From A AF comes also ἀΐτας ; cf. Skt. av, avdmi (tueri, favere), avas (gratia), Zd. av (tueri), Lat. au-dio, and perh. au-ris : Curt. would also recognise αἰσθ-άνομαι as belonging to this Root: cf. also ἀετός.) [Hom. uses & always in pres., diw; so also Aesch. Pers. 633, Soph. Ph. ἐπ but ἄϊεις, ἄϊων Soph. O. C. 181, 304, cf. ἐπαΐω : in impf. ate Il. 10. 532. 21. 388 (as always in Trag.), but ἄϊεν Il. 11. 463, ἄϊον 18. 222 :—+ is always short, except die in Hes. Op. 211, Aesch. Eum. 844, 878, and perth. ἀϊόντεσσι in Od. τ. 352.] ἀΐω [@],=anye, to breathe, found only once in the impf., ἐπεὶ φίλον diov ἦτορ when I was breathing out my life, Il. 15. 252; like θυμὸν dice (cf. ἀΐσθω). ἀϊών [a], Dor. for ἠϊών.

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

  δυσάλγητος, ov, hard to be borne, most painful, or, acc. to Meineke, hard to hurt, Eupol. Incert. 106. II. unfeeling, hard-hearted, Soph. O. T. 12; δειλὸς ἢ δυσάλγητος φρένας Id. Fr. 689. δυσαλθής, és, =sq., Hipp. Art. 807, Plat. Ax. 367 B. Nic. Al. 12. 157. δυσάλθητος, ον, hard to cure, inveterate, Q. Sm. 9. 388, Nonn. Jo. 5. 16. δυσάλιος, ον, Dor. for δυσήλιος. δυσαλλοίωτος, ον, hard to alter: hard to digest, Hipp. 383. 9. δυσάλυκτος, ov, hard to escape, Nic. Al. 251, 550. δυσάλωτος, ov, hard to catch or take, ἄγρα Plat. Lys. 206 A; of birds and fish, Arist. H. A. 8.15, 6., 9. 11, δ: 2. hard to conquer, apya Aesch. Pr. 166; c. gen., 5. κακῶν beyond reach of ills, Soph. O. Ὁ. 1723. 3. hard to comprehend, Plat. Tim. 51 A. δυσ-ἀμβᾶτος, ov, poét. for δυσανάβατος, hard to mount, Simon. 26; δυσαναβ-- in Cornut. N. Ὁ. 14. δυσᾶμερία, Dor. for δυσημ-. δύσάμμορος, ον, most miserable, Il. 19. 315., 22. 428, 485. δυσᾶἄναβίβαστος, ov, hard to bring back, Justin. M. Sucavaywyos, ov, hard to throw up, Diosc. 1.1. δυσανάδοτος, ον, hard to digest, Ath. gt E. δυσαναθυμίᾶτος, ον, hard to evaporate, Artemid. 1.1. δυσανάκλητος, ov, hard to call back, Plut. Thes. 24, etc. :—hard to restore to health, δυνανακλήτως ἔχειν Diosc. Alex. 16; or to good spirits, Max. Tyr. 33. 6. δυσανακόμιστος, ov, hard to bring back or recal, Plut. Rom. 28; poét. δυσαγκόμιστος, Aesch. Eum. 262. δυσανάκρᾶτος, ov, hard to mix or temper, Plut. 2. 1024 Ὁ. δυσανάκρϊἴτος, ov, hard to distinguish or examine, poét. δυσάγκριτος, Aesch. Supp. 126. δυσανάληπτος, ov, hard to recover, Alcidam. 2. 19. to recover from, ἀρρωστία Julian. 181 B. δυσανάλῦὕτος, ov, hard to undo, Greg. Naz. δυσανάπειστος, ov, hard to convince, Plat. Parm. 135 A. δυσανάπλους, ουν, hard to sail up, ὁ Ῥοδανός Strabo 189. δυσανάπλωτος, ov, =foreg., Strabo 222. δυσανάπνευστος, ov, hard to breathe, Arist. de Sens. 5, 10. 2. transpiring with difficulty, Galen. δυσαναπόρευτος, ov, hard to pass, Philo 1. 672, etc. δυσανασκεύαστος, ov, hard to restore, Alex. Trall. p. 776. δυσανάσφαλτος, ov, hardly recovering from an illness, Hipp. 382. 12. δυσανασχετέω, to bear ill, Lat. aegre ferre, Te Thuc. 7. 71: to be greatly vexed, ἐπί τινι or πρός τι Plut. Cam. 35, Polyb. 16. 12, 5; περί τινος Phalar. Ep. 115. δυσανάσχετος, ov, hard to bear, intolerable, Or. Sib. 8. 175 (but the metre requires - σχετέου Or -σχήτου) : a poet. form δυσάνσχετος occurs in Ap. Rh. 2. 272. II. act. hardly bearing, τινός :—Adv. -τως, Poll. 3. 130. δυσανάτρεπτοξ. ov, hard to overthrow, Plut. Caes. 4, Galen. δυσανδρία, 7, (ἀνήρ) want of men, App. Civ. I. 7. BSucdvexros, ov, -εδυσανάσχετος I, Xen. Mem. 2. 2, 8. 2. deadly, 11. hard | δυσάνεμος = duc diodos. δυσάνεμος [G2], ov, Dor. for δυσήνεμος, Soph. Ant. 591. δυσανθήπ, és, shy of flowering, Poll. 1. 231. δυσανίας, ov, =sq., Critias Fr. 37.

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

  δύστηκτος, ov, (τήκω) hard to melt, Hipp. 383.16, Plut. 2. 7o1 B. δυστηνία, 7, misery, Hesych. δύστηνος, Dor. δύστᾶνος, ov, wretched, unhappy, unfortunate, disas- trous, poét. Adj. : 1. mostly of persons, as always in Hom. and mostly in Trag. ; δυστήνων δέ τε παῖδες ἐμῷ μένει ἀντιόωσιν unhappy are they whose sons .., Il. 6. 127. 2. of sufferings and the like, μόχθος δ. Pind. P. 4: 478; θέρος Aesch. Ag. 1655; αἰκίαι Soph. El. 511; ὄνειδος Id. Aj. 1191; λόγοι Eur. H. F. 1346; ὄνειρος Ar. Ran. 1333. Sup. δυστανότατος Soph. El. 121; and Adv., γηράσκω δυστανοτάτως Eur. Supp. 967, cf. Elmsl. Heracl. 544; but no Comp. occurs. If. after Hom., in moral sense, wretched, like Lat. miser (a wretch), e.g. Soph. El. 121, Ph. 1016.—Rare in Prose, though Dem. 421. 20 has 6. λογάρια, in latter sense. (A form dornvos is cited in Suid., and in E. M. 159.11, with the expl. 6 δυστυχὴς καὶ πένης, παρὰ τὸ μὴ στάσιν ἔχει ; so that the Root was taken to be στῆναι: but no satisfactory account of the Etym. has yet been given. Hesych. also has ἀστηνεῖ" ἀδυνατεῖ.) δυστήρητος, ov, hard to keep, Pseudo-Phocyl. 205, Plut. Cleom. 36. δυ-στίβευτος [i], ov, hard to trace, Plut. 2.917 E, 918 A. δυστιθάσευτος, ov, hard to tame, Strabo 705, Plut. 2. 529 B. δυστλήμων, ov, suffering hard things, h. Hom. Ap. 532. δύστλητος, ov, hard to bear, Emped. ap. Plut. 2. 745 C, Aesch. Ag. 1571; δύστλητα τολυπεύειν Epigr. Gr. 562. δυστόκεια, 7, one who has borne a child to misery, dub. in Hesych. δυστοκεύς, éws, 6, an unhappy parent, δυστοκέες ἀλετρίδες Call. Del. 242; δ. τοκέες Anth. P. append. 225. δυστοκέω, to have a hard time, suffer hard labour, of females, Hipp. Aph. 1254, Plat. Theaet. 149 Ὁ, Arist. H. A. 7. 9, 4:—metaph., δυστοκεῖ πόλις Ar. Ran. 1423. δυστοκία, 7, a painful delivery, hard birth, Arist. H. A. 7. 10, I, Theophr. H. P. g. 16, I, Call. Del. 242. δύστοκος, ov, bringing forth with pain :—Adv., δυστόκως ἔχειν Eust. Opusc. 326. 53. ΤΙ. born for mischief, Eur. Fr. 855. δυστομέω, like δυσφημέω, to speak evil of, τινά τι Soph. O. C. 986. δύ-στομος, ov, (στόμα) hard-mouthed, of a horse, Anth. Plan. 361. δύσ-τομος, ον, (τέμνω) hard to cut, Theophr. H. P. 3. 14, I. pa — a A Th A TT NE -.-. | stubborn, Soph. Aj. 914, Arist. Eth. E. 3. 7, 6: δύσπονος τε τ᾿ δύσχιμος. δύ-στονος, ov, lamentable, grievous, Aesch. Theb. 984, 999. δυστόπαστος, ov, hard to guess, ὅστις TOT εἶ σύ, δυστόπαστος εἰδέναι Eur. Tro. 885; Φοίβου δυστόπαστ᾽ αἰνίγματα Id. Suppl. 138. δυ-στόχαστος, ov, hard to hit upon, καιρός Plut. Ant. 28. δυστράπεζος, ov, fed on horrid food, Eur. H. F. 385. δυστρἄᾶπελία, ἡ, difficulty of managing or dealing with, τῆς “Ὑδρας Diod. 4. 11, cf. 5. 15; of bad soil, Id. 17. 82.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  Again there was some silence as Mitchell Sanders looked out on the river. The dark was coming on hard now, and off to the west I could see the mountains rising in silhouette, all the mysteries and unknowns. "This next part," Sanders said quietly, "you won't believe." "Probably not," I said. "You won't. And you know why?" He gave me a long, tired smile. "Because it happened. Because every word is absolutely dead-on true." Sanders made a sound in his throat, like a sigh, as if to say he didn't care if I believed him or not. But he did care. He wanted me to feel the truth, to believe by the raw force of feeling. He seemed sad, in a way. "These six guys," he said, "they're pretty fried out by now, and one night they start hearing voices. Like at a cocktail party. That's what it sounds like, this big swank gook cocktail party somewhere out there in the fog. Music and chitchat and stuff. It's crazy, I know, but they hear the champagne corks. They hear the actual martini glasses. Real hoity-toity, all very civilized, except this isn't civilization. This is Nam. "Anyway, the guys try to be cool. They just lie there and groove, but after a while they start hearing—you won't believe this—they hear chamber music. They hear violins and cellos. They hear this terrific mama-san soprano. Then after a while they hear gook opera and a glee club and the Haiphong Boys Choir and a barbershop quartet and all kinds of funky chanting and Buddha-Buddha stuff. And the whole time, in the background, there's still that cocktail party going on. All these different voices. Not human voices, though. Because it's the mountains. Follow me? The rock— it's talking. And the fog, too, and the grass and the goddamn mongooses. Everything talks. The trees talk politics, the monkeys talk religion. The whole country. Vietnam. The place talks. It talks. Understand? Nam—it truly talks. "The guys can't cope. They lose it. They get on the radio and report enemy movement—a whole army, they say—and they order up the firepower. They get arty and gunships. They call in air strikes. And I'll tell you, they fuckin' crash that cocktail party. All night long, they just smoke those mountains. They make jungle juice. They blow away trees and glee clubs and whatever else there is to blow away. Scorch time. They walk napalm up and down the ridges. They bring in the Cobras and F-4s, they use Willie Peter and HE and incendiaries. It's all fire. They make those mountains burn. "Around dawn things finally get quiet. Like you never even heard quiet before. One of those real thick, real misty days—yjust clouds and fog, they're off in this special zone—and the mountains are absolutely dead-flat silent. Like Brigadoon—pure vapor, you know? Everything's all sucked up inside the fog. Not a single sound, except they still hear it.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  Norman Bowker nodded, started to speak, but then stopped and got up and moved to the cooler and shoved his hands deep into the ice. He was naked except for his shorts and dog tags. In a way, I envied him—all of them. Their deep bush tans, the sores and blisters, the stories, the 1n-it- togetherness. I felt close to them, yes, but I also felt a new sense of separation. My fatigues were starched; I had a neat haircut and the clean, sterile smell of the rear. They were still my buddies, at least on one level, but once you leave the boonies, the whole comrade business gets turned around. You become a civilian. You forfeit membership in the family, the blood fraternity, and no matter how hard you try, you can't pretend to be part of it. That's how I felt—like a civilian—and it made me sad. These guys had been my brothers. We'd loved one another. Norman Bowker bent forward and scooped up some ice against his chest, pressing it there for a moment, then he fished out a beer and snapped it open. "It was out by My Khe," he said quietly. "One of those killer hot days, hot-hot, and we're all popping salt tabs just to stay conscious. Can't barely breathe. Everybody's lying around, just grooving it, and after a while somebody says, 'Hey, where's Morty?' So the lieutenant does a head count, and guess what? No Morty." "Gone," Azar said. "Poof. No fuckin' Morty." Norman Bowker nodded. "Anyhow, we send out two search patrols. No dice. Not a trace." Pausing a second, Bowker poured a trickle of beer onto his blister and licked at it. "By then it's almost dark. Lieutenant Cross, he's ready to have a fit—you know how he gets, right?—and then, guess what? Take a guess." "Morty shows," I said. "You got it, man. Morty shows. We almost chalk him up as MIA, and then, bingo, he shows." "Soaking wet," said Azar. "Hey; listen—" "Okay, but te// it." Norman Bowker frowned. "Soaking wet," he said. "Turns out the moron went for a swim. You believe that? All alone, he just takes off, hikes a couple klicks, finds himself a river and strips down and hops in and starts doing the goddamn breast stroke or some such fine shit. No security, no nothing. I mean, the dude goes skinny dipping." Azar giggled. "A hot day." "Not that hot," said Dave Jensen. "Hot, though." "Get the picture?" Bowker said. "This is My Khe we're talking about, dinks everywhere, and the guy goes for a swim." "Crazy," I said. I looked across the hootch. Twenty or thirty guys were there, some drinking, some passed out, but I couldn't find Morty Phillips among them. Bowker smiled. He reached out and put his hand on my knee and squeezed. "That's the kicker, man. No more Morty." "No?"

• From Shunned (2018)

  There was no quibbling over who got what table or painting or loan to pay off; I’d already given thought to the list, and it seemed like Ross had, too. When it was done, Ross mixed us both a drink and we ordered a pizza. It was Saturday night, and neither of us had anything else to do but hang out with each other. Curled up in sweatpants on separate ends of the couch, we sipped our drinks and stared holes in the carpet. “I’ll call Jerry and request a meeting tomorrow,” Ross said, getting up from the couch. “It’s important to me that the elders hear this from us first.” I agreed. It felt like the honorable thing to do, and I had nothing to lose. Ross would finally get me to meet with the elders, but now the terms were acceptable. I’d made my decision and had no fears of being dissuaded. The next day, Ross got behind the wheel of the repaired Honda without saying a word. I took the passenger seat, and we rode in silence toward the Kingdom Hall, taking the usual route down Butner Road. As we waited at the stop sign, my eyes came to rest on the guardrail he’d crashed into a few weeks earlier. It was stable and steady, peppered with the black rubber marks of many close calls. I squeezed the door handle a little more tightly. This is the last time we’ll ever go the Hall together—a sobering thought that beckoned an unexpected melancholy. So many parts of my life were about to end. Ross turned the Honda toward the Kingdom Hall and parked next to Jerry’s Taurus. I wasn’t expecting to see the second car, which I recognized as Vince Lloyd’s. Jerry must have asked him to join us. Ross hadn’t been expecting anyone else, or, if he had, he hadn’t mentioned it. The door was unlocked, but the Hall was dark and hollow, except for light emanating from a smaller meeting room in the rear of the building. There, we found both men. Jerry was setting four chairs in a circle. Diminutive in height and round in girth, he bounced around like a ball. Every part of him was round: his head, his cheeks, eyes like coins behind round wire glasses, waist spilling over either side of his belt. This gave him a jolly persona, rolling along with no sharp edges to harm whatever or whomever he came in contact with. Vince was plugging in a space heater to take the chill off. He was long-limbed and frail, pushing his wire-frame glasses up the rim of his nose as he stood. It was midafternoon, and they were still wearing suits and ties from the morning services.

• From Shunned (2018)

  It was an abrupt entrance that halted our conversation. Okay. Maybe he’s distressed over Sheena or he’s simply hungry. Once he eats a few bites, he’ll join us. Lory raised her voice and asked them about Sheena. The answers came between the clank of silverware on plates and the microwave buzzer. She was perfectly fine, Randy said, except for the discomfort of false labor. She was extremely nervous about the delivery. The answer seemed to satisfy everyone in the living room. Dad started telling Bob the story of how I begged for a puppy when I was twelve years old. I’d taken a 4-H class on dog training through my elementary school and had become obsessed with adopting and training a puppy. He recalled my process of researching the breeds, scouring the classified ads, and begging for a sheepdog, then a husky, then a pointer, and finally settling on a Labrador. After weeks of “begging,” a characterization I could not deny, Mom and Dad announced I could have a dog but would have to wait two months, until school let out, for summer. “Dogs—especially puppies—take time,” Dad had said, then laid down the law of my responsibility to feed, train, and clean up after the animal. As Dad relayed his version of this story, Mom and I chimed in with various corrections or embellishments of his account. Lory, who was seventeen when this happened, encouraged me to choose a dog from the pound, thus saving an animal from probable euthanasia and sparing the family an expensive breeder’s fee. “I did?” Lory smiled with pride and sat up a little taller, realizing her impact on destiny. “I don’t remember that.” “That’s where I got the idea,” I said. “And the day after school let out for the summer, Dad, Randy, and I hopped into the blue Ranchero, drove to the pound, and brought home Shad.” “From the first litter she saw,” Dad said to Bob. Shad was a Lab-collie mix who lived to thirteen, keeping Mom company in the years after I left home. “It was Randy who came up with the name Shad,” I said. “The name suited him.” The storytelling created an aperture of kinship that kindled my joy as everyone participated in the telling. At the same time, the contrast with the present was melancholy. Randy could easily hear the conversation from the other room, as he, Marlene, and Tyler sat in silence, eating at the table. He did not contribute any new details, which was unlike him. The silence between stories was growing, along with my dread of saying goodbye. I knew the death exemption was about to expire. It became clear that Randy was not going to join us.