Whistling for the Elephants Read Online Free PDF

guess he must have been around eighteen because I remember
the morning he got his letter from the Draft Board.
    ‘What’s
it say?’ Gabriel thrust the letter at me. He wasn’t exactly a high-school
graduate. Gabriel knew cars, not words. I read the letter over.
    ‘It’s
from the Draft Board.’
    ‘It’s
from the Draft Board, right?’ Gabriel was a little slow.
    ‘You’ve
been called for your “pre-induction physical exam”,’ I continued.
    ‘Pre-induction
physical exam. Geez.’
    ‘Tuesday
the fourteenth.’
    ‘God
damn. God damn. I am a good American, you know that?’ I nodded. I knew this.
Being American came with a presumption of goodness. ‘I am a goddamn good
American but I am not going to fight no goddamn foreign war. You know what you
need to know to be a good American?’ I shook my head. The other kids were
piling on the bus and I leaned forward, desperate not to miss what he was
saying. This was information that I needed. ‘All you need to know is that the
Chevy is a primo car and Bud Harrelson is the greatest shortstop of all time.
Gabriel slammed the door shut and took off.
    Since
1964 draft dodgers had been gathering force in the US. They had a fairly
straightforward slogan which even Gabriel could come to terms with: ‘We won’t
go.’ Gabriel was not the type to run to Canada. It was too far and too foreign.
So he just decided not to sleep any more. It was not an uncommon dodge. He
figured if he didn’t sleep for ten days or so he would fail his physical and go
back to the garage. Gabriel was about four days into his plan when it started
affecting his driving. At first we helped him out. The kids took turns standing
beside him and steadying the wheel as he drove. Unfortunately our house was the
first one on his route (pronounced ‘rowt’). There was no one else on board to
correct Gabriel as he made a wide turn into the Gardens, ploughed right through
our holly hedge and came to a stop next to our front porch. It so happened
Father was sitting there that morning, reading the New York Times. To
give him credit he never flinched.
    ‘What,
may I ask, is going on?’ he demanded.
    ‘It’s
just Gabriel,’ said Donna Marie, who had been waiting on the corner. Donna
Marie lived next door but one. She was the one who thought I had cooties so I
never sat with her on the bus. She attempted to unjam our mailbox from the bus
door and get in.
    ‘He
probably fell asleep at the wheel again. Asshole,’ Donna Marie’s cousin, Dirk,
volunteered. Dirk lived over on Hampshire. He was a senior and he didn’t exactly
approve of Gabriel. Dirk had very short hair and wanted to be a Marine. I tried
to explain to Father.
    ‘No one
else’s house would have been a problem. You see, we’re the only ones with a
hedge around our lawn. No one else has anything on their lawn that Gabriel
could have hit and it’s only that he hasn’t been sleeping so the Army will say
he can stay home. After all, the escalation of the Vietnam War was done without
the will of the American people. It’s up to the goddamn Commies to sort
themselves out, not the US Marines.’ I took a deep breath. Normally the word ‘goddamn’
would have caused a stir but Father wasn’t listening. He was only fixed on one
thing.
    ‘He
doesn’t want to do his military service?’ Father’s quiet disgust cut through
the noise of the bus horn which Gabriel had chosen to rest his head on.
    ‘He
doesn’t want to kill people he doesn’t know,’ I explained. ‘It’s… uhm…’
    ‘Un-American,’
said Donna Marie. We nodded to each other in political agreement. It was
thrilling. Father folded his paper and came quite close to slapping it down on
the porch railing.
    ‘But he
appears perfectly happy to kill people he does know.
    Father
drove the bus that day and forbade me to wear my Vietnam PoW silver bracelet
any more. I felt disloyal to Lt Hutton, but it was probably just as well. The
inscribed bangle had already made my wrist go a