August 1984I’M GOING TO MAKE it. I’m going to make it, Man. I’m going to make it.
I’m still over the west ridge, hunkerin down on my daybed, night bed, trying to meditate, trying to see into this darkness, this true dark of true dark. What is it? What is evil? In the sixties we were taught there is no such dichotomy as good-evil. Only shades of gray. In the seventies even that became irrelevant. But how? How did civilization—American culture anyway—lose control? Lose sight? Lose insight?
What right do I have saying, I’m going to make it? I should have died at Dai Do, or at Loon, or on Storrow Drive. What I did to Linda and to my daughters is almost exactly what Bobby’s father did to him except where Wap’s old man was chased away by Miriam and whatever demons he had, I only had the demons
