The roll call of death should always be taken as it was
first taken by Homer in the record of war that stands at the beginning of
western civilization. Here each death,
whether Trojan or Greek, comes before one’s eyes in four aspects: the name of
the person; the weapon (“freighted with dark pains”) as it approaches the body;
the site of the entry and the slow progress of the widening wound (for we are
to understand that it is the deconstruction of sentient tissue that is taking
place, and that this deconstruction always occurs along a specific path); and
fourth and finally, one attribute of civilization as it is embodied in that
person, or in that person’s parent or comrade, for the capacity of parenting
and camaraderie are themselves essential attributes of civilization.
Each attribute is invoked into the center of the wound, for
each is implicated there and itself unmade: so the spear that cuts through the
sinew of Padaeus’s head, passing through his teeth and severing his tongue,
passes also through through the work of the goodly Theano who “reared him
carefully even as her own children”; the bronze point that enters Phereclus
through the right buttock, pierces bladder and bone, and pierces as well the shipbuilding
and craftsmanship bodied forth in this son of Tecton, Harmon’s son; in the
lethal fall of Axylus from his car is the fall of the well-built Arisbe, a home
by the high road where entertainment was given to all; the huge jagged rock
that cuts and crushes through the great-souled head of Epicles cuts its way too
through his gradually shattered camaraderie with Sarpedon.
So, too, the twentieth-century litany of war deaths occurs
in the same way: for the United States, the Vietnam War is not 57,000 names but
names, bodies, and embodied culture – not Robert Gilray but Robert Gilray, from
the left the artillery shell approached, entered his body and began its dark
explosion, exploding there, too, the image of the standing crowd that each
week watched his swift run across the playing fields of Chatham; not Manuel
Font but Manuel Font, around his fragile frame the fire closed in, burning into
his skin, and skull and brain, burning even into the deep, shy corners where he
studied at school.
So the list would continue through tens of thousands of
others. That the war deaths occurred on
behalf of a terrain in which pianos could be played and bicycles could be pedaled,
where schools would each day be entered by restrained and extravagantly gesturing
children alike, must be indicated by appending the direction of motive, “for my
country,” since deaths themselves are the unmaking of the embodied terrain of
pianos and bicycles, classmates, comrades and schools.
The “unmaking” of the human being, the emptying of the
nation from his body (“for the nation”) is equally characteristic of dying or
being wounded, for the in part naturally “given” and in part “made” body is
deconstructed. When the Irishman’s chest is shattered, when the Armenian boy is
shot through the legs and groin, when a Russian woman dies in a burning
villager, when an American medic is blown apart on the field, their wounds are
not Irish, Armenian, Russian or American precisely because it is the unmaking
of an Irishman, the unmaking of an Armenian boy, the unmaking of a Russian
woman, the unmaking of an American soldier that has just occurred, as well as
in each case the unmaking of the civilization as it resides in each of those
bodies. The arms that had learned to gesture in a particular way are unmade;
the hands that held within them not just blood and bone but the movements that
made possible the playing of the piano are unmade; the fingers and palms that
knew in intricate detail the weight and feel of a particular tool are unmade;
the feet that had within them “by heart” (that is, as a matter of deep bodily
habit) the knowledge of how to pedal a bicycles are unmade; the heads and arms
and back and legs that contained within them an elaborate sequence of steps in
a certain dance are unmade; all are deconstructed along with the tissue itself,
the sentient source and site of all learning.
The road of injury leading to the town of freedom
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