All you can do is tell it one more time, patiently, adding and subtracting, making up a few things to get at the real truth. It's about sorrow. And even if it did happen, it didn't happen in the mountains, it happened in this little village on the Batangan Peninsula, and it was raining like crazy, and one night a guy named Stink Harris woke up screaming with a leech on his tongue. They've got a radio along, so if they hear anything suspicious—anything—they're supposed to call in artillery or gunships, whatever it takes. It's all fire. And if nobody chickened out, the grenade would make a light popping sound and they'd be covered with smoke and they'd laugh and dance around and then do it again. The keywords here are ‘hurt’ and ‘pain’ – the memory of dead Curt is for Rat … Sharp gray eyes, lean and narrow-waisted, and when he died it was almost beautiful, the way the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss and vines and white blossoms. Mitchell Sanders and Kathleen. I had a buddy in Vietnam. He shot randomly, almost casually, quick little spurts in the belly and butt. Those six guys, they heard wicked sound out there. ", The dark was coming on hard now, and off to the west I could see the mountains rising in silhouette, "You won't. The place talks. I've told it before—many times, many versions. Weird echoes and stuff. Every goddamn detail—the mountains and the river and especially that poor dumb baby buffalo. "This next part," Sanders said quietly, "you won't believe." She'll explain that as a rule she hates war stories; she can't understand why people want to wallow in all the blood and gore. He shot randomly, almost casually, quick little spurts in the belly and butt. "Because it happened. I can see him turning, looking back at Rat Kiley, then he laughed and took that curious half step from shade into sunlight, his face suddenly brown and shining, and when his foot touched down, in that instant, he must've thought it was the sunlight that was killing him. The truths are contradictory. The dead guy's name was Curt Lemon. It talks. Vietnam. "Forget it." They hauled it across the open square, hoisted it up, and dumped it in the village well. He tried to say something, but then cradled his rifle and went off by himself. A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth. If it detonates in someone's hands, they only get covered with smoke--the grenades are supposed to be harmless. He's nineteen years old—it's too much for him—so he looks at you with those big sad gentle killer eyes and says cooze, because his friend is dead, and because it's so incredibly sad and true: she never wrote back. They can't get on the horn and call back to base and say, 'Hey, listen, we need some firepower, we got to blow away this weirdo gook rock band.'. It's about sorrow. They don't talk. Real hoity-toity, all very civilized, except this isn't civilization. Rat Kiley tortured it. Rat Kiley tortured it. Everybody's sweet little virgin girlfriend. When Rat Kiley's best friend was killed in the war, he became so angry. True war stories do not generalize. They were in the deep jungle, and Rat and Curt were playing catch with smoke grenades. War makes you a man; war makes you dead. They've got a radio along, so if they hear anything suspicious—anything—they're supposed to call in artillery or gunships, whatever it takes. Another guy almost flips. All these different voices. Rat mails the letter. Which character would be most likely to carry a weapon out of paranoia? Whoever chickened out was a yellow mother. Often the crazy stuff is true and the normal stuff isn't, because the normal stuff is necessary to make you believe the truly incredible craziness. That's what it sounds like, this big swank gook cocktail party somewhere out there in the fog. Lemon and Rat Kiley started goofing. Up in the canopy there were tiny white blossoms, but no sunlight at all, and I remember the shadows spreading out under the trees where Curt Lemon and Rat Kiley were playing catch with smoke grenades. He shot away chunks of meat below the ribs. A summary of Part X (Section5) in Tim O’Brien's The Things They Carried. One guy jumps on it and takes the blast, but it's a killer grenade and everybody dies anyway. Rat Kiley had lost his best friend in the world. They heard sound you just plain won't believe." He shot away chunks of meat below the ribs” (O’Brien 75) and later says, “Rat Kiley was crying. They just listen. Then he spits and stares. On the third day, Curt Lemon stepped on a booby-trapped 105 round. It can be argued, for instance, that war is grotesque. It's hard to tell you what happened next. They get on the radio and report enemy movement—a whole army, they say—and they order up the firepower. Music and chitchat and stuff. Teach your students to analyze literature like LitCharts does. I never seen it before." Everything talks. Sanders made a sound in his throat, like a sigh, as if to say he didn't care if I believed him or not. Kiley previously served in the mountains of Chu Lai, the setting of “Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong.” O’Brien has great respect for Kiley’s medical prowess, especially when he is shot for the second time and is subjected to the mistreatment of another medic, Bobby Jorgenson. True war stories do not generalize. Rat Kiley comes to accept the death of his best friend Kurt Lemon, killing a buffalo child, and they can no longer accept the war and shoots himself in the foot. Sanders glanced at me to make sure I had the scenario. Already the lead squad had crossed the river and was filing off toward the west. "Right." This event produces the question, why was Rat the only one who couldn’t deal with Curt’s death or at least keep his sanity after his death. Rat Kiley wrote a long, thoughtful, and sentimental letter to Lemon’s sister explaining how terrific Lemon was, the adventures the two of them had together, how Lemon’s death took place, and the … The pictures get jumbled; you tend to miss a lot. Sharp gray eyes, lean and narrow-waisted, and when he died it was almost beautiful, the way the sunlight came around him and lifted him up and sucked him high into a tree full of moss and vines and white blossoms. He opened up a can of C rations, pork and beans, but the baby buffalo wasn't interested. He dies under heavy mortar fire and is buried under what the platoon calls a "shit field." One guy jumps on it and takes the blast and saves his three buddies. You can tell a true war story if it embarrasses you. It says, poor bastard, you'll never know—wrong frequency—you don't even want to hear this. "Last night, man, I had to make up a few things.". No Mitchell Sanders, you tell her. You can't tease it out. So they lie there in the fog and keep their mouths shut. It's always a woman. Rat almost bawls writing it. he said. Because every word is absolutely dead-on true." It was sad to read that he died the way he did while he was in the middle of having fun with his best friend, Rat Kiley. "No, go ahead." Rat Kiley had lost his best friend in the world. I mean, they spent six trillion dollars on firepower, and this fatass colonel wants answers, he wants to know what the fuckin' story is. A grenade sails out. Twenty years later, I can still see the sunlight on Lemon's face. What it was doing there I don't know—no farms or paddies—but we chased it down and got a rope around it and led it along to a deserted village where we set up for the night. What they need is to go out on LP. He put the rifle muzzle up against the mouth and shot the mouth away. Jungle, sort of, except it's way up in the clouds and there's always this fog—like rain, except it's not raining—everything's all wet and swirly and tangled up and you can't see jack, you can't find your own pecker to piss with. Late in the night Mitchell Sanders touched my shoulder. Send guys to war, they come home talking dirty. In war you lose your sense of the definite, hence your sense of truth itself, and therefore it's safe to say that in a true war story nothing is ever absolutely true. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. And then the letter gets very sad and serious. Use this CliffsNotes The Things They Carried Study Guide today to ace your next test! They walk napalm up and down the ridges. Which character would be most likely to carry guilt of his dead best friend? But it's a listening post, right? Nothing turns inside. Not human voices, though. "Just came to me," he whispered. There is no rectitude whatsoever. A great, great guy, Rat says. A nature hike, they thought, not even a war, so they went off into the shade of some giant trees—quadruple canopy, no sunlight at all—and they were giggling and calling each other yellow mother and playing a silly game they'd invented. You can tell a true war story by the way it never seems to end. Your girlfriend. How do you generalize? In a true war story, if there's a moral at all, it's like the thread that makes the cloth. 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. Rat goes crazy with grief and tortures and kills a water buffalo. A great sense of humor, too. All around him was the smell of smoke and filth and deep greenery. "But the guys don't say zip. It's about sisters who never write back and people who never listen. He certainly does not say woman, or girl. "Just came to me," he whispered. It was a love story" (Page 85) … Afterward, we sat waiting for Rat to get himself together. Then he reloaded, squatted down, and shot it in the left front knee. Rat Kiley had lost his best friend in the world. A young man who frequently attempts to assume the role as a tough soldier. A friend of his gets killed, so about a week later Rat sits down and writes a letter to the guy’s sister. Naturally they get nervous. Kiley had just lost his best friend, O’Brien explains, … They carry weapons: the M-60, the M-16, the M-79, M-14s, CAR-15s, Chi-Coms, RPGs, and bayonets, just to name a few. Music and chitchat and stuff. "Hear that quiet, man?" Like you don't even have a body. They were kids; they just didn't know. This one wakes me up. Cooze, he says. You don't know spooky till you been there. I'll picture Rat Kiley's face, his grief, and I'll think, You dumb cooze. What seems to happen becomes its own happening and has to be told that way. Not then, not ever. "Affirm," he said. Her brother, he had the right attitude. The answer matters. He wanted me to feel the truth, to believe by the raw force of feeling. Even now, at this instant, I remember that yo-yo. Beginning to end, you tell her, it's all made up. A handsome kid, really. It went down hard, then got up again, and Rat took careful aim and shot off an ear. "So they pack up and start humping. Bob "Rat" Kiley is a friendly and skilled medic, who braves danger to keep his fellow soldiers alive. Rat Kiley, best friend, writes a letter to Curt's sister. For a time no one spoke. It says everything you can't ever say. After Lemon dies, Rat shoots up a … The idea's to spend a week up there, just lie low and listen for enemy movement. The Native American soldier character in The Things They Carried, he is Tim O'Brien's best friend and serves as a calming influence in Alpha Company. In the mountains that day, I watched Lemon turn sideways. except this isn't civilization. It's a question of credibility. War is hell, but that's not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. Trees and rocks—you got to listen to your enemy. Curt Lemon was dead. Nobody hears nothin'. Like a radio or something, but it's not a radio, it's this strange gook music that comes right out of the rocks. A tremendous human being, Rat says. Probably the funniest thing in world history, Rat says, all that gore, about twenty zillion dead gook fish. and the jumper says, "Story of my life, man," and the other guy starts to smile but he's dead. Everyone called him rat-real name was bob. If you believe it, be skeptical. Rat Kiley had lost his best friend in the world. I was always there for others through their injuries. Later in the week Rat would write a long personal letter to the guy's sister, who would not write back, but for now, it was simply a question of pain. Bob “Rat” Kiley carried a cloth pack with morphine, plasma, malaria pills, surgical lotions and other medical equipment, including comic books and chocolate for the seriously wounded, to only twenty pounds. In a way, I suppose, you had to be there, you had to hear it, but I could tell how desperately Sanders wanted me to believe him, his frustration at not quite getting the details right, not quite pinning down the final and definitive truth. Tags: Question 40 . In the face of such tragedy tales of valorous victories seem shallow and foolish. He knew how to have a good time. The rest of us stood in a ragged circle around the baby buffalo. There is no clarity. Then he shrugged and gave me a stare that lasted all day. Like a radio or something, but it's not a radio, like the mountains are tuned in to Radio fucking Hanoi, One guy sticks Juicy Fruit in his ears. It was still alive, though just barely, just in the eyes. A friend of his gets killed, so about a week later Rat sits down and writes a letter to the guy's sister. His name was Bob Kiley but everybody called him Rat. The game involved smoke grenades, which were harmless unless you did stupid things, and what they did was pull out the pin and stand a few feet apart and play catch under the shade of those huge trees. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. The sounds carry forever. as if to say he didn't care if I believed him or not. A grenade sails out. Linda and Henry Dobbins. Then he reloaded, squatted down, and shot it in the left front knee. The whole platoon stood there watching, feeling all kinds of things, but there wasn't a great deal of pity for the baby water buffalo. Rat Kiley. And man, I'll tell you—it's spooky. In a true war story, if there's a moral at all, it's like the thread that makes the cloth. You can tell a true war story if it embarrasses you. Report an issue . Almost nothing is true, war is just another name for death, and yet any soldier will tell you, if he tells the truth, that proximity to death brings with it a corresponding proximity to life. But he did care. A true war story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe. For example: War is hell. "Right," I said. Rat Kiley and Norman Bowker. Can't joke it away. Chemical weapons. The sister never writes back. 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