THE GIANT
Mel Waldman
The first time I saw THE GIANT I was disappearing from humanity. I thought I was a messiah from Brooklyn. I had glorious dreams.
I was going for my M.A. in philosophy. But I spent most of my time drifting into the blue, smoking and puffing and in those days-King Size Kools were as deadly as pot.
I was clowning around and goofing, off into eternity, and so now and then I’d visit this man and tell him my problems. He was terrific. I swear, he could have been a therapist. We talked, and he told me about the war, Korea, you know. He mentioned how he was a straight “A” student and never took notes. He breezed through school, but the war was different. It was a bitch. And if anyone tells you it was sweet and sweet, well, it was the smell of blood across your heart and knowing maybe tomorrow would be the last, when any moment your balls or cock or any combination of, could be blown to kingdom come and hell, who wants to be when you ain’t a man anymore?
I worshipped this real man. Yeah, he even said he was scared shit out there in the dirt. And feeling, touching some guy’s guts just blown into the ashes. May he rest in peace, and how close can a thing be to death?
He told me to leave school, and come back later. He was over 6 feet tall and very husky, with auburn hair, and he didn’t have a goatee then. He was a wise man. He understood.
I got very sick. I smoked 4 packs of Kools each day, coughed, smoked the grass a few times, went to whores, took the needle among junkies, and after the spring term, left. I disappeared. I left without saying good-bye.
Hey you, you out there in the skin, with the clothes on and called Mr., and with a woman called Miss or Mrs. and the kids and the old, bet you can’t guess where I was.
You have to know. Try. Try to comprehend. The whole freakin world is waiting. We have to find out if we ever want to return. After is very important.
Silence. In the silence, we look dead. Yet we are merely frozen in the seething darkness of time. We are here. And yet we are invisible.
Here. And yet far away, we exist too.
Away. Far away, where they (we) walk on grass and kiss the earth. Where human things meet and converse. And smile, and cry too. And THE GIANT was left behind to listen to sad boys growing into sad men, and yet, some folks never return.
I did. Came back from the dead. Most say I never came back. I was so high I couldn’t come down, not even once to say hello, beg, cry for momma who died years ago. Humpty Dumpty ain’t together no more.
Yeah, I left and hid underneath the earth among the worms but they were not so bad considering. When I came out of the hole, and before, I thought about the man. He made me laugh. Didn’t tell you he was funny. Oh god, he was the funniest thing. If there are any directors around or producers, I want you to look him up, cause he has the spirit, and when he talks, we laugh, cry, do a lot of things, silly things cause he has this terrific magnetism. He’s got it. You’ve got to find him!
Tell him I got very cold in winter. Puff. Puff. And I caught pneumonia. Other things too. And I miss him. Hope he remembers.
A few years later, I was back in school. Finished all my course work. Passed the Comprehensive Exam. But had to write this thesis. Had to choose an adviser.
We were re-united. I almost kneeled before him. He laughed and cackled and made me laugh and cackle. So we got along splendidly. I even told him where I had been and he didn’t flinch.
He had a goatee. I had a potbelly. Had gained 60 pounds. We were different. So I grew a goatee. And he took me on. He became my mentor.
We began in the spring. In fact, I began and he watched. We didn’t rush. And he had a drink here and there. I think it was April, and he didn’t talk about Korea. He drank Scotch.
I shook in his presence. Yet he always made me laugh. Told me about this sergeant who was queer. Wanted to be THE GIANT’S lover. He thanked the guy but said he wasn’t that way. I roared. Don’t exactly know why. He was this jolly green-eyed or blue-eyed giant, with red hair. He promised to tell me, in one big cackle, what happened on the battlefields, when there was no Scotch around.
After several months, I chose this glorious topic about time and how people things react to the passing and the changes and adjust to the illusions and perceptions andÉI wanted to prove or disprove the existence of time. (Wow! Was I nuts? How could I achieve this grandiose goal?) THE GIANT swallowed some Scotch and said: “Go for it, kid!”
You know, Time laughs at us. I knew that, and, discovered bits and pieces here, there, and wondered about the war and how this one now, this Vietnam that I never entered, but this Vietnam which took the lives of many young boys, wondered if the man would have fought in this one, but I didn’t ask him, no not now and too bad I hate liquor cause when he carries this bottle around, I want to join in, but my stomach ain’t fit for that kind of thing, although it’s not as bad as sticking needles inside, unlessÉ
Time passed. The thesis on time went slowly. I interrupted him at meetings. He cackled. Often, he was annoyed. I was sorry.
And after almost a year, when the deadline is coming near, and I gave him the thesis 2 months ago to read, but he keeps on saying he forgets and they pressure him, I start thinking maybeÉ
Hell, if you love a man, you love him the way he is. (My father beat the crap out of me. Yet I loved him. Dad terrorized me. Dreamed of killing him. I didn’t. Still loved him, even if he murdered my soul too.) Yeah, but after 5 years I’ve got to get the M.A. I need that piece of paper. I need it bad, the way some guys need a fix. But I’ve only got 3 weeks to get the thing read, retyped, and accepted. (I typed it once, but the format was wrong. These graphs have to be done in Indian ink. The thesis goes to the library and it must be perfect. Transcendent, unlike the writer and adviser.)
I met him today. He says they pressure him, but he promises me. He won’t let me down. I swear that’s what he says. But time is running out, and I wrote this shitty thesis on time. And who gives a damn?
Two weeks left. After 5 years, the deadline is almost here. He looks sad and says he’s gonna read it some day. But some day is too late. They give you 5 years to finish the M.A. and then-you lose everything.
He had this bottle of Scotch in his desk. I wanted to remind him, but he forgets. What’s wrong with him anyway?
Gee, I never wanted the piece of paper anyway. I thought it was important. He said it was. But his breath stinks now and he doesn’t care. Tomorrow he’s gonna project this great image in front of his students. Tomorrow is his debut. He doesn’t make it. He never conquers some big country. Never becomes the President. Of something.
I left and didn’t say good-bye. When you’ve been away, you smell the grass, and the breath, and the soul. And you understand.
