A Separate Peace.pdf - Southwest High School

115Brinker sighed under his breath, his father stiffened, paused, then relaxed with an effort."Your mother's out in the car. I'd better get back to her. You boys clean up—ah, those shoes,"he added reluctantly, in spite of himself, having to, "those shoes, Brink, a little polish?—andwe'll see you at the Inn at six.""Okay, Dad."His father, left, trailing the faint, unfamiliar, prosperous aroma of his cigar."Dad keeps making that speech about serving the country," Brinker said apologetically, "Iwish to hell he wouldn't.""That's all right." I knew that part of friendship consisted in accepting a friend'sshortcomings, which sometimes included his parents."I'm enlisting," he went on, Tm going to 'serve' as he puts it, I may even get killed. But I'llbe damned if I'll have that Nathan Hale attitude of his about it. It's all that World War Imalarkey that gets me. They're all children about that war, did you never notice?" He floppedcomfortably into the chair which had been disconcerting his father. "It gives me a pain,personally. I'm not any kind of hero, and neither are you. And neither is the old man, and henever was, and I don't care what he says he almost did at Château-Thierry.""He's just trying to keep up with the times. He probably feels left out, being too old thistime.""Left out!" Brinker s eyes lighted up. "Left out! He and his crowd are responsible for it! Andwe're going to fight it!"I had heard this generation-complaint from Brinker before, so often that I finally identifiedthis as the source of his disillusionment during the winter, this generalized, faintly self-pityingresentment against millions of people he did not know. He did know his father, however, andso they were not getting along well now. In a way this was Finny's view, except that naturallyhe saw it comically, as a huge and intensely practical joke, played by fat and foolish old menbungling away behind the scenes.I could never agree with either of them. It would have been comfortable, but I could notbelieve it. Because it seemed clear that wars were not made by generations and their specialstupidities, but that wars were made instead by something ignorant in the human heart.Brinker went upstairs to continue his packing, and I walked over to the gym to clean out mylocker. As I crossed the Far Common I saw that it was rapidly becoming unrecognizable, withhuge green barrels placed at many strategic points, the ground punctuated by white markersidentifying offices and areas, and also certain less tangible things: a kind of snap in theatmosphere, a professional optimism, a conscious maintenance, of high morale. I myself hadoften been happy at Devon, but such times it seemed to me that afternoon were over now.Happiness had disappeared along with rubber, silk, and many other staples, to be replaced bythe wartime synthetic, high morale, for the Duration.