[Charlie is meeting Angela for the first time. Angela goes off to get a cup of coffee]
Charlie Fineman:
Are you kidding me? She's a baby.
Alan Johnson:
Listen, you're right, she's young. But, she-she's good. She's got a lot of experience with loss and grief counseling. Just...
Charlie Fineman:
She's got nice tits, that's not good.
Alan Johnson:
Since when?
Charlie Fineman:
[pause] Good point.
Alan Johnson:
Look, we'll just do the meet-and-greet, and see if you like her, and if you do, we'll just - we'll go from there.
Charlie Fineman:
Am I wrong about her tits, though?
Alan Johnson:
No, you're right. They're wonderful.
Angela Oakhurst:
So what are you guys talking about? What's so wonderful? [silence from Charlie and Alan]
It was as easy as breathing to go and have tea near the place where Jane Austen had so wittily scribbled and so painfully died. One of the things that causes some critics to marvel at Miss Austen is the laconic way in which, as a daughter of the epoch that saw the Napoleonic Wars, she contrives like a Greek dramatist to keep it off the stage while she concentrates on the human factor. I think this comes close to affectation on the part of some of her admirers. Captain Frederick Wentworth in Persuasion, for example, is partly of interest to the female sex because of the 'prize' loot he has extracted from his encounters with Bonaparte's navy. Still, as one born after Hiroshima I can testify that a small Hampshire township, however large the number of names of the fallen on its village-green war memorial, is more than a world away from any unpleasantness on the European mainland or the high or narrow seas that lie between. (I used to love the detail that Hampshire's 'New Forest' is so called because it was only planted for the hunt in the late eleventh century.) I remember watching with my father and brother through the fence of Stanstead House, the Sussex mansion of the Earl of Bessborough, one evening in the early 1960s, and seeing an immense golden meadow carpeted entirely by grazing rabbits. I'll never keep that quiet, or be that still, again.
This was around the time of countrywide protest against the introduction of a horrible laboratory-confected disease, named 'myxomatosis,' into the warrens of old England to keep down the number of nibbling rodents. Richard Adams's lapine masterpiece Watership Down is the remarkable work that it is, not merely because it evokes the world of hedgerows and chalk-downs and streams and spinneys better than anything since The Wind in the Willows, but because it is only really possible to imagine gassing and massacre and organized cruelty on this ancient and green and gently rounded landscape if it is organized and carried out against herbivores.
Nursery Owner:
This woman's talking to her daughter. She's talking to her daughter in Princeton. Isn't that where your friend went?
Elliot Moore:
Come on! [they run over to the woman]
Woman on Cell Phone:
[speaking to her daughter at Princeton] It's OK, honey, honey, it's OK. [to the fellow survivors]
Woman on Cell Phone:
She's so scared... You just stay in that room, you don't open the door for nothing. Just keep watching out the window with the tree, baby, someone will come and get you soon.
Elliot Moore:
Tell her, tell her not to go near the window with the tree, just tell her!
Woman on Cell Phone:
Baby, don't go near the window with the tree!
Elliot Moore:
Ask her if Princeton's been affected.
Woman on Cell Phone:
Honey, someone wants to know if Princeton's had any problems... she says everyone's dead outside. [they all gasp]
Woman on Cell Phone:
You just stay in your room... Honey, honey you're talking funny, what's wrong with you?
Elliot Moore:
What do you mean? Everyone's dead?
Woman on Cell Phone:
What? Stacy, you're scaring me, I don't, I don't understand what you're saying. What, baby? She's just not making any sense.
Young Woman Voice on Phone:
Calculus, I see... in calculus. Calculus. Calculus.
Woman on Cell Phone:
Stacy... Stacy... [loud noise, then silence on Stacy's end of the line]
Woman on Cell Phone:
Stacy Ann? [woman starts weeping]
Woman on Cell Phone:
Oh no no no no no Stacy, Stacy, oh no no no... Oh, Stacy!
Until we understand what the land is, we are at odds with everything we touch. And to come to that understanding it is necessary, even now, to leave the regions of our conquest - the cleared fields, the towns and cities, the highways - and re-enter the woods. For only there can a man encounter the silence and the darkness of his own absence. Only in this silence and darkness can he recover the sense of the world's longevity, of its ability to thrive without him, of his inferiority to it and his dependence on it. Perhaps then, having heard that silence and seen that darkness, he will grow humble before the place and begin to take it in - to learn from it what it is. As its sounds come into his hearing, and its lights and colors come into his vision, and its odors come into his nostrils, then he may come into its presence as he never has before, and he will arrive in his place and will want to remain. His life will grow out of the ground like the other lives of the place, and take its place among them. He will be with them - neither ignorant of them, nor indifferent to them, nor against them - and so at last he will grow to be native-born. That is, he must reenter the silence and the darkness, and be born again.
(pg. 27,