Tree of Smoke

by Denis Johnson

They’d overwhelmed him with their unselfconscious vulgarity and loud gregariousness, embraced him, loved him, uncovered themselves as the family he’d never found among his mother’s midwestern group, who treated one another like acquaintances.

His love for his country, his homeland, was a love for the United States of America in the summertime.

young but somehow not youthful,

“I see you’re carrying a camera around in the rain,” she said. “I’m not making much sense tonight,” he admitted. “Do you take it with you every minute?” “Nope. I try not to get attached. If you’re not careful, it can turn into your eye, the only dream you see through.”

“There’s been a development, though. Some remains have been found.” True to his midwestern origins, the American reacted to this remark by saying, “Ah,” and, “Uh-huh.”

She had nothing in this world but her two hands and her crazy love for Jesus, who seemed, for his part, never to have heard of her.

He rushed through an hour like a physical thing, a hallway.

“Philosophical obsessions win wars.”

The colonel said, “I myself am allergic to gunfire in certain calibers. Helicopter blades at certain rpm’s.”

a woman came in, shut the door, pulled her dress off over her head without taking her cigarette from her mouth,

God almighty, some part of him prayed, if this is war let peace never come.

In honor of his birthday, James bought several rounds. He was happy and high and laughing. Now that he’d come to where the humidity was awful and the beer cheap and infinite, he really understood beer’s meaning and its purpose.

So we lose this war, so what? Will the little kiddies of America be going to Uncle Ho High School and memorizing the Gettysburg Address of fucking Lenin?

Once upon a time there was a war. There was once a war in Asia that had among its tragedies the fact that it followed World War II, a modern war that had somehow managed to retain or revive some of the glories and romances of earlier wars. This Asian war however failed to give any romances outside of hellish myths.

an adventure isn’t actually any fun till it’s over.

Kathy, I believe I loved you. It never quite happened with anyone else. I take your memory with me. And I give you my thanks in return.