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Questions from Harish:

Hey Porter Book Club! So I was reading Kite Runner for an English assignment. Maybe some of you guys are doing the same thing,  maybe you have read it before or maybe you have never read it before. I thought it would be cool if we had a discussion about this book. Here is the summary of the book 

By: Tristan Sauer 

The mind, all of our interconnecting thoughts running around in the abstract idea of what we really are.  Full of emotions and reason while still holding a tiny bit of evil we all have, some bigger in others.  All held in the brain, the physical side, the part you can feel, touch and see. Truly the most important part of the master piece knows as the human body.  Of course we only know this because of lies spread to us by the mind.  Mind and brain, inseparable to say the least, together until the end.  These two come together to form the head.  A trophy of the body where all our thinking is done.  Risen above the rest like royalty and boasted on that pedestal is calls a neck.  We need our heads to live, and in a few minutes I’m about to lose mine.  I’ve already lost my mind and soon my brain will follow, splattered on the back of the wall where I sit.

           I guess I should explain my situation before I divulge any further.  My name is Private Jamile Roshorth of the 42nd Battalion. Born and raised in Texas I joined the military as soon as drafting opened to fight against Hitler and his Nazi army.  I never wanted to fight in the war; in fact I couldn’t have cared less about it.  I was far from any harm and everybody knew my participation in the war would be no more needed than any other average Joe, so why bother right?  Well even though those were my thoughts down in Texas we have this whole macho policy. It’s like in Africa where you have to kill a lion to prove yourself a man, but here it’s a German, Japanese or any other foreigner who dare threaten the red, white and blue.  So of course when drafting came along my Pop made it very clear, I walk out on the battle field and fight like a man so if I die I die one too.  Or he’ll take me round back and shoot me himself, so I can die like a coward with my face in the mud.  The choice seemed rather clear to me, for one at least had a slim chance of survival while the other would mean my certain death or at least removal from the family all together.  

So in the morning I packed my things and left for Britain.  The travel there was long and brutal.  On the train to the harbour I sat beside a man named Jasper who was noticeably older than me by an apparent grey beard on his face yet his structure looked not a day over 30.  He laid his eyes upon the military rifle we were issued before the trip out and locked eyes with me.  He placed a hand on the rifle and spoke to me in a voice so soft I couldn’t distinguish between it and breeze on a warm summer’s day.  “We need to end this war, before this war ends us.”  Clenching my rifle tight I managed but a light nod back to him before turning back to the moving scenery outside my train window. Before I knew it we were pulling into the harbor and loading onto boats.  Or should I call them ships, for that’s what they really were.  Armed to the teeth with weapons that made our rifles look like fire crackers.  We were assigned a cabin for the night and instructed to sleep there for the remainder of the trip.  I was “lucky” and ended up with a roommate whose stomach was clearly weaker than his apparent macho behaviour.  After only about 10 minutes our of port on the murky deep and he emptied his digested breakfast on me.  With a slight sorry he rushed his was to the window to clear out lunch and dinner. Arrival at camp was greeted with many cheers of gratitude by many and a lot of obligatory ground kissing.

First day on the field was rough.  Scaling trough bombed out cities and providing relief care to those who needed it.  Sometimes we would find people with half their bodies missing still alive.  We could do nothing but turn our heads and shoot. Even for the children.  We would call these clean up kills.  “Shit like that really gets to you after a while.” Another solider named Capucine would often say to me after we committed a cleanup kill.  He was French and spoke in the thickest accent I had ever heard. I would usually just nod or remain silent holding back tears.  Sometimes we were lucky though.  We once freed a whole school house of children buried under a collapsed building with no casualties.  In hard time like these those small specks of light shine through the darkness the brightest.