Cvg Chapter 1 Part 1--before The Fall

Advisory Notes This first season of Oskar’s decline opens with his letters from Amsterdam. Oskar’s mother’s first husband, Charles, has presented Oskar with a gift to visit his half-brother Anthony, who is touring the great art centers of Europe. Anthony has just graduated from college, and this tour is Charles’ graduation present to him. In fateful precedent, Oskar has received a gift from Charles quite similar to his older brother’s gift, and Oskar will soon leverage a repeat of Charles’ reciprocity, with serious consequences. The flight across the Atlantic has set Oskar’s romantic illusions soaring, and upon landing in Amsterdam, the greatness of the city goes straight to his head. Traveling about with Anthony, Oskar is found out staring at the city’s women, he gets caught brushing his fingers on the art at the Van Gogh Museum, and he gets carried away in criticism of his home country. Charles’s gift has failed. Oskar is not growing closer to Anthony; Oskar is sowing seeds of alienation all around him. Yet Oskar carries on boldly in his letters, pronouncing upon the city’s history and culture as though he were a seasoned foreign correspondent. Upon his return from Amsterdam, Oskar attends WELL, or rather he goes to WELL and refuses to attend, and then he comes home for the summer. Embarrassed about his failures at WELL, Oskar invents a story about finding the camp counselor reading a pornographic magazine, and uses this story to explain why the counselor put him in isolation. This persecution fantasy arises frequently in Oskar’s version of events, whenever he has to deal with an authority/father figure. In reaction to this ‘persecution,’ Oskar predictably acts out with escapism, in the guise of rebellion. Living at home after WELL, Oskar clashes with his father and avoids his house by working at a car wash. Oskar approaches his job as if it were a joke. His intolerance for his father’s work and for the workday world spill over into a schizoid world view. We see him, on one hand, imagining a

gritty and heroic world of meaningful hard work when he writes to his ex-friend Fiona. And on the other hand, in a letter to his friend Alfredo, we find Oskar imagining a jaded world of apocalypse, where hard work and diligent action are futile, and where one might as well just sit and wait for the end. What happens when a person is intolerant of hard work and society, and yet yearns to participate in the highest levels of heroic achievement? As it unfolds, Oskar’s story will answer this question. —A.B. & H.L.

July 2 [2008] Amsterdam, Holland Dear Fiona, I have arrived. As I flew across the Atlantic Ocean, I had this terrible feeling of having been homesick for such a long time, and yet my heart filled with gladness as I flew, to be coming home…to you. Since we started dating, I have been living in a different world, and what I realize is that all this traveling, these migrations that our families and our ancestors have made, ultimately come down to love—to finding a place for our hearts. I’ve never left Colorado before, but all the same I’ve been wandering my whole life until I met you. I want you to know how much I appreciate you, and the fact that you are willing to cross you father at times to be with me. I know you don’t like strife, and you are like a crown jewel to your parents. Isn’t it funny that by moving beyond our parents we might find our true home? Amsterdam seems to be a lovely city. Anthony picked me up at the airport and we took a bus into town. He left me here at the hotel and told me to sleep off my jetlag. My watch says it is 4 am Denver time, but it’s the middle of the day here! I can’t sleep: how dare I when I’ve just arrived at my first ever foreign port of call? Sleep is for the dead, I say! I’m going to go change some dollars into Dutch money and find a post office. I miss you! Love, Oskar

July 4 Amsterdam Fredo!!! Dude: I’m in Amsterdam! You should be here with me! The women are beautiful, the prohibition is—well there isn’t any!—the strip malls—there aren’t any either—and every other person is a bicycling maniac! For you, I think that makes this place like Desireable to the 4th Power. D4! Seriously, like Today: Anthony and I were eating lunch at this patio cafe when Anthony’s jaw dropped: these three girls or women or Aphrodities—whatever you call them—rode up to the cafe on three sweet street bikes. They had saddlebags stuffed with groceries and gear, and each of them had one of those German internal dynamo hubs. These women had powerful headlights, man, and Anthony goes “am I seeing triple?” and pops a mint into his mouth. I think a lot of Dutch faces are just smart. These women have lively cheeks and eyes and voices so agogo, they’ve got some spice, some jzzing! Anyhow these women were talking and laughing so heartily—they were just hot and apparently on lunch break, they hopped off their bikes and, in their fashiony European dress suits, they sat down next to us on the patio where the waiter immediately served them bread cheese and a bottle of wine! Anthony was like: “they must be regulars we’re going to have to eat lunch here every day!” Those chicks were about Anthony’s age, but I don’t know, I felt like he (and I) were just caterpillars watching the butterflys. Actually, I blew our cover because a couple of those women caught me looking at their legs. Yes, it is true: these Dutch women don’t shave their legs (Or, at least, these three don’t). I was thinking ‘hairy legs are sexy legs, but Fredo’s legs are sexy too even though he shaves them...’ I was just thinking about you and about legs and one of those women caught me looking and said “Hallo How are You?” and Anthony choked on his breathmint and I was like “fine” but she wasn’t even looking at me anymore, she just said that because I was staring, and how did she even know to speak English to me? Do I just reek of Chryslers or something?

I wish you were here. We’d go Dutch dude! You’d be so impressed with all the cyclists on the roads! They’ve got more oxygen flowing to their balls. Anyhow, those ladies had great looking legs. Like you and the zero other cyclists I know. Maybe something’s askew with me, Fredo, but I look at everybody’s legs! Gender doesn’t mean a thing. A good set of legs is good man! I mean look how many people “don’t got legs.” They got stompers or clompers, stilted jilts or wilted kilts, lazy knees or flattened feet, walking like a stiff stuffed goat or a marshmallow float. You know what I mean? We saw some big tourist walking around with an American eagle t-shirt and I felt a little embarrassed for him and for me, for all of us. I don’t know, this place is so Dutch that I just don’t want to walk around advertising our McMilitary Empire. I rapped something like “hey Anthony look its an American eagle eager to show some American ego like somebody out there don’t already know” and Anthony was like “Oskar you don’t know squat about American history or American leadership in the world, so shut your pie-hole!” For the most part Anthony and I are getting along, but he’s announced that he’s not putting up with any of my “crap.” We had an incident at the van Gogh Museum today. Its totally unreal man. Van Gogh lives, man, his paintings are alive! That place isn’t a museum, its a zoo, its like crazy to see those canvases locked up! They are all three dimensional, its like the paint was plastered on with a putty knife! Wanting to feel it, I reached my fingers for one. Of course it was covered with glass but anyhow the guards pounced on me and kicked us both out. But I plan to go back there soon. I’ll wear sunglasses and a hat and sneak in. You need sunglasses anyhow to look square at those paintings. The van Gogh Museum taught me more about art in two seconds than Mr. Quayle taught us all semester. Actually, Anthony is pretty upset with me, he’s making a huge deal out of this kicked out of the museum thing. He’s called Charles already today and tattled on me, he’s mad Charles sent me over here. Me: the tag-along kid brother? Whatever. I hope you’re having a sweet time at Earl’s Cyclery dude! I only wish to get a job that cool when I get back. Do you think he’ll let me wash bikes for him? Speaking of mechanics, are you still “banging” Jolene? What a stupid word. Don’t use it anymore. You have some heart (at least I think you’re loveable) and I’m sure that whatever goes on between you two is more sweet and subtle

than that stupid word implies. At least you could call it “making love,” because that leaves something up to the imagination. I mean, it could be just a sordid spastic splooging exchange of body fluids, but it could also be some kind of sublime and beautiful act. “Making Love:” try it, man! On an ethereal level, Fiona and I have begun to make love. On the night before my plane flight we had this incredible evening at DeHallivand Park. And now, she and I will be heading off together for WELL when I get back. I’m going to be near her for 18 straight days and nights in the wilderness, Oh My Tender Good God! When the day comes that we decide to really make love, I’ll come to you beforehand asking for some pointers, so no more ‘banging,’ okay? Figure out some refined moves or something by then. One thing is bugging me: how you call Fiona a “study geek.” You are so wrong (you study a lot too, Mr Pre-Law). Fiona’s like a piece of Fine French Chocolate, she has intense flavor beneath that bookish wrapper of hers. Its dinner time now and Anthony hasn’t showed back up here at the hotel, I think I’ll go across the street to this place that serves a decent soup and salad for a few guilders. You should have signed up for WELL! Its going to be an epoch time! Fine. Go bike racing in Ohio instead. See you Stateside, MAN! And if this letter hasn’t made it clear to you where I am, I’ve included a little map for you: Get Educated. --OSK PS—If Fiona is a study geek, then you are a biking freak—you’ll never fit in! You’ll never be loved! You’re a leg-shaving Misfit! Bow down to me—your greatest friend and admirer—DUDE!!!!!!

Map: The Center of the Free Bicycling World

July 5—Amsterdam Dear Fiona— What Fireworks! We walked into the Vincent van Gogh Museum yesterday and Bam! I found out about “art”—those paintings leave you seeing stars—they’re behind glass but its to protect us from them—these paintings are animals! This is such a foreign country—might sound like a redundant thing to say—but you’ve been around the world already—Hawaii Quebec and France etc.... I had no real feel for this deal—how different the world can be from home! Just seeing the foreign words on a menu fills me with crazy wonder. I already see ancient links between Dutch and English, and I’m doing some etymology. For Example: “Tricke” is on the glass door of our hotel: it means “pull”. Do you get it? To ‘trick’ somebody has to do with ‘pulling’ them to misunderstand and mis-step on a matter, you pull them into a trick! Look up ‘trick’ in our dictionary and see if I’m on the right track! Anthony and I have been following this city map around to the sites. We’ve visited lots of museums over the last two days, but to tell you the truth they were all a bit boring to me until the VvG. Anthony enjoyed them all. Apparently, as an ‘art minor,’ Anthony has the power to enjoy all art equally. He brings his paper and pencil along and sketches things at the museums: he’s showing off if you ask me. Just because you are an ‘art minor’ doesn’t mean you have to make sketches on public display at every museum you find. This city map itself is fascinating to me! The whole town is layed out in expanding circles of canals, like tree rings. The very center of these circles is the oldest ground of the original city. The canals in the center are all random: they just meandered wherever the water flowed. Then, the outer circles of canals get more and more regular. As the canal builders got more enlightened and powerful over the centuries, the canals became precise like the spokes on a bicycle’s wheel. The history of ‘Progress’ is written in the pattern of this town! You know how people place dates on the rings of the big old trees they’ve chopped down? I start to wonder stuff like, ‘where was it on the rings of this map that Columbus started wiping out Indians in the West Indies?’ This Dutch city was around long before

Columbus. There’s a few warehouse sites that used to store the spices and treasures from the Dutch East Indies, as a matter of fact. When I walk through the old part of town, I’m in a BC zone: Before Columbus. I think I needed to come to this place to feel better about school. I’m sure that I’ll do better in my next History class, now that I’ve been somewhere and can feel what History is. One thing, Fiona: painters have been studying the beauty of women in Europe for hundreds of years. I think of those painters taking such time to behold and to soak in the lovely details and glances of the women, probably spending two hours on the cuff of her sleeve, or the nape of a her neck: I’d love to look at you like that. I would paint you, if I could, just to study your beautiful eyes again and again. Well, Anthony and I are splitting up today. We’re not totally getting along. Still, its nice to spend time with him for the first time in years. It brings back the old days, way before I met you. The pre-Romantic era, when Anthony and I lived as brothers and we believed that Charles was both of our fathers. You’re the Iris of my eye: and I can’t wait to see you when I get back…and head for WELL!!! It will be good to experience a wilderness with you, Fiona, and now I think that, when we return from the wilderness, transformed, we may want to spend some time together in the distant world of culture and civilization. Until I arrived here, I never knew how far we live our lives away from that place. Now its 7 a.m. Anthony’s still snoring and I’m heading out to find a bakery for some Continental Breakfast. Yours Who Adores You, Oskar PS: Now its evening and I just got back from the Amsterdam History museum. The guide there assured me that my theory is wrong. Amsterdam’s canals did not grow out like tree rings, instead they fanned around the town like the sweep of a windshield wiper. Still the oldest canals are in the middle. I drew a couple of old maps at the museum for you, so you can see what I mean. First theres an older map from the 1500’s that shows the wandering original canals. Then theres a newer map, where you’ll see new canals

ringing around the older original city. Also, notice the etymology of Amsterdam’s name. It started out as a place of commerce, with a dam on the Amstel River. So, I present to you in pictures, the organic growth of the great city of Amstel-Dam!

Map of Amsterdam 1538 AD

Map of Amsterdam 1727 AD

July 7—Amsterdam Fredo: I went back to the Van Gogh Museum, as planned. I went yesterday, disguised as an art student: I brought along some of Anthony’s drawing supplies, and I wore a Mao hat with sunglasses. That ought to work, right? Wrong! Things started out fine. I got up to the counter and put down my money, and they let me in! So I was headed off for the second floor when this security guard stepped out of nowhere and halted me. I recognized him. He grabbed the sunglasses right off of my face. He kicked me out and they wouldn’t even refund my money! I’m not sure I’m in the center of the free world after all. Okay, that’s a stupid thing to say: what did I expect? To walk all over the place like an emperor? Well, at least I’ve managed to get a reputation going in this town. So I ended up going to this other place yesterday—the Amsterdam History museum—and I am here again today. Don’t get flattered or anything, but I’ve spent much of my time here drawing a picture for you. Its my design for a new coat of arms for Amsterdam: a woman on a bicycle: the Damsel of the Amstel. I’m sure you’ll agree that it packs a much bigger punch for today than the old coat of arms does. To me, the old coat of arms is just that: old. It used to be regal I’m sure, but now it looks like the ornament to a private country club. Amsterdam needs a Bicycle. The

Bicycle is at the heart of modern Amsterdam, which is at the center of the free world, as I’ve already cartographically proved to you. It might seem silly that I’ve spent two days at the same museum when there is so much I haven’t visited, but the way I figure it, it’s good to have a place where one is welcome, like a home base. Plus the history of Amsterdam is seriously pretty cool. The ‘zee’ came flooding into this place like a 1000 years ago, and these people decided to stay. In a way, they became rich because they were so at home with the water: they sailed everywhere and traded with everybody. Its like a fairy tale. I guess that’s my problem: I can’t believe that Amsterdam is here. Littleton seemed like most of the world to me until now. But Amsterdam is no dream. The security guard pinched me, I’m awake. See you Stateside: Osk

July 8, Amsterdam Dear Fiona— It’s my last day in Amsterdam, and I woke up early this morning to experience the city at first light. Would you believe that I followed my nose to a bakery? They were not yet open, but inside I could see the baker at work. In her tidy white apron and hat, it was as if she were dressed for a dance, her baking was like a coreography of doughs and loaves, buns, ovens, and mixing bowls, and for her main partners she had a stack of wooden paddles of all sizes by which she took out the hot breads and tossed them down with bold hands: she was in charge I tell you! For a long while I watched her fill up the shop’s cases with all manner of goodies. She saw me watching her and I didn’t care and she didn’t care, but when she came forth to unlock the front doors, I just said ‘Goedemorgen’ and scooted down the street, even though I was starving. My Dutch is pretty bad, but really I was more deeply embarrassed than that. Where in my life am I ‘at home’ like she is ‘at home’ in her bakery? I feel like such a tourist! I guess this is what I’m counting on School for: when I graduate, I want to be on my way towards some form of excellence in life! Some kind of mastery! I was hungry for food, this morning, but I was starving for a craft to call my own! Compared to that baker’s hands, my hands feel dumb! I don’t care what kind of algebra they can scribble! We are such novices in the kitchen, Fiona! But I love all the times we’ve had there. I’ve been thinking about the brownies we made, when we argued with your dad that we were not going to make brownies from a box! So then we dove headlong into this totally floury buttery chocolatey mess, which delayed the start of his dinner by like two hours, but wasn’t it worth it? Actually, you know, that wasn’t our first cooking adventure together: remember when we made macaroni and cheese at my house after we walked along the stream? Remember how hungry we were? We had it boiling on high until this towering froth of bubbles came erupting out of the pot, spilling onto the burner and setting off the smoke alarm, at which point my dad came hollering down from the attic, only to find You in the kitchen with me: boy did he clean his mouth up fast! He went from being my father to being “Mr. Quentin” in a millisecond. Cooking is never boring.

Cooking is such a perfect thing to do together, just because you know nothing about it means nothing! As people, we are born to cook! I mean, didn’t we end up surprising ourselves when we made sushi rolls for Fredo and Jolene? We’re good! I’m sure you still believe that ‘Chocolate is the food of the Gods.’ Here’s my idea for our next cooking project: we need to bake brownies again. Except this time we’re going to use one of those frosting bags and squeeze the frosting out in a design. What if we created the Hilltop Viking out of frosting! Or we could pour a small chocolate mold of a Viking, and dress it up in Hilltop colors. You could enter a picture of it in the Gazette! We could create a work of art, and as the food of the Gods, Chocolate deserves that kind of display. What do you say? Shall we dance? Take care, my Sweet. I bet you’re getting packed for WELL right now. Tomorrow night I’ll be back in Littleton, unpacking and repacking! Then, the next morning, we’ll be on our way to the mountains. This is going to be Mythic! You won’t even receive this letter until we’re back from WELL. I hope WELL is everything we dreamed it would be. Love, Oskar