Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 353 The principal contradiction in American society has transformed into the people's ever-growing needs for a better life and...?

Mid June.

Alabama.

As the sun set, it painted the sky a strange, bright yellow.

Eli Watkins walked home along the dirt road, his schoolbag slung over his left shoulder.

The fields on both sides were already cracked and dry, and the cotton roots had not yet sprouted.

A breeze swept across the ground, stirring up a wave of heat.

He had just graduated from school, and his last class was English literature.

The teacher read two passages from Hamlet.

Just then, an old pickup truck drove past from behind, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Henry, his high school classmate, was in the driver's seat.

He was also one of the few "weirdos" who would talk to them, these black people.

Henry leaned out and shouted:

Hey college student, I heard your acceptance letter should be arriving soon!

Eli smiled shyly and said nothing.

The pickup truck quickly drove away into the distance.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and continued walking.

The journey home always seems long, especially today.

The wind stopped.

The air was heavy and stifling.

One by one, the utility poles were planted in the ground.

The house appeared after the corner.

A white wooden board, with a corner of the sheet metal at the top lifted, revealed a shadowy figure moving behind the curtain.

Eli frowned instinctively.

Usually, the house is empty at this time.

My mother washes clothes for people in town, and my father works at a car repair shop.

My younger sister plays at the neighbor's house after school.

But today is different.

There were two pairs of adult shoes outside, one men's and one women's.

Eli slowed his pace.

The door wasn't locked; it made a soft sound when pushed open.

The room was dimly lit, and the fan whirred as it turned.

The father and mother sat at the dining table.

My younger sister was lying there too. She heard the noise, looked up, and her eyes reddened.

"Mom?" Eli suppressed the unease rising in his chest and called out softly.

The woman looked up, her expression somewhat complicated.

"You're back."

“Hmm.” Eli put down his backpack.

"Why are you all here? Isn't Dad at work today?"

No one answered.

The father looked away and stared out the window.

The mother stood up and picked up an envelope from the table.

White background with black lettering, featuring the familiar ASU school emblem.

"It was just delivered," the mother said.

Eli's heart suddenly raced upon hearing this.

He suppressed his excitement as he accepted the admission results, took a deep breath, and unfolded them.

However, what came into view was not the "Congratulations" I had been dreaming of.

Instead, it was a rejection letter, politely worded and neatly spaced.

Thank you for your application, but places are limited.
Upon seeing this, Eli felt as if his heart had suddenly sunk to the bottom of an abyss.

After a long pause, he forced a smile and comforted his mother:

"It's okay, Mom."

“I had already guessed it; I didn’t have any recommendation letters or know any alumni.”

Eli tried to sound relaxed.

"Listen, going to college isn't always a good thing. It costs money."

“Jerry’s uncle was hiring, and he asked me to go with him the day before yesterday.”

"But your script, brother, you love theater so much."

The younger sister's muffled voice rang out.

Eli took a deep breath and reached out to pat her head.

"It's okay, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future," he said.

"Having a job doesn't mean I have to give up writing."

"Or, or I can apply later."

Eli stopped mid-sentence.

It's not because of disappointment.

It was the mother's expression that was striking.

His mother's expression revealed a sadness he couldn't understand, a sadness that was hard to describe.

At that moment, his father spoke up, "Eli, there's more than just this letter." "What do you mean?" Eli asked, bewildered.

"This was delivered this morning."

The father took another letter from his pocket and placed it on the table.

Thicker, larger, and stamped with a blue eagle emblem.

Eli's gaze fell on the sender's section, and he froze instantly.

Alabama Selective Service System

—Local Conscription Committee No. 47
He didn't dare reach out to take it.

The younger sister's breathing became rapid. She wanted to say something, but her mother stopped her.

“They said you need to get a medical check-up,” the mother said, her voice trembling.

"Report back in two weeks. They want you to go to Vietnam."

Eli remained standing there, perfectly still.

The cicadas outside chirped tirelessly.

The noise swept over us like a tidal wave.

The setting sun cast its last rays on the paper, blurring the writing.

“That’s impossible,” Eli said.

"I still have a few days until graduation."

"They can choose someone else."

They don't need a reason to choose whom.

The father brought the cigarette to his lips, put it down, and as if remembering something, went to the cupboard to look for matches, but stopped when he couldn't find any.

"Please sit down first," the mother said.

Eli didn't move.

"Where is the physical exam?" he asked.

“Montgomery,” the father replied.

"When?"

June 30th.

"How long are you going?"

"After the physical examination, it's time for basic training."

How should I get there?

"I'll go with you."

Eli nodded silently, as if trying to memorize every word.

The father then said:

"When you get there, answer whatever the doctor asks. Don't talk back."

"I have no intention of talking back."

"Don't overthink it. They might not assign you to a combat unit."

"Ah."

The father wanted to give some more instructions, but the mother couldn't hold back any longer.

She suddenly stood up and slammed her hand heavily on the table.

"Conscription? Recruitment? Just look at who they choose to fight!"

Her voice suddenly rose in pitch and trembled.

"The Smith family's two sons, one in college and the other in the guard. Were they drafted? No."

"That kid at the post office, the mayor's son? He's twenty-five, plays golf at the club every day, and he didn't go!"

The mother spoke faster and faster, her chest heaving violently.

"But what about now? Who went there? My son, my eighteen-year-old son! His cousin James, who just got married last month! And who else? Carl, Henry, Nate, Theo. They're all street kids, poor kids!"

"They say war protects freedom. Whose freedom? Who is being protected? Who is fighting for whom?"

No one made a sound from inside the room.

The younger sister huddled in the chair, too afraid to look at her mother.

Eli's hands hung at his sides, clenching slightly and then relaxing.

The mother took a couple of breaths, her voice lowered for a moment, then suddenly rose again:
"Do you think I don't understand these things? Your father died the same way."

She turned to stare at her husband.

"He was in Normandy, working as an engineer, digging trenches and defusing bombs. When he came back, all they gave him was a tattered plaque. Just one!"

"A piece of metal! It has words engraved on it, but what can those words buy? He can't find a decent job, he can't vote, and he has to go through the back door to get into restaurants! Tell me, what does that mean?"

The mother was already sobbing uncontrollably as she spoke.

“They say we are Americans, my brother was an American when he died, your father was an American, and now they want my son to die.”

"Lord, merciful Lord."

The room fell into dead silence.

Only suppressed sobs could be heard.

"Have you said enough?" the father asked.

The mother turned her back, her shoulders shaking incessantly.

Eli didn't move.

He watched as the light outside the window gradually faded away, disappearing completely into the deep night.

Nothing happened, yet everything is happening.

He didn't know what to say.

(End of this chapter)