The navy base lies low on our left,
sealed off from the harbor by a chain link fence topped with barbed wire.
Several large, ominous pipes issue from beneath the military installation and
empty into the harbor. These drains are rusted, about four feet in diameter,
and strengthened by circular ridges. Our guide reviews the history of submarine
security; the navy no longer uses underwater nets for protection against enemy
submarines, she tells us. The man with the telephoto lenses continues to take
pictures of helicopters and submarines, the latter at rest, almost like whales
asleep, at their tenders. The guy in the Bears cap switches from humor to commentary
on military equipment. Then I notice that all around me people are taking pictures
of helicopters and sub marines. Everything from Instamatics to Polaroids to
state-of-the-art Nikons, in the hands of men, women, and children, recording ——
for what posterity? — United States Navy ordnance.
A pair of jet fighters
passes overhead; more photographs. An older woman studies the war machines, her
face solemn. She stares for a long time at the helicopters; I wonder if she knows
someone whose fighter went down in the Tonkin
Gulf and who was then rescued at sea. For this woman’s generation “America” is almost
synonymous with surviving the Great Depression, victory in World War II,
conquest of the Nazis and the unbelievable horror they wrote into human
history, possession of an invincible nuclear arsenal, freedom, democracy,
wealth, and Christianity. Studying her face, I sense that the whipping concussion
of helicopter blades does not put
this older woman at ease. Instead it
suggests a level of technology, especially in the military, that she doesn't
understand. But neither she nor I can escape the sounds of the blades. They are
as much a part of our audio culture as the pumping base of small pickups filled
with speakers, the relentless pulse of rap, the lonely smoothness of Spanish, the
shaved gentility of Chinese-English.
The crowd on the Avanti is as varied as the species; their presence is a reflection
of the changing colors of America, the human movements that are called
political but are probably more fundamentally biological. In a crowded world,
where cultures interact in many ways and the helicopter is a symbol for flight
in all directions, neither the flow of genes nor the diffusion
of ideas can be stopped. Yet we've all come together for an afternoon to watch
whales; in three hours, no matter what our backgrounds, we’ll have a
common experience, something to talk about that all can agree upon. The tour guide
calls our attention to Point Loma, a lighthouse put too far inland; ships,
trusting its signals, ran aground. Sea lions are draped, snoozing, on red
buoys.
(NOTE: All Janovy books are available via amazon. I recommend the Gideon Marshall Mystery Series - BE CAREFUL, DR. RENNER; THE STITCHER FILE; and THE EARTHQUAKE LADY)
No comments:
Post a Comment