The Man Who Wouldn't Stand Up Read Online Free

boycotts. But Bonnie had stuck to her guns. And she’d picked up supporters as well as detractors: The Hemlock Society had given her its public service medal; Jack Kevorkian had written to her from prison. But then the September 11 th attacks occurred and the media had little room for baby-killing philosophers. The episode had done nothing to dampen Bonnie’s premise-rattling interrogations.
    “I’m not going to answer that,” said Arnold.
    Gilbert raised his glass. “The defendant pleads the Fifth.”
    “It’s beside the point,” Arnold added.
    “I don’t think so,” said Bonnie. “I think it
is
the point.”
    “You’re badgering the witness, honey,” said Gilbert.
    “You
don’t
love America,” Bonnie persisted. “You’re just afraid to admit it. They made you say the Pledge of Allegiance one too many times in elementary school andnow you can’t see things clearly.” She forked an olive from the jar and carefully carved out the pit. “Can you honestly tell me you love your country, Arnold Brinkman?”
    “I’m grateful for the privileges I have as an American,” said Arnold.
    “That’s not the same thing,” she answered.
    Arnold had never given much thought to whether or not he loved America—but now it seemed pretty obvious to him that he didn’t. Not in the way Nathan Hale had loved America. Or even in the way his late father, a Dutch-Jewish refugee, had loved America. In fact, he found the idea of sacrificing his life for his country somewhat abhorrent. Moreover, it wasn’t that he disliked abstract loyalties in general. He loved New York, for instance: Senegalese takeout at three a.m., and strolling through the Botanical Gardens on the first crisp day of autumn, and feeding the peacocks at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. If Manhattan were invaded—if New Jersey were to send an expeditionary force of militiamen across the Hudson River—he’d willingly take up arms to defend his city. He also loved Sandpiper Key in Florida, where they owned a time-share, and maybe Brown University, where he’d spent five years of graduate school. But the United States? No one could mistake his qualified praise for love.
    “I like my country as much as the next man,” said Arnold.
    “No offense, Arnold,” said Bonnie. “You wouldn’tknow the next man if he bit you on the ass.”
    Judith stood up. “That’s my prompt to serve the fish.”
    “I’ll come with you,” offered Gilbert.
    Card followed Arnold’s wife into the kitchen.
    Arnold found himself suddenly alone with Bonnie. This always made him feel slightly nervous. It wasn’t that he didn’t both respect and trust Gilbert’s wife, but that he was never quite certain what she might say or do next. She possessed just the right irreverence to do a person serious damage.
    Bonnie leaned forward. Too close. (She’d never learned to modulate personal space properly.) Although Gilbert’s wife didn’t smoke, Arnold suffered an irrational premonition that she was about to puff a cigarette into his eyes.
    “Do you know what your problem is, Arnold?” asked Bonnie.
    “I have friends who think too much.”
    “You’re risk-averse. You create these wonderful opportunities for yourself, but then you don’t have the courage to follow through on them.”
    “I suppose you wouldn’t have stuck out your tongue.”
    “That’s water under the bridge,” answered Bonnie. “It’s what you do
now
that matters. You should call the newspapers and defend yourself. Announce that you
don’t
love America—that patriotism is a refuge for scoundrelsand all that.”
    “Talk truth to power,” said Arnold.
    “Talk common sense,” said Bonnie. “But you won’t do that. I know you too well. You’ll offer some lukewarm apology, something about stress or nerves or whatnot, and you’ll go about your business.”
    Gilbert entered carrying the platter of sizzling fish.
    “You two still going at it?” he asked.
    “I’m saying he should capitalize