American Pastoral

Let's remember the energy.

America had won the war.

The depression was over.

Sacrifice was over.

The upsurge of life was contagious.

We celebrated a moment of collective inebriation

that we would never know again.

Nothing like it in all the years that followed

from our childhood until tonight,

the 45th reunion of our high school class.

At 30 or 40, a gathering of my old classmates

would have been exactly the kind of thing I'd have kept my nose out of.

But at 62, I found myself drawn to it

as if in the crowd of half-remembered faces

I'd be closer to the mystery at the heart of things,

a magic trick that turned time past into time present.

The Swede.

Swede Levov.

During the war years, this was a magical name in our neighborhood.

Of the few fair-complexioned students in our predominantly Jewish public school,

none possessed the Viking mask of this blue-eyed hero, the Swede.

Big brother of my best friend, Jerry,

born into our tribe as Seymour Irving Levov,

the greatest high school athlete New Jersey had ever seen.

Watching the Swede, people could forget the way things actually were.

We could forget the war.

The Swede went off to the Marines in '44,

just missing the end of the fighting,

and came home to Dawn Dwyer,

a plumber's daughter from Elizabeth, who made it all the way

to the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City.

A shiksa. The Swede had done it.

But before he could marry Dawn, she had one great test to pass;

She had to meet the old man, the Swede's father,

Lou Levov, founder and owner of Newark Maid gloves.

He hust wants to ask you a couple of things, that's all.

"That's all"? Can't you answer for me?

He wants to get to know you and he's not an easy guy,

- but if you stand your ground... - (Dawn) Oh, Swede.

He'll respect that. He'll respect you for it.

I'll be right there.

Dawn, let's get down to brass tacks.

What do you people say about Jews?

My family doesn't talk much about Jews.

I don't mean that as an excuse.

We don't talk much about anything.

But marrying a Jew isn't a big deal.

Until the issue of what to raise the kids as.

I would want our child to be baptized, yes.

Baptized? No. That's a no.

But...

Baptism, it washes away original sin. Without it, if they die, they go to limbo.

Limbo, I don't know about, but baptism, I can't allow.

It's important to me, Mr. Levov.

All of the sacraments are important.

Like communion, the Eucharist.

What is that?

Well, everybody kneels and you eat the Body of Christ.

I cannot go that far. I'm sorry.

I have the highest respect,

but my grandchild is not going to eat Jesus.

- I can give you Christmas. - What about Easter?

Easter? She wants Easter, Seymour.

- What about Catechism? - No! Whatever that is.

Now, both of you, we have to talk about the bar mitzvah.

Why can't we just let him decide?

A child cannot decide.

But I don't want a bar mitzvah.

Then I don't think we can reach an agreement.

- Dad. - She wants the child to decide?

A child cannot decide.

Then we won't have a child.

We can marry, but we won't have children.

Miss Dwyer, you are as pretty as a picture.

I congratulate you on how far you've come.

Your parents must be proud.

But I think we should just shake hands and everybody go their own way.

I'm not leaving. I'm not going to go.

And I'm not a picture, Mr. Levov, I'm myself.

I'm Mary Dawn Dwyer and I love your son.

I love him. That's why I'm here.

So, please...

Let's go on.

So, the old man was won over.

In a few years, the Swede took over the glove factory, built it up.

He commuted from the home he and Dawn had made together

30 miles west of Newark,

out past the suburbs in wealthy Old Rimrock,

where they were raising the child they had,

a daughter, Merry.

Count! Where are you?

Count!

I hear him.

Count! We're here! Count!

Come on, Count.

Penny, Russ, how are you doing?

- How's the family, Mr. Levov? - (Seymour) Real good, thanks.

- You two have a good rest of your day. - You, too, Mr. Levov.

Something was smiling down on him.

This is the way I thought it would always be.

Daddy!

Life would open its arms and he would carry all before him.

He was the Swede, after all.

- (Seymour) Hey. - (Merry) Hey.

Jerry Levov.

God, Nathan! I didn't expect to see you here.

Well, I didn't expect to see you either...

I was sure you'd find all this sentimentality repellent.

Yeah, I do.

This nostalgia. Bullshit.

- You wanna find a spot? - Sure.

So, why did you come?

Well, of all the forms of bullshit available,

this was the most likely to have unsettling surprises.

And you like unsettling surprises?

...I suppose I do.

Hey, did you see that display they have for your brother?

Like I said, I'm not one for nostalgia.

We were... I don't know, we were probably ten,

and we went to watch one of his practices.

He ran the ball and his teammates took him down and they piled on.

And we were worried for a second, you and I.

Worried about the Swede? No, never.

No, we were, because they took him down hard.

But he popped up and dusted himself off.

And as he trotted by, he turned, uh...

he turned to me, his brother's friend.

I mean, I was a nobody, and he said...

"Basketball was never like this, Skip."

Yeah. Yeah, that's right. He called me Skip.

My brother's dead.

That's why I, uh, came up from Florida, for his funeral.

Not for this reunion thing.

The... the Swede is...

Just a sweetheart whose fate

was to get himself fucked over by some real crazies.

My brother, the best you're going to get in this country,

got caught in a war he didn't start.

Jerry...

I have no idea what you're talking about.

No? You don't know? Were you alive during the '60s?

Well, I wasn't here. I was... you know...

I was out of country for most of the '60s.

Oh, I guess you're the last person to hear, huh?

The famous writer, the last one to hear the big story.

What is it, then, th... this big story?

Well, you know he and Dawn had a kid.

You wrote to me after she was born.

Adorable when she was little. So, she had a stutter, that was nothing.

To hell with that.

But then Merry got older and when she did...

I told him. I told him, "Let her go.

Otherwise, it will rot your gut and take your life, too."

But... he couldn't.

And now I'm burying my brother.

She was a good kid...

Jerry was correct.

Here I was, the famous writer,

the last one to know the story.

But now I wanted all of it.

I wanted to hear what had become of the young man

from whom we had expected everything.

Our hero.

Our Kennedy.

Grandpa.

- (stuttering) Grandpa. - Yes, Merry, what?

Lady Jane's going to have a calf, grandpa.

I hope it's a heifer.

What's a heifer, sweetheart? You're talking to a guy from Newark.

It's a girl, grandpa.

Oh, a girl!

I bet it's going to look just like Count.

That's who mounted her.

"Mounted"? Is that a way for a young girl to talk?

That's what it's called, Dad.

Yeah, what's she supposed to say?

- "Make love"? It's a cow. - (laughing)

And what does my son need with cows?

Why do they need to live this far from civilization?

No offense to the locals, Mr. Orcutt, Mrs. Orcutt, but let's be candid.

This is all rock-ribbed Republican out here.

- That's true. That's so. - Lou, don't start.

What did I say?

We're out in the middle of nowhere. This is Ku Klux Klan country.

Dad, will you stop?

I don't see why my brother wants to live here either,

but a couple of cows doesn't make it Mississippi.

- This is Morris County. - Grandpa!

Jerry's right, Dad.

No one thinks like you anymore.

We can live where we want. This is America.

- Newark is in America. - (Merry) Grandpa!

Yes, darling. What? Yes, sweetheart.

Come to the barn to see Count.

Wait till you meet him. He's so...

I adore Merry.

I think she's very special.

- Thank you. - We all do.

She likes coming here. She told us that.

Very much.