And then later in the darkness:
[The Boy:] Can I ask you something?
[The Man:] Yes. Of course you can.
[The Boy:] What would you do if I died?
[The Man:] If you died I would want to die too.
[The Boy:] So you could be with me?
[The Man:] Yes. So I could be with you.
[The Boy:] Okay. (11.16-11.22)
Earlier in the novel, The Woman criticizes The Man for using The Boy as a reason to live. ("The one thing I can tell you is that you wont survive for yourself" [93.22].) We think The Woman's approach is a little cynical. Isn't it a good thing that The Man wants to live in order to care for the boy? That he would die to be with The Boy? We're going out on a limb here, but we think The Road contains one of the most moving father-son relationships in all of American literature.
He sat the boy on the footlocker under the gaslamp and with a plastic comb and a pair of scissors he set about cutting his hair. He tried to do a good job and it took some time. When he was done he took the towel from around the boy's shoulders and he scooped the golden hair from the floor and wiped the boy's face and shoulders with a damp cloth and held a mirror for him to see.
[The Boy:] You did a good job, Papa.
[The Man:] Good.
[The Boy:] I look really skinny.
[The Man:] You are really skinny.
He cut his own hair but it didnt come out so good. He trimmed his beard with the scissors while a pan of water heated and then he shaved himself with a plastic safety razor. The boy watched. When he was done he regarded himself in the mirror. He seemed to have no chin. He turned to the boy. How do I look? The boy cocked his head. I dont know, he said. Will you be cold? (225.1-225.6)
What does this passage have to do with love? Well, The Man does a better job cutting The Boy's hair than he does his own. You may respond: "OK. Whatever. The Man can actually see what he's doing when he cuts The Boy's hair." Fair enough. But isn't this "failure" part of love? That we care for others somehow better than we could ever care for ourselves?
He stopped. What happened to your flute?
[The Boy:] I threw it away.
[The Man:] You threw it away?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] Okay.
[The Boy:] Okay. (231.54-231.59)
Earlier, The Man had carved The Boy this nifty flute. (McCarthy doesn't really describe the carving – he just mentions it.) It must have taken a long time – musical instruments aren't easy to make after all. So The Boy just goes and throws the flute away? Wouldn't you be angry and hurt? But The Man isn't – or doesn't seem to be – which only goes to show how much he loves The Boy. Didn't someone once say that love is patient?
He looked at the boy. See if you can find the first-aid kit, he said.
The boy didn't move.
[The Man:] Get the first-aid kit, damn it. Don't just sit there.
[. . .]
He took a clamp from the kit and caught the needle in the jaws and locked them and set about suturing the wound. He worked quickly and he took no great pains about it. The boy was crouching in the floor. He looked at him and he bent to the sutures again.
[. . .]
He ran the knot down the thread and pulled it taut and cut off the silk with the scissors from the kit and looked at the boy. The boy was looking at what he'd done.
[The Man:] I'm sorry I yelled at you.
He looked up. That's okay, Papa.
[The Man:] Let's start over.
[The Boy:] Okay. (365.1-365.13)
The Man has just been shot in the leg by an arrow. Imagine you've just been shot in the leg by an arrow and you say to your son, "Son, go see if you can find the first-aid kit in the garage. I think it's next to the bike pump." Your son just stares at you. Of course you would say to him: "Get the *&$% first-aid kit, Billy." You are, let's not forget, bleeding profusely from a wound. In this passage, however, after The Man stitches his own wound (ouch!), he apologizes to The Boy. He says, "Let's start over." Put this in the parenting book, because this is how love is done.
[The Boy:] You're going to be okay, Papa. You have to.
[The Man:] No I'm not.
[. . .]
[The Boy:] Just take me with you.
[The Man:] I cant.
[The Boy:] Please, Papa.
[The Man:] I cant. I cant hold my son dead in my arms. I thought I could but I cant.
[The Boy:] You said you wouldnt ever leave me.
[The Man:] I know. I'm sorry. You have my whole heart. You always did. You're the best guy. You always were. If I'm not here you can still talk to me. You can talk to me and I'll talk to you. You'll see. (381.4-381.21)
One of the things that makes the relationship between The Man and The Boy so moving is that the dialogue is convincing. It's not hard to imagine a father saying to his young son, "You're the best guy." Fathers say this cute stuff all the time, even without gangs of cannibals forcing them to be nice to their kids. But something else makes this touching. It's that The Man really means what he says. The Boy does serve as a moral compass for the two road-weary travelers. He is the best guy.
He walked back into the woods and knelt beside his father. He was wrapped in a blanket as the man had promised and the boy didnt uncover him but he sat beside him and he was crying and he couldnt stop. He cried for a long time. I'll talk to you every day, he whispered. And I wont forget. No matter what. Then he rose and turned and walked back out to the road. (388.12)
Earlier in The Road, The Man unceremoniously steals a blanket from a corpse (125.2). The fact that he doesn't think twice about it shows us what sort of world we're in. Here The Boy leaves his dead father wrapped in a blanket. It's a subtle and sweet touch from McCarthy.
He [The Boy] was a long time going to sleep. After a while he turned and looked at the man. His face in the small light streaked with black from the rain like some old world thespian. Can I ask you something? he said.
[The Man:] Yes. Of course.
[The Boy:] Are we going to die?
[The Man:] Sometime. Not now. (11.1-11.4)
This is about as terse and true a statement of mortality as you'll see anywhere. The Man and The Boy are out in an unforgiving, dangerous world where even the slightest misstep could lead to death. (Like our world, only with its dangers multiplied to the nth degree.) It's pretty simple, The Man says. We're all going to die – just not now.
[The Boy:] I wish I was with my mom.
He [The Man] didnt answer. He sat beside the small figure wrapped in the quilts and blankets. After a while he said: You mean you wish that you were dead.
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] You musnt say that.
[The Boy:] But I do.
[The Man:] Dont say it. It's a bad thing to say.
[The Boy:] I cant help it.
[The Man:] I know. But you have to.
[The Boy:] How do I do it?
[The Man:] I dont know. (92.4-92.13)
This is a complicated exchanged between The Man and The Boy. In a sense, The Man does know, in their terrible situation, how to keep going. You find someone to devote yourself to (e.g. The Boy) and spend every waking moment fulfilling that purpose. But he can't tell that to The Boy. For one, he doesn't express his feelings like that. And two, it would heap too much pressure on The Boy. Most people, particularly sons and daughters, just get weirded out when you tell them they're the purpose and meaning of your life.
The falling snow curtained them about. There was no way to see anything at either side of the road. He was coughing again and the boy was shivering, the two of them side by side under the sheet of plastic, pushing the grocery cart through the snow. Finally he stopped. The boy was shaking uncontrollably.
We had to stop, he [The Man] said.
[The Boy:] It's really cold.
[The Man:] I know.
[The Boy:] Where are we?
[The Man:] Where are we?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] I dont know.
[The Boy:] If we were going to die would you tell me?
[The Man:] I dont know. We're not going to die. (144.1-144.10)
As in Robinson Crusoe, Lost, and other survival stories, these characters often find themselves on the brink of death. But we especially enjoy the nearly absurd dialogue between The Man and The Boy here. (If you've read Samuel Beckett's play Waiting for Godot, dialogue like this might sound familiar.) The Boy wants to know whether The Man would say anything if they were close to death. The Man says he doesn't know if he'd tell The Boy. Then he says, "We're not going to die." How is The Boy supposed to believe him if he just said he might not tell him? Basically, The Boy will just have to take his word for it.
It was harder going even than he would have guessed. In an hour they'd made perhaps a mile. He stopped and looked back at the boy. The boy stopped and waited.
[The Man:] You think we're going to die, dont you?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] We're not going to die.
[The Boy:] Okay.
[The Man:] But you dont believe me.
[. . .]
[The Man:] How long do you think people can go without food?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] But how long do you think?
[The Boy:] Maybe a few days.
[The Man:] And then what? You fall over dead?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] Well you dont. It takes a long time. We have water. That's the most important thing. You dont last very long without water.
[. . .]
He [The Man] studied him. Standing there with his hands in the pockets of the outsized pinstriped suitcoat.
[The Man:] Do you think I might lie to you?
[The Boy:] No.
[The Man:] But you think I might lie to you about dying?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] Okay. I might. But we're not dying.
[The Boy:] Okay. (155.1-155.32)
This is another example of the absurd discourse about death between The Boy and The Man (see previous quote). It's cool also to think of these dialogues as happening within one person. We all recognize the inevitability of death, and yet at some level we don't acknowledge it. It's normal to avoid thinking about what we fear the most.
He loaded the flarepistol and as soon as it was dark they walked out down the beach away from the fire and he asked the boy if he wanted to shoot it.
[The Boy:] You shoot it, Papa. You know how to do it.
[The Man:] Okay.
He cocked the gun and aimed it out over the bay and pulled the trigger. The flare arced up into the murk with a long whoosh and broke somewhere out over the water in a clouded light and hung there. The hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark and the pale foreshore tide started in the glare and slowly faded. He looked down at the boy's upturned face.
[The Boy]: They couldnt see it very far, could they Papa?
[The Man:] Who?
[The Boy:] Anybody.
[The Man:] No. Not far.
[The Boy:] If you wanted to show where you were.
[The Man:] You mean like to the good guys?
[The Boy:] Yes. Or anybody that you wanted them to know where you were.
[The Man:] Like who?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] Like God?
[The Boy:] Yeah. Maybe somebody like that. (336.1-336.15)
The Man doesn't really believe either "the good guys" or God will actually see the flarepistol. But the way McCarthy describes the flare's explosion over the water – "hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark" – suggests that the gesture is somehow beautiful. To put it another way, we have a hard time believing McCarthy would use such pretty language if he wants us to feel despair. Rather, we think McCarthy wants us to see The Man's irrational hope of finding other "good guys" (or God) as both tragic and beautiful.
[The Boy:] Do you think somebody is coming?
[The Man:] Yes. Sometime.
[The Boy:] You said nobody was coming.
[The Man:] I didnt mean ever.
[The Boy:] I wish we could live here.
[The Man:] I know.
[The Boy:] We could be on the lookout.
[The Man:] We are on the lookout.
[The Boy:] What if some good guys came?
[The Man:] Well, I dont think we're likely to meet any good guys on the road.
[The Boy:] We're on the road.
[The Man:] I know. (224.8-224.19)
The Boy makes a very good point here. Supposedly there aren't any good guys on the road – but aren't they on the road? This could mean a couple things. One, it could mean The Man and The Boy aren't actually "good guys" since no "good guys" travel the road. We're inclined to disagree with that statement. (Disclosure: We do have a soft spot for these characters, but that's only because they try really hard to be good people.) Or, it could mean these The Man and The Boy are completely alone – the only "good guys" left on the road.
[The Boy:] There are other guys. You said so.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] So where are they?
[The Man:] They're hiding.
[The Boy:] Who are they hiding from?
[The Man:] From each other.
[The Boy:] Are there lots of them?
[The Man:] We dont know.
[The Boy:] But some.
[The Man:] Some. Yes.
[The Boy:] Is that true?
[The Man:] Yes. That's true.
[The Boy:] But it might not be true.
[The Man:] I think it's true.
[The Boy:] Okay.
[The Man:] You dont believe me.
[The Boy:] I believe you.
[The Man:] Okay.
[The Boy:] I always believe you.
[The Man:] I dont think so.
[The Boy:] Yes I do. I have to. (254.1-254.21)
Let's get this straight, Mr. McCarthy. So there might be other "good guys" out there in the world, but The Man isn't sure. And if there are other "good guys" out there, they're hiding from each other and therefore unlikely to ever meet. Which means The Man and The Boy are unlikely to meet any other good souls on the road?
The boy lifted the [flare]gun from the case and held it. Can you shoot somebody with it? he said.
[The Man:] You could.
[The Boy:] Would it kill them?
[The Man:] No. But it might set them on fire.
[The Boy:] Is that why you got it?
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Because there's nobody to signal to. Is there?
[The Man:] No. (333.14-333.21)
McCarthy gives us a good dose of irony here. (Take it, reader! It's good for you!) Instead of using the flare gun to signal other people, The Man figures he'll use it to set them on fire. As if the only form of communication left on the planet is violence. So a tool typically used to signal distress becomes a grisly weapon.
He [The Boy] sat there cowled in the blanket. After a while he looked up. Are we still the good guys? he said.
[The Man:] Yes. We're still the good guys.
[The Boy:] And we always will be.
[The Man:] Yes. We always will be.
[The Boy:] Okay. (120.7-120.11)
This exchange happens pretty soon after The Man had to kill the roadrat. The Boy wants to know if they're still "good guys" after killing someone. Despite his doubts earlier that morning, The Man thinks they are still "good guys." We agree. But we also think McCarthy plays around with his terms here. There are actually no "good guys" in the strictest, most traditional sense. There are just the "sometimes-morally-compromised-but-mostly-good guys."
An army in tennis shoes, tramping. Carrying three-foot lengths of pipe with leather wrappings. [. . .] The phalanx following carried spears or lances tasseled with ribbons, the long blades hammered out of trucksprings in some crude forge upcountry. [. . .] Behind them came wagons drawn by slaves in harness and piled with goods of war and after that the women, perhaps a dozen in number, some of them pregnant, and lastly a supplementary consort of catamites illcothed against the cold and fitted in dogcollars and yoked each to each. All passed on. They lay listening.
[The Boy:] Are they gone, Papa?
[The Man:] Yes, they're gone.
[The Boy:] Did you see them?
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Were they the bad guys?
[The Man:] Yes, they were the bad guys. (141.4-141.10)
It seems like another giveaway of the "bad guys" is that they keep slaves with them. The Man and The Boy, on the other hand, spend a lot of energy trying not to harm others. We think good and evil in this book have a lot to do with how one responds to desperate situations: do you prey on those weaker than yourself, or do you avoid others and try to retain some sliver of decency like The Man? Or, like The Boy, do you go above and beyond the call of duty and care for those worse off than yourself? We think the gap between this bloodcult on the road and The Boy seems nearly unbridgeable.
Look at me, the man said.
He turned and looked. He looked like he'd been crying.
[The Man:] Just tell me.
[The Boy:] We wouldnt ever eat anybody, would we?
[The Man:] No. Of course not.
[The Boy:] Even if we were starving?
[The Man:] We're starving now.
[The Boy:] You said we werent.
[The Man:] I said we werent dying. I didnt say we werent starving.
[The Boy:] But we wouldnt.
[The Man:] No. We wouldnt.
[The Boy:] No matter what.
[The Man:] No. No matter what.
[The Boy:] Because we're the good guys.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] And we're carrying the fire. (195.12-195.29)
[The Man:] And we're carrying the fire. Yes.
[The Boy:] Okay.
We're not exactly sure what the fire is, but it seems to have to do with human goodness and decency. The dialogue here further explains the difference between the "good guys" and the "bad guys." It's a major difference, let it be said: the "good guys" don't eat other people, no matter how hungry they get. This is a code of basic moral decency The Man has constructed that can't be broached. ("No matter what," as The Man says.) Does The Man have any other basic, unbreakable principles? What about The Boy – does he have his own set of principles?
[The Boy:] Do you remember that little boy, Papa?
[The Man:] Yes. I remember him.
[The Boy:] Do you think that he's all right that little boy?
[The Man:] Oh yes. I think he's all right.
[The Boy:] Do you think he was lost?
[The Man:] No. I dont think he was lost.
[The Boy:] I'm scared that he was lost.
[The Man:] I think he's all right.
[The Boy:] But who will find him if he's lost? Who will find the little boy?
[The Man:] Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again. (384.1-384.10)
This is a pretty complicated exchange. The Man is dying and The Boy knows it. (In fact, The Man will die in the next paragraph.) Faced with his father's death, The Boy remembers the child he saw (or thought he saw) wandering the rubble of a city. Won't that be him soon? The series of questions The Boy asks The Man really have to do with himself. He's not just worrying about the child he saw once, he's worrying about his own imminent abandonment.
The Man's response is quite bold, given the circumstances: Goodness will find The Boy. We're actually a little unsure what The Man means here. Does The Man mean "good" people will find The Boy, or does he mean The Boy will continue to be good and that will sustain him?
Quote 19
[The Veteran:] Where's the man you were with?
[The Boy:] He died.
[. . .]
[The Veteran:] I think you should come with me.
[The Boy:] Are you one of the good guys?
The man pulled his hood back from his face. His hair was long and matted. He looked at the sky. As if there were anything there to be seen. He looked at the boy. Yeah, he said. I'm one of the good guys.
[. . .]
[The Boy:] Are you carrying the fire?
[The Veteran:] Am I what?
[The Boy:] Carrying the fire.
[The Veteran:] You're kind of weirded out, arent you?
[The Boy:] No.
[The Veteran:] Just a little.
[The Boy:] Yeah.
[The Veteran:] That's okay.
[The Boy:] So are you?
[The Veteran:] What, carrying the fire?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Veteran:] Yeah, we are.
[The Boy:] Do you have any kids?
[The Veteran:] We do.
[. . .]
[The Boy:] And you didnt eat them.
[The Veteran:] No.
[The Boy:] You dont eat people.
[The Veteran:] No. We dont eat people.
[The Boy:] And I can go with you?
[The Veteran:] Yes. You can.
[The Boy:] Okay then.
[The Veteran:] Okay. (386.2-386.49)
In an unexpected turn of events, someone good (or at least someone who seems good) does appear on the road. It turns out The Man and The Boy are not the only ones.
McCarthy has foreshadowed The Man's death pretty much throughout the whole book, so it's no surprise when he dies. With the destruction of the world and the father's death, McCarthy has written himself into a pretty bleak corner. But we think this is actually a pretty happy ending. Other good people have survived, and The Boy doesn't end up alone.
They passed through the city at noon of the day following. He kept the pistol to hand on the folded tarp on top of the cart. He kept the boy close to his side. The city was mostly burned. No sign of life. Cars in the streets caked with ash, everything covered with ash and dust. Fossil tracks in the dried sludge. A corpse in a doorway dried to leather. Grimacing at the day. He pulled the boy closer. Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that.
[The Boy:] You forget some things, dont you?
[The Man:] Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget. (14.1)
Memory becomes both plague and salvation for The Man. The barren landscape that he and The Boy wander across has little in common with the world The Man remembers. It's all ashes and death. So the memories The Man has of a more or less normal world – our world – highlight just how terrible things have gotten. Memory is necessarily tinged with sadness and loss for The Man. That said, he also recalls moments of terrific beauty from the former world, and these provide sustenance and hope – though only occasionally. It would be more accurate, we think, for The Man to say he remembers a lot of things but that he can't help pairing all memories with loss (see 226.1 below).