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    American Odyssey
    American Odyssey
    American Odyssey
    Ebook143 pages2 hours

    American Odyssey

    By R. Douglas Clark

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    Combine the American legend of the great road trip with the Greek epic of Ulysses returning from the Trojan War and you get an original: a novel about an Afghanistan War veteran using the byroads of the continent to heal his horrors and deal with his demons. --Wally Gordon

    Having finished his tour as a Marine in Afghanistan, Leo Lewis sets out on a road trip across America back to his wife and a young son he has never met, but Nausicaa and Circe set out to lure him, and the Greek gods watch for ways to help or hinder him. --Claudia Hauer, Professor St. Johns College
    Discharged from the Marines after three tours in Afghanistan, Leo Lewis is on his way home -- like another warrior 3,000 years ago. And as Leo crosses the country, the challenges faced by Homer's greatest hero confront him as well. Cyclops, Circe, Scylla, Charybdis, and more all are waiting for him in dramatic, enchanting, frightening, and funny adventures reimagined through the lens of today's realities.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTerra Nova Books
    Release dateNov 10, 2018
    ISBN9781948749305
    American Odyssey

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    Reviews for American Odyssey

    3/5

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    • 3/5
      American Odyssey is a really good work of fiction -- definitely worth reading if the description of the story interests you. It is not, however, a historic contribution to the literary arts. So what, you ask? Well, I underestimated it at first, and I found a strength in author R. Douglas Clark's work where I expected to find a weakness.

      At the outset, I expected the incongruity between author R. Douglas Clark's literary achievement and that of Homer, whose immortal classic The Odyssey Clark incorporates as context within his own work, would severely mar the work of contemporary fiction. I expected the book would seem that more amateurish, vastly overreaching its grasp, or maybe it would come off as pretentious.

      All of these concerns proved unwarranted. On the contrary, Clark's invocation of classical literature served to dignify the subject of his story -- the travels of an Afghanistan vet newly arrived back in the US -- and elevate the issues of contemporary life to the level of histories that formed the basis of great epics. The frame of reference is an artistic technique that characterizes Clark's subject and is not meant to place the book itself in any particular tradition. This high-minded reverence for the tragic, heroic, and otherwise dramatic in his contemporary story distinguishes Clark's storytelling as serious-minded and ambitious -- and above all shows respect for the soldier at the heart of his story.

      In sum, American Odyssey is a readable, worthwhile debut as well as an ambitious and timely project. I look forward to Clark's next publication.

      Please be advised I received my copy through a Goodreads giveaway.

    Book preview

    American Odyssey - R. Douglas Clark

    wife.

    PROLOGUE

    Sing with me, Muse, and through me, tell the story of a man, a wanderer skilled at survival, a lucky man in one view, yet a man ordained to be bedeviled for years to come after invading the proud heights of Afghanistan. That one man—Leo Lewis, a Marine, hard-bitten, tough, and determined—chose to stay on his battleground tour after tour for three years. And when the long years and trials and pain wheeled slowly around to that point in time when he was destined to return home, Leo Lewis was alive and unscathed in body. Yet his mind was filled with ghosts.

    And sing with me as well of Penny Lewis, born Penelope Josephs, wife to Leo and mother of their child, Max. When Leo was first deployed, their contacts were frequent. Leo shared benign details about his life as a Marine but nothing that would make her worry. Penny wrote exhaustively of Max. As the months wore on, Leo gradually became withdrawn from Penny, writing her less often, avoiding any mention of the skirmishes and firefights, telling more about his buddies than himself. Penny joked that his main activity was playing poker. He sent her money and said he loved her.

    What Leo never mentioned was the gruesome face of Death, always lurking in the shadows of his life. He did not tell Penny of the combat missions or patrols: the battles, the explosions, the wounds his comrades suffered, the blessings of fate that kept him unscathed. Neither did she ask, except to make sure he had not been injured. Yet every time there was a phone call or a knock on the door, Penny’s heart would thump in fear that Leo had been killed or maimed.

    After three years of war, Leo was glad to be back in the U.S.A., out of harm’s way. He had seen horrible things: limbs and genitals blown off by Improvised Explosive Devices; men losing an ear, an eye, a nose; children burning to death. He had come close to death or violent injury many times, but something always blocked the bullets; something kept the primitive, devastating shrapnel—nails, bolts, screws—from ripping through his body.

    Tell me, Muse: Was he protected by that owl-eyed goddess Athena whose cloak is armor for her favored warriors?

    Yet even if Athena had the power to protect Leo’s body, she could not shield his psyche. The shock of war shook Leo to the core, and while he functioned sanely in the day-to-day world, he was aware of restive demons in his soul. No prosthesis or reconstructive surgery for him to cope with, but he would live in fear of flashbacks, memory loss, cloudy thoughts, and clear but devastating dreams. An ocean fog obscured his way.

    Beyond the troubles in his mind, Leo’s hardships were not over. Poseidon, lord of sea and storm, held some secret grudge against the man and hindered Leo when he could. The other gods wished him well—or none, at least, wished him ill. But Leo, like all mortals, was oblivious to the gods and fathomed nothing of Poseidon, any more than he did Hermes, the Messenger, or owl-eyed Athena.

    Though he had returned from war, Leo was not ready to go home. Though he wanted to see Penny and Max, he did not let her know that he was back. He was too afraid he’d be out of place, afraid he’d turned into a monster. He had killed people. Strangers had wanted to torture him. He needed time to sort things out and regain his balance in the world.

    Leo needed time alone, without concern for getting killed. He resolved to drive, not to fly, returning home slowly along the crooked highways of America. On the road—the long journey he would take from coast to coast—he hoped to purge the ways of war from his mind and feel again the rhythms of a balanced being, so that he would return to Penny grounded and whole. Rag of a man that he was, Leo wanted time to mend the fabric of his life.

    Max was three years old when Leo returned from war. Leo hoped they could have a normal life together, whatever normal was, after three years in which battle was his norm. Fear, adrenaline, action—these were what was normal. So was boredom. Riding the bus from Camp Lejeune to Charleston, South Carolina, Leo gazed out the window pondering his past, present, and future, ready to explore the back roads of his mind and find his own true path.

    I

    CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

    When Leo returned from war, the drums and bugles played, and he was hailed as a hero; yet he did not feel heroic. He felt confused. He flinched at firecrackers. Danger lurked in crowds. Crossing bridges made him nervous.

    Sword in hand, Leo stood in uniform, honor-bound to endure the presentation of awards for bravery and valor, medals that meant nothing to him. Later, he hid them beneath his socks. Leo knew that he was nothing special—just a soldier who’d survived the war. He should have gotten a medal for being lucky.

    Discharged with honor, leaving Camp Lejeune, adrift in the Carolinas, Leo landed in the colonial city of Charleston. He took a room close to the water and went out wandering. He chanced upon Calypso’s Diner and stopped for a beer and burger. Halfway through his meal, a woman approached, wearing jeans and a snap-button Western shirt. Hey, soldier, she said. Coming or going?

    Leo looked her over. She was maybe forty, but her figure was youthful, thick blonde hair braided down her back. I just returned two weeks ago, he said.

    Then you’re on leave?

    Nope. Been discharged.

    Well, Christ a’mighty! Welcome home. Mind if I sit down?

    Suit yourself.

    She put out her hand. I’m Calypso. Folks call me Callie

    Leonardo. Leo. Pleased to meet you, Callie. He shook Calypso’s hand, surprised by the smooth skin of the ageless nymph. Callie clung to Leo’s fingers a moment longer than she had to. You own this place? he asked.

    I reckon so. Me and the bank.

    Leo nodded. Must be nice to have your own place, be the boss of your own business.

    It suits me, though I can think of better spots than this.

    Leo finished off his burger and washed it down with the beer. Where would you rather be?

    Oh, hell, I don’t know. Some pretty place in the Outer Banks might be nice.

    Never been there. Never been anywhere really, except Afghanistan.

    Well, where are you from?

    Newport, Oregon. It’s a fishing village on the coast. The other coast.

    What did you do there?

    Commercial fishing. When I finished high school, I worked for three years for my dad. Coho salmon was our catch. But those waters are overfished, and government regs get tighter all the time. If there are harder ways to make a buck, I don’t know what they are. Besides, I didn’t like the work. I figured I’d be better off doing something else, God knows what. So I joined the Marines on the promise they’d pay for college when my time was up.

    You goin’ back there—Newport, Oregon?

    Leo nodded. Sooner or later.

    And in the meantime?

    I don’t know exactly. I want to wander, just drive without a schedule or the daily duties of a soldier. I have some things to think about. Do you know where I could find a good used car?

    That’s what they call an oxymoron, Leo. Are you handy with cars?

    I know my way around ’em. Especially the older ones.

    How about a Pontiac Firebird? Nineteen eighty-one.

    Yeah, I could work on that. Cool car.

    I’ve got one for you then. It’s yours for five hundred dollars.

    Why so cheap?

    Needs a little work, like a new clutch, new brakes, tie rods, and a tranny. Hoses, belts, tune-up, starter, you know. Gets lousy mileage, too.

    Any positives?

    Great paint job. Hardly has a dent on it. Decent tires. Radio works perfect. The radiator doesn’t leak . . . I don’t think. It’s got good power when it’s working right. But it’s taking up my whole garage, and I need someplace to keep my other car. The one that runs.

    I don’t know, ma’am. I don’t have any tools. And where would I work on it?

    You can work on it right there where it sits, in my garage across the alley. Plus I got a set of tools, complete, courtesy of my ex. He said he’d come and get them, but he never did. That was five years back, so I’d say they belong to me now.

    Leo drank some beer and looked at Callie. Why would you do this for me? You don’t even know me. I’m a trained killer, fresh from the battlefront.

    Callie leaned over, put her hand on his and lowered her voice. Ever’ now and then, I get an uncontrollable urge to do something good for someone. A light scent of perfume caught Leo’s attention, and he suspected that Callie had more in mind than altruistic thoughts.

    Calypso’s Diner occupied an asymmetrical spot in the middle of a block among a string of other businesses. Its floor was tiled in small octagonal pieces, giving it an older look. Go straight through the kitchen and you’d come out on a small loading dock with three large trash bins pushed against a fence. Across the alley was Callie’s garage, where the Firebird sat, front end jacked up, engine parts lying on a bench. A doorway led to her backyard and house, facing onto the next street over.

    It took Leo five full weeks to fix the Firebird. He had to scour the junkyards for parts. He barked his knuckles countless times when stubborn bolts snapped off. Then he had to drill them out. Grease lay under his fingernails like dried paint. But the work was welcome. He was so engaged in the repairs that he had no time to think about his life. Not-thinking was good therapy. Once or twice a day, Callie would come by to check up on his progress.

    You didn’t tell me it was pink, Leo said on the first day.

    Hot pink, she corrected. Init great?

    Sometime in the second week, Callie said to Leo, Would you do me a favor?

    What’s that?

    Something’s wrong with the compressor for the small walk-in. Could you take a look at it for me?

    Why? What’s it doing?

    Won’t hold a temperature. It’s too warm, then it’s too cold; the compressor’s kicking in too late and staying on too long.

    Did you try cleaning it?

    "Well, no. But could you just take a look at it? I’ll vacuum

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