Arnon Grunberg
Words Without Borders

Loris, South Carolina

This week, I spent a few days in Guantánamo Bay, about which more later.
But before I took off to Gitmo—as Guantánamo Bay is called by insiders and by everybody who wants to appear an insider—I visited Neal and Melissa, in Loris, South Carolina. Neal and Melissa sell guns. Legally, I’d like to add hastily.
I wanted to know more about guns and gun sales, for various reasons but mainly for my new novel.
It’s safe to describe me as a gun-virgin. In the summer of 1995, somewhere near Orlando, I fired a rifle a few times. Ten days later, my shoulder still hurt. There my intimate relationship with guns came to an end.
It’s not that easy to find gun dealers willing to speak about their work, and their passion, to a novelist.
Neal and Melissa were the exception.
I flew to Myrtle Beach, dropped off my stuff at the Hampton Inn and took a taxi to Loris.
My driver, Mr. Dion, was a retired trainer of horses. On his business card was printed the following message: “Dion’s Taxi. Let’s roll anytime, anyplace, anywhere.” After an hour, we arrived in Loris. Neal and Melissa seemed to live a little bit outside Loris.
I had to call them for directions.
Mr. Dion looked at me and said: “We are in the middle of the woods here. Do you know these people?” “No sir,” I answered. “I don’t know these people. All I know is that they sell guns.” Mr. Dion started to sigh.
And after we drove to Neal’s farm and we saw a sign at the entrance “Unwanted visitors will be met with armed response,” Mr. Dior's sighing became louder. “You have got balls,” he whispered.
Neal and Melissa were both armed; they served me coffee and they were extremely friendly and helpful, although they believed that everybody without a gun was a slave.
But I got the feeling that they appreciated me even as a slave.
At the end of the evening, I was invited to come back.
Mr. Dion was waiting in his cab for me. He was sleeping. I had to wake him up.
Maybe it was because of his nap, but Mr. Dion had changed his opinion about me.
“You are a kind of journalist aren’t you?” he said. “I can introduce you to a few interesting people, with and without guns. And I know a lot of beautiful girls here in Myrtle Beach.”


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