Part Three 2 страница

Once back in Monument, however, he longed to return to Canada, to see the spring season bursting in the fields, wondering what kind of conversation the church would be carrying on with the windows open to the outside world. But knew that was impossible. He had to resume his life here in Monument. Enter Monument High in the fall. Live according to the rules he had established for himself after the chocolate sale. Don't make waves, go with the flow. Pretend the world wore a sign like the kind hanging on doorknobs in motels: DO NOT DISTURB. But the Goober's visit had upset his balance, taking him by surprise.

" I really acted stupid this afternoon. Right, Dad? " he had asked as they sat at the supper table that evening.

" I wouldn't say stupid, " his father replied. " Besides, it was my fault. I didn't realize you weren't ready for that kind of thing. . "

" But I should be. And I should tell the Goober that he didn't double-cross me last year. Cripes, he acts like he was a traitor or something. And he wasn't. "

Silence in the dining room. Their lives were filled with silences, but not the comfortable land that existed in the farmhouse in St. Antoine. Because his father was quiet and reserved by nature, they had never talked at length, communicated mostly in brief conversations with many stumblings. The death of Jerry's mother a year before had stunned them into a deeper silence, his father moving as in a trance through his days and evenings while Jerry had been immersed in his own troubles. Entering Trinity. Football and making the freshman team. The chocolate sale. And everything that followed. Which Canada had helped him forget. Until the Goober showed up.

" I should call him, right? " Jerry asked.

" Not if it hurts you, son. You're the important one. The Goober can always wait. . "

Again the silence. In the silence, Jerry was grateful for his father's words. Let the Goober wait. He felt bad for his old friend, but he had to make certain that he himself was back to normal again, restored and repaired, before he worried about others.

And yet. And yet.

Later, after his father had gone to work, Jerry found himself at the telephone, looking at the phone book under the instrument. Could almost recall the Goober's number, not certain of the last digit—6 or 7? Reached for the telephone book but, finally, didn't pick it up. Some other time.

He went to the window, glanced out at the dark street, and withdrew into the room. He knew that he had to get out of this apartment, pick up the pieces of his life. Walk the streets, drop in at the library, check the record store, breathe some spring air into his lungs. And call the Goober.

Maybe tomorrow.

Or the next day.

Or never.

Tubs Casper had sworn off girls forever. But the result of that decision was agonizing. He hadn't realized it would be this way when he broke up with Rita, said good-bye forever, stalked off in anger and desperation and, yes, pain. Jeez, what pain. Pain in his heart and in his groin. He felt wounded, as if he'd been through a war in the trenches like the soldiers in World War I — the War to Make the World Safe for Democracy, they had called it in Social Science — trudging through his days and nights like the walking wounded, trying to keep himself from feeling anything, which was impossible, of course. Worst of all, he was eating like a madman and had gained nine pounds, which meant he was now forty-five pounds overweight. Found it hard to breathe going up the stairs, sweated all the time, perpetually moist, oozing. And on top of all that, the Vigils.

He was bubbling with sweat now as he stood in the small storage room in the gym. He had to blink to get rid of the perspiration gathering in his eyes. He knew that he looked as if he was crying. But he wasn't. He didn't want anybody to think he was a weeper. Underneath this terrible felt that he couldn't get rid of or disguise, he was brave and strong and durable. As he stood before the members of the Vigils, he was determined to put up a good front, despite the fat and the sweat. He recognized some of the guys who sat in the room's dimness, knew their names but had never talked to any of them. Freshmen like Tubs kept out of the way of upperclassmen. He looked around for the kid called Obie but did not see him here. Obie was the only Vigil member he had talked with, and he preferred not to think about their association, because it had to do with Rita and the chocolates.

There was an attitude of waiting in the room, the guys talking together in low tones, acting as if Tubs didn't exist. Tubs knew who they were waiting for. Archie Costello. He dreaded Archie Costello's arrival. He knew all about him, his power and his assignments.

The door swung open, admitting a shaft of light. Without looking, Tubs knew that the great Archie Costello was now on the scene. All conversation ceased and the guys became alert, tension developing as if somebody had lit a fuse and everyone was waiting for an explosion to occur.

" Hello, Ernest, " Archie said.

Caught off guard by the use of his real name (he really hated " Tubs" but had learned to accept the nickname), Tubs swiveled toward him.

A smile on his face, Archie regarded Tubs with something like affection. Tubs wasn't exactly put at ease, but his sense of doom and foreboding diminished a bit.

" Too bad about Rita, " Archie said, after pausing a moment, speaking casually as if they were continuing a conversation begun earlier.

Tubs was caught off guard again. First, he'd expected the meeting to be called to order. Second, nobody was supposed to know about Rita and what had happened. But the kid called Obie knew about her. Too bad about Rita. Tubs's heart began to thud in his chest.

" Remember Rita? " Archie prompted, the smile still on his face, a fake smile, Tubs realized now, like the smile painted on a clown's face. But Archie was no clown.

" Yes, I remember, " Tubs said, his voice small and squeaky. He hated his voice, couldn't control it, never knew when it would come out high and squeaky or low and rumbling. Either like a belch or like a fart. Embarrassing him, either way.

" Beautiful girl, Rita, " Archie said, tilting his head a bit, voice soft, as if he'd known Rita and his memories were fond and gentle. " Isn't she? "

Tubs nodded, dumbfounded. How much did Archie know about Rita? Rita, his pride and his agony, his throbbing love, his ultimate betrayer. Hell, he'd almost gone to jail for her. Well, probably not jail but district court, at least. That's what Obie had threatened. Tubs had loved her, hated her now, of course, but still wanted her, still feverish for her, that body of hers, the only girl he'd ever touched, caressed, held. Those breasts. Willing to die for those breasts. Willing to keep the money from the stupid chocolate sale. Not stealing, as Obie had accused him of doing. Merely borrowing. Going into debt to buy her that birthday present, the bracelet she loved. $19. 52 including tax. The amount was seared into his heart, his brain.

" You still believe in love, Ernest? " Archie asked.

Somehow, Archie didn't act like the bastard he was supposed to be. Maybe it was his soft voice, the Ernest on his tongue, the sympathetic eyes.

" Do you? " Archie asked gently.

It seemed as if they were alone in the room, just the two of them, the members of the Vigils receding, his heart beating almost normally now.

" Yes, " Tubs said. He believed in love, believed in Rita, even now. In a small and secret place in his overweight and perspiring body, he harbored a belief that somehow there had been a mistake and Rita would come into his life again, apologetic, loving him, offering herself to him.

Obie chose that moment to arrive at the meeting.

Obie was late for the meeting because he'd been trying, without success, to call Laurie Gundarson. Her line had been busy. He'd waited in the corridor, stalling, placing the call again and again, greeted by the busy signal that taunted him agonizingly. It occurred to him that her line might not be busy at all. Laurie had once confessed that she often took the phone off the hook when she wanted to avoid certain people. Did she want to avoid Obie now? The possibility filled him with anguish.

His first impulse when classes ended for the day was to dash out of school and drive to her house. But the inverted Y on the bulletin board detained him. The Vigils meeting. He realized that the meeting might in some way be connected with last night's attack. He had not anticipated a meeting today, knew no reason why Archie should have suddenly called one. He also knew that news spreads quickly in a school like Trinity. Was the attack already common knowledge? Depositing the dime again, dialing, then hearing the blurt of the busy signal once more, Obie hung up and made his way downstairs, miserable and confused. He nodded to Jimmy Saulnier, who kept guard outside the meeting room, and entered " to find Tubs Casper the center of attention. Poor blubber of a kid who looked as if he might faint at any moment. Obie flushed with guilt at the sight of the kid. Hell, one more lousy thing on the lousiest day of his life.

Obie winced as he listened to the exchange between Archie and Tubs.

" Yes, what? " Archie was asking.

" Yes, I believe in love, " Tubs said, his voice an agonized whisper.

Obie swore under his breath. He'd hoped that Archie had forgotten all about Tubs Casper. He should have known better: Archie never forgot. Archie, in fact, had goaded Obie into giving him Tubs's name, back in January, half a lifetime ago. Archie had been taunting Obie about his lack of proposed victims. Running on empty, Obie? Losing your touch? Obie had winced because Bunting and Carter and some other guys were present, gathered on the front steps of the school. Or maybe you just lack imagination. Obie's pulse throbbed in his temple; his cheeks grew warm. You haven't come up with a decent name in weeks. A decent name meant a victim, someone vulnerable Archie could use in an assignment.

Like Tubs.

Obie had learned about Tubs Casper's existence as a Trinity student in the final frantic days of the chocolate sale last fall. Checking the sales roster for delinquents — guys who had not sold their quotas — he had seen Tubs's name listed as having made two sales. Preposterous. It had taken Obie three days to track him down. Tubs had proved elusive, staying a few steps ahead of Obie, quite a feat when you considered Tubs and all that fat. Somehow, Tubs always seemed to have left a room moments before Obie got there. Or stepped on the school bus just as it drove away. Obie finally caught up with Tubs Casper at Cogg's Park one evening, spotting him with a girl, the girl clinging to Tubs the way ivy clung to the south-side wall of Trinity. Obie knew immediately what had been going on, knew that Tubs had been selling chocolates all along and not making returns, spending the money on the girl: typical. Sitting in his car, he watched Tubs and the girl cavorting as they strolled along, feeding the pigeons, pausing on a bench. The girl couldn't keep her hands off Tubs. She brushed him continually with her breasts. She was built beautifully, tight sweater, tighter jeans. Obie felt himself swelling with envy and lust (this was before Laurie, of course), and knew he had Tubs Casper exactly where he wanted him.

Obie had confronted Tubs later that night, waiting for him at his doorstep.

" But what about Rita? " Tubs had cried. " She's in love with that bracelet. "

" That's the point, Casper, " Obie had said. " She's in love with the bracelet. Not you. Figure it as a test. Make those returns tomorrow morning at school. Then see what happens with Rita. If she loves you, it won't make any difference to her if you don't buy the bracelet. . "

Confused, riddled with guilt, exhausted from lack of sleep, Obie shrank back into the shadows of the storage room wondering: What the hell am I doing here, anyway? But knew that he couldn't leave, not yet, not until he found out the real reason for the meeting.

" Do you know the procedure here? " Archie asked Tubs.

Obie watched Tubs Casper nodding his head eagerly. He had never intended to nominate Tubs for an assignment: The kid had enough troubles with his weight and with Rita, the teenage sexpot. Because Rita had broken up with Tubs when he hadn't bought the bracelet. Obie had met him on the street a few days later. " What happened? " he'd asked Tubs.

And Tubs, defeated looking, his pudgy face like that of an old man suddenly, said: " You know what happened. " No resentment in his voice, no anger, only a heavy, weary acceptance of what life is.

" That's the way it goes, kid, " Obie had said, strolling away, walking away from the temptation to tell the lad: Look, be happy, I'm not turning you in for an assignment. See the favor I'm doing you? Yet, taunted by Archie — and, yes, manipulated — he had eventually handed over Tubs Casper as a victim to save his own reputation as a selector of victims.

Archie's voice reached him again.

" You know, Ernest, there is nothing personal in these assignments? "

Tubs nodded, resigned, wanting to get it over with.

" Okay, " Archie said, pausing.

This was the beautiful moment Vigil members looked forward to, the moment when Archie revealed his latest assignment, his newest caper, some of the beauty coming from the fact they were not victims, like the moment you are plunged into grief when a rotten thing happens to someone else and that small spurt of guilty relief when you tell yourself: It's not me.

" How much do you weigh, Ernest? " Archie asked.

Tubs squirmed, hated to talk about his weight. But knew he could not deny Archie any information he wanted.

" One hundred and seventy-five. "

" Exactly? "

Tubs nodded disgustedly. " I weighed myself this morning. "

" That's not so fat, Ernest, " Archie said.

Again, Tubs had the sensation that he and Archie were alone in this place, that Archie was his friend.

" In fact, " Archie said, " I think you could use a bit of weight. Say, like, twenty pounds. Give you more. . stature. Make you more of an imposing figure. . "

" Twenty pounds? " Tubs said, disbelief making his voice squeak.

" Right. "

Someone sighed, the kind of sigh that comes with comprehension, and a slight shudder rippled through the room.

" That's the assignment, Ernest. Put on twenty pounds. In the next, say, four weeks. That will bring us almost to the end of school. Eat to your heart's content, Ernest. You love to eat, don't you? And four weeks from now we'll meet here. We'll have a scale. "

Tubs opened his mouth. Didn't know why he opened his mouth. Certainly not to protest. Nobody protested an assignment. Stood there gaping, the prospect of more weight staggering to his mind. His life was dedicated to trying to lose weight, despite the fact that he was always hungry, always starved, and always lost the battle. But gaining purposely?

" Close your mouth, Tubs, and get out of here, " Archie said, no longer the gentle Archie, the tender Assigner.

Tubs did just that. Hurried his ponderous body out of that terrible place, tripping on somebody's foot as he made his way to the door.

" Beautiful, " someone called out. But certainly not Obie, who felt small and cheap as he watched Tubs stumbling out the door.

Archie called for the black box with a snap of his fingers, wasted no time as he thrust his hand inside and withdrew the white marble, looked at it with amusement, and tossed it back.

The members of the Vigils rustled in their seats, preparing for departure. But Archie held up his hand.

" I have an announcement to make, " he said, his words as cold as ice cubes rattling in a tray.

He glanced at Carter, waiting for him to bang the gavel.

The gavel was an important part of Vigil meetings.

And Carter had become the master of its use.

Carter banged the gavel to emphasize Archie's words and actions, the way a drummer underscores the movements of a juggler or a magician on the stage. He'd hit the desk to prod some poor quivering kid into an answer. Or to provide impact for Archie's pronouncements.

Archie waited for attention to focus completely on him once more. Carter tensed himself.

" I've received word, " Archie said, " that the Bishop's visit to Trinity has been canceled. "

Carter dropped the gavel.

Archie looked at Carter with contempt, waited for him to pick it up, then spoke again.

" Which means that there will be no day off. It's canceled. "

Quick intakes of breath, stirrings among the Vigils, a whispered " Aw, shit " from someone.

Archie searched the room with those cold and merciless eyes, assessing the impact of his news.

Obie caught Archie's questioning scrutiny, the intensity of his search. He knew the great Archie Costello intimately enough to realize that something had gone askew.

Carter's hand seemed welded to the handle of the gavel. Blood raced under the surface of his flesh, pounding its way to his face.

" But it also means something else, " Archie said, drawing the words out slowly, and all the time studying his audience, looking at them as if he had never seen them before.

Obie frowned, puzzled, glad that he was standing in the shadows, virtually unseen.

Ah, but Archie saw everything, and he turned his eyes now on Obie.

" What do you think that something else is, Obie? "

Stymied, Obie shrugged.

" I don't know. "

" Bunting? "

Bunting leaped with surprise as if someone had goosed him, one of the more ordinary pastimes at Trinity. He had been uncomfortable about Obie's presence in the room, had barely followed Archie's conversation with Tubs Casper. Hearing Obie's voice now, he gained confidence. Obie certainly wouldn't be answering Archie's questions so normally if he suspected that one of the guys who had attacked him and his girl was in the room.

" I don't know either, " Bunting said.

" Carter? "

The blood was pounding a tom-tom beat in Carter's head now, but he tried to keep his features in control.

" You've got me, " he said, giving his voice the proper amount of disdain. Acting as if it didn't matter.

But it did matter. He dreaded Archie's next move. The announcement that someone had tipped Leon off about the visit.

Silence as Archie's eyes swept the room again. Inscrutable eyes that revealed nothing, told no secrets. Did his eyes linger on me a moment longer than anyone else? Carter wondered, knowing the secret of that " something else. " He was relieved to hear Bunting interrupt Archie's scrutiny.

" Can't we still arrange a day off from school? " Bunting asked. " Everybody's going to be. . teed off. " He'd almost said pissed off, which would have landed him in trouble again. " We put a lot of work into the arrangements. "

" The project is canceled, " Archie said flatly. " Without the Bishop, it's pointless. "

Carter didn't know what to do with the damn gavel. Was Archie about to end the meeting?

" Anybody know what the something else is? " Archie asked, not belligerent, seeming to be genuinely interested in a possible response.

No response. Everybody wanted simply to get out of there.

Archie glanced at Carter.

" The gavel, Carter, " Archie reminded. " The meeting's over. "

The gavel struck the desk like a hammer driving a nail through wood into flesh.

Although he hated the smell of the storage room, the stench of boy sweat and overripe socks and sneakers, Archie remained behind after everyone had gone.

To add up the score.

He hadn't managed a confrontation between Obie and Bunting, but none had been necessary. He knew Obie intimately, could almost read his mind, could certainly read his expressions, Obie's face like a relief map with nothing hidden. He had seen a stunned and subdued Obie, obviously still reeling from the events of the night before, but not suspicious, not ready to spring into action. Obie had barely glanced at anyone in the room, had not sought out Bunting in any way. Archie was willing to bet his reputation on the fact that Obie did not know who had attacked him and his, girl in the car.

The other result of the meeting was even more obvious to Archie. And more satisfying.

Carter was the traitor, of course. Carter, who had showed no enthusiasm for the Bishop's visit from the start. Carter, who obviously hated his role as gavel wielder. Carter had stumbled through the meeting as if in a trance, missing his cues with the gavel. Dropping it, for crissakes. Guilt had spread on Carter's face like a coat of paint. Paint the color of blood. Carter the jock, lost without his stupid sports. Carter, who had suddenly developed a conscience. From the moment the meeting started, Archie had been aware of Carter's haunted eyes, pale face, the jock turned jellyfish, turned stool pigeon.

Carter was the traitor.

Further proof would be needed, of course, to eliminate any doubt. But Archie would get that proof.

He stood in the foul, fetid air of the storage room and thought:

Poor Carter.

Carter's We would never be the same again.

Laurie wasn't home.

Or maybe she wasn't responding to the doorbell, just as she might have been refusing to answer the telephone.

He pressed the button again, heard the faint echo of the bell — ding, ding, ding — within the house. But no activity. Somehow, the house felt empty. Laurie's presence had always been blazingly immediate to him, charging the air, alerting his senses. Now: nothing. Her mother's VW wasn't in the driveway either.

He rapped on the door, not expecting a response now, but having to do something.

Damn it. He ached to see her. Was filled with guilt and loneliness and longing. Felt hounded, his thoughts swirling around like the snowflakes in those glass globes people keep on mantelpieces.

Turning away, walking down the steps, feeling as though he was in retreat from a skirmish he had just lost, he plodded to his car. The merriment of the spring day mocked him. Brilliant sun, whiff of lilac in the air, all of it empty somehow.

This was his second visit to Laurie's house this afternoon. He had come here directly from Trinity, found no response, and driven to Monument High. The campus was deserted. Peering in the front door, he had seen a custodian pushing a mop down the corridor. He was an outsider at her school. As he walked back to his car, he realized how little he knew about her life, her daily existence. She talked sometimes of her girl friends and he had met two or three of them — but their faces were a blur and their names a vague litany of Debbies and Donnas.

Resting his chin on the steering wheel now, disconsolate, he stared at Laurie's house. His vigil seemed hopeless; the house wore an air of vacancy, abandonment.

His mind went to the Vigils meeting and Archie's strange performance. Under ordinary circumstances he would have been figuring out all the angles, pondering the potential meaning of Archie's behavior. But he couldn't concentrate on Archie now. Laurie and his anguish dominated everything else.

Fifteen minutes went by. More frustrated than ever, sighing almost to the point of hyperventilating — he often had trouble drawing a deep breath when he faced tough situations — he started the car, raced the motor. Couldn't stand doing nothing any longer.

There was only one bright spot in the day, not exactly bright but at least not as downbeat, grim, and depressing as everything else: Ray Bannister's deliverance from his assignment on the day of the visit. The project had been canceled and so had Ray's part in it all.

At least he could deliver a bit of good news to someone on this most rotten of all days.

A while later Ray Bannister's mother directed him to the cellar.

" He's working on his secret project, so he might not let you in, " she said good-naturedly. She had the most astonishing tan Obie had ever seen. Deep and rich, like melted caramel. He followed her directions through the house and down the cellar stairs. " Don't forget to knock, " she called after him.

The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. Secret project? He knocked.

" Who's there? " Ray's voice was faint on the other side of the door.

" Obie. "

A few moments later Obie confronted the secret project. It looked, for crying out loud, like a guillotine.

Which, as it turned out, was exactly what it was, Ray Bannister said. Then explained: " Well, not exactly a guillotine. It's an illusion. But one of the best. "

" Did you build it yourself? " Obie asked, both attracted and repulsed by the apparatus, sensing a threat in its presence, ugly in the cellar's dim light.

Ray seemed shy suddenly. " I always liked working with my hands. " Running his hand over the side of the blade, he said: " I was just about to test it. Want to help? "

Obie stepped back instinctively, wanted nothing to do with this lethal piece of machinery. Yet he had to admit that he was fascinated. His eyes kept straying to the crossblock with the carved-out groove on which the victim's neck would rest. Victim was the wrong word, of course. After all, this was only fun and games. Illusion, like Ray Bannister said.

Ray walked over to the workbench and picked up a shopping bag. Smiling wickedly at Obie, he pulled out a head of cabbage. " See, Obie? I'll give a demonstration, just like a regular magician. A real cabbage — my mother got it at the supermarket for forty-nine cents. She's a good egg, didn't even ask me what I needed a head of cabbage for. "

Ray Bannister placed the cabbage in the curved groove, about three feet below the slanted blade. The blade looked menacing, extremely dangerous poised above the cabbage. Suppose it wasn't a head of cabbage but a real head? Obie recoiled from the thought.

" Watch, " Ray Bannister said, drawing out the syllable, letting his voice trail off dramatically. He pressed a button near the top of the guillotine. The blade plummeted, flashing brilliantly for a moment as it caught a ray of light from the ceding bulb, hitting the cabbage, exploding the vegetable into a thousand pieces of moist green and yellow leaves.

" Not as clean as slicing somebody's neck, but you get the idea, don't you, Obie? " Ray asked, chuckling.

" Messy, " Obie said, hiding his queasiness. What a terrible day. And a guillotine demolishing a cabbage to top it all. " Now, " Ray said, with a flourish, bowing toward the guillotine, assuming the role of Bannister the Great. " Be my guest. "

" You're kidding, " Obie said.

" Don't you trust me? "

Trust? Obie thought of Archie and Bunting and the attack at the Chasm and now Laurie unapproachable. " I don't trust anybody, " Obie said.

" Hey, it's only a trick, an illusion, " Ray said, frowning. Frankly, he was a bit nervous about this first demonstration. Knew it was foolproof, nothing to worry about, but edgy. He had been edgy ever since Obie had approached him, plunging him into the strange world of Trinity. " Look, I'll offer myself as the victim. " Keeping his voice light. " I'll lay my neck on the line. Literally. And you press the button. "

Obie eyed the deadly blade and the remnants of the demolished vegetable. The smell of raw cabbage filled the air. " I'd rather not, " Obie said. Then, also trying to keep it light so that Ray Bannister wouldn't think he was chicken, " I can see the headlines if anything goes wrong: 'Student Loses Head Over Trick. ' "

" Come on, " Ray said, stepping smartly to the guillotine. He knelt down and bent over, placing his neck in the groove, facing the floor now. " All you have to do, Obie, is hit the button. "

" Not me, " Obie protested.

Ray craned his neck to look up at him. " There's no risk. Do you think I'd be crazy enough to take a chance like that? "

Obie wondered whether he was being ridiculous and paranoid.

" Let's go, " Ray commanded, adjusting himself once more, wriggling his body a bit. " This isn't the most comfortable position in the world. "

" Are you sure it's foolproof? " Obie asked.

" Is anything really sure in this world? " Ray asked. Then quickly: " Just fooling, Obie. Come on, push the damn button. "