Part Three 8 страница

Bracken cocked his arm, stuck his tongue in his cheek, leaned back, pumped his arm, and let the ball fly. The ball was a bit wide of the mark. Hoots and jeers from the crowd, which Bracken accepted with an exaggerated bow.

He turned to the target again, pumped his arm, paused, waited. Studying his target. The crowd was quiet, the calliope music faint in the air. Bracken threw the ball. But softly. No pep, no steam in the throw, Obie realized. He also realized that now Bracken was only going through the motions, not intending to hit the target. Sure enough, Bracken threw the last ball without hesitation, without a windup, and again it went wide of the mark. He turned, shrugged, smiling weakly.

Obie couldn't help glancing at Archie, although he did so against his will. Archie was still perched in the chair and now there was a half smile on his face — what was the other half? Obie didn't know. Didn't want to know.

The small crowd began to disperse as the hawker tossed his balls in the air again, imploring someone to " hit the target, dunk the kid. " The guys ignored his plea as they drifted away, avoiding one another's eyes. Sensing a lost cause, the hawker shook his head in dismay and looked at Archie curiously, a question in his eyes. Obie knew what the question was: Why won't anybody dunk you? Good question, Obie thought, and he knew the answer. The answer angered him. More than angered, frustrated him. Even as a victim, Archie retained his goddam hold over them.

" Okay, guy, " the hawker said, motioning to Archie. " Out. I'd go broke with you there all day long. . "

Archie leaped from the chair in a graceful motion, landing lightly on his feet. Obie saw the flash of KICK ME on Archie's jersey as he joined the crowd No one kicked Archie, of course. Several guys glanced at the Sign and then looked quickly away. Obie tried to stifle his disappointment. He knew that if nobody was willing to dunk him, nobody would be willing to kick him.

But wait for the guillotine, Obie said silently. That's what counts, the guillotine. Just wait for the guillotine to fall. And Archie Costello will smile no more.

" What are you doing here, Caroni? " Brother Leon asked, looking up from his desk. He squinted toward the doorway. " It is Caroni, isn't it? "

" Yes, it is, " David answered, closing the door soundlessly, hiding the object in his hand behind his back.

The windows were closed, but he could hear the sounds of Fair Day faintly: the carnival calliope, the muffled shouts of hawkers, typical crowd noises.

Brother Leon regarded him sternly. " I didn't hear the doorbell. Were you announced, Caroni? "

David Caroni shook his head. He was glad to see the surprise on Brother Leon's face. Surprise had been a key element in the command. Catch Brother Leon on Fair Day when he least expects it. David was pleased at the clarity of that inner voice. Pleased, too, at how much he was in control of the situation, everything sharp and beautiful in its clarity. Clarity, that was the word of the day.

" Repeat, " Brother Leon snapped. " Repeat: What are you doing here? "

" Detention, " David said.

" Detention? "

" Yes, " David said, enjoying Leon's bewilderment, puzzlement.

" I don't understand. "

" Detention, Brother Leon, is from the word detained. Students are detained after class when they break a rule or do something wrong—"

" I need no lectures, Caroni, " Brother Leon said, beginning to rise to his feet, pushing himself away from the desk.

" I'm not going to lecture you, " Caroni said. " I am merely saying that you are having a detention. For breaking the rules, for doing something wrong. . "

Ah, he loved the look on Brother Leon's face, the look that said: Have you gone mad, Caroni? An unbelieving look, a look of surprise and a bit of curiosity, too. Nothing more, yet. No fear yet. Caroni was eager for that moment of fear. But not yet, not yet.

" Have you gone crazy, Caroni? "

" I am not crazy, Brother Leon. Not now. I may have been crazy before. Before the Letter. . "

" What letter? "

For a moment he had forgotten about the code and had called it the Letter. To disguise the disgusting thing to himself. But now he could use the real letter again. Especially to Brother Leon.

" F, " David said, exulting. It was going beautifully, exactly as planned, his mind clear, the words glib and perfect as he pronounced them. " The sixth letter of the alphabet. But a terrible letter. . "

Leon had gained his feet and leaned a bit against the desk.

" Tell me what this is all about, " he demanded, his voice crackling with sudden authority. But a false authority, Caroni knew.

" It's about the F you gave me, " Caroni said, exactly as he had planned to say the words for so long. " And about this, " he added, drawing his arm from behind his back and brandishing the butcher knife.

" Put that down, " Leon snapped, immediately becoming the teacher, as if this office were a classroom and Caroni his only student.

Caroni did not answer, merely smiled, allowing the smile to permeate his features.

Leon stepped to his right, but David anticipated his move. As Leon came around the corner of the desk, David intercepted him, slashing the air with the knife, causing Leon to fall back against the wall. Which was a mistake on Leon's part. As the Headmaster instinctively lifted his hands to protect his face, David thrust the knife into Leon's neck, just above the Adam's apple, the knife point penetrating a bit into Leon's flesh. Caroni smiled, enjoying the spectacle of Leon pinned to the wall, at bay, eyes wide with fright, skin gushing perspiration.

" Be careful, Caroni, " Leon managed to say without moving his lips, as if any movement would bring death. Which, David considered, was exactly correct.

" I am being very careful, Brother Leon, " he said. " I don't want to harm you, don't want to injure you, don't wish to kill you. " Perfect, exactly as rehearsed. " Not yet. . "

The effect of David's last words—" not yet" — and the knife at Leon's throat was marvelous to behold. More than David had hoped for. Brother Leon immobilized, paralyzed by fear. David felt strong and resolute, felt as though he could stay like this for hours, both he and Leon in this wonderful tableau, as if frozen on a movie screen, the projector halted or broken or both.

" Caroni, for God's sake, " Leon said through gritted teeth. " Why are you doing this? "

" Let me tell you why, " David said. And this was the best part, this is what he had been waiting for all this time, all these months. This moment, this opportunity, this chance. " The F, Brother Leon. You haven't forgotten that F, have you? "

" Take the knife away, David, and we'll talk, " Leon said, squeezing the words out slowly as if each utterance were painful.

" It's too late for talk, " David said, holding the knife steady. " Besides, we already talked, remember? "

Ah, how they had talked. About that F. Brother Leon and his evil pass-fail tests. The kinds of tests that kept students on edge. Questions with ambiguous answers, answers that called for educated guesses. As a result, Leon in complete command of the results. Could pass or fail students at will. No other teacher did this. Worst of all, Leon used the tests for his own purposes. Brought students into his classroom for discussions of the probable results. Meanwhile, probing, questioning. Using the students. Sounding them out about their classmates, seeking secrets, confidences, by dangling a possible F in front of them. Leon had used David, too. David Caroni of the straight A 's, top-ranking student, a certainty for valedictorian at graduation. Until the F. David Caroni had told Leon what he wanted to know during that sly questioning, fed him information about Jerry Renault during the chocolate sale last fall, told him why Renault refused to sell the chocolates. Thus assuring his passing mark, but sickeningly, nauseatingly, realizing for the first time how terrible a teacher could be, how rotten the world really was, a world in which even teachers were corrupt. Until that moment, his ambition had been to be a teacher someday. He had stumbled home after that terrible session with Brother Leon, feeling soiled, unclean.

When the test results were published, he was shocked to find an F on his paper. The first F of his life. He had appealed to Brother Leon, hating himself for doing so. And Leon had dismissed his appeal, ho-humming David's concern away. I have more important matters at hand, Leon had said. The F had stood. A mark of shame as well as corruption.

" Please, " Brother Leon said. And now it was his turn to plead, his turn to speak with a quivering voice.

" It's too late for pleas, " David said, delighted with his pun. Please and pleas. You see, Brother Leon, I am not stupid, despite the F. I commit a pun with a knife at your throat and commit murder with the same knife. " It's even too late for an A. "

" A 's. . F 's. . " Brother Leon said, voice gurgling. " What's all this about A 's and F 's? "

At last. Now he could tell Brother Leon, get it all off his chest.

" C 's, too, " David said. " Don't forget the C 's. I never got a C in my life before the F. But then I got another F. Because I didn't care. And then a C from Brother Armand in Math. Which I never got before. "

Leon stared at him in disbelief. " You mean all this is about marks? F 's and C 's? " He giggled, an idiot giggle. As if, lo, the problem was solved: This is only a misunderstanding about marks. Which angered David, causing him to thrust the knife point just a bit deeper, wondering if it was deep enough to draw blood. And then speaking his anger, not with the knife but with his mouth:

" Yes, all this is about marks. And about my life. And my future. And my mother and father. Who wonder now what happened to their nice smart son David. Who doesn't always get A 's anymore. They don't say anything, they are too nice to say anything, but their hearts are broken. I can tell their hearts are broken. They look at me with hurt in their eyes because they know that I am the bearer of F 's. I, who do not deserve F 's. I am an A student. " Screaming the words, having to make Leon see his sin, having to let the world know what had happened. " I deserve A 's. My mother cries at night in her room. " He had refused to acknowledge the truth of her tears until this moment. " Over what I have become. . "

" Yes, yes, I remember now, " Brother Leon said, voice scrambling, rushing. " That F. . an oversight. I had meant to correct it, to give you the mark you deserved. But we've had terrible months here at Trinity. The illness of the Headmaster, the violence of the chocolate sale. . I did not realize you were so sensitive to the mark. All that can be changed. "

" Not just the mark, Brother Leon, " David said, unimpressed by Leon's arguments. " You can change the mark, but it's too late. There are other things you can't change. . "

" What? Tell me. Nothing is irrevocable. . " Suddenly David was weary, felt energy draining from the arm that held the knife, from his entire body. He did not want to argue anymore, knew he could never express to Brother Leon or anyone the sickness of his soul, the despair of his life, the meaninglessness of his existence. He clung to one thing only, the voice inside him, the voice that had emerged from the broken music of the piano, the voice that was a command. A command he could not ignore or dismiss although it filled him with sadness. Sadness for all that might have been and could be no more. Brother Leon had said: Nothing is irrevocable. But some things were. The act he was committing even now with the knife at Leon's throat. The act he must commit if only to find peace.

" Listen, " Brother Leon said, lips still stiff in order not to disturb the knife. " Listen to what is going on out there. "

David listened, granting Leon this much at least, a man's last wish. The sounds of Fair Day, still faint, still far removed. Distant voices breaking into laughter. All of which made David sadder still.

" That is Trinity too, David, " Brother Leon said, his voice a whisper. " Not only marks. Not only F 's and A 's and C 's. Education. . families. . listen to the voices out there. . students and parents. . enjoying themselves. . "

" What has all this got to do with—" David began.

And saw that Brother Leon had tricked him, diverted his attention, gotten him to let down his guard, loosening his grasp on the knife, losing his concentration as he inclined his head to listen to the sounds from outside. Astonishingly, without warning, he was seized from behind and a hand struck his wrist, pain shooting up his arm, stinging and burning, causing him to drop the knife. Cries filled the room, and scuffling, and David closed his eyes, flailing his arms, striking out blindly at whoever had sneaked in while he was talking to Brother Leon. Anger or madness or something beyond both gripped him. He whirled, tore at his attackers, kicked out, heard clothes ripping, tasted something warm in his mouth as he spun away.

" Watch out. . "

" Get him. . "

He opened his eyes and found himself at bay facing Brother Leon and Brother Armand.

They were crouched, hands on their knees, stalking him as if he were an animal on the loose.

" Give up, Caroni, " Brother Leon urged. " You cannot escape. . "

Brother Armand's voice was softer, more compelling. " You need help, David. We will help you. . "

But the voice within him was stronger:

Get away. Leave this place. It's too late to carry out the command now. You have botched it up.

Ah, he answered, there's one other thing I can do. That I won't botch up.

The knife lay on the floor, useless to him now.

He knew he had one advantage:

The door was at his back.

He backed toward it cautiously, one step at a time, hoping no one else was in the residence. Please, dear God, he prayed silently, let me get away and then end this agony.

He was in the doorway at last.

Saw Brother Leon's hand reaching for the telephone on the desk. A call to the police would doom him.

Knew this was the moment when he must act, get away. Yet had to wait for the command. He stood there breathless. At last the command came.

He turned and ran.

The Trinity grounds lay battered and bruised in the fading sunlight. The lawn and parking lot were free now of the debris left by hundreds of people playing, eating, drinking, cavorting, and making merry in the carnival atmosphere of Fair Day. Ground crews had moved in to scoop up the accumulation of paper cups, popcorn boxes, hot dog containers, and all the other rubbish left over from the event. The lawn was trampled and tired, the abandoned booths and tables looming like the skeletons of awkward animals in the dying light.

It had been a typical Fair Day, thronged with young and old, blessed with sunshine and high spirits. The only sobering incident had been the arrival of a police cruiser at midafternoon, howling its way to the front door of the residence, where Brother Leon greeted the officers as they leaped from the vehicle. A small crowd flowed toward the cruiser and rumors immediately ran rampant. A bomb scare, someone said, which was not at all unusual. A robbery foiled by Brother Leon, someone else reported, with the robber running off toward Main Street. In fact, Brother Leon pointed in that direction as he talked to the police officers. When a second cruiser arrived a moment later, the first cruiser sped off in the direction of Main Street. Meanwhile, a massive policeman, with beefy jowls and a huge stomach that rippled as he walked, waved off the onlookers, dispersing the crowd. " It's all over, " he kept saying, and refused to answer any questions.

A few minutes later Brother Leon's voice crackled over the loudspeakers, interrupting a medley of disco tunes.

" We have had a minor disturbance in the residence, but all has returned to normal, " he said. " Please continue to enjoy yourselves. There is no cause for alarm or a disruption of this pleasant occasion. "

The music resumed, and so did the festivities. By the time the fair drew to its conclusion in early evening, the visit of the police cruisers had either been completely forgotten or had become an object of idle curiosity and speculation, apparently not serious at all.

Ray Bannister wished the afternoon incident had been serious. . serious enough to call a halt to the proceedings of Fair Day and, in particular, the evening program. He walked reluctantly toward the main school building, head down, as if searching for dropped money. He was not searching for money. He was searching for a valid reason to call off tonight's program. He honestly did not want any part of it. Earlier, of course, he had been excited about the performance, his stage debut before the student body: anticipating the attention and applause of the audience. But Obie's behavior of the past few days had made him uneasy. More than uneasy, suspicious. Obie had conducted himself like a madman, in a frenzy, rushing into Ray's house at all hours to rehearse the small part he would play as Ray's assistant, eyes too bright, talking too much, pacing the floor, then falling into sudden brooding silences.

" What's wrong, Obie? " Ray had finally asked.

" Nothing's wrong, " Obie snapped. " Why do you ask? "

" Because you're acting. . strange. Like this is a life-and-death proposition. It's only a magic show. Hell, I should be nervous. "

" I want everything to go right, " Obie said. " This is the big senior night at Trinity. "

" It'll go fine, " Ray assured him, although himself unconvinced.

" Let's rehearse again, " Obie said. " Show me again how the guillotine works. . "

Ray paused now, before entering the building, wishing he were home or back at Cape Cod. A few stragglers preceded him, one of the kids holding the door open, an unexpected politeness. Ray's name had appeared on posters announcing the " Magic Night" program — Bafflement by Bannister. He had felt like a minor celebrity, aware of students glancing at him. Tom Chiumento, one of the good guys, nodded in friendly fashion as they met in the corridor. All this pleased Ray, at first. Then made him uneasy. Not quite sure why, but then everything about Trinity made him uneasy. And especially Obie. More than once Ray had thought about canceling his appearance, but he hated the idea of disappointing Obie, the only student at Trinity to extend friendship. Or what seemed to be friendship.

Stepping into the building, Ray heard a rustling sound, like a distant gathering of insects. He followed it along the corridor, the buzzing now louder, now softer, inconsistent, strange to his ears. Not the usual rowdy sounds of typical Trinity assemblies or gatherings for basketball or baseball games. In the assembly hall Ray's eyes were drawn immediately to the stage, where he saw the reason for the curious attitude of the students. Center stage, in a spotlight, standing alone in what seemed like an immensity of space, was the guillotine. Ugly, dangerous, blade gleaming in the harshness of the spotlight's glare, a nightmare object suddenly thrust into reality. Or maybe, Ray Bannister thought, it's me, dramatizing, exaggerating. But as he looked around the auditorium at the other students leaning forward or tilting toward each other, puzzled, whispering, he realized the full impact of the guillotine on their sensibilities. He thought of Obie. He also thought: My God, what's happening here?

What was happening there was exactly what Obie had planned. Pressing himself against the wall backstage, listening to the murmuring of the students, imagining the effect of the guillotine, Obie smiled with satisfaction. In a moment the show would begin. Songs, sketches, the usual parade of antics that marked every Skit Night. All the while, the guillotine would be visible, at the side of the stage during the various acts but never out of sight of the audience, a grim reminder of things to come. Archie was out there, in the audience, waiting, surrounded by the members of the Vigils, knowing that when the last skit was over, he would face the guillotine.

Obie leaped a bit as a hand touched his arm. " Are you okay? " Ray Bannister asked.

" Of course I'm okay, " Obie said, a giggle escaping his lips. " What makes you think I'm not okay? "

" I don't know, " Ray said unhappily. And he didn't know, really. All he knew was that Obie still looked hyper, too excited, eyes fever bright.

" Look, the show's about to begin but it's got nothing to do with us, " Obie said. " Maybe we can rehearse the guillotine act somewhere out back—"

" Without the guillotine? " Ray asked.

" I mean, the positions, where we'll be standing. The patter. . didn't you say the patter was important? "

" We already rehearsed a million times, " Ray said. " And the patter is nothing. Cripes, Obie, you're getting spooky, know that? "

" I just want everything to go right, " Obie said.

Ray sighed. " Look, I'm going to watch the show from out front. I'll come back when the skits are over, okay? "

" Okay, okay, " Obie said impatiently. He wanted to be alone, anyway, didn't want company at this moment.

Ray drew back and started for the small hallway that led to the assembly hall. At the last moment he turned and looked doubtfully at Obie.

" Are you sure you know what you're doing, Obie? " he said. Allowing himself for one moment to contemplate a possibility he had avoided for a long time. He wondered whether this was a life-and-death matter, after all.

" Get going, " Obie said. " The show's about to begin. . "

Ray lifted his shoulders and let them fall. He knew that Obie planned to give Archie Costello the scare of his life. He also suspected that Obie planned to go further, to carry out some kind of weird plot against Archie. But he refused to contemplate more than that. One last look at Obie, still pressed against the wall, and he hurried down the stairway as the first burst of music from a stereo filled the air. An old Beatles song, " Yellow Submarine. "

He looks at me as if I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy, am I? Crazy people aren't eighteen-year-old seniors in high school. And anyway, I'm not going to do anything. I'm just going to scare the hell out of Archie Costello. Humiliate him in front of the entire student body. Get him on his knees. Okay, so nobody wanted to dunk him in the water and nobody wanted to kick him in the ass. But they'll have to sit there and see him on his knees, his neck on the block. That's all.

Ah, but that isn't all, Obie, is it? You know what you're planning to do. And that's where the crazy part comes in, the insane part. Insane, Obie baby. You are out of your mind. You can't do what you're planning to do. Not in a high school in Monument, Massachusetts, in the last quarter of the twentieth century.

Obie recoiled from the voice in his mind, paced the floor restlessly, let the Beatles song carry him, heard the scattering of applause as the first skit began, the whoops and cries of the actors. As usual, when he stopped thinking about Archie and the guillotine, he encountered Laurie Gundarson, a ghost lurking in his heart. He was doing all this for her sake, of course. Couldn't simply let her go out of his life without this gesture.

Christ, Laurie.

One more chance, he thought, one more chance.

He fumbled in his pocket for change, isolated a dime from the other coins, paused, tossed it in the air — it came up heads — and then made his way out to the corridor. He stopped at the pay phone, stared at it a moment, said out loud: " Okay, Laurie, I'll let you decide. . "

He inserted the coin, dialed her number, listened to the blurt of ringing.

" Hello. " Her father, rough-tough voice, a heavyweight-boxer voice although he sold automobiles.

" Is Laurie there? " Obie's own voice thin and sparse by contrast.

" Is this you again? " A brutal, give-no-quarter voice.

He ignored the question, had become accustomed to ignoring her father's voice.

" Could I talk to Laurie, please? "

" Look, kid, she doesn't want to talk to you. "

" Is she there? " he asked patiently. This was the last try. If she came to the telephone, if he heard her voice again, he would take it as a good omen. It would give him hope. And he could call it all off, wouldn't have to go through with the plan.

He heard an exasperated sigh at the other end of the line and then her father's voice, threatening now: " Do you know what harassment is, kid? You call here again and you'll be in big trouble. "

The receiver slammed in Obie's ear and he sagged against the wall. Last chance gone. He had his answer now. Knew there was no turning back. Knew what he had to do.

Brother Leon arrived late for the performance. His late entrance was not a surprise. Everybody knew that Leon hated the student skits and sketches. Too often there had been hilarious takeoffs on the faculty and, a few years ago, a devastating burlesque of Brother Leon by a student named Henry Boudreau. Boudreau had minced across the stage, speaking in a prissy voice, wielding an oversized baseball bat the way Leon used his teacher's pointer, as a weapon. The performance had become a legend at Trinity. But funny thing about Boudreau: He had flunked out at the end of the year.

Brian Cochran, watching Brother Leon settle into the seat, looked at him with undisguised dislike. Leon had forced Brian into the role of treasurer at last fall's chocolate sale, meaning that Brian had had to consult with him on a daily basis. Since then Brian had avoided contact with Leon, which was about par, of course, for most students at Trinity. Looking at Leon now, Brian noticed that he was rumpled, hair a bit mussed, seemed distraught, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Beautiful: Leon worried and apprehensive about something — the skits tonight? Or probably the incident this afternoon. Brian had heard rumors that an unidentified student had fled the residence after robbing the place. Another rumor, also unfounded: a student had attacked Brother Leon, threatened to kill him.

Brian Cochran was not a saint by any means, although he went to communion every Sunday, had served as an altar boy until his sixteenth birthday, knelt and said his prayers every night. He considered himself a good Catholic but admitted that he would have enjoyed seeing Brother Leon under attack by someone with a knife or a gun. He wouldn't wish for Leon to be killed or wounded, but a good scare would be terrific.

Turning his attention to the stage, Brian pondered the presence of the guillotine, acknowledged its ugliness and the threat it represented. He was aware of the wild stories about Ray Bannister accidentally cutting a student's head off down on the Cape. Another rumor, of course. Just like the rumor that Obie and the Vigils had engineered Archie Costello into picking the black marble the other day. After all these years. Which meant Archie would be placing his neck on the block.

Brian searched for Archie, saw him in the seat near the front, surrounded by the Vigil members as usual. He wondered whom he disliked more — hated, really — Brother Leon or Archie Costello. He conjured mental pictures: Leon wounded and gasping for help, the blade descending on Archie's neck.

Shuddering a bit, he tried to escape the images — and wondered whether these were sins he would have to tell the priest the next time he went to confession.

Carter sat next to Archie Costello.

He did not look at Archie at all during the entire program.

And Archie did not look at Carter.

Archie, in fact, did not seem to be looking anywhere. He stared at the stage, but he neither laughed nor groaned nor shook his head like other students as the antics unfolded before him. Some of the skits were downright funny, Carter thought, although Carter did not laugh either. He could recognize the funny part of a skit without having to laugh. Which was funny — strange, that is — in itself, wasn't it?