“You’re late. Captain,” Solly said. “What happened? Kids didn’t feel like the parallel bars today?”
“Oh God,” the Captain said, roaring with laughter. “Oh my God!”
“What’s so funny?” Savoldi asked sadly.
“Oh great holy mother of Moses,” the Captain said, slapping his thigh again. “I’ll be goddamned to Samuel Gompers and back again. Oh my living ass!”
“What the hell is it?” Solly asked impatiently.
“I’ll be a sonofabitch,” the Captain said, the tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks. He shook his head, and the laughter subsided for a moment, and he said, “This beats it all. I’m standing there on the platform, you know, about fifteen minutes after the period started. Oh, my aching ass.”
“You going to tell the story or you going to pee all over the floor?” Solly asked.
“I’m reading the kids the riot act, and the door pops open and who should walk in?”
“Governor Dewey,” Solly said.
“Almost,” the Captain said. “But not quite. Who walks in but Mr. Small, principal of North Manual Trades High School. Mr. Small, himself, the bastard. Inspecting my class on the first goddamned day of school. Oh, my bleeding piles.”
“So?” Solly asked.
“I tell you, this is one for the books. I haven’t seen anything like it since I was in the infantry.” He began laughing again, and he continued laughing for a full minute before he was able to go on with his story. “He comes in, and the minute I see him, I shout, ‘Boys! Mr. Small, the principal!’ Like ‘Gentlemen, the Queen!’ you know? Well, he comes striding across the room, and the kids are standing there like limp rags, and he shouts in a commanding officer voice, ‘All right, boys. At ease!’
“At ease!” the Captain shouted. “At ease, when half those kids had their asses dragging on the floor, anyway. Well, he comes up to the platform, and he climbs up there, and he puts his hands on his hips and then he looks out over all the kids, and he doesn’t say a goddamn word. He just keeps looking out at them for about five minutes, with me standing right behind him. Then he climbs down from the platform, walks to the door, turns and says, ‘Carry on, Mr. Schaefer.’ CARRY ON, MR. SCHAEFER! Carry on, mind you, carry on, and a pip-pip and a cheerio! I swear to God I thought he was General MacArthur. I couldn’t stop laughing after he was gone. I picked up a towel and started wiping my face so the kids wouldn’t see me.
“What the hell does he think this is, a military academy?”
“He’s just showing them who’s boss,” Solly said, chuckling.
“Oh my back. I’m telling you, he convulsed me. That simple bastard. All he needed was a riding crop! Listen, I got to get back. I’ve got the idiots playing basketball, but the period’s almost over.”
He turned and left the dining room, striding across the kitchen, and laughing until he was out of earshot.
“He was a captain in the last war,” Solly explained. “Hell of a nice guy.”
“I didn’t give him my dues,” Rick said.
“Oh, he’ll get you. The Captain never misses.”
Lou Savoldi stood and began clearing the table before him. He took his cup out to the sink, washed it, and then hung it back on its hook. “I’m going down,” he said.
“Back to the salt mines,” Solly said. “You free the sixth?”
“No,” Savoldi said sadly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“I guess so,” Savoldi said sadly.
Rick rose, cleared his place and dumped the waxed paper and brown bag in the trash basket near the bulletin board. Then he washed the cup he’d used and put it back in the cupboard.
When the bell rang, he picked up his briefcase, and Solly said, “I’ll walk down with you.”
“Okay,” Rick said.
“What’ve you got now?” Solly asked as they left the lunchroom.
“Fifth-termers,” Rick said.
“Fifth-termers, you say?” Solly asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes.”
“Mmm,” Solly said. He didn’t say another word as they walked down the steps and across the gymnasium.
Rick could have become a hero during that fifth period, fifth-term English class. He certainly had opportunity enough to become one if he’d wanted to. It’s to his credit that he did not achieve heroic stature until later in the day.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the room was that the class was a small one, not more than twenty or so boys. He was happy about that because it’s easier to teach a small group. He didn’t know, of course, that there were thirty-five boys in 55-206, and that most of them had already begun cutting on this first day of the term.
The second thing he noticed was the well-built Negro boy with the white tee shirt and dungarees. The boy noticed him at the same moment, and the charming grin broke out on his handsome face.
“Well,” he said, “hello, Chief.”
“Gregory Miller,” Rick said.
“You did remember the name, dintchoo, Chief?”
“Sit down, Miller,” Rick said. “And my name is Mr. Dadier. I think you’d better start remembering that.”
Miller took his seat, and Rick looked over to the other boys who were standing in clusters around the room, talking or laughing.
“All right,” he said, “let’s sit down. And let’s make it fast.”
The boys looked up at him, but they made no move toward their seats.
“You deaf back there? Let’s break it up.”
“Why?” one of the boys asked.
“What?” Rick said, surprised.
“I said ‘Why?’ ”
“I heard you, smart boy. Get to your seat before you find a seat in the principal’s office.”
“I’m petrified,” the tall boy said. He had stringy blond hair, and the hair was matted against his forehead. His face was a field of ripe acne, and when he grinned his lips contorted crookedly in a smile that was boyishly innocent and mannishly sinister at the same time. He continued smiling as he walked to the middle of the room and took the seat alongside Miller. The other boys, taking his move as a cue, slowly drifted back to the seats and turned their attention to Rick.
“You may keep the seats you now have,” Rick said, reaching into his briefcase for the Delaney cards. He distributed the cards as he’d done with his official class, and said, “I’m sure you know how to fill these out.”
“We sure do,” the blond boy said.
“I didn’t get your name,” Rick said pointedly.
“Maybe ’cause I didn’t give it,” the boy answered, the crooked smile on his mouth again.
“His name is Emmanuel, too,” Miller said. He smiled at the private joke which only he and Rick shared.
“Is it?” Rick asked innocently.
“No,” the blond boy said.
“Then what is it?”
“Guess,” the blond boy said. “It begins with a W.”
“I’d say ‘Wiseguy’ offhand, but I’m not good at guessing. What’s your name, and make it snappy.”
“West,” the boy said. “Artie West.”
Rick smiled, suddenly reversing his tactics, hoping to throw the boys off balance. They were expecting a hardman, so he’d wisecrack a little, show them that he could exchange a gag when there was time for gagging. “Any relation to Mae West?” he asked.
West answered so quickly that Rick was certain he’d heard the same question many times before. “Only between my eyes and her tits,” he said, the crooked grin on his mouth.
His answer provided Rick with a choice. He could drop the banter immediately and clamp down with the mailed fist again, or he could show that he wasn’t the kind of person who could be bested in a match of wits. For some obscure reason that probably had a smattering of pride attached to it, he chose to continue the match.