“Me?” Miller asked, seemingly surprised.
“There aren’t but two of us here,” Rick said nastily, “and I’m not talking to myself.”
“You ha’ got somethin’ against me, hant you?” Miller said.
“Oh, go to hell, Miller,” Rick answered. He turned his back and started away from the boy, heading into the stairwell.
“Hey, Mr. Dadier,” Miller called, “wait up, will you?”
Rick stopped and whirled. “What is it now, Miller?”
Miller caught up with Rick, standing very close to him, his eyes almost level with Rick’s. “ ’Bout that class of yours I missed.”
“What about it?”
“I wunt cuttin’.”
“No one said you were.”
“I jus’ wanted you to know.”
“All right, so now I know.”
“My sister had a baby,” Miller said, a proud smile forming on his face, a gleaming white smile against the brown of his skin.
“Congratulations,” Rick said briefly.
“A boy,” Miller said, and Rick wondered what the hell all this was about. He looked at Miller curiously for a moment and then said, “That’s very nice, Miller.”
“My brother-in-law’s overseas,” Miller explained. “He in the ahmy. Tha’s why I took my sister to the hospital. Tha’s why I wunt to school that day.”
“I see,” Rick said, still wondering why Miller was telling him all this. They stood close to each other for a few seconds, neither speaking, the silence closing in around them. Rick was aware of the silence, and he felt enormously awkward.
“My wife’s expecting a baby, too,” he said suddenly, wondering what had provoked him to tell this to Miller.
“That right?” Miller asked, seeming truly interested.
“Yes,” Rick said. And then like a fighter who has momentarily lowered his guard and suddenly realizes he’s liable to get punched, he said, “I’m busy, Miller.” The guard was up again.
The smile disappeared from Miller’s face. “What is it, Chief?” he asked.
“What’s what, Miller?”
“You an’ me, Chief? Why you got the knife out for me?”
“I haven’t got a knife out for anyone, Miller. You’re imagining things.”
“You do, Chief. You sure as hell do. Why, tha’s what I like to know. Why?”
Rick stared at Miller. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice rising.
Miller looked confused. “Why, sure I am.”
All of the contained anger seemed to suddenly spill out of Rick’s mouth. “You’ve got the nerve to ask that I After all the trouble you’ve caused in my classroom? After all you’ve done? After your goddamn wise-guy remarks, and after the way you fouled up that lesson with the recorder, and after the way you’re thick as thieves with your buddy West? Goddamnit, Miller, you’ve got the nerve to ask that?”
“Steady, Chief,” Miller said, the smile reappearing, but somehow a defensive smile now. “Jus’ take it easy.”
“Oh, just get the hell out of here, Miller,” Rick said. “You make me sick.”
“I still doan see...”
“Don’t hand me any of that, Miller,” Rick said, his anger gaining new momentum. “You’re not stupid, and you know damn well what’s been happening.” He paused and then blurted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were in on that beating I got a while ago.” He was instantly sorry for his accusation because his anger seemed to burn out with it, but there was nothing to help it now.
Miller’s eyes tightened, and he looked at Rick soberly. “You doan mean that, Chief,” he said softly.
“I do mean it,” Rick said, refusing to budge an inch, refusing to eradicate his mistake now that he’d committed himself to it. “I damn well do mean it.”
“You really got it bad, huh boy?” Miller said. He shook his head and glanced into the corridor, and Rick, still feeling the guilt of his reactions to Lois Hammond’s body, mistook the gesture, understood Miller to be looking at the closed door of The Trades Trumpet.
“What the hell do you mean by that?” he shouted.
Miller’s eyes popped wide in surprise. “What? I...”
“You heard me! What’d you mean by that? What’d you mean, you little...” He took a step toward Miller, and the boy backed off, and his eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back over his teeth.
“You gonna hit me, Mr. Dadier?” he said.
“What...”
“I’d like that, Mr. Dadier. Tha’s all you need, boy. Tha’s all you need to wash you up. Go on, hit me.”
Rick gained instant control of himself, and now that he was calm again, he could not understand Miller’s anger. Nor could he understand how a seemingly innocuous conversation had led to this explosive point.
“I’m sorr—” he started, and Miller backed off another pace and crouched over low, as if he were ready to deliver a punch from the floor.
“Go ahead, Mr. Dadier,” he shouted, “go ahead and hit me. I doan know what the hell’s eatin’ you, but I’d sure like to see you hit me. Come on, hit me. Come on, come on, come on!” he shouted, his voice rising in hysteria.
Rick turned his back to Miller. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” he said coldly.
“And maybe you won’t!” Miller shouted, as if that were the worst threat he could hurl. He turned his back and started off down the hallway, and Rick walked down the steps, his own anger slowly returning.
The little bastard, he thought. The little black...
He stopped abruptly.
Hey now. Hey now, what the hell was that? Now just what the hell was that?
Nothing, it just...
No now, no now don’t “nothing” me. Now just what the hell was that, and just what the hell did you mean by that, and just who the hell are you anyway? Now just who the hell are you anyway? Now just what the hell were you about to say?
It’s not because he’s black. Rick thought. That has nothing to do with it.
Then why did you think that? Come on, you prejudiced sonofabitch, start making your alibis. Why the hell...
I’M NOT. Goddamnit, you know that. If you know me at all, you know I’m not that way. You know that never once entered my mind.
Until now.
Not now either. Look, that has nothing to do with it.
Then don’t think it again. Not ever again. You understand that, you bastard? Never again.
I didn’t even think it this time. I was angry, I...
Don’t give my any horse manure. Just promise, that’s all. Just redeem yourself, you chauvinistic sonofabitch. Just...
Don’t say that. For Christ’s sake, you know it isn’t true. Fred and Viola are...
Some of my best friends are niggers.
All right, if you’re going to get flippant about it, the hell with it. But inside you know it isn’t true. Either that, or you don’t know me at all, and then I don’t give a damn what you think, anyway. You know I’m not that way. Don’t you?
Yes, I know.
Then why accuse me of thinking...
What you think isn’t important. What does Miller think?
Miller?
Miller, Miller, the boy you almost called a little black bastard. What does he think, stupid? What does he think about you? What does he think about what you think, and does he think you think of him as a little black bastard? Had that ever occurred to you? Had that ever occurred to your brilliant, all-seeing, all-powerful intelligence? Had it ever occurred to you, or were you too goddamned busy observing the udders on that goddamn Trades Trumpeting cow?