“Yes, I am,” Rick said.
“I think Mr. Small would like to talk to you. Mind going down to his office?”
“Mr. Small?” Rick asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Stanley said dryly. “Drop down there, won’t you?”
“Is... is anything wrong?” Rick asked, suddenly suspicious of Stanley’s frequent visits, suddenly wondering why the Boss wanted to see him.
“Mr. Small will discuss it with you,” Stanley said noncommittally. “Get down there as soon as you can, Dadier.”
“Yes, sir,” Rick said. He watched Stanley leave the classroom, and then he packed his briefcase slowly, a perplexed frown knotting his forehead.
What could Small want? And wasn’t it a little unusual for the message to be transmitted through the Department Chairman? Surely, it had something to do with Stanley’s visits. But was this customary procedure?
He found himself becoming angry. Did they always send the Department Chairman around to snoop? like a member of the Gestapo? like a goddamned secret policeman? Was that how they worked it? And was Small going to fire him? Is that how they fired people? Just a few visits from the Department Chairman and then blooie?
Goddamnit, he’d tried his best. If they were so concerned over the teaching job he was doing, why hadn’t someone offered advice? Instead, they sent around a storm trooper with a little black notebook. Damnit, how was he going to tell Anne? How do you tell a woman in her ninth month that you’ve lost your goddamned job? Sonofabitches, the least they could have done would...
Now, hold it, he told himself, just hold it. You’re behaving like the guy going to borrow the lawn mower. Maybe Harry won’t lend me the lawn mower, after all I’ve done for Harry, after all the things I’ve loaned Harry, after the way we’ve been neighbors for ten years, imagine that louse not wanting to lend me the mower. So when you get to Harry’s door and knock on it, and Harry opens it with a friendly smile, you look at him coldly and shout, “Keep your goddamn lawn mower!”
You’re doing the same thing here, he told himself. Maybe Small isn’t going to fire you at all. Maybe Small is going to commend you for your excellent work!
But deep down inside him, he knew he was going to be fired, and his anger suddenly dissipated to be replaced by a sort of fear. He’d have to start looking for another job, and November wasn’t a good time for getting a teaching job, and Anne was in her ninth month, and goddamnit, this was a hell of a way to fire a person.
He picked up his briefcase and then looked around the room, as if he were looking at it for the last time, as if he did not expect to be back. Then he went down to Small’s office, and told Miss Brady, the Boss’ secretary, that Stanley had asked him to stop in.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Brady said haughtily, and Rick felt the fear expanding inside him. Even she knows, he thought. Good-by, Dadier. It’s been fun, Dadier, but have you ever thought of becoming a toy salesman? Very nice racket, toys. Miss Brady entered the inner sanctum, was out of sight for a few moments, and then returned to say, “Mr. Small will see you now.”
Rick left his briefcase on the bench outside, walked to Small’s frosted glass door, and knocked on it tremulously, his heart in his mouth.
“Come in, Dadier,” Small called from behind the door, and Rick felt another twinge of panic because the principal had not used a Mister, as was customary, before his name. He twisted the brass doorknob and entered the room. He had not been in this room since the day of the Organizational Meeting, when Stanley had taken his new teachers to meet the principal. There were bookcases on two walls of the room, and windows on the other two walls. Small’s large desk sat catty-corner in the right angle provided by the banks of windows. He sat behind the desk, and the afternoon sun struck the side of his face, illuminating the scar that curled there like a withered banana peel.
He indicated a chair before his desk, said “Sit down, Dadier,” and then picked up his pen to sign something on his desk. He capped the pen without looking at Rick who had already taken the seat, shoved aside the papers, and then lifted his head.
“Now, then, Dadier,” he said.
He paused and stared at Rick, and the stare was a frigid one, and Rick felt certain he would be fired, and he could only hope that Small would make it clean and quick.
“Do you like Negroes?” Small asked.
Rick blinked, surprised. “Sir?”
“Do you like Negroes?” He frowned at Rick belligerently. “Can you hear me all right, Dadier?”
“Yes. Yes, it’s just... I... your question surprised me.”
“Why? Don’t you like them?”
“Yes, I do. That is, as much as I like or dislike anyone else.” Rick’s brow furrowed. “I... I don’t understand, sir.”
“What about Puerto Ricans? What about spies, Dadier?”
“Spies, sir?” Rick asked, immensely surprised by Small’s choice of language. “Spies?”
“Yes, spies. Do you like them?”
“Why do you ask, sir?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Dadier. Do you or don’t you like spies?”
“Sir, I like them or dislike them as they are people.”
“And just what does that mean, Dadier?” Small asked, his voice a little louder now.
“It means there are Puerto Ricans I like and Puerto Ricans I dislike. That’s what it means, Mr. Small.”
“And how many do you like as against those you dislike, Dadier?”
“I never counted, sir,” Rick said, tightly respectful, but beginning to be annoyed and confused by Small’s questions. Was this the customary firing procedure? All this cross-examination? And why these questions about...
“What about wops?”
“Wops?” Rick asked, really amazed now by Small’s vocabulary. “Italians, sir?”
“You know what I mean, Dadier. What about them?”
“Is this some sort of joke, sir?” Rick asked, smiling and thinking he’d found the answer at last.
“No, damnit, it is not a joke,” Small shouted, “and I’ll thank you to remember that I am asking the questions and that I happen to be the principal of this high school and the man to whom you are directly responsible. Remember that, Dadier, and answer my question.”
The smile dropped from Rick’s face. “You... you want to know if I like Italians?” he asked, really puzzled now, not able to understand Small’s anger. “The same applies to what I said about Puerto Ricans, sir. I judge a person by whether or not I like him, and not whether or not he’s Italian or...”
“Don’t give me any double-talk, Dadier. Don’t tell me...”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I wasn’t trying to...”
“Don’t tell me,” Small shouted, “that you like someone because you like someone. I wasn’t born yesterday, Dadier.”
They were both silent for a moment. Small to catch his breath, and Rick to consider a course of action.
“Sir, may I ask what this is all about?” Rick asked politely, assuming Small was driving at something, and assuming he’d done something to really irritate the Boss.
“No, you may not ask what it is all about,” Small shouted. “I’ll damn well tell you what it’s all about when I’m good and ready, and besides you know damn well what it’s all about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t, sir,” Rick said, his teeth clenched, his hands beginning to clench and unclench.
“Tell me, Dadier, what do you think of kikes and mockies and micks and donkeys and frogs and niggers, Dadier. Niggers, isn’t it, Dadier? Isn’t that it?”