“I enjoyed the show a lot, Dadier,” Manners said. “I also enjoyed watching Lois Hammond.” He grinned in the darkness. “You getting some of that, boy?”
“Oh, sure,” Rick said lightly.
“How about seconds?” Manners asked.
“Seconds?” Rick said. “Hell, Manners, firsts are still free.”
“You won’t mind then? If I try?”
“You’re joking,” Rick said.
“I never joke where it concerns a piece of tail,” Manners answered seriously.
“Go ahead,” Rick said. “Hell, go ahead. I...”
“Manners is joking,” Katz said diplomatically. “He knows you’re married.”
“Yeah,” Manners said, “but does Lois know it?”
“Oh, come on,” Katz said, a bit irritably. “I don’t think this is something to joke about. I don’t think so at all, Manners.”
“Agreed,” Manners said. “I notice the lady was sitting alone, so if you’ll excuse me...” He stopped short and then turned on his heel, starting back across the schoolyard.
“Meshugah,” Katz said, wagging his head. “He’ll get in trouble yet, wait and see.”
“I think he can take care of himself,” Rick said.
“He shouldn’t have said what he said,” Katz persisted. “He knows you’re married.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Rick said, almost as if he were affirming the fact in his own mind. He’d been a little annoyed when Manners first started talking about Lois, annoyed because Manners automatically assumed something was going on between them, and then annoyed, irrationally, because Manners was stepping into the picture. For whereas Rick didn’t want her, or if he wanted her he wasn’t having any, thanks, there was something irritating about Manners’ intrusion. A sort of unfair advantage. Rick felt, the predatory bachelor against the... yes, the sterile celibate. But in the short space of time between Manners’ abrupt departure and Katz’s profound observation on the marital state. Rick’s entire outlook had changed.
Are you bored, honey? Tired with your humdrum existence? Feel hemmed in by the jour walls? Long for a life of romantic adventure?
Tell you what I’m gonna do. I have here a pair of eyes that are the biggest. I have here a piner for an all-girls’ paradise, a fancier of the female form, an ankle-ogler, an angle-artist, a lover from away back. Jack. I’m gonna let you have this skirt chaser, this Satan of the Satin Slip. I’m gonna let you have him, and pay close attention here, I’m gonna let you have him free of charge, absolutely free, you spend no money, not one penny, and I guarantee, I guarantee mind you, that this will end your boredom, that this lover boy, that this “Lover Boy” Manners will give you that life of romantic adventure. This Deus Ex Machina, Deus bless him, is the answer to your maidenly prayer, lady, and here he is, classic nose and all, yours for the taking, and Godspeed.
“Damn,” Rick said happily, “things are looking up, aren’t they?”
And George Katz, misunderstanding, nodded his head solemnly and said, “It’s a wonderful show, Dadier.”
12
The day Rick broke through was December 21st, two days before the Christmas Assembly. He would remember that day for a long time, for more reasons than his breakthrough.
His breakthrough was perhaps ironical in that it happened in his first class that day, 21-206, and it happened in a class for which he had prepared no lesson at all. He had meant to work out lesson plans for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday over the week end, it being a short week terminated by the commencement of the Christmas vacation on Thursday, December 24th.
But he’d got home late on Friday night after the dress rehearsal, and he’d barely had time for coffee with Anne before it was time for bed. He’d spent all day Saturday at being a husband, devoting more time to Anne than he had in the past month. On Saturday night, Ray and Dodie Crane stopped by unexpectedly, with the news that Ray had passed his state boards and could now officially and legally be called Dr. Raymond Crane. Rick had made some comment about how nice it would be having a dentist around, and Ray had promised to give the forthcoming heir free dental care for the rest of his natural days, and then they’d broken out a bottle of rye, mixed some terrible whiskey sours, and proceeded to celebrate.
On Sunday, Anne’s parents dropped by in the afternoon, staying for supper, and consuming the major portion of the evening. Rick never did get to attack his lesson plans.
So on the bus Monday morning, he’d hastily scanned the text, picking out a yarn he thought was titled “The Fifty-First Dragoon.” This is a war story, he thought, knowing a very little bit about dragoons. He had never read the story before, but war stories were sure-fire with these kids, and it seemed like a good bet. He’d read it to them, and then try to lead the conversation around to his own war experiences, and that would, he hoped, kill the period.
He greeted 21-206 with the announcement that he was going to read a story to them, and the kids accepted the knowledge gratefully, always willing to listen to a story being read, if it were a good story, and if the teacher didn’t ask too many damned questions afterward.
Rick opened the text, a book for one of his upper-term classes, cleared his throat, and discovered right off that the story was written by Heywood Broun, a fact he had not gleaned from his hasty scanning of the table of contents on the bus. He also learned that it was not a war story titled “The Fifty-First Dragoon.”
It was, instead, a story titled “The Fifty-First Dragon,” and Rick felt a twinge of panic when he realized it was not a war story.
“The Fifty-First Dragon,” he said, and the kids looked at him with blank faces as he began reading aloud.
The story told of a young knight named Gawaine le Coeur-Hardy who was enrolled at a knight school but who did not seem to exhibit the proper spirit or zest for such knightly pursuits as jousting. In fact, Gawaine’s lack of enthusiasm may very well have been termed cowardice, and the Headmaster and Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce finally decided to take the matter in hand and work out a remedy.
The Assistant Professor wanted to expel the boy, but the Headmaster had a better plan. He would teach the boy to kill dragons.
They began teaching the boy just that. Gawaine studied and learned, and studied and learned, and he progressed from paper dragons to papier-mâché dragons to wooden dragons, and each time he lopped off these dummy dragons’ heads with one expert slice of his ax.
So they gave Gawaine a diploma and the Headmaster called him in for a little talk.
“It’s time to get out there and meet Life,” the Headmaster said, in effect, “and Life, as far as you’re concerned, is dragons.”
The prospect of getting out there and meeting Life did not appeal to Gawaine. So the Headmaster promised something that would help Gawaine in his slaying of dragons. Gawaine hoped this something would be an enchanted cap which would enable him to disappear at will, but the Headmaster scoffed at this, and gave him something better than an enchanted cap.
He gave Gawaine a magic word, and the magic word was Rumplesnitz.
And all Gawaine had to do was repeat the magic word once, and no dragon could possibly hurt him. Well, Gawaine went out to meet his first dragon the next day. The dragon charged at him breathing smoke and fire and Gawaine barely got the word Rumplesnitz out before he swung his ax and lopped off the dragon’s head, thinking it was almost as easy to kill real dragons as it was to kill fake ones.
After that, he went out on every good day, leaving at dawn, and he rarely returned without the ears of another dead dragon. He grew more confident. He would sneeringly say Rumplesnitz and then whoof, swing his ax with his strong arms, and off would come another dragon’s head, and home would come another pair of dragon ears.