father presiding in the kitchen, getting supper, for crying out loud—such a far cry from being a doctor—and his wife dead and his only son full of doubts about him, his life so pale and gray, Jerry was plunged into sadness. The stove signaled—casserole ready.
Later, preparing for bed and sleep, Jerry looked at himself in the mirror, saw himself as that guy on the Common must have seen him the other day: Square Boy. Just as he had superimposed his mother’s image on his father’s face, now he could see his father’s face reflected in his own features. He turned away. He didn’t want to be a mirror of his father. The thought made himcringe. I want to do something, be somebody. But what? But what?
Football. He’d make the team. That was something. Or was it, really?
For no reason at all, he thought of Gregory Bailey.
CHAPTER
TEN
LATER, ARCHIE HAD TO CONCEDE that Brother Leon had dramatized the sale too vividly and therefore put himself and The Vigils and the entire school on the spot.
To begin with, he called a special assembly at chapel. Following prayers and a lot of other religious hoopla, he started talking about all that school spirit crap. But with a difference this time. Standing at the pulpit, he gave the signal to a few of his stooges to bring in ten big cardboard posters which listed in alphabetical order every student in school. A series of blank rectangles had been drawn beside each name which, Leon explained, would be filled in as each student sold his quota of chocolates.
The student body watched with glee as Leon’s stooges tried to scotch-tape the posters to the wall at he rear of the stage. The posters kept slipping to the floor, resisting the tape. The walls were made of concrete blocks, and tacks couldn’t be used, of course. Hoots filled the air. BrotherLeon looked annoyed, which increased the hoots and catcalls. There was nothing more beautiful in the world than the sight of a teacher getting upset. Finally, the posters were secured and Brother Leon took charge.
Archie had to admit that the Brother turned in one of his great performances. Academy Award caliber. He poured it on like Niagara—school spirit, the traditional sale that had never failed, the Headmaster lying sick in the hospital, the brotherhood of Trinity, the need for funds to keep this magnificent edifice of education operating on all gears. He recalled past triumphs, the trophies in the display case in the main corridor, the do-or-die determination that made Trinity a place of triumph through the years. Etc. Crap, of course, but effective when a master like Leon was at work, casting a spell with words and gestures.
“Yes,” Brother Leon intoned, “the quota is doubled this year because we have more at stake than ever before.” His voice an organ, filling the air. “Each boy must sell fifty boxes, but I know that each boy is willing to do his share. More than his share.” He gestured toward the posters. “I promise you, gentlemen, that before this sale is ended each one of you will have the number ‘fifty’ inscribed in that final box, signifying that you have done your part for Trinity …”
There was a lot more but Archie tuned him out. Talk, talk, talk—that’s all anybody ever heard inschool. Archie squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, thinking of the Vigil meeting at which he had announced that Brother Leon had asked support for the sale and how he’d pledged the backing of The Vigils. Archie had been surprised at the ripple of doubt and skepticism from the members of The Vigils. “Christ, Archie,” Carter had said, “we never get mixed up in this stuff.” But Archie had overcome them as usual, pointing out that Leon’s need for an endorsement from The Vigils was a symbol of how powerful the organization had become. And it was only a crappy chocolate sale. But now, listening to Leon sounding as if the school was embarking on the Crusades, for crying out loud, Archie was doubtful.
Looking at
Later, preparing for bed and sleep, Jerry looked at himself in the mirror, saw himself as that guy on the Common must have seen him the other day: Square Boy. Just as he had superimposed his mother’s image on his father’s face, now he could see his father’s face reflected in his own features. He turned away. He didn’t want to be a mirror of his father. The thought made himcringe. I want to do something, be somebody. But what? But what?
Football. He’d make the team. That was something. Or was it, really?
For no reason at all, he thought of Gregory Bailey.
CHAPTER
TEN
LATER, ARCHIE HAD TO CONCEDE that Brother Leon had dramatized the sale too vividly and therefore put himself and The Vigils and the entire school on the spot.
To begin with, he called a special assembly at chapel. Following prayers and a lot of other religious hoopla, he started talking about all that school spirit crap. But with a difference this time. Standing at the pulpit, he gave the signal to a few of his stooges to bring in ten big cardboard posters which listed in alphabetical order every student in school. A series of blank rectangles had been drawn beside each name which, Leon explained, would be filled in as each student sold his quota of chocolates.
The student body watched with glee as Leon’s stooges tried to scotch-tape the posters to the wall at he rear of the stage. The posters kept slipping to the floor, resisting the tape. The walls were made of concrete blocks, and tacks couldn’t be used, of course. Hoots filled the air. BrotherLeon looked annoyed, which increased the hoots and catcalls. There was nothing more beautiful in the world than the sight of a teacher getting upset. Finally, the posters were secured and Brother Leon took charge.
Archie had to admit that the Brother turned in one of his great performances. Academy Award caliber. He poured it on like Niagara—school spirit, the traditional sale that had never failed, the Headmaster lying sick in the hospital, the brotherhood of Trinity, the need for funds to keep this magnificent edifice of education operating on all gears. He recalled past triumphs, the trophies in the display case in the main corridor, the do-or-die determination that made Trinity a place of triumph through the years. Etc. Crap, of course, but effective when a master like Leon was at work, casting a spell with words and gestures.
“Yes,” Brother Leon intoned, “the quota is doubled this year because we have more at stake than ever before.” His voice an organ, filling the air. “Each boy must sell fifty boxes, but I know that each boy is willing to do his share. More than his share.” He gestured toward the posters. “I promise you, gentlemen, that before this sale is ended each one of you will have the number ‘fifty’ inscribed in that final box, signifying that you have done your part for Trinity …”
There was a lot more but Archie tuned him out. Talk, talk, talk—that’s all anybody ever heard inschool. Archie squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, thinking of the Vigil meeting at which he had announced that Brother Leon had asked support for the sale and how he’d pledged the backing of The Vigils. Archie had been surprised at the ripple of doubt and skepticism from the members of The Vigils. “Christ, Archie,” Carter had said, “we never get mixed up in this stuff.” But Archie had overcome them as usual, pointing out that Leon’s need for an endorsement from The Vigils was a symbol of how powerful the organization had become. And it was only a crappy chocolate sale. But now, listening to Leon sounding as if the school was embarking on the Crusades, for crying out loud, Archie was doubtful.
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