Take my face

by Held, Peter

  "Hi," said Robert.

  "Hi." Carr's eyes lingered on the bandage. "I heard you were out of the hospital. How do you feel?"

  "Okay."

  Carr nodded. He was solid and chunky, with a square face, a thatch of golden hair. He said bluntly, "What about my jigger?"

  "What about it?" Robert asked, puzzled.

  "It's wrecked, isn't it?"

  Robert had nothing to say.

  "I heard the insurance company made you a big payment," said Carr. "My father says you're responsible for the damage."

  Robert looked uneasily up the street. "I'm not going to pay for something I didn't do."

  "But you were riding it!" Carr was becoming angry.

  "I'm sorry," said Robert. "Mr. Hovard ran into me. I'm not going to pay his damages.

  Especially when Julie Hovard was driving."

  Carr nodded bitterly. "That's what I get, lending my stuff to guys."

  "I was delivering your route. It might have been you!"

  Carr looked startled. "I never thought of that. I guess I was lucky."

  "I guess I wasn't."

  Carr leaned forward, peered at the bandage. "Did you get burned pretty bad?"

  "Yeah."

  Carr came a step forward. "Let's see what it looks like."

  "It's nothing special." Robert turned away, preparing to get on his bike.

  "Aw, come on."

  Robert shook his head. "Wait till I get the plastic surgery."

  "When's that?"

  "I don't know yet. Pretty soon."

  Carr called up the street: "Hey, Grant!"

  Grant Hovard sauntered up. He was fifteen, an ungainly bean pole. His head was like his father's, low and round, with soft black hair cut close to the scalp, like a pad of black felt. His eyes were large and bulging.

  He propped himself against the trunk of an acacia tree which grew out of the sidewalk strip.

  "Hi, Grant," said Robert. He threw his leg over the frame of his bike.

  "Just a minute," said Carr.

  Robert gripped the handlebars uneasily. Carr was known for sudden recklessness. It was rumored that he beat up his sister Dean in wild tantrums.

  Grant Hovard lounged back against the tree. "What's the deal?"

  "Robert was just telling me about his accident," said Carr. "What do you think of a guy that ruins another guy's jigger, then won't pay for it?"

  Grant shrugged, eyeing Robert sidelong.

  "He says Julie ran into him."

  "That's silly," said Grant.

  Carr's eyes were bright and daring. "He says he's uglier than you are."

  "Maybe he is," said Grant. "He'll have to prove it, though."

  "Oh, hell," said Robert, feeling the warm blood pulsing under the scars. He pushed Carr away from the front of his bike. "I got to deliver my route."

  "Just a minute," said Grant. "You mean to say you're uglier than I am?"

  "I don't care one way or the other," said Robert tensely.

  Carr laughed mockingly. "We ought to find out, hey, Grant?"

  "I got a title to defend," said Grant, even though something inside his brain quailed and shrank. "Let's take a look."

  Robert tried to ride off, but Grant caught him from behind, under the armpits. The two tripped on the bicycle, fell to the dry grass between street and sidewalk. Carr snatched at the bandage; the adhesive tape tore at the pale pink tissue.

  They looked into Robert's face. Carr dropped the bandage as if it were foul. Grant rose to his feet, drew back a step.

  Robert felt himself a different person—strong and swift as the wind. He reached out, grabbed the air pump from the clip on Carr's bicycle, and leaped to his feet.

  "Look out," muttered Grant.

  Carr stumbled. Robert hit him on the ear, then swung at Grant, but Grant skipped away.

  Carr tried to struggle up. Robert struck him again, and Carr fell back to his knees. Robert raised his arm, but Grant snatched the pump out of his grasp. Robert rushed at Grant, ran him backwards into the picket fence.

  Grant, yelling in alarm and pain, managed to writhe free.

  Carr staggered forward. Robert struck with his fist, felt the warm wad of Carr's nose under his

  knuckles, the spurt of blood. Grant was coming at him with the pump. Robert ran to meet him. Grant shied back and stood panting.

  "You better be careful." He raised the air pump. "I'll let you have it."

  Robert looked at Carr, who was holding a handkerchief to his nose. For a few seconds there was a peculiar hush. Then Robert went to his bike, got on and rode away.

  A block down the street Robert remembered his bandage. He laughed. His face was naked, and it was as if his whole body were naked. He felt immensely powerful. His face was responsible. It gave him a stern and terrible force.

  He never wore the bandage again.

  In late October, he and Elsbeth paid a visit to the county hospital. The "college fund" had dwindled to an even $800.

  Dr. Sunderland inspected Robert's face. "Healing very well. You've got tough tissue there, Robert."

  "What about plastic surgery?" asked Elsbeth.

  The doctor leaned back in his chair. "Frankly, Mrs. Struve, it's a big job—specialist's work. Not just skin graft, but an entire modeling of the face. I'd suggest that you consult Banbery, in San Francisco. Dr. Felix Banbery. He's the best man in the field."

  "Is he expensive?" Elsbeth ventured.

  Dr. Sunderland smiled briskly. "Any work of this kind is expensive. You might try the clinic —but of course they're working overtime on emergency cases."

  Elsbeth rose to her feet. "Thank you, Dr. Sunderland."

  They descended to the county clinic in the basement. The nurse was busy with paper work; it seemed to Elsbeth that she listened with only half an ear.

  Elsbeth explained the problem. The nurse looked over Elsbeth's clothes, which were inexpensive, but carefully chosen. "You're without means?"

  Elsbeth bridled at the nurse's tone. "We're not paupers; we—"

  The nurse interrupted, "I can put your name down, but we're full up for two months. Also, you understand that the boy'11 be immobilized; he'll have to lie quiet for months."

  "But he's starting high school," protested Elsbeth. "Can't the work be done on week-ends? Or after school?"

  The nurse shook her head. "No ma'am."

  Elsbeth gave her name, then she and Robert went home. Robert had never seen her look so old. He wandered restlessly about the room, fingering magazines, the bits of pottery that Elsbeth considered cute: roguish kittens, prancing deer,

  squirrels, puppies, skunks. Elsbeth said, "I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do."

  "I don't want to go to the hospital."

  Elsbeth shook her head. "But you've got to, Robert!" She considered. "If I could get a good job in the city, we'd be near the doctor ..."

  "I got to deliver my route," said Robert. Elsbeth jumped up and hugged him fiercely, tears burning in her eyes.

  The telephone rang. It was Mrs. Agnes Sadko, office manager at Hegenbels. She sounded very cool. "You'll be in for sure tomorrow?"

  "I surely will, Mrs. Sadko."

  "Very well, Mrs. Struve. We'll see you in the morning."

  The next day Mrs. Sadko took Elsbeth aside. "Now, Mrs. Struve, I know you've been under a great strain, and we all feel the utmost sympathy. But the work here at the office is suffering. We're going to have to make some kind of arrangement."

  Elsbeth's heart came into her mouth. "Arrangement?"

  Mrs. Sadko cleared her throat. "We've got to get the work done, that's what we're here for . . . We're getting behind."

  Elsbeth heaved a great sigh. "I think the worst of it's over. Robert's well now. We've decided to wait before going into plastic surgery."

  Mrs. Sadko nodded brusquely. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're getting straightened out."

  CHAPTER III

  In January, Robert started high school. Els-beth had concocted a bra
ve fiction that nothing really had happened; that Robert was like the other boys.

  If Robert was not precisely cheerful, at least he did not mope. He fitted into school routine without effort, applying himself to his homework with a remarkable intensity. He never had been a confiding boy; now he closed up tighter than a clam.

  During his second semester, and to Elsbeth's surprise and vague disapproval, Robert decided to play football. He wore a wire mask and practiced with the same intensity he gave his homework. It was a foregone conclusion that he'd make the Junior Varsity.

  The JV quarterbacks were Alonzo Sanguarez, a Mexican in his junior year, and Carr Pendry, a low sophomore and one football season ahead of Robert. Alonzo was fast and a good ball-handler;

  Carr was clever, brash and confident. The coach rated them about even.

  Carr started the first game of the season, against Calmetta. After two minutes it was clear that Carr was not planning to make Robert look good. During the whole of the first quarter he handed off either to left halfback Ron Caffrey, fullback Jim Smith, or threw passes. Robert tackled, applied his blocks, ran interference.

  The game was not going well for San Giorgio. Calmetta was strong and tough. They intercepted one of Carr's passes and ran it to a touchdown. In the early second quarter Carr called on Robert for a line buck. Robert had been waiting for this moment. The ball touched his hands, and it was like a fuse. Calmetta arms and shoulders seemed to melt in front of him. He was running free. Touchdown.

  Robert throbbed with a grim joy, pleased but not surprised. Carr set out to prove that Robert had been lucky, and handed off to him six times in a row. Four times Robert broke loose for long gains; the last time he scored a touchdown.

  Carr stopped handing off to Robert, sought rather to overshadow him by a series of brilliant passes, but twice his passes were intercepted, and one more went for a Calmetta touchdown.

  At half time the coach gave Robert a slap on the

  back. "Good work, kid. Just don't kill anybody out there."

  During the third quarter, Alonzo Sanguarez came into the game as quarterback. Robert scored two more touchdowns.

  The team had a successful season, winning all but the game against Paytonville. Elsbeth's initial disapproval became delight and pride. She suggested a party for the football team, but Robert vetoed the idea with a curtness that bewildered her.

  Plastic surgery was still a project for the middle future. The clinic never called about an appointment, and Elsbeth put off making inquiries. She must not make a nuisance of herself.

  The football season passed, then Christmas, and the spring semester drew to a close. Elsbeth resolved to do something about Robert's face during vacation. But in early June Robert was offered a summer job as stock-boy at Hegenbels, which he accepted. Elsbeth was uncomfortable but vaguely relieved. After all, they really didn't have the money.

  Summer came to an end; Robert began his fourth semester. His grades continued excellent; he made the California Scholarship Federation, and the principal discussed scholarships with him. Robert was interested but vague; he had no clear picture of his future. And then there was always

  the plastic surgery that sooner or later had to be undergone. He played halfback on the Varsity football team. Carr was second-string quarterback after Harold Garrow. The line was weak, competition tough. San Giorgio had a poor year, winning two, losing six.

  Another Christmas, another spring semester, another Commencement. Grant Hovard graduated. Summer passed.

  The fall semester began. Grant Hovard went down to Stanford for premed training. Carr was a senior; his pretty sister, Dean, a freshman. Julie was starting eighth grade.

  Another football season came and went. San Giorgio tied Paytonville for league championship, and Robert achieved a certain grim reputation around the county. He was known as "The Face," or "No-Face"; sometimes as "The Masked Marvel"; and once, in a sports column, as the "Red Wolf of San Giorgio—when he doesn't blast 'em out of his way, he scares 'em stiff."

  The prettiest girl in school was Cathy McDer-mott, a freshman. She was slender, beautifully formed. Her hair was the color of black coffee and hung past her shoulders; she had dark poetic eyes. Her father was Ralph McDermott, president and chief stockholder of the San Giorgio Building and Loan Association. They lived on Jamaica Terrace next to the Pendrys.

  Robert took his courage in hand one day and asked her for a date. His voice trembled with nervousness. In a voice equally nervous, she told him thanks but she was all dated up. Later he happened to be walking behind her in the hall while she told her friend Lucia Small about it.

  "And what did you say?" Lucia asked.

  "What could I say? I told him I was dated ten years ahead."

  They saw Robert, and fell silent.

  "Hi," said Robert.

  "Hi," said Cathy in a subdued voice.

  Carr Pendry came up, gave Cathy a casual spank with his books. "What's going on here? Robert trying to make time with my girl?"

  "More or less," said Robert. "Mostly less."

  He walked away.

  Carr's fraternity was Rho Sigma Rho, a trifle more exclusive than Beta Zeta. The sororities were Nu Alpha Tau (or the N ATs) and Tri-Gamma— known as "Lucky Thirteen," because membership was restricted to this number. Freshmen were pledged on "tag day" just before commencement, with "hell week" in September and initiation in October of the semester following.

  Julie Hovard raised havoc with this system. She started high school at the beginning of Robert's last term; it was certain that she'd be pledged at the end of the year, either by the NATs or Tri-

  Gamma. She wanted to go Tri-Gamma. Cathy Mc-Dermott, her best friend, was a Tri-Gamma pledge, along with Dean Pendry and Lucia Small, old Judge Small's daughter.

  Cathy, Dean, and Lucia were all sophomores, a year or two older than Julie. Dean had auburn hair, a voluptuous figure, a lovely pale complexion. She was fifteen but looked older; she went out with boys from the junior college.

  Lucia had an entirely different outlook on life. She was tall, aristocratic, alert. She had dark hair, sharp eyes, a high-bridged nose. She spoke of a career in psychology and planned to go on to Rad-cliffe.

  During the summer, Marian Scheib moved south to Pasadena, leaving a vacancy in Tri-Gamma. Julie decided to take advantage of the situation. She told one of the NATs that she'd probably go Tri-Gamma, and hinted to Anne Bresdick, president of Tri-Gamma, that she'd already been asked to go NAT.

  A furious four-day battle was waged around Julie, and as a result she was immediately pledged by Tri-Gamma.

  Julie was now almost fourteen, the very breath of youth and vitality. She chattered and laughed and played games; she looked as if she found everything in the world a delightful surprise. She flirted widely, gaily, innocently. She sat across from

  Robert in study hall, and he found it impossible to take his eyes off her. Julie flirted with him as readily as anyone else; sometimes Robert thought even more so . . . But no, it couldn't be . . . And yet—it was football season. Robert was a celebrity. He was declared the most effective halfback in San Giorgio history.

  "—astonishing the change that comes over him," declared Bing Burns, sports editor of the Herald-Republican. "The difference between a quiet, retiring lad and a ravening tiger seems to be only a football uniform. Because Robert Struve just won't be stopped. The harder the going, the harder goes Robert. It's not that he's big, or heavy, or fast, he just refuses to say no . . ."

  Already he'd had offers from Southern California, College of the Pacific, Maryland.

  On September 27, 1948, Robert celebrated his eighteenth birthday. Elsbeth baked a small cake, roasted a chicken, and bought a bottle of sauterne. They ate by candlelight, and in honor of the occasion Robert drank a glass of wine.

  Elsbeth looked at him fondly across the table. He had a well-knit husky frame, something under six feet. His hair was cropped short. Elsbeth thought if only his face were mended, he'd be such a nice-looking boy .
.. As soon as he graduated—plastic surgery.

  After dinner, Robert went off to his room.

  For once, he was not studying. He was examining the letter Barbara Fisher had passed him earlier in the day. Barbara was an important girl around school. She had an insolent triangle of a face, loose flaxen ringlets, and looked like a fashion model. She was Tri-Gamma, one of the Lucky Thirteen.

  The letter was brief, tantalizing:

  Dear Robert,

  Lucky 13 rips the lid off! You are invited to attend the initiation of our four pledges: Lucia Small, Cathy McDermott, Julie Hovard, and Dean Pendry. Need we say, this is secret? This Saturday night, at the Martin house, out on Vinedale Road. You know where it is. If you can't come, let me know.

  The idea fascinated Robert. He had visions of girl-rites—fair young bodies—madness—abandon . . . Julie Hovard . . . Something clenched in his stomach. He wouldn't go. Why did they seek him out?

  The next day he waited beside Barbara Fisher's locker until she came. "What's going on at this affair?" he asked her.

  She glanced at him sidelong, then looked away, into her locker. "Just the usual stuff. An initia-

  tion. There'll be a party afterwards. Don't you want to come?"

  "No," said Robert, "not especially."

  "The rest of the team's invited, too," said Barbara.

  "Oh," said Robert. He had thought they wanted him there alone.

  She turned him another swift glance. "Are you coming?"

  "I don't know for sure."

  "What's the matter?" she asked. "Scared?"

  "Okay," said Robert woodenly. "I'll come."

  "Sure now?" said Barbara.

  "Yes," said Robert.

  She nodded casually and went off down the hall.

  When Robert went to bed that night, the vision persisted. He fell asleep to a dream that he was dancing with Julie in the gymnasium, at one of the dances to which he never went. The music stopped; Julie turned up her face, gave him a look of heart-stopping significance. He reached out his arms, but she laughed and skipped off. Then she ran back, caught his hands, led him outside to a big sedan parked under the trees. He opened the door, she got in; he got in after her . . . Robert awoke.