by Rick Hautala
The crowd started to thin out reluctantly.
Bob looked over at Ned, who was still huddled against the lockers. “And your name?”
“Ned Simmons,” the boy mumbled with a low growl in his voice.
“Well,” Bob said, turning back to Alan, “why don’t we all go down to Mr. Summers’ office and straighten this out.” He looked at the few students still milling around and said, “The rest of you are going to be late for class.”
Just as Bob spoke, the bell rang. Its clanging shattered the tension in the hallway, and everyone drifted away, leaving Bob, Alan, and Ned.
“Let’s go,” Bob said harshly.
Ned straightened up, his fists in tight balls. “I’ll get you, pigfucker,” he hissed.
Alan broke away from Bob’s grip and, turning, reached out to tweak Ned on the cheek. “What’s the matter, is the little fairy-boy getting mad?” he said teasingly.
Ned suddenly swung his fist, but, because he was off-balance, his punch merely glanced off Alan’s shoulder.
“All right, cool it!” Bob yelled, but Alan had already hauled back, and his fist smashed into Ned’s face. Ned spun around, a mist of blood and mucus spraying the lockers behind him. His knees buckled, and he sank slowly to the floor, looking dazed and hurt. He covered his face with his hands. Blood seeped out between his fingers.
Alan stood over him, threatening. “If you ever touch me again, you bastard, I’ll lay you in your goddamn grave!”
Bob’s hands gripped Alan’s shoulder. “You go to the office right now!” He gave the boy a push in the right direction and Alan started down the corridor.
Bob turned to Ned and helped him to his feet. The boy was snorting loudly, trying to keep his throat clear. The blood was still gushing from Ned’s nose and falling onto the floor, leaving huge red splotches.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Bob said, supporting the boy. He reached into his back pocket for his handkerchief and offered it to the boy.
Ned remained silent, except for his loud snorting.
“I’ve seen a lot worse,” Bob said. “Noses bleed real easy.”
Ned held the handkerchief to his nose, and the cloth was quickly saturated with blood. His stance was still unsteady, but he twisted away from Bob’s support.
The second bell rang, and Bob looked nervously at his watch. “Class is starting,” he said. “Can you make it to the nurse’s office?”
Ned nodded.
“OK,” Bob said, turning toward his classroom. “After you get cleaned up, I want you to report to Mr. Summers’ office too. OK?”
Ned nodded and walked away slowly. The heels of his shoes left long scuff-marks on the freshly waxed floor.
Back in class, Bob guided the students through the process of filling in the schedule cards. He was just collecting them when everyone heard the screech of tires from the parking lot. They all turned and looked out the window. A rusted Ford pickup truck ran the stop sign, swaying heavily as it turned the corner and headed down the road. A shimmering blue cloud of exhaust hung suspended in the air, and then it faded as the sound of the truck receded.
“There goes Simmons,” someone said. Bob wasn’t sure who had said it, because he was still staring down the road where the truck had disappeared.
Someone else in the back of the room chuckled softly.
.II.
“So there’s no way you can find out if the book is still in the library?” Bob asked, his knuckles on the librarian’s desk.
Lisa Carter looked up and tucked a strand of hair under the red-and-blue paisley kerchief she was wearing. I must look like a damn Russian peasant girl, she thought.
“If the card for the book is still in the catalog, then either the book has been stolen or it’s been misplaced.” She made a conscious effort to sound professional in order to compensate for her Russian-peasant look. “The card indicates that it hasn’t been taken out of the library for more than five years. I mean, Hadas’ Greek Anthology isn’t on any bestseller list I know of.”
Her attempt at humor worked, and Bob smiled.
“Aren’t you the new teacher at the high school?” Lisa asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. She liked the looks of this man. She became aware that she had her hands in her lap and that she was playing with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down her finger. She stopped doing that and leaned her right elbow on the desk, keeping her left hand in her lap.
“Yeah, my name is Robert Wentworth.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Lisa said, holding out her hand for him to shake. “My name is Lisa Carter.” She found herself thinking that she was glad she hadn’t let him see the wedding ring on her left hand.
They were both silent for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say to keep the interchange going. Finally, Bob said, “Well, if it does turn up, would you please hold it for me?”
Lisa nodded. “Sure.”
“It was the text I used in college, and I’m going to need it for class later this semester. I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem at all,” Lisa said, smiling, but feeling very foolish for some reason. She watched as Bob Wentworth left the library, then, once the door had shut behind him, she got up and went over to the window to watch as he walked down the granite steps and out into the street. The whole time she watched, she unconsciously played with her wedding ring, twirling it and sliding it up and down her finger.
.III.
Ned’s nipples stiffened as he leaned over the counter and bent his head into the sink. His nose was still throbbing from the punch he had received that morning. His mother took a pitcher of cold water and poured it over his sudsy hair.
Bracing himself with a hand on either side of the sink, he held his breath and watched the creamy white stream wash from his hair and run down the sink. The drain couldn’t take the water fast enough, and the suds backed up and then swirled down in a small, whirlpool. The drain began to gurgle with a deep, hollow sound.
Ned’s fingers began to ache, and he realized that he was gripping the side of the sink too hard. The sink had always made the gurgling sound, and ever since he could remember, that sound had frightened him; it reminded him of the sound of someone choking. He tried to fight back the panic that was rising. The sound in the sink grew louder. Suddenly, the stream of white shampoo turned pink, and then, after his mother doused his head again, a thin red line ran from his nose and down the sink. Ned started to choke as he snorted loudly in an attempt to keep his throat clear. He was bleeding again.
In his panic, he turned his head to the side, and when he did, some of the shampoo ran into his left eye. He screamed. “Towel! Towel!” he yelled. “Quick! It’s in my eyes!”
He groped wildly, blindly on the counter beside him for the towel. The drain continued to gurgle above the sounds of his shouting, and his fear rose all the more. He felt the dark, gurgling hole of the sink start to pull him and, scared out of his wits, he thought he might be drawn down into it.
“Here you are,” his mother said, slapping his bare shoulder and handing him a coarse cotton towel. He rubbed his face vigorously and kept his face hidden until his fear began to recede. The sound coming from the sink had grown softer too. He pulled the towel away and saw that it was stained with blood. He folded it so his mother couldn’t see it.
“Lord have mercy, boy,” his mother said, “don’t holler so. You’d think someone was tryin’ t’kill yah!” Her voice sounded hard and cold, Ned thought, like the chilled countertop pressed against his chest.
“It hurt,” he said meekly, as he turned and started to ruffle his hair with the towel. He made sure to keep the bloody side hidden. “The shampoo got in my eye.”
“Well it’s not like you were gonna die.” She had her flabby arms folded across her chest and was leaning against the refrigerator.
Ned was silent as he finished drying his hair and then started to comb it. “Hey, Ma, do you know where Frank is?” he asked.
She shook her head no.<
br />
He slid his comb back into his back pocket and then put his shirt on, buttoning it slowly. “I was just thinking—”
“Well, don’t!” his mother said harshly. “It’ll always get you into trouble.
“No, I was wondering,” Ned continued, trying to get past her. “I’ve got all my homework done and I kinda wanted to go downtown and…” He wanted to keep talking, to present his argument in full before she had a chance to refuse, but he fell silent when he saw her take a threatening step toward him.
“You were thinking what?” she asked. She took another step forward.
“I thought I might go, ummm, downtown,” he managed to say before shrinking back from his mother’s advance.
“Going to the Royal, right?” she said shrilly. “You were thinking you’d go hang out at the Royal, weren’t you?”
“No, I, uh, I—” Ned felt the cold edge of the countertop press into the small of his back. He moved backward, feeling the Formica rub against his bare skin.
“You were gonna go down there and drink beer, weren’t you? Drink beer! And the girls who go down there! Girls! They’d be home, if they had any decency!”
“No, honest, Ma, I—” Ned had backed into the corner and stood there, cringing under her angry outburst. Her eyes widened, and her face became flushed. Spittle flew from her mouth.
“I’ll bet you they use drugs there too. Don’t they. Don’t they!”
“I dunno,” Ned said weakly. He felt pressure in his bladder.
“They do! I know they do!” Her eyes were bulging, the yellowed whites showing all around the pupils. She moved closer, clenching her hands into fists that started to weave and dart dangerously. Ned raised his hands to ward off the expected blow.
“Is that it?” she shouted. “Have you been smoking pot?”
Ned was silent, terror-stricken.
“Well?”
“No! Of course I haven’t,” he stammered. “I, I—”
“Well you better not start,” she said menacingly, and then, certain that she had scared him into submission, she took a few steps backward and crossed her arms over her chest again.
“It’s bad enough that I’ve got one runabout son. I don’t want you starting in drinkin’ and chasin’ after girls. Drink!” She snorted loudly and looked at him piercingly. “You know, drink’s what killed your father.”
Ned nodded his head but still didn’t dare to let down his guard. He knew from past experience that her anger could flare up again, instantly.
“I’ve tried to stop Frank. Honest, Lord, I’ve tried ’n’ I’ve failed.” She glared at Ned. “But I’m not gonna fail with you! No, sir! By God and all His angels, I’m not gonna fail with you!”
“Now,” she said, and Ned could tell that her tension had begun to unwind, “you must have some homework to do.”
Ned shrugged his shoulders. “First day of school. I got it all done in study hall.”
“Well, you just go on up to your room and see if you can do just a bit extra. Or maybe you could go to bed a little bit early tonight so I won’t have to drag you out of bed in the morning. You have to finish your chores before you go to school, you know.”
“I know.”
“Well, I don’t wanna have to remind you. But one thing’s for certain.” She stamped her foot on the floor for emphasis. “You’re not going out. Especially to the Royal!”
Ned turned to go upstairs. He was still holding the towel loosely in his hand and he let it drag up the stairs behind him.
“G’night,” his mother called from downstairs. “Sleep well.”
In answer, Ned hockered from deep in his chest and sent a ball of spit sailing through the air. It hit the wall by the door with a dull plop. There was blood mixed in with saliva and, for some reason, that made Ned smile.
.IV.
The jukebox at the Royal was cranked up to full volume, and the worn speakers blasted a fluttery rumble with each bass note. It was playing an unrecognizable Rolling Stones song.
Frenchie, the bartender, was leaning with his elbow on the bar, swirling a damp cloth in tight circles. Bob sat on one of the stools at the end of the bar. He nodded in the direction of the bartender, and Frenchie walked over to him. His damp cloth left a wet steak the length of the bar.
“Another, Mic?”
Frenchie nodded, drew a beer, and then came back. Bob left a dollar bill on the bar, which Frenchie picked up. Before going to the cash register to ring in the sale, though, Frenchie leaned on the bar, waiting for Bob to say something.
Bob glanced over his shoulder at the crowded room. Just about every booth was filled, and there were three couples dancing in the center of the floor. “Is it always this busy?” Bob asked.
Frenchie smiled. “I wish,” he mumbled. There was a sink close by, so he rinsed his rag and then took a few more swipes at the bartop. “Fridays and Saturdays are usually pretty good. A crowd like this on a Wednesday night is kinda unusual.” When no further conversation was forthcoming, Frenchie started to move back up the length of the bar, wiping as he went.
Bob watched the crowd for a while, then turned back around and took a swallow of beer. He settled more comfortably in his seat, then shook out a cigarette from his pack and lit it. His glass was half empty and he was just stubbing out the butt in the ashtray when a firm hand gripped his shoulder. He tensed before turning, expecting to find a drunken regular who felt compelled to challenge this newcomer. He turned and was surprised to see Lisa Carter smiling at him.
“You should be home, reading Greek drama,” she said brightly.
“I would be,” Bob replied, returning the smile, “if the local library had a copy of the book I need.”
“Isn’t that just the case,” Lisa said. “One of the best libraries in the state of New Hampshire and they don’t have a copy of Hada’s Greek Anthology.” She shook her head sadly, clicking her tongue. “So I see you decided to check out the local hot spot instead.”
“You mean this is it?” Bob said, and they both laughed. He rose and pulled out the stool beside him. “Care for a drink?”
Lisa stood there, considering for a moment. “I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt. What say we sit over in a booth, though.”
Bob smiled and followed her over to a corner booth. Once they were seated, Lisa leaned across the table and, in a conspirator’s voice, said, “You know, one thing I always thought, though, was that teachers indulged their vices out of town.” She laughed softly, but there was something in her voice that made Bob think she really meant it.
“Well,” he said, throwing his hands up, “I don’t really mind if people talk. What harm is there in that?”
He couldn’t believe he heard himself say that, not after what had happened to him in Dorchester!
“Cooper Falls is a pretty small town, though, Mr. Wentworth,” she said more seriously as her smile faded. “Really, you should, maybe, be more careful.”
He looked at her and then raised his hand over his head to signal Frenchie that they wanted something to drink. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, once he saw Frenchie making his way over to the table.
Lisa shrugged.
Frenchie took her order for a whiskey sour and then walked away. Bob lit his cigarette and then sat back in the booth, observing Lisa.
She sat straight up in the seat, her hands folded on the table. Bob realized that this afternoon at the library, he had hardly noticed how attractive she was, especially her green eyes, which seemed to flash and twinkle with humor.
“I would think,” Bob said finally, “that the local hangout wouldn’t be exactly a great place for the local librarian to hang out either.”
Lisa smiled and replied, “Well, I don’t have a school board to please, especially a school board like the one we have.”
Bob almost gagged on the smoke he was exhaling. “You’ll, you’ll have to tell me about them sometime,” he managed to say. He fidgeted with the ashtray, spinning it around in circles.
&nbs
p; “What can I tell you about them? They’re a cross section of a typical small New Hampshire town.” She paused for effect then added, “They wear red-white-and-blue underwear.”
While she was talking, Bob became aware of two voices behind him gradually rising higher and higher as their conversation turned into an argument. It was a man and a woman, and, curious, Bob twisted around in his seat to glance at them. Lisa looked also, and Bob noticed that, when she saw who it was, she tensed noticeably. The corners of her mouth tightened.
“Who are they?” Bob asked, but before she could answer, Frenchie arrived with her drink. Bob paid him, and he walked away, giving the arguing couple a brief, harsh stare.
Bob held his glass of beer up and, clinking it against Lisa’s, said, “Well, here’s to pleasing the school board members, especially conservative school board members.”
After they each took a drink, Bob turned around in his seat again and glanced at the fighting couple. They were still going at it and getting louder.
He could only see the back of the man’s head: shoulder-length, stringy black hair. He was wearing a dirty denim work shirt. When Bob looked at the girl, though, he felt an almost electric charge jolt him. She had pale blue eyes that seemed to be focusing somewhere in outer space. They flashed from beneath a shaggy mass of dark hair. Her face was think and angular, with high cheekbones, and, at least from what he could see of her body, she looked like she had a great shape. She was an unusually attractive woman, and Bob felt an immediate interest in her.
“Who are they?” he repeated, turning back to Lisa.
Lisa ran her teeth over her lower lip and was about to reply when the girl behind Bob suddenly shouted, “I can see whoever I damn well want to see! And you aren’t going to tell me not to!” Bob looked around again and saw her stand up. He had been right; she did have a terrific body.
“And it’s none of your fucking business who I see!”
“Hey, come on, Julie, sit down,” the man said, nervously rising and grabbing for the woman’s arm. “For Christ’s sake, will you just calm down?”