“I help out, and with the help of Mr. Jackson I bought my own school clothes.”
“I’m glad to hear that, and that we’ll be seeing more of one another.”
“I hope so, Mr. Richards. If you ever need us, we’re available, right Bill?”
Bill held the boy’s shoulder. “That’s right. We is partners?”
“We sure are. Are you ready to slip me five, Mr. J?”
The two slapped palms, put their hands back to back, and with the thumbs hooked together, used them like a hinge to flip their hands back around. They finished by sliding the palms across each other.
Chapter Four
P.S.6
Most days, Junior High School was a snap. Diego found Hector in his homeroom, again. They sat together in the back row of the ninth grade class.
“My name is Mr. Bumblestein. I’m your substitute teacher for today and I’m not putting up with any of your nonsense. And that means you back there, mister! You, with the red plaid shirt! What’s your name?”
“That’s Hector,” a freckle faced girl with red pig tails promptly volunteered.
“Hector, do you always come to class wearing your shirt outside your pants?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Don’t get snippy with me, smarty. Go out in the hall right now and tuck that shirt back in.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Bumblebean.”
The class laughed.
“Bumblestein! Bumblestein! Do it now smart aleck. And what are you laughing at?” He said, pointing at Diego.
Sorry Mr. Bumblebee, Diego thought.
“Nothing, Mr. Bumblestein, sir.”
“So you think it’s funny? Sit back down!”
After ten minutes, the teacher opened the door to the hall and looked both ways for Hector. The student was gone.
“Fine! When he gets back, I’ll have a talk with him. The rest of you vegetables, write an essay on the school’s dress code. And I want at least three long paragraphs.”
“Can I write it in Spanish?” a boy by the window asked.
“No, lame brain. English! And no more talking!”
“I was only asking.”
“Don’t ask! Just do! Get busy…all of you!”
Hector returned and after a short briefing in the hall on the school’s dress code, he was allowed to return to his seat next to Diego where he was given instructions for the essay.
The room, quiet for about twenty long minutes, began to stir with the taps of carefully placed pens as one by one they were each left dormant above finished essays waiting to be picked up.
“You! Collect every one of these and bring them up to the front.”
The same girl who ratted out Hector, collected the paper work and handed them over.
Shuffling through them quickly, the teacher said, “None of these are any good. Do you know what I think of your fine grammar?”
Rip! Every last essay was torn to pieces and dropped into the waste basket.
“I’m going to write a few rules on the blackboard and I want everyone to copy it.”
Mr. Bumblestein turned his back to the class and started to write—and with quite an artistic penmanship:
We must always adhere to the rules set forth by the school.
We must never wear jeans, shorts, baseball caps…
Sitting in a row directly in front of Diego and Hector, Willy Goodwin leaned over and whispered to TJ, “Yeah…I still have them.”
Willy slunk low in his chair and stretched to retrieve three darts out of a plain, denim school bag.
“Let me do it,” TJ whispered.
“No, their mine, I’ll do it.”
“What are you two jabbering about back there? Be quiet and wait until I’m finished.”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Bumblestein’s head whipped around. “What the devil just happened? “Who threw those?”
Diego could not believe what he just saw. Willie Goodwin just threw three darts at the cork board and only a couple of feet away from the teacher. He immediately held his head in disbelief.
No one else in class, other than Hector, had seen who had actually thrown the darts. The only movement some of them had seen was Diego’s hands when he lowered them to his lap.
No one answered. The smirks and muffled giggling enraged the teacher, and his reddening face only encouraged them more. He banged on his desk.
“Okay, we’ll play that game. You! Yes, you! I want you to pass around these strips of paper to everyone in this class. Now, I’m sure at least some of you here know who did this. You don’t have to sign your name. All I want you to do is write down the party or parties involved. Go ahead, pass them around.”
The girl with pigtails put a slip of paper on each desk. When the class finished scribbling names, she collected the folded notes and brought them to the front.
“So…you think you’re all so smart? Well, we’ll see about that. Shall I read these to you? Never mind! The first one says…I do not know, I did not see nothing.”
Laughter.
“Whoever wrote that, there are never two no’s in a sentence and you have three. Here’s the next one. Elmer Fudd! Humph!”
More laughter.
“Shh! Aha! Here! Diego Rivera! Now where getting someplace. What else is in here? Let’s see.” Mr. Bumblestein mumbled the rest of the names to himself: “The Long Ranger, Daffy Duck, The President, Howdy Doody. Hah!” He loudly exclaimed. “Another Diego!”
“Oooo!” The class responded, in unison.
Diego closed his eyes and retreated into quiet thought.
So, now you think it was me, right Mr. Bumblebee? And who do you think you are coming into my classroom to harass me and my fellow students?
Now…you do know what I’m going to have to do to you, don’t you, Mr. Bumblebee? Yes, that’s right, I’m going to have to get that nasty old broom out of the closet and whack you with it until all of those righteous wings come off. But do you also know what I’m doing to you after that? That’s right Mr. Bumblebee. I’m going to crush you under my right shoe like the…bug…you…are. Got that, Bumbles? SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“Hmm, what’s this? You! Very Funny, who wrote that? Let’s see what else is here. Space men…Froggy.”
Damn stupid kids.
“Okay…here’s Diego Rivera again.”
Diego eyed the teacher with contempt. Sure, and that just fills you with glee, doesn’t it Mr. Bumblebee. It just tickles…you…to…death to be so sure it was me.
“That’s three for Diego Rivera and I don’t see anyone else’s name on any of these.”
Of course not, Bumbles. They’re all afraid of you and now they’re your friends.
“Well! I think we have our little dart thrower. Come up to the front, right now, Mr. Rivera.”
“But, Mr. Bumbles…it wasn’t me!”
By now the kids were hysterical.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant Bumblebee. No! I mean, Mr. Bumblestein, sir. It really wasn’t me.”
“If you kids don’t stop laughing, I’ll make every one of you stay after school…and I mean it.”
“He didn’t do it,” said Hector.
“And why should I believe you, smart aleck? All right, Diego, If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
“I don’t know, sir. I wasn’t looking.”
“Then how do you explain why three students said it was you? Now come up here to the front like I told you.”
Diego gave a mad face to Willie. He wasn’t a snitch, but if he got the chance, he was going to get even outside after three.
“You’re going with me to the principal’s office right after class, smarty. You thought you were pulling the wool over my eyes, didn’t you?”
Diego never got the chance to meet anybody after three. Instead, he landed in the lunch room with two hours detention. He felt miserable.
A letter arrived by mail a few days later. Diego wasn’t home when it got there and he hadn’t said anything to his mother about the
incident. She couldn’t read English very well anyway. Perhaps he could bluff his way through this one, he had thought. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
“Karen read to me thees papers today and I done Like eet, Meester Diego Rivera.”
Using and pronouncing his full name in Spanish was always a bad sign, especially when she rolled the r’s with her tongue.
“Mom, it really wasn’t me. I got blamed for it, but nobody really saw what happened.”
“So why done ju tell me thees theeng when eets hopping for ju?”
“I thought you might not get a letter. Hector was sitting right there. He knows it wasn’t me.”
“So now ju want Hector to lie for ju, too?”
“I’m not lying, Mom. Oh, what’s the use? You’re not going to believe me anyway.”
“Karen told to me that I’m having to go to school.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Sorry? Sorry? Ees too late for sorry. Ju know I no can walk weeth thees heep.”
“I know, but it wasn’t me. It really wasn’t.”
“I wan to belief ju, but even if eet wasn’t ju, Diego, dee teacher believe eet was ju.”
Principal’s Office
“Come in! Have a seat right there, Mr. Rivera. And who is that with you?”
“This is Mr. Jackson, Mr. Ratzfarb. He’s a family friend. My mother couldn’t come. She has a bad hip and can’t walk very far.”
“That’s perfectly fine. Do you know what this is all about, Mr. Jackson?”
“I gots the gist of it, suh. But you see, Diego is a good boy. I knows him for quite some time now and…”
“Well, Mr. Jackson, you know this boy for quite some time, but I guess you don’t really know him very well after all, do you? He put one of my teachers in danger with these darts?”
The principal tapped hard on his desk with a forefinger. “These darts! These darts right here!”
“Suh…alls ah knows is that he ain’t done nothin’ of the kind in all the time I knows him. We been a workin’ all summer long togetha, an’ I can tell you, Mista Principal, suh, if he says he ain’t done did it, then that be the truth. Please, suh, he ain’t never even did hissalf nothin’ in the fust place.”
“You got a three day suspension, Mr. Rivera, and that’s the end of it. You can go now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Diego trailed behind Bill and shut the door quietly behind himself.
Out in the hall, Bill fumed, “That man ain’t heard nothin’ ah said. If ah could put his dot sized brain in a gnat’s butt, I betcha that bug would fly backwards.”
In the ensuing silence of his office, Mr. Ratzfarb sat and stared at the closed door. He continued to tap on his desk with the end of a pencil for a while—a long while. Something about this whole thing bothered him. If he could only put his finger on it. More tapping. Finally, that “something” sparked his memory.
“Betty Ann!”
His secretary cracked the door open. “Yes, Mr. Ratzfarb?”
“You remember something last year about darts being thrown in the school yard, or…I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly who it was or where, but there was an incident about darts? Do you remember that?”
“That was in the lunch room. That Willie kid… um…Willie Goodwin.”
“That’s right…Goodwin! Is he in Diego’s class this year?”
“I believe so. Do you want me to pull his file?”
“No, don’t bother. It’s all settled for now and I really don’t have time to pursue any of this. Never mind. Thanks anyway.”
Aside from the incident, Diego did very well in school. He was especially good at math, inherited from his mother he had always thought. She was good at calculations—did it all in her head.
The School Assembly
It was halfway through the school year and time to give out awards. The assembly room is now full with every seat taken and many of the parents left standing along the back wall.
“It’s too bad mom couldn’t come. I know she really wanted to.”
Beulah patted Diego on the knee. “She proud a yawl anyways, son. She woulda been here if it wern’t for no hip a hurtin’ her so. And yawl doin’ all o’ this here learnin’ all by yo-self? It jus’ be makin’ us so proud.”
After the Pledge of Allegiance, and God Bless America were sung by all, with the accompaniment of the school band, and more than a few out of key voices, as well as no clue as to the lyrics, a few speeches were made. A poem was recited on stage by a student, and then a piano rendition of “Flight of the Bumblebee”. (No pun intended) (Okay, so it was) This was followed by a medley of Christmas songs sung by the ninth grade chorus.
Mr. Ratzfarb, awards in hand, once again graced the stage with his pomp-ass presence. “I would now like to express my deepest gratitude and appreciation for…”
“You know somethin’, Beulah?”
“What’s that, Mista Jackson?”
“I’d like to kick that man so high, birds would build a nest in his ears before he hit the ground.”
“Now, you know that ain’t polite like.”
“Well, I ain’t lookin’ to be polite like, no-how.”
Beulah took the moment to ask Diego something. “Do you thank yawl might git one of those awards today, Diega?”
“I was hoping I would. I got straight A’s. Remember the report cards I showed you?”
“I sho do, and we so proud a yawl, too.”
(“And for perfect attendance…”)
“I got an A+ for my book report, so…we’ll see, but there’s a lot of smart kids out here, and besides, I don’t think Mr. Ratzfarb really likes me.”
“Aw, shush,” said Bill. “He ain’t gonna pay that dart thang no never mind. His pea brain done forgot it already. Don’t you fret none.”
(“Now, in science we have…”)
“It don’t matter if’n you don’t get nothin’” Diega,” said Beulah, with another reassuring tap on the knee. “We gonna give you our own award, ain’t we, Mr. Jackson?”
“We sho is. We gots somethin’ await’n in the wings. Yawl sit tight, son.”
Both Beulah’s and the Principal’s words melded into the background as Diego transcended to an ancient gladiator’s ring. There, he stood steadfast with a Roman pugio in his grip. Ratzfarbius stabbed at him with his sword and missed, to which Diego kicked and knocked it out of his hand, casting the weapon to the side. He reached for his opponent’s bronze, frowning face mask and grabbed it underneath the jaw. With the good hold he had, he threw him viciously to the ground. He stepped on his hasta sword, still in its sheath, squatted over Ratzfarbius and pointed the pugio at his throat.
As a cloud of sunlit dust settled around them, Diego cocked his head to the side to find Tiberius, who was sitting in his gilded cubicle high above the horde of cheering spectators. Beneath a blue and unhampered sky, the Emperor leaped up from his throne, and in response to the jeering crowd, his thumb, like theirs, thrust suddenly downward.
“Spare me, oh master Diego,” Ratzfarbius pleaded. “I faulted you and now I feel nothing but shame. Wilst thou ever forgive me?”
Another look at the Emperor and the decision was set. Diego raised the pugio high and…
“…and for excellence in Math, Diego Rivera. Diego, come up and receive your award.”
“You sees! I told you so! Now git on up there and see us proud.” Bill winked at Beulah and turned to watch the boy as he headed down the aisle.
The grin on Diego’s face stretched as pats on the back followed him to the end of the row. He trotted up to the stage, quickly made his way to the podium and shook hands. “Hello Mr. Ratzfarb.”
“Hello, Rivera.” The principal covered the mike and softly spoke in a half whisper. “You did really well for yourself this semester. We’re pushing you up a grade. That means you will be starting your junior year in high school next September. I’ll talk to you about that later. Right now I have to say something to the good folk
s out there…so straighten up.”
“Eh, ehem…” Squeel! Sqreeeech! Tap! Tap! Tap! “I’d like to say to everyone sitting in this audience that even a once troubled student like Diego Rivera can benefit from the expertise of a well trained staff that has…and so we here at P.S. 6 have strived to…and through diligent follow up and a hard line, turned a failing student around…and finally, Mr. Rivera, thank you so much for all of your hard work. Here’s your award.” Shake…shake. “You may sit down.”
Let’s all give a wonderful hand to Diego Rivera. And thank you everyone for coming today to a most fruitful and produ…”
Bill grimaced. “That man near broke his arm pattin’ himself on the back.”
“A block party for me? I don’t believe it.”
“Sho ‘nough is,” Beulah said to Diego, with a giggle. “Ah was ‘spectin’ to jus’ come over to visit with you and yo’ momma with some fried chicken and sweet taters. This here is all Mista Richards doin’.
A police barricade with a permit stapled to it prevented cars from entering the block. A hand painted banner hanging from it read:
Congratulations Diego
The Whiz Kid from Dean St.
Lots of Luck in High School
Next September
A table in the street was filled with food. A stack of ham a foot high, courtesy of Mr. Herzog, sat in the middle. Alongside, is a stack each of salami, roast beef, potato salad, pickles, loaves of Wonder Bread and Levi’s Rye.
Mrs. D’avino stayed up late the night before baking everybody’s favorite, meat balls and trays of lasagna.
Karen and Ana cooked up a pot of gandules with yellow rice over Karen’s stove. They also baked a couple of chickens to go along with that and lots of brownies topped with confectioner’s sugar. Three pitchers of different flavors of Kool Aid were made and placed nearby.
Kids played Johnny on the Pony, while others whacked a volley ball over an improvised net. A little earlier, Mr. Herzog had set up a phonograph with speakers. “Tequila”, by the Ventures, a favorite, enlivened the neighbors enough for a few to start dancing.
Diego could not believe that this was all for him. “Say Bill, did you have a hand in this?”
“Bill looked up at the roof. “Wale, I…?”
Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn Page 6