by Leo Furey
“So Mr. Peanut says,” he moans. “But I’m doin’ my best to stay right here in paradise with Wendy. Faintin’ as much as I can.” Each time he says paradise I think of what Rags said to Oberstein about making a heaven of a hell. And in his own way, with all his lying and cheating and bragging and stealing, I know that’s what Bug is trying to do. What Rags once said about all of us. He’s looking from behind bars, trying to see stars.
“Be seein’ ya Monday, Bug,” Blackie says.
“Beware the ides of August,” Bug shrieks. “Neither one of those jokers will win. Betcha fifty bucks.”
The public address system clicks on, and a voice asks Dr. Peterson to report to the front desk.
“Peterson the pest,” Bug says. “Better vamoose, amigos. And don’t forget what the Cheshire cat told Alice.” He pops himself with the comic.
“What’s that, Bug?”
“‘We’re all mad in here.’” He yelps and laughs, and is quickly out of breath.
“See ya Monday,” I repeat.
But he’s not listening. He’s back in bed, propped up on his pillow, a sucker in one hand, his comic in the other.
All the way home we argue about whether Bug will be back on Monday. As we sign the Doomsday Book we’re still placing bets. Blackie and Oberstein are sure he’ll be back. Murphy and I are convinced he won’t be. I hope they’re right. Things are sure a lot more lively with Bug around.
Bug’s got a wheelchair. Bug’s got a wheelchair. Wheelchair. Wheelchair.
Bug’s got a wheelchair. He’s supposed to spend all his time in it. He’s only supposed to walk once in a while—going to the bathroom at night or walking from his bed to his locker. The rest of the time, he has strict orders from the doctor not to do any exercise and to stay in his wheelchair. It’s a really neat wheelchair. It’s got a black leather seat and big chrome wheels. The Americans at Fort Pepperrell donated it. Two handsome servicemen dressed in white uniforms showed up with it one day. They both had crewcuts and black moustaches. They were really nice soldiers. They sent for Oberstein and Blackie, and asked if there were any other American orphans. They gave them each a brand new baseball glove. I thought that was pretty nice of them. Americans are like that. They’ve got really big hearts. The soldiers beamed like little kids when Bug sat in the chair.
“There, you’ll be fine from now on,” the tall one said.
“No, I won’t, Colonel,” Bug squeaked. “I got a bad heart. This stupid thing’ll kill me. I’ll strain myself every time I wheel around in it. It’s useless ’less you put a motor on it.”
The soldiers smiled and said they’d see what they could do. And they took the wheelchair away and rigged it up with a motor that worked off a battery beneath the seat. They brought it back a few days later and gave Bug instructions on how to use it. They beamed again when he sat in it, saluted them, and roared off.
From that moment on, Bug Bradbury became the scourge of the Mount. Dennis the Menace has nothing on Bug Bradbury. He flies through the halls like he’s at the Indianapolis 500. Father Cross makes him a rubber horn that squawks like two crows fighting over a scrap of bread. He races madly through the halls as fast as the machine will go, always intent upon wiping someone out. He’s wiped himself out a few times, and he almost killed himself playing chicken in the gym one day when he turned too fast and flew out of the chair and into a cement wall. He had an ugly bluish yellow bump on his forehead for a week.
When we hear Bug’s horn squawking, or the mad whirring of the motor, we all bolt for cover. It doesn’t matter if we’re sitting around playing jacks or cards or marbles, when we hear him coming we clear the decks. Everyone, that is, except Kavanagh, who’s already been hit twice. Kavanagh gets really excited and always stands in the middle of the hallway, daring Bug to hit him, jumping away from the speeding wheelchair at the last possible second, just like in the movies. Bug got the idea from a Jimmy Dean movie. Blackie teases him that he’ll be able to win the marathon now that he has a wheelchair.
Bug has created bumper pads, as he calls them, by tying Eaton’s catalogs to the sides and the upturned footrest. He refers to the wheelchair as the tank. He wants everyone to call him General Bradbury. Father Cross made him a green beret like the US army wears. Bug gave it back and told him to put five stars across the front. He wants to be a five-star general.
“Bumper pads are for the sooky-babies, afraid to take a little knock,” he teases.
With the exception of Kavanagh, the sound of Bug’s horn strikes terror in every boy, including Blackie. It scatters us in every direction, the older boys pulling the tiny ones to safety. Boys run everywhere, through open doorways and up the nearest flight of stairs. They jump up on window ledges and climb on top of hot radiators. They’d hang from the light fixtures if they could reach them.
After Bug wiped out Kavanagh for the second time, spraining his leg, Rags told him he would lose his wheelchair if he got caught speeding in the halls. So Bug hired a few scouts, offering nickels and dimes from his next month’s canteen card, to make sure the coast is always clear of the brothers before he goes on a tear. As each scout reports back to him, he races off through the hallway, squawking his horn and screaming as loud as he can, “Arrr! Norphs, ahoy! Clear the decks, me hardies! Arrr! Clear the decks!” This is an expression he got from a pirate movie we saw about a month ago.
“That’s a suicide mission,” Oberstein says.
“Suicide squeeze,” Blackie says. “Got no choice. Marathon’s too close. Only weeks away. Can’t chance them findin’ out now.”
Blackie’s just informed us that he’s gonna confess to stealing the wine. He says someone has to take the fall. He wants the investigation to end. The questioning is getting too close for comfort. They’re beginning to interrogate some of the weaker members of the Klub, and Blackie’s sure that one of them will crack and say something about the Bat Cave or the Klub. Or worse, he’s afraid that if it continues much longer the brothers will find out about the marathon, which is only a week away. “Gettin’ too close. Not gonna take much for someone to squeal now. Pack of cigarettes might do it.”
“They’ll crucify you,” Ryan says.
“‘Gonna rise on the third day . . .’”
“Fun-nee,” Oberstein says. “I’ll write a note saying I confess to stealing the wine. I’ll say I didn’t want them to punish the wrong person. I’ll take the whacks. I’ll write the note, so they’ll go easier on me. I’ll tell ’em little Jack’s sick, and—”
“Forget it.” Blackie taps his gold tooth.
“I’ll go,” Father Cross says. “I don’t mind the strap or being shunned.”
Blackie is stone-faced. He wipes his glasses on his shirt.
Ryan volunteers. Then Brookes. Then everyone wants to take the fall.
Blackie raises his hand, as if stopping traffic.
“‘A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities.’ Captain’s always last off the sinkin’ ship. The leader makes sure everyone’s safe.”
There’s a long pause. He looks at me and tells me to get my pen and paper.
“Rabbi, we’ll need help writin’ that note. Gotta be mighty careful with the words.”
We’re all in shock. We know Blackie will be severely punished. We stare at him, amazed, thinking the same thing. Blackie’s our leader. But we don’t deserve him.
The next day the bottom falls out.
“Bug iced it for them,” Oberstein says. “He knocked down one of the little ones, and McCann threatened to take away his chair. He could of killed someone. I saw the whole thing. I was there when he squawked.”
“He squealed?” Murphy says. “Jesus.”
“He plea bargained,” Oberstein says. “There’s a difference. Blackie’s taking the rap. He gave the confession note to McMurtry. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. He says there’ll be hell to pay if anyone else claims to be in on it. The marathon’s the most important thing now. Nothing else. We’re counting the days. That’s why
he confessed.”
“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths,’” Murphy recites from Julius Caesar.
“Damn you, Bug,” Ryan says. “Damn.”
I’m with Father Cross in the dorm, only minutes before he’s caught. We are gabbing about what might’ve happened to Bug if he hadn’t squealed.
“He almost got strapped for nicking Kavanagh a few days ago,” I say. “Knocking down one of the little ones was the last straw.”
Cross rolls back the mattress on his bed and snatches up a package of Viceroy cigarettes he has hidden there. “Shouldn’t of strapped him,” he says. “Bug’s not playing with all his marbles lately.”
“You’re not spoze to smoke in the dorm, Cross,” I say as he lights up. “It’s five whacks on each hand if you’re caught.”
He ignores me, turns to the open window and watches the curtains stirring in the breeze. I push them back and look into the yard. A few older boys are playing become the batter as the sun sets through JD’s pine trees. There are pigeon feathers on the windowsill, and I wonder if they are Nicky’s.
“I’m not worried about the ten big ones,” he says. “If we’re caught, you say that you just got here. I’ll back you up. Don’t worry, I’ll take the rap.”
“McCann smells your breath,” I interrupt.
“McCann’s giving special sumo lessons to O’Connor and McBride.” He lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. I watch his acned face get redder with each puff. He passes the cigarette to me.
“Thank God they didn’t offer a carton of cigarettes as a reward,” I say.
“Yeah, would of been tough for Bug.” We pass the smoke back and forth for a while. “McCann shouldn’t of threatened to take his chair away,” he says.
“Little Matthews got a pretty bad knock,” I say. “I saw the bruise on his neck. It’s pretty ugly. Oberstein says Bug was really flying.”
“Bug’s not playing with a full deck. Besides, that little kid always stands in the middle of the hallway and dares Bug. You don’t dare Bug. Nobody dares Bug.”
“But McCann didn’t know that. Bug should of told him. If Bug hadda told him, he wouldn’t of threatened to take his chair. And Bug . . .”
“McCann should have more sense. Bug’s pretty weak. He’s got a fucken hole in his heart. They should protect him, not strap him. And that chair means the world to Bug. McCann’s gonna burn in hell.”
I can see Cross is really upset. I want to bring up our lastminute plans for the marathon, but I decide against it. He is really red, a lot redder than usual. He looks at the incident the same as if someone squealed on Bug about smoking. I know he’s getting angrier by the second. He’s dragging on the cigarette really hard. I’ve never seen him so angry. I’m getting uncomfortable, and I want to get away from the dorm. I’m afraid of getting caught, so I take a few more puffs and pretend that Blackie and Murphy are waiting for me in the gym for a game of frozen tag.
“Thanks for the smoke. I gotta go.”
“See you later,” Cross says. “Say a few for Bug, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
I don’t hear about the strapping till later that evening, after supper. Ryan tells me. He acts like he is sorry for Cross, but he is beside himself telling me about it. That’s always the way it is when someone tells you a boy’s been strapped. Deep down, the teller wants to feel sorry for the guy, but his voice is so excited it betrays the truth about how he really feels. How happy he is that it’s not him. And how excited he is to be reporting the news. And when Ryan’s the messenger, he’s a nervous Nellie, and it sounds like he’s telling you the prime minister was shot and he’s getting a million bucks for breaking the news.
He says he walked into the dorm just as Father Cross was putting out his cigarette on the bottom of his sneaker. That’s how it’s done. If you have a smoke in a forbidden place, you put the butt out on the bottom of your sneaker and then store it inside until you have a chance to dump it down the toilet later. Ryan watched Brother Walsh watch Cross putting out the cigarette butt. He knew right away Cross was a goner. When a boy is caught smoking, the brother always asks if any other boy is involved. If there is, and you squeal, it means you get half the whacks. Plea bargaining, as Oberstein calls it. It’s very rare that anyone squeals about anything. A new boy who doesn’t know the unwritten rules and the consequences of breaking them might squeal. But that’s about the only time. Cross told Brother Walsh he was the only one smoking and took his ten whacks.
When Ryan finishes his story, I go straight away to Harris, a senior boy, and borrow a few cigarettes. I offer them to Cross after study hall.
“Keep ’em,” he says.
“I want you to have ’em, Cross,” I say.
“It’s okay. It’s fine. Keep ’em.”
“But, Cross. You . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You would of done the same.”
I think about it later that night in bed. I think Cross was right. I don’t think I’d squeal. But you never know. Things are never the same, as Blackie says, when you’re looking down the barrel of a gun.
18
* * *
BUG BRADBURY IS DEAD. The building is silent. There is no shouting in the halls. Not a crier in sight. No fire through dry grass. Nobody wants to announce Bug Bradbury is dead.
He died in his bed. It’s a date we’ll never forget. Wednesday, July 25, 1961. Oberstein found him on the way to Chapel, crumpled in a ball beneath his blanket. The only boy to die in the seventy-three-year history of the Mount. We all have the spells. Even Anstey, who never gets them.
Bug lies in a coffin in the chapel for three days, with his mouth sewed shut. The first time he ever shut up, Ryan says. It is kinda spooky when Old Flynn anoints him with oil. He walks over to Bug in the coffin and presses his oily thumb on Bug’s cold forehead and says, “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, shall never die.” I look over at the sheen on Bug’s forehead and shiver. The whole thing gives me the creeps. It reminds me of Vincent Price in House of Wax.
Each day for the three days before he is buried, we have morning Mass and the rosary at noon and Benediction in the evening. During sumo classes, we can be excused to go to the chapel and pray for the repose of his soul, which is great because we can escape a few scheduled matches. Bug’s little gift to us, Oberstein says, getting us outta the box for a while. All of us ask to be excused at one time or another, not just to get out of sumo class but to be a little closer to Bug. Blackie asks to be excused from class several times. He’s taking it pretty hard. He’s really down. The brothers ask us to pick a boy from Bug’s group to speak at the funeral Mass. And we all choose Blackie, who says it’s hard on him because he wasn’t all that close to Bug and isn’t sure he can say the right thing during the funeral. Which is crazy. Truth is, Blackie was the closest Bug ever got to having a real brother.
Old Monsignor Flynn’s gray wisps of hair seem grayer. He tells us that our lost classmate, our brother, has become a little cherub and is looking down on us from heaven. “What a crock,” Murphy says. Monsignor Flynn coughs his way through the gospel according to John. Chapter 11. The story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. After the gospel he gets the thurible and goes to the coffin and pumps incense all over the place. So much incense we almost choke. Then he gives a brief sermon about how we’re all like Lazarus, and how Jesus loves us all so much that he will raise us all from the dead, including Brendan Bradbury. He says Jesus isn’t only a great teacher and healer, he is a great magician, a magician who can raise not only others but himself from the dead. He says if Jesus hadn’t risen from the dead he would’ve been just another prophet. He wouldn’t have been God. Rising from the dead proves he is God. Clare says the same thing every Good Friday when we go to the Basilica for the stations of the cross. That’s why he’s God, Clare says. Otherwise it’s all a big joke.
After the sermon Oberstein stands up, and out o
f the blue chants the Kaddish. He tells us it’s the Jewish prayer for the dead, for the one who left the community, he says. We all think the brothers will go nuts. But they don’t say a thing.
Brother McMurtry puts down his breviary, removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. Then he speaks. He gets on with a lot of old crap about the Last Day and Judgment. He speaks too long and bores everyone to tears. He never mentions poor old Bug once. He just drones on about salvation and redemption and the Judgment Day, with nobody paying him one bit of attention. Only a few of the brothers are listening to him, or pretending to. Madman Malone sleeps the whole time McMurtry speaks. Most of us are staring at the floor and stealing odd looks at the coffin, at Bug’s pointed chin jutting out. More than ever it seems. And his black glossy hair cropped across his forehead as if the undertaker used the same bowl Bug had the day he cut Rowsell’s hair. And his mouth sewed shut. It all seems so weird as we steal glances at his green-and-white school sweater and the tiny black bowtie Cross made for him. We’re all so sad we’re beside ourselves. I look at the sad faces and know that from now on we’ll all have holes in our hearts.
Once, while McMurtry babbles on, Murphy puts his hand to his mouth and squeaks, “Shuddup, you jerk. You’re boring us to death with your bullshit.” I almost start to laugh. “That was Bug,” he whispers. “Look at his face; he’s getting ready to say something else.” I look over at Bug—his coal-black hair all slicked like the kid in The Little Rascals, his sallow complexion—and I swear Murphy is right. I would’ve bet my whole canteen card Bug was gonna bark out something saucy.
McMurtry finishes and says that the occasion is such a special one that the boys in Brendan’s class—it is the only time he has ever called Bug by his first name—have been asked to choose a classmate to say a few words. He says that the boys have chosen one of Brendan’s best friends to speak on their behalf. And he asks if Mr. Neville will step forward and come to the altar rail to speak for a minute or so on behalf of the boys in Brendan’s dorm. Blackie stands up and ignores Brother McMurtry. In fact, he ignores all the brothers. He walks straight to the coffin and stares down at Bug. And the tears come before he speaks, and when he speaks. I’m so upset. We all are. And so are the brothers. Even Brother McMurtry’s eyes are really red. And Rags . . . poor Rags. The redness around his eyes will last forever. Some of the boys are so moved by Blackie’s tears that they cry out loud. As he speaks, Blackie keeps one hand on Bug’s shoulder.