But all those things were of no account. He was going to make his mother happy.
TWELVE
THANKSGIVING DAY, 1942.
The dinner was scheduled to be celebrated at the Smith home. It would be a sizable gathering. The Smith twins of course. The Toccos had given permission for Emanuel to dine with his friends. Alice McMann was grateful to be with her friend Rose.
And for good measure, Dick Trent, who worked with Henry Smith, would attend, together with his wife, Peg, and their two children, Judy and Jerry—the latter known familiarly as Jiggs.
Quite a crowd. Fortunately, the Smith home was large enough to accommodate the guests. Two card tables were set up as an adjunct to the dining table. A tight fit, but no problem as long as everyone caught the joy of the holiday.
While the adults would be preparing dinner and conversing, the six young people were shipped off to a matinee presentation of Yankee Doodle Dandy, starring Jimmy Cagney as George M. Cohan.
Odd ones out were Jiggs and Judy Trent; they had previously met none of the other teenagers. But Jiggs already had his eye on Alice McMann.
It had been a toss-up. He could just as easily have gone after Rose. But she had a twin in tow. Jiggs figured he could intimidate Michael if necessary, but sufficient unto the day was the complication thereof.
By the time they arrived at the movie house it was jammed, mainly with young people. No way would the six be able to sit together; they’d be lucky to find any adjoining seats. Manny found three and held up three fingers. He entered the row, followed by Alice and Jiggs, and all settled in for the show.
The noise made by hundreds of children—some of whom had attended the J. L. Hudson parade earlier—was deafening. Not only were they communicating with each other at peak volume, they were also trying to get warm.
Finally, the lights dimmed, the noise dimished, and comparative silence reigned. That it was an excellent movie could be ascertained by the attention the kids paid it.
Jiggs waited patiently until the movie was well under way. Then he slowly, unobtrusively, moved his right arm across the top of the seatback.
No reaction from Alice.
He let his arm fall slowly until it was touching her shoulders.
It was a first for Alice; she was unsure what was happening. She had heard some of her schoolmates talking, although she was unclear what they were talking about. There had been a lot of giggling and snickering, but it was all Greek to her.
Could this be what the girls had been giggling about? Maybe what’s-his-name … Jerry? Or … what did they call him? Jiggs. Yes, that was it. Well, maybe Jiggs was just stretching his arm because he was cramped or uncomfortable.
But having stretched, he made no effort to remove his arm. Now she was really puzzled. Her puzzlement was somewhat amplified when she heard a couple of girls in the row behind whispering and giggling. Alice realized she was the subject of their hilarity.
It—whatever the girls had been talking about—was happening to her!
She leaned forward, hoping Jiggs would take his arm away.
He didn’t. Instead, his arm lowered until his hand was touching the small of her back. He began to massage the spot. Alice let out a small squeal.
From the bright light of the screen it was obvious that Jiggs was grinning from ear to ear.
A muffled whisper came from Alice’s right. “Change places with me.”
She wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “What?”
“Change places with me,” Manny repeated.
Wordlessly, Alice stood and changed seats with Manny. The maneuver happened so smoothly and unexpectedly that Jiggs’s hand was almost pinned by Manny’s weight. “What the hell are you doing, buddy?” Jiggs said in a low growl.
Manny grabbed Jiggs’s hand, grasped the thumb, and gave it a violent tug backward.
Jiggs let out a shriek of pain.
Shushes came from all around.
“If you don’t shut up,” Manny whispered, “I’m going to snap your thumb off and feed it to you.”
Jiggs gasped; his hand went limp. Manny let go and whispered, “Enjoy the show.”
For the first time in her life Alice could appreciate the concept of a Knight in Shining Armor.
Not another word was said. It was hard to know whether the other members of their group were unaware of the contretemps. But Rose thought she had heard Alice gasp.
The movie was coming to a close.
An aging George M. Cohan was marching down a Washington street alongside uniformed soldiers. The soldiers presumably were headed overseas to fight World War II. Cagney/Cohan joined the troops in singing his song “Over There.”
Jiggs was oblivious of the screen action until the very end. He had spent almost the entire time planning revenge. He couldn’t even recall the kid’s name … Manny, or Danny, or some such. But the little snot wasn’t going to get away with it! He, Jiggs, would see to that.
The stirring patriotic finale distracted Jiggs. He was caught up in the soldiers’ enthusiasm in getting a chance to prove their manhood. He wanted to join them, to fight and maybe even die for his country.
The group reunited in the midst of the exiting crowd and headed back to the Smith home. Jiggs caught up with Manny and pulled him a few steps behind the others. “Listen, buster—”
“If you want to finish this,” Manny broke in, “when we get to the Smith house, let the others go in. You peel off to the right. I’ll meet you there—at the driveway.”
Jiggs stopped in his tracks as the others moved ahead.
There was something in Manny’s voice … and when the two boys turned toward each other briefly, something in Manny’s eyes promised a fight to the finish.
Actually, Jiggs hadn’t been all that serious about a fight. He was somewhat larger than Manny; he had expected to scare the other boy and win the day by default.
Jiggs’s bluff had been called. He did not respond to Manny’s challenge. When they reached the Smith home the others entered the house, shed their outer clothing, and began to give the adults a blow-by-blow description of Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Manny planted himself squarely in the middle of the driveway. He looked up to the porch, where Jiggs hesitated in indecision. Manny’s eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Jiggs. Finally, Jiggs turned and entered the house.
Manny shrugged. He was just as glad there would be no fight. If there had been, Manny had no doubt he would have won. But he would probably have ruined his good clothes and have been shipped off to a less than cordial reception at home.
But it was Jiggs’s call, and that young man had decided that a fight would not be a smart move. Beneath his brash exterior, Jiggs didn’t like what he’d seen in Manny’s eyes.
Now that the young people had returned, the dinner party could begin. It was the traditional Thanksgiving feast with all the trimmings.
Alice blushed almost all through dinner. Most of the others, if they paid any attention at all, ascribed her rosy cheeks to the weather. Manny and Jiggs said nothing; the two hardly looked up from their food. But Rose was concerned; she could read her friend like an open book.
The party ended early, and the guests departed shortly thereafter, expressing heartfelt gratitude for the meal and the company.
As they left, Manny and Jiggs exchanged one last long look. Jiggs tried to communicate silently that this was not the end. The next time they met, if there was no one to intercede, the fight would commence, and it would not end until Manny was dead—or close to it.
Manny’s expression said he couldn’t care less.
Alice and Rose had volunteered to clear the tables and do the dishes. The offer was quickly accepted; preparing the dinner and the energy expended in high spirits had exhausted Lucy. As for Henry, he was too full to do more than sink into an overfed near stupor on the couch.
Having finished the cleanup, the two girls went up to Rose’s room and closed the door. Rose took out her hairbrush and the routine began. “What
happened today at the Stratford?” she asked without preamble.
“What do you mean?” Alice’s voice was a whit unsteady.
“I heard you give a little gasp—or was it a shriek?”
Alice’s face reddened. “You could hear?”
“I know you. So … what happened?”
“Jiggs tried to get fresh.”
“What do you mean, ‘get fresh’?”
“Well …” And Alice proceeded to tell about Jiggs putting his arm across her shoulder and how she’d thought he just might’ve been cramped and maybe just wanted to stretch, but then, when she’d leaned forward how he’d started to rub her back … “and that’s when Manny got involved.”
“Oh?”
“He told me to switch places with him. So we did. Then Manny did something—I don’t know what—to Jiggs. Whatever it was, Jiggs made a noise like he was in pain.”
“Sounds as if Manny hurt him.”
“I guess. Anyway, Jiggs didn’t try anything after that. He said something right after we switched places. But I couldn’t tell what it was. Jiggs said something. Then Manny said something, and that was it. Neither one of them said anything at all after that.”
“Mmmm. I did notice neither of them said much of anything during dinner … and even after when we were sitting around and the rest of us were talking.”
“Yes. I’m sure you’re right … something was going on between them.” Alice laughed for the first time since before the movie. “Heck, even if they had tried to say something, they would’ve had a tough time getting a word in edgewise what with little Judy … she’s a regular magpie.”
“How do you feel now?” Rose asked, without stopping her brushing.
“About what Jiggs did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I really feel I want to talk this out … but only to you.”
“Shoot.” Amazingly, Rose put down her hairbrush and turned to communicate face to face.
“I feel horrible … violated.”
“Al! All he did was touch you. Through all those clothes you had on, he couldn’t have gotten much of a feel.”
“But I didn’t do anything to stop him. I didn’t even tell him to cut it out.”
“You hardly had a chance. From what you say, it all happened so quickly. So he made a pass at you. But you hardly had a chance to get control of the situation before Manny stepped in. God bless Manny.”
“Amen!”
“So why should you feel ‘violated’? Nothing happened.”
“But what if Manny hadn’t been there?”
“You would’ve put a stop to Jiggs’s getting fresh.”
“That’s the part that gets me, Rose: I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I … I kind of … well, I kind of liked it.”
“What!”
Alice reddened again.
“What do you mean you liked it? Jiggs would’ve been all over you if nobody had stopped him. You liked that?”
“It’s the first time anybody—boy or girl—ever did anything like that to me. Of course I felt sinful.” Her face contorted in unhappy thought. “I probably even committed a sin.”
“You didn’t do anything!”
“A thought can be a sin. You know that. And I was having all kinds of thoughts.”
“For the love of Pete, you didn’t have time!”
Alice shook her head. “It doesn’t take long … I found out.” She looked imploringly at Rose. “I couldn’t tell this to anyone but you.”
“Not even a priest? Now that you think you’re some kind of sinner?” Rose spoke in a pooh-poohing tone.
“No. Well … not in detail anyway. But I’ve got to tell someone … you, if you’ll let me.”
Rose sighed. “Go ahead, Al; get it off your chest.”
“I felt all warm and moist. It was like my blood was racing through my body. It was the most insane feeling of delight and guilt all at the same time. I’ve never felt like that before.”
Silence.
“Okay, Al,” Rose said finally, “you had feelings I don’t think I’ve ever had. It sounds like maybe they’re what sex is all about. I don’t think you were responsible for them. For sure it wasn’t your fault. But, okay, if you want to confess those feelings, this parish has enough priests you can go to.”
“Yes, I know. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
“So?”
“What I’m really concerned about is entering the convent.”
“Why ever would you be concerned about that? What’s one got to do with the other? Look, they don’t cut out your feelings, your emotions, when you enter. We—none of us—can help what we feel … especially when we’re tempted.
“Al, when you were telling me how you felt when Jiggs was grabbing at you, all I could think was that if I had been in your place, I probably would’ve felt the same way you did.” She neglected to add that it would’ve taken someone far more romantic than the bumbling Jiggs to reach her.
“You really think so?”
“I really do. And remember, Al: In a few years we’ll enter the convent and take gradual steps toward becoming nuns. We’ll see if we’re ready. And they’ll see if we’re ready. But, please God, we’ll never stop being human.”
“Thanks, Rose.”
Silence.
“Can you remember how many strokes you had when I interrupted you?”
Rose picked up the brush and began stroking. “Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five …”
“Amazing!”
It was Thanksgiving evening and the Benson family was relaxing. George and Lily sat on the tattered couch listening to the radio and holding hands. Stan was in his room updating the pins he had pushed into his wall map—his way of following the progress of the war.
Today had been a restrained celebration for the Bensons. Still, they were thankful for their modest meal.
Everything about the Bensons was modest to threadbare. If their financial situation had been significantly better they would not be living in Olympiaville.
Outside of following the course of the battles, and praying for a successful conclusion, Stanley rarely thought about the war. Of course, there was always the possibility that divinity students would lose their 4-D status. But that was not likely.
In any event, for now, Stanley would just have to play the hand he’d been dealt.
He had decided to warm up for the sort of changed student he’d have to become once he was admitted to the seminary. The challenge was to convince his teachers that he had somehow changed from an excellent and aggressive learner into a disinterested, mediocre lump. So, where he had once pulled down straight A’s, Stan had let himself sink to B’s, C’s, and even an occasional D.
His homeroom teacher, Mrs. Brown, took him aside a few days before the Thanksgiving holiday.
“Stan, what’s happened to you? I’ve seen you go from the first to the eighth grade and each year you’ve gotten better. Until now. These past three months I’ve seen a different Stanley Benson. You almost never volunteer an answer. Before, I had to deliberately bypass you to call on kids whom you have beaten to the draw—just so that somebody besides you could contribute to the class.”
Stanley offered no reply, just hung his head.
“You’re passing, of course. I don’t think you could do less than that. But I am concerned. And so are your other teachers.” She paused. “Stanley, is there something wrong? Is something troubling you?”
“I … I don’t know. It’s probably just some kind of slump.”
“Do you think your folks should take you to see a doctor?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Brown. I’ll be okay. I think this Thanksgiving break will be a big help.”
Mrs. Brown’s deeply furrowed brow indicated she was not convinced that whatever was wrong with this promising student would be cured by a few days off. “I want you to feel free to come see me anytime you want or need help. I am—all your teachers
are—here for you.”
Stanley nodded and stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Brown. I hope you have a Hap—a Blessed Thanksgiving.”
She smiled. “And you too, Stanley. And please give my regards to your parents.”
“Yes, Mrs. Brown; I will.”
Stanley had had a lot to think about as he’d walked home that day. And during the days that followed.
Even now he was lost in thought. He pushed his chair back and gazed at the map. But he didn’t see the soldiers and sailors and airmen whom he normally pictured in his mind’s eye. The imaginary warriors who would parade through the streets of Europe and Asia, receiving the joyous cheers of the deliriously happy inhabitants of liberated countries.
Somehow the war had been brought home to Stanley. Now his imagination showed him GIs, cold, dirty, unshaved; combat boots rotting off their feet; wolfing rations whenever they got the chance. The reality confirmed an earlier critique: War is hell.
There was no doubt in Stan’s mind that he wanted no part of this war. He did not relish pain, injury, death … neither suffering it nor inflicting it.
Still, he would have preferred the misfortunes of war to this steady, ineluctable treadmill tramp toward the priesthood.
Other young men could march off to war to, among other considerations, Make the World Safe for Democracy. While Stanley would remain protected from war by a benevolent deferment. And Stanley would clutch that deferment to his bosom for the sake of his mother’s happiness and continued mental health.
The person who dominated his life at this point was Father Ed Simpson. He it was who had singlehandedly turned Lily Benson’s life from consuming guilt to confident joy. Stan could be grateful for that … extremely grateful.
But in doing this, Father had made Stan’s life a meaningless mess.
Stan switched off the light. He could hear the soft sounds of music from the radio. He would try to say his night prayers. Prayer did not come to him as readily as it had in the past.
He would not pray for Father Simpson.
Thanksgiving vacation was over, and the students had returned to school.
The Gathering Page 11