A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Read online

  Paul walked around me and stood next to him. There was something in his manner that made both of us stop smiling. Eddie looked sort of ashamed. I wondered why.

  “What school yuh goin’ to?” Paul asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “That one over near Utica on Avenue D, I guess.”

  “What class you in?”

  “Four A.”

  “How old are yuh?”

  “Eight,” I answered proudly. “Today’s my birthday. That’s why we moved. Papa bought me the house for a birthday present.”

  Paul sniffed scornfully. I could see that I hadn’t impressed him. “You’re a smart kid, huh? You’re in my class an’ I’m nine.”

  “Well, I skipped 3B,” I explained half-apologetically.

  His eyes became cold and wary. “You gonna go to Sacred Heart?”

  I was puzzled. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Sacred Heart Church,” he answered. “Near Troy.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Holy Cross?” he asked. “The big church that owns the cemetery?”

  “What cemetery?” I asked. I was beginning to feel strange. I didn’t want to answer his question. I wondered what was so important about it that he should keep asking.

  He pointed across Clarendon Road. About a block past it I could see the black iron picket fence of the cemetery. I turned back to him. “No,” I said.

  “What church you goin’ to?” he persisted.

  “No church,” I told him.

  He was silent for a moment while he thought it over. “Don’t you believe in God?” he finally asked.

  “Sure I do,” I replied. “But I don’t go to church.”

  He looked at me sceptically. “If you don’t go to church, then you don’t believe in God,” he said emphatically.

  “I do,” I insisted. I could feel angry tears start coming to my eyes. He had no right to say that. I stood up as straight as I could. “I’m a Jew,” I said, my voice shrill, “and I go to shul.”

  The two brothers looked at each other, a sudden knowing look in their eyes. Their faces settled into dull, unfriendly masks. Paul took a threatening step toward me. Instinctively I stepped back. My heart was pounding. I wondered what I had said to make them mad.

  Paul stuck his face in mine. “Why did you kill Christ?” he snarled at me.

  I was really scared at the savagery in his voice. “I didn’t kill Him,” I quavered. “I never even knew Him.”

  “You did!” Eddie’s voice was higher than his brother’s but it was just as savage. “My father told us! He said the Jews killed Him, they nailed Him to the Cross. He told us the kikes would move into all the new houses in the neighbourhood.”

  I tried to pacify them. “Maybe some Jews I don’t know killed Him,” I said placatingly, “but my mother always said that He was a king of the Jews.”

  “They killed Him just the same,” Paul insisted.

  I thought for a second. The dog started to yelp again, but I was afraid to turn and look. I tried to change the subject. “We oughtta try to get that dog outta there.”

  They didn’t answer. I could see they were still mad. I tried to think of something that would satisfy them. “Maybe they killed Him because He was a bad king,” I suggested.

  Their faces grew white. I got frightened and turned to run away, but I wasn’t fast enough. Paul caught me and held my arms pinned to my side. I tried to wriggle loose, but couldn’t. I began to cry.

  Paul’s face suddenly broke into a contemptuous smile. He let go of my arms and stepped back. “So you wanna get the dog outta there?” he asked.

  I tried to stifle my sobs. With one hand I wiped at my eye. “Y-yes,” I said.

  He took a deep breath, still smiling. “Okay, Jew-baby, go get him!” He rushed at me suddenly, his arms straight out in front of him.

  In a panic I tried to get out of his way, but his hands hit my chest, and all the wind went out of me. And then I was falling, rolling over and over, down the sides of the pit. I tried to grab at something to keep myself from slipping, but there wasn’t anything. I hit the bottom and for a minute lay there trying to catch my breath.

  I heard a whining, happy sound and felt a warm tongue licking my face. I sat up. The little brown dog, which was only a puppy, was licking my face, his little tail wagging, and happy little noises deep in his throat.

  I got to my feet and looked up. I felt ashamed now because I had cried, but somehow the dog seemed so happy to see me that I wasn’t afraid any more.

  Paul and Eddie were looking down at me. I shook my fist at them. “You dirty bastards!” I shouted. It was the worst name I knew.

  I saw them bend down and pick something up from the ground. A second later a shower of stones and pebbles came pouring down on us. The dog yelped as one hit him. I covered my head with my arms until the shower stopped, but none hit me. Then I looked up again.

  “I’ll get you for this,” I shouted.

  They laughed derisively. “Jew son of a bitch,” Paul shouted.

  I picked up a stone and threw it up at them, but it fell short and another shower of rocks and pebbles came down on me. This time I didn’t cover my face quickly enough and one stone cut my cheek. I tossed another at them, but it, too, fell short. They bent down to pick up more stones.

  I turned and ran out into the centre of the pit, where their rocks couldn’t reach me. The dog ran beside me. In the middle of the pit I sat down on a big rock. The dog came over to me and I scratched his head. I wiped my face on my sleeve and looked up at the two brothers again.

  They were shouting and waving their fists at me, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The dog was sitting on my foot, wagging his tail and looking into my face. I bent down and put my cheek against his face. “It’s all right, doggy,” I whispered. “When they go away, we’ll get outta here.”

  Then I straightened up and thumbed my nose at them. They got sore and began to throw more rocks at me, but I only laughed at them. They couldn’t touch me from where they were.

  The sun had started to go down in the west when they finally went away. I sat there on the rock and waited a while. I waited almost half an hour before I made up my mind that they had really gone. By that time it was almost dusk.

  I walked back to the side of the pit and looked up. It was pretty high and steep, but I didn’t think I’d have much trouble getting to the top. There were plenty of rocks and bushes I could hold on to. I grabbed hold of a big rock and started up slowly, climbing on my hands and knees to keep from slipping back. I had got maybe five feet up when I heard a whining sound below me. I looked back.

  The little dog was sitting in the pit watching me with bright, shining eyes. When he saw I had turned to look at him, he gave a sharp, happy yip. “Well, come on,” I said to him. “What are you waiting for?” He leaped against the side of the pit and began crawling up toward me. He, too, was moving on his belly. Almost a foot from me, he began to slide back. I grabbed at him, caught him by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him next to me. His tail was wagging happily. “Come on,” I said. “We gotta get outta here.”

  I started upward again and moved a few feet, but when I looked to see how the dog was doing, he wasn’t there. He was crouching where I had left him, his eyes on me, his tail drooping. I called him. His tail started wagging, but he didn’t move. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You afraid?” He just wagged his tail. He wasn’t going to move, so I started to climb again.

  I had gone another few feet when he began to cry in high-pitched, whining sounds. I stopped and looked down. Immediately his whining ceased and his tail started wagging. “All right,” I said. “I’ll come down and help you.”

  Carefully I slid back to where he was and grabbed him again by the scruff of the neck. Holding on to him with one hand, I started inching up again. It took almost fifteen minutes to get halfway up, pulling him up to me after every step. There I stopped to catch my breath. My hands and face were
covered with dirt and my shirt and trousers were scuffed and torn. The dog and I clung there to the side of the pit, afraid to move for fear of slipping back.

  After a few minutes we started up again. We were almost at the top when a stone gave way under my foot and I slipped. Frantically I let go of the dog and clutched at the dirt to keep myself from sliding down. I had lost only a few feet when I could feel my fingers catch and take hold in the earth. The dog began to yip. When I turned to see, he was gone.

  I looked back into the pit. He was just picking himself up. He looked up at me and gave a short bark, but when I turned away from him and started on, he began to whine again. I tried not to listen to his soft, piteous little cries, coming from deep in his throat. He was running back and forth, stopping almost every second to cry up at me, and he seemed to be limping. I called to him. He stopped and looked up at me, his head cocked to one side.

  “Come on, boy,” I called.

  He sprang to the side of the pit and tried to scramble toward me, but fell back. I called again, and again he tried and fell. Finally he sat down and held one paw toward me and barked.

  I sat down and slid back to the bottom. He ran into my arms wagging his tail. His paw made a bloody imprint on my shirt as I picked him up to look at it. It’s soft puppy pads had been cut and scraped on the rocks.

  “All right, doggy,” I said softly, “we’ll get out of here together. I won’t leave you.”

  He seemed to understand my words, for his tail wagged in happy circles as his soft, moist tongue washed my face. I put him down and walked toward the other side of the pit to find an easier place to climb out. He ran along beside me, his eyes looking up at my face. I hoped Mamma would let me keep him.

  It was almost dark now. We started climbing again, but it was no good. Less than halfway up I slipped and went to the bottom once more. I was very tired, and hungry too. We couldn’t make it. Until the moon came up, there was no use trying any more.

  I sat down on a rock in the middle of the pit and tried to figure out what to do now. Mamma would be angry because I hadn’t come home in time for supper. It had turned cool. I began to shiver and tried to button the collar of my shirt, but the button had been torn off.

  A grey-black shape ran past me in the darkness. The dog let out a growl and snapped after it. Suddenly I was afraid; there were rats in this pit. I put my arms around the dog and began to cry. We would never get out of here. Another rat ran past us in the dark. With a frightened scream I ran to the side of the pit and tried to scramble up. Again and again I tried to climb out, but each time I fell back.

  At last I lay on the ground, too exhausted to move. I was wet and uncomfortable. I caught my breath and began to yell. “Mamma! Mamma!” My voice echoed hollowly back across the pit to me. I kept shouting until my voice was hoarse and a mere squeak in my throat. There was no answer.

  The moon had come up now and its white light threw a deep shadow from every rock. The night was alive with strange sounds and peculiar movements. As I began to get to my feet, a rat came hurtling through the air against my chest. I fell back screaming in terror. The dog jumped after the rat and caught it in mid-air. With an angry toss of his head, he broke the rat’s neck and flung it away from him.

  I stood up and placed my back against the wall of the pit, too cold and frightened to do anything but stare out into it. The dog stood in front of me, the hackles standing out sharply as he barked. The echoes sounded as if a hundred dogs were waking up the night.

  I don’t know how long we stood there like that. My eyes kept closing and I tried to keep them open, but I couldn’t. At last I sank wearily to the ground.

  Now I didn’t know whether Mamma would be angry with me. It wasn’t my fault. If I hadn’t been a Jew, Paul and Eddie wouldn’t have pushed me into the pit. When I got out I would ask Mamma if we please couldn’t be something else. Then, maybe, they wouldn’t be mad at me any more. But deep inside me I somehow knew even that wouldn’t do any good. Even if Mamma was willing, Papa wouldn’t change. I knew that about him. Once his mind was made up, he never changed. That must be why he had remained a Jew all these years. No, it wouldn’t do any good.

  Mamma would be very angry with me. Too bad, I remembered thinking as I began to doze, too bad this had to happen after the nice way the day had started out.

  The dog’s barks were louder now, and somewhere mixed up in their harsh echo I could hear someone calling my name. I tried to open my eyes but couldn’t, I was so tired.

  The voice grew louder, more insistent. “Danny! Danny Fisher!”

  My eyes were open now and the eerie white light of the moon threw crazy shadows in the pit. A man’s voice called my name again. I struggled to my feet and tried to answer, but my voice was gone. It was only a weak, husky whisper. The dog began to bark furiously again. I heard voices at the top of the pit, and the dog’s barks became more shrill and excited.

  The gleam of a flashlight came pouring into the pit and moved around searching for me. I knew they couldn’t hear me calling, so I ran after the ray of light, trying to show myself in it. The dog ran at my heels, still barking.

  Then the light was on me and I stood still. I put my hands over my eyes; the light was hurting them. A man’s voice shouted: “There he is!”

  Another voice came from the darkness above me: “Danny! Danny!” It was Papa’s voice. “Are you all right?”

  Then I heard a scrambling, sliding sound of a man coming down the side of the pit toward me. I ran to him, crying, and felt myself caught up in his arms. He was shaking. I could feel his kisses on my face. “Danny, are you all right?” he was asking.

  I pressed my face against him. My face was sore and scratched, but the feel of the rough wool of his suit was good. “I’m all right, Papa,” I said between sobs, “but Mamma will be sore. I wetted my pants.”

  Something that sounded like a laugh came from his throat. “Mamma won’t be angry,” he reassured me. Raising his face toward the top of the pit, he snouted: “He’s okay. Throw down a rope and we’ll get him out.”

  “Don’t forget the dog, Papa,” I said. “We got to take him out too.”

  Papa bent and scratched the dog’s head. “Sure, we’ll take him out,” he told me. “If it wasn’t for his barking, we wouldn’t have known where you were.” He turned suddenly and looked at me. “Is he the reason you’re down here?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “Paul and Eddie threw me down here because I’m a Jew.”

  Papa stared at me strangely. The rope fell at our feet and he bent to pick it up. I could hardly hear the words he was muttering under his breath: “The neighbourhood is new, but the people are the same.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. He fastened the rope around his middle and picked me up under one arm and the dog under the other. The rope tightened and we began to move up the side of the pit.

  “You’re not mad, are you, Papa?”

  “No, Danny, I’m not mad.”

  I was silent a moment as we inched further up the side. “Then is it okay if I keep the dog, Papa?” I asked. “He’s such a nice little dog.” The dog must have known I was talking about him; his tail thumped against my father’s side. “We’ll call him Rexie Fisher,” I added.

  Papa looked down at the little pup and then at me. He began to laugh. “You mean you’ll call her Rexie Fisher. It isn’t a him, it’s a her.”

  The room was dark, but I was warm and cosy from my bath as I lay in my bed. There were new sounds in the night, new sounds coming in the window from a new neighbourhood. New sounds to live with.

  My eyes were wide with the wonder of them, but I wasn’t afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of. I was in my own house, in my own room. Suddenly my eyes began to close. I half turned in my bed, and my hand brushed against the wall. It was rough from the freshly stippled paint.

  “I love you, house,” I murmured, already half asleep.

  Under my bed the dog moved, and I put my hand down alongside it. I
felt her cold nose in the palm of my hand. My fingers scratched the top of her head. Her fur was damp and cool to my touch. Mamma had made Papa give Rexie a bath before she would let me take her up to my room. Her tongue was licking my fingers. “I love you too, Rexie,” I whispered.

  A sense of warmth and comfort and belonging began to steal through me. Slowly I could feel the last trace of tautness slip from my body, and the nothing that is sleep came over me.

  I was home. And the first day of my life that I remembered faded into yesterday, and all the days of my life became tomorrow.

  BOOK ONE

  All the Days of My Life

  Chapter One

  THE sun pressed warmly against my closed lids. Vaguely annoyed, I threw an arm over my eyes and moved restlessly on the pillow. For a few minutes I was comfortable; then the light seemed to creep under my arm and search me out. I stopped trying to hide from it and sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. I was awake.

  I stretched. I yawned. I pushed my hair back from my eyes and looked sleepily toward the window. It was a bright, clear morning. I wished I could have gone on sleeping, but my windows faced east and the first morning sun always hit me in the face.

  I looked lazily around the room. My clothes lay rumpled on a chair. The half-strung tennis racket I never got around to fix was leaning against the side of the dresser. The old alarm clock on the dresser next to my comb and brush showed it was a quarter-past seven. My purple-and-white Erasmus Hall High School pennant hung drooping across the mirror.

  I looked down at the side of the bed for my slippers. They weren’t there. I grinned to myself. I knew where they were. Rexie usually pulled them under the bed and made a pillow out of them for her head. I reached down and gave her a scratch. She lifted her head and lazily wagged her tail. I gave her another scratch and took the slippers away from her. Then I got out of bed and stepped into them. Rexie had closed her eyes and gone back to sleep.

  I could hear a faint sound coming from my parents’ room as I walked over to the open window. That reminded me. Today was the big day: my Bar Mitzvah day. I began to feel an excited nervousness in me. I hoped I wouldn’t forget any of the elaborate Hebrew ritual I had specially learned for the occasion.