A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Read online

  I started to speak, but Joel cut me off. “That’s okay,” he said eagerly, “I’m willing.”

  I turned to him with a look of disgust on my face. I knew why he had pimples all right: girls. I would have given him an argument, but all the other kids went for the suggestion big.

  When we were sitting in the semicircle on the floor, I looked sullenly down at my crossed legs, wishing I had been able to think of another game. Joel had called Marge into the small furnace-room that acted as the post office and I was sure that she would send for me when it was her turn.

  I was right. The furnace-room door opened and Joel was standing in front of me. He made a jerking motion with his thumb at the closed door behind him. I could feel my face flush as I got to my feet. “What a gal!” he whispered as I passed him.

  I looked down at Mimi. She was watching me with a speculative look on her face. I could feel my cheeks burning.

  I hesitated a moment before the furnace-room door, then opened it and stepped inside. I leaned against the closed door behind me, trying to see through the dimness in the room. Its only light came from a tiny window in the corner.

  “I’m over here, Danny.” Marge’s voice came from the other side of the furnace.

  I was still holding the door-knob. I could feel a pulse begin to race in my temples. “What—what do you want?” I stammered hoarsely. I was suddenly afraid of her. “What did you call me for?”

  She was whispering. “What do you think I called you for?” There was a taunting quality in her voice. “I wanted to see if you really were a man.”

  I couldn’t see her. She was standing behind the furnace. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” I asked bitterly, not moving from the door.

  Her voice was flat. “If you want to get this over with, you’d better come here.” I could hear her almost silent laugh. “I won’t hurt you, Danny boy.”

  I walked around the furnace. She was leaning against it, smiling. Her teeth shone brightly in the dim light. Her hands were behind her. I didn’t speak.

  Her eyes were laughing. “You were watching me through the window this morning,” she shot at me suddenly.

  I stood there stiffly. “I was not!”

  “You were too!” she snapped. “I saw you, and Mimi said you were.”

  I stared at her. I’d get even with Mimi for this. “If you were so sure,” I said angrily, “then why didn’t you pull down the shades?”

  She took a step toward me. “Maybe I didn’t want to,” she said teasingly.

  I looked down into her face. I didn’t understand it. “But——”

  Her fingers on my lips silenced me. There was a strained, tense expression on her face. “Maybe I wanted you to look.” She paused for a second, watching my face. “Didn’t you like what you saw?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  She began to laugh softly. “You did,” she whispered. “I could see you did. Your cousin, Joel, thinks I’m terrific, and he hasn’t even seen half as much of me as you.”

  She was standing very close to me. She put her arms around my neck and pulled me toward her. I moved woodenly. I felt her breath against my mouth, then her lips. I closed my eyes. This was like no kiss I had ever known before. Not like my mother’s, not like my sister’s, nor like anyone’s I ever kissed.

  She pulled her face away from mine. I could feel the rush of her breath still against my mouth. “Give me your hand,” she demanded quickly.

  Stupidly I held out my hand. My head was reeling and the room seemed vague and distant. Suddenly a shock seemed to run through my fingers like an electric current. Frightened, I jerked my hand away.

  She began to laugh softly, her eyes shining up at me. “I like you, Danny,” she whispered. She went to the door and turned back to look at me. The mockery was back on her face again. “Who shall I send in now, Danny?” she asked. “Your sister?”

  Chapter Three

  I WALKED through the parlour, Rexie at my heels. “Danny, come here a minute.” Papa’s voice came from the couch, where he was sitting next to Mamma.

  Mamma looked tired. She had just finished cleaning up after everyone had gone. The house seemed curiously quiet now.

  “Yes, Papa.” I stood in front of them.

  “You had a good Bar Mitzvah, Danny?” Papa said, half questioningly.

  “Very good, Papa,” I answered. “Thanks.”

  He waved his hand slightly. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank your mamma. She did all the work.”

  I smiled at her.

  She smiled wearily up at me, and her hand patted the cushion beside her. I sat down. Her hand reached up and rumpled my hair. “My little Blondele,” she said wistfully. “All grown up now. Soon you’ll be getting married.”

  Papa began to laugh. “Not so soon yet, Mary. He’s still young”

  Mamma looked at him. “Soon enough,” she said. “Look how quick the thirteen years went.”

  Papa chuckled. He took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. “David made the suggestion that Danny come to work in the store this summer.”

  Mamma started forward in her seat. “But, Harry, he’s still a baby yet!”

  Papa laughed aloud. “Today he’s getting married, but this summer he’s too young to work.” He turned toward me. “How do you feel about it, Danny?”

  I looked at him. “I’ll do anything you want, Papa,” I answered.

  He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I asked what do you want to do. What do you want to be?”

  I hesitated a moment. “I really don’t know,” I confessed. “I never thought about it.”

  “Time you should start thinking about it, Danny,” he said seriously. “You’re a smart boy. A year in high school already and you’re just thirteen. But all that smartness is no good unless you know where you’re going. Like a ship without a rudder.”

  “I’ll come into the store this summer, Papa,” I said quickly. “After all, if it will help you, that’s what I want. I know business is not so hot these days.”

  “It’s bad enough, but not so bad that I want you to do something you don’t want,” he said, looking at his cigar. “Your mamma and me, we have great hopes for you. That you would be a doctor or a lawyer and go to college. Maybe if you come into the store you won’t go to college. That’s what happened to me. I never finished school. I don’t want it to happen to you.”

  I looked at him, then at Mamma. She was watching me, sadness in her eyes. They were afraid that what had happened to him would happen to me. Still, business was bad and Papa needed my help. I smiled at them. “Going to work in the store for the summer doesn’t mean anything, Papa,” I said. “In the fall I go back to school again.”

  He turned to Mamma. For a long moment they looked at each other. Then Mamma nodded her head slightly and he turned back to me. “All right, Danny,” he said heavily. “Let it be that way for a while. We’ll see.”

  The boys were shouting as the volley ball shuttled back and forth across the net. There were four games going in the school gymnasium. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Gottkin walking towards us. I pulled my eyes back to the ball. I wanted to look good for him. He coached the football team.

  The ball was coming toward me, high over my head, but I leapt and stabbed at it. It caught the top of the net, rolled over the other side, and fell to the floor. I looked around proudly, feeling pretty good. That made the eighth point I had scored out of the fourteen for my side. Mr. Gottkin couldn’t help noticing that.

  He wasn’t even looking my way. He was talking to a boy on the next court. The ball came back into play again. I missed what seemed like a couple of easy shots, but each time they were recovered. When the play seemed to be going over to the other side of the court, I stole another glance at the teacher.

  From behind me I could hear Paul’s sudden shout: “Danny! Your ball!”

  I spun around quickly. The ball was floating easily across the net
toward me. I set myself for it and jumped. A dark figure on the other side of the net flashed up before me and hit the ball toward the floor. Automatically my hands went up to cover my face, but I wasn’t fast enough. I went tumbling to the floor.

  I scrambled to my feet angrily, one side of my face red and stinging where the ball had hit me. The dark boy on the other side of the net was grinning at me.

  “Yuh fouled it!” I shot at him.

  The smile left his face. “What’s a matter, Danny?” he sneered. “You the only hero allowed in the game?”

  I started under the net for him, but a hand gripped my shoulder firmly and stopped me.

  “Get on with the game, Fisher,” Mr. Gottkin said quietly. “No rough-housing.”

  I ducked back under the net to my side. I was angrier now than before. All Gottkin would remember was that I had got sore. “I’ll get hunk,” I whispered to the boy.

  His lips formed a soundless raspberry accompanied by a gesture of derision.

  My chance came on the very next play. The ball floated over my head and the boy shot up for it. I beat him to it and hit it savagely downward with both hands. It struck him squarely in the mouth and he rolled over on the floor. I hooted loudly at him.

  He came off the floor and, charging under the net, tackled me around the legs. We rolled over and over on the floor pummelling each other. His voice was hot and angry in my ear: “Yuh son of a bitch!”

  Gottkin pulled us apart. “I tol’ yuh, no rough-housing.”

  I looked down at the floor sullenly and didn’t answer.

  “Who started this?” Gottkin’s voice was harsh.

  I looked at the other boy and he glowered at me, but neither of us answered.

  The P.T. teacher didn’t wait for an answer. “Get on with the game,” he said in a disgusted voice. “And no rough-housing.” He turned away from us.

  Automatically we started for each other as his back turned. I caught the dark boy around the middle and we were on the floor again before Mr. Gottkin pulled us apart.

  His arms held us at each side of him. There was a weary, speculative look on his face. “You guys insist on fightin’?” he stated rather than asked.

  Neither of us answered.

  “Well,” he continued, “if you’re gonna fight, you’ll fight my way.” Still holding us, he called over his shoulder to the substitute teacher who was his assistant: “Get out the gloves.”

  The sub came up with the gloves, and Gottkin gave a pair to each of us. “Put ’em on,” he said almost genially. He turned to the boys in the gym, who had started to crowd around. “Better lock the doors, boys,” he said. “We can’t have anyone walking in on us.”

  They laughed excitedly while I fumbled with the unfamiliar gloves. I knew what they were laughing at. If the Principal came in, there would be hell to pay.

  The boxing gloves felt clumsy on my hands. I’d never had a pair on before. Paul silently began to tie the laces for me. I looked over at the other boy. The first flush of anger had died away in me. I didn’t have anything against this kid. I didn’t even know his name. The only class we were in together was this one. He looked like he was beginning to feel the same way. I walked up to him. “This is stupid,” I said.

  Mr. Gottkin replied before the boy could open his mouth. “Goin’ yella, Fisher?” he sneered. There was a peculiar excitement in his eyes.

  I could feel the heat flaming in my cheeks. “No, but——”

  Gottkin cut me off. “Then get back there an’ do what I tell yuh. Come out fightin’. When one of you is knocked down, the other will not hit him until I give the okay. Understand?”

  I nodded. The boy wet his lips and also nodded his head.

  I could see Gottkin felt good again. “All right, boys,” he said, “go to it.”

  I felt someone shoving me forward. The dark boy was coming toward me. I raised my hands and tried to hold them the way I had seen some fighters in the movies do. Warily I circled around the boy. He was just as cautious as I was, watching me carefully. For almost a minute we didn’t come within two feet of each other.

  “I thought you guys wanted to fight,” Gottkin said. I stole a glance at him. His eyes were still burning with excitement.

  A light exploded in my own eyes. I could hear the boys begin to yell. Another light flashed. Then a sharp, stinging pain in my right ear, then on my mouth. I could feel myself falling. There was a grinding, buzzing sound in my head. I shook it angrily to clear it and opened my eyes. I was on my hands and knees. I looked up.

  The boy was dancing in front of me. He was laughing.

  The louse had hit me when I wasn’t looking. I got to my feet, anger surging in me. I saw Gottkin tap him on the shoulder, then he was all over me. Desperately I pushed in close and grabbed at his arms and held on.

  My throat was raw, I could feel my breath burning in it. I shook my head. I couldn’t think with that buzzing sound in there. I shook my head again. Suddenly the noise stopped and the breath was easier in my throat.

  I felt Gottkin pull us apart. His voice was husky in my ears. “Break it up, boys.”

  My legs were steady now. I held my hands up and waited for the other boy to come after me.

  He came charging in, arms flailing. I moved aside and he surged past me. I almost smiled to myself. This was easy: you just had to keep your head on your shoulders.

  He turned around and came after me again. This time I waited for him. I could see his fists were high. I drove my right hand into his belly. His hands came down and he doubled up. His knees began to buckle and I stepped back. I looked questioningly at Mr. Gottkin.

  He pushed me back toward the boy roughly. I hit the boy twice and he straightened up, a dazed look on his face.

  I was standing flatfooted now. I could feel a surge of power flowing through my body into my arms. I brought my right up almost from the floor, and it caught him flush on the chin. The shock of the punch ran through my arm. He spun around once and then fell forward, flat on his face.

  I stepped back and looked at Mr. Gottkin. He was standing there with a flushed look, staring down at the boy. His tongue was running nervously over his lips, his hands were clenched, and the back of his shirt was covered with sweat as if he had done the fighting.

  A sudden silence fell over the gymnasium. I turned back to the boy, who lay there quietly, not even moving. Slowly Mr. Gottkin knelt beside him.

  He rolled the boy over on his back and slapped at his face. The teacher was pale now. He looked up at the sub. “Get me the smelling-salts!” he cried hoarsely.

  His hands were trembling violently as he waved the bottle back and forth under the boy’s nose. “Come on, kid.” He seemed to be pleading. “Snap out of it.” There were beads of sweat on his face.

  I stared down at them. Why didn’t the kid get up? I shouldn’t have let them bulldoze me into a fight.

  “Maybe we better get a doctor,” the sub whispered anxiously to Mr. Gottkin.

  Gottkin’s voice was low, but I could hear him as I bent down. “Not if yuh like this job!”

  “But what if the kid dies?”

  The sub’s query went unanswered as colour began to flood back into the boy’s face. He tried to sit up, but Gottkin held him back on the floor.

  “Take it easy, kid,” Gottkin said almost gently. “You’ll be okay in a minute.”

  He picked the boy up in his arms and looked around. “You fellas keep your mouths shut about this. Understand?” His voice was menacing. Silently they gave their assent. His eyes swept past them and came to me. “You, Fisher,” he said harshly, “come with me. The rest of you get back to your games.”

  He strode into his office, still carrying the boy, and I followed. He put the kid down on a leather-covered dressing-table as I closed the door behind us. “Get me that water pitcher over there,” he called over his shoulder.

  Silently I handed it to him and he upended it over the boy’s face. The boy sat up sputtering.

  “How’re
yuh feeling, kid?” Gottkin asked.

  The boy forced a grin to his face. He looked at me shyly. “As if a mule kicked me,” he replied.

  Gottkin began to laugh in relief. Then his glance fell on me and the smile disappeared. “Why didn’t yuh tell me yuh knew how to fight, Fisher?” he snarled. “I got a mind to——”

  “I never fought with gloves before, Mr. Gottkin,” I said quickly. “Honest.”

  He looked at me dubiously, but he must have believed me, for he turned back to the boy. “Okay if we forget the whole thing?” he asked him.

  The boy looked at me and smiled again. He nodded his head. “I don’t even want to remember it,” he said earnestly.

  Gottkin looked back at me for a second, a speculative look in his eyes. “Then, shake hands, you two, an’ get outta here.”

  We shook hands and started out the door. As I closed it I could see Mr. Gottkin opening a drawer in his desk and taking something out of it. He began to raise it toward his mouth.

  Just then the sub pushed past me on his way into the office. “Give me some of that,” he said as the door shut. “I never want to go through another minute like that again.”

  Gottkin’s voice boomed through the closed door. “That Fisher kid’s a natural fighter. Did you see——?”

  I looked up self-consciously. My former opponent was waiting for me. Awkwardly I took his arm and together we walked back to the volley-ball game.

  Chapter Four

  I STOOD impatiently on the corner of Bedford and Church Avenues behind the school waiting for Paul. The clock in the drugstore window across the street showed a quarter after three. I’d give him five more minutes, then I’d start for home without him.

  I was still tingling with a new excitement. The news of my fight in the gym had run through the school like wildfire. All the boys were treating me with a new respect and the girls were looking at me with a curiously restrained awareness. Several times I had overheard groups of people talking about me.

  A Ford roadster pulled to the kerb in front of me and honked its horn. I looked up at it.