A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Read online

  “Hey, Fisher, come over here,” Mr. Gottkin was leaning out of the car.

  Slowly I walked toward him. What did he want now?

  He opened the door. “Hop in,” he invited. “I’ll drive yuh home.”

  I looked at the clock quickly and made up my mind. Paul would have to walk home alone. I got into the car silently.

  “Which way do you go?” Mr. Gottkin asked in a friendly voice as he pulled the car away from the kerb.

  “Over to Clarendon.”

  We rode a few blocks in silence. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He must have had a reason for picking me up. I wondered when he was going to talk. Suddenly he slowed the car and pulled toward the kerb.

  A young woman was walking there. Gottkin leaned out of the car and shouted after her. “Hey, Ceil!”

  She stopped to look back at us and I recognized her: Miss Schindler, the art teacher. Her class was one of the most popular in school. The girls couldn’t understand why all the boys suddenly signed for art in the third term, but I could. Next term I would be in her class.

  She had dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a soft tan skin. She had been to Paris to study, and the boys said she never wore a brassiere. I had heard them talking about how she looked when she bent over their desks.

  “Oh, it’s you, Sam,” she said, smiling and walking back toward the car.

  “Hop in, Ceil,” he urged her. “I’ll take you home.” He turned to me. “Shove over, kid,” he told me. “Make room for her.”

  I moved closer to him, and Miss Schindler sat down beside me and closed the door. There was just room enough for the three of us on the seat. I could feel the press of her thigh against me. I stole a look at her out of the corner of my eyes. The boys were right. I shifted uncomfortably.

  Gottkin’s voice was louder than usual. “Where you been keepin’ yourself, baby?”

  Her voice was low. “Around, Sam,” she answered evasively, looking at me.

  Gottkin caught her look. “You know Miss Schindler, Fisher?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “This is Danny Fisher,” he said to her.

  She turned to me, curiosity in her eyes. “You’re the boy who had the fight in school today?” she said half-questioningly.

  “You know’ about it?” Gottkin sounded surprised.

  “It’s all over the school, Sam,” she replied in a peculiar tone of voice. “Your boy here is the most famous man in the place today.”

  I fought back an impulse to smile proudly.

  “You can’t keep anything quiet in that place,” Gottkin grumbled. “If the old man gets wind of it, I’m sunk.”

  Miss Schindler looked at him. “That’s what I always told you, Sam,” she said in the same peculiar tone of voice. “Teachers can’t lead their own lives.”

  I looked up at her quickly, puzzled.

  She caught my glance and her face flushed. “I heard it was quite a fight,” she said.

  I didn’t answer. I had the idea she wasn’t really interested in the fight.

  Gottkin answered for me. “It was. Fisher got off the floor and knocked the other kid for a loop. Yuh never seen nothin’ like it.”

  There was a shadow in her dark eyes. “You can’t forget what you were once,” she said bitterly, “can you, Sam?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She spoke again, her voice unchanged. “You can let me out here, Sam. This is my corner.”

  Silently he stopped the car. She got out and leaned over the running board to us. “Nice to meet you, Danny”—she smiled pleasantly—“And try not to get in any more fights. So long, Sam.” She turned and walked away. She had a nice walk too.

  I turned back to the P.T. teacher. He was staring after her thoughtfully, his lips tight across his teeth. He put the car into gear. “If you got a few minutes to spare, kid,” he said, “I’d like you to come over to my place. I got somethin’ I want to show you.”

  “Okay, Mr. Gottkin,” I replied, my curiosity returning in full force.

  I followed him through the basement entrance of a small two-family house. Gottkin pointed at a door. “Go in there, kid,” he told me. “I’ll be with yuh in a minute.”

  I watched him run up the steps to the upper floor, then turned and went into the room he had indicated. I could hear faint voices upstairs as I opened the door. I stopped in the doorway and gaped at the room. It was fixed up as a small but complete gym—parallel bars, punching-bag, horse, chinning-bar, weights. On a small leather couch against the wall were several pairs of boxing gloves. Photographs were scattered all around the walls of the room. I went over to look at them. They were pictures of Mr. Gottkin, but he looked different. He wore trunks and boxing gloves and on his face a menacing scowl. I hadn’t known he was a fighter.

  A telephone on a small table near the couch began to ring. I looked at it hesitantly. It rang again. I didn’t know whether to answer it or not. When it rang once more, I picked up the receiver. As I was just about to speak, I heard Mr. Gottkin’s voice answer. There must have been an extension upstairs.

  I listened. I had never used an extension before and I was afraid to hang up for fear I’d disconnect the call. A woman’s voice was talking now. “Sam,” she was saying, “you’re a damn’ fool for picking me up with that kid in the car.”

  I recognized that voice too. I kept on listening.

  Gottkin’s voice had a pleading sound in it. “But, baby,” he said, “I couldn’t stand it any more. I gotta see yuh. I’m goin’ crazy, I tell yuh.”

  Miss Schindler’s voice was hard. “I said we were through and I meant it. I was crazy to start up with you anyway. If Jeff ever found out, we’d all be washed up.”

  “Baby, he’d never find out. He’s too busy with his classes. He don’t even know what day it is. I don’t know how you ever came to marry that lunkhead anyway.”

  “He’s not as crazy as you are, Sam. Jeff Rosen will be Principal some day. He’ll get further than you,” she said defensively. “You’ll wind up getting thrown out.”

  Gottkin sounded more sure of himself now. “But, baby, he pays you no mind. With night school an’ all, he’s got no time to keep a real woman like you happy.”

  “Sam!” she said, protesting weakly.

  His voice was strong on the phone. “Remember what you said the last time, Ceil? How it was with us? There was never anything like it. Remember, you said so yourself? I remember. Come on over, baby. I want you.”

  “I can’t, Sam.” Her voice was pleading now. “I said——”

  “I don’t care what you said, Ceil,” he interrupted. “Come on over. I’ll leave the downstairs door open and you can duck right in.”

  There was a moment’s pause, then her voice came heavily through the receiver: “Do you love me, Sam?”

  “Like mad, baby.” Gottkin’s voice was roughly tender. “Like mad. Yuh comin’ over?”

  I could almost hear her hesitation, then her voice came through softly, “I’ll be there in half an hour, Sam.”

  “I’ll be waitin’, baby.” Gottkin sounded like he was smiling.

  “I love you, Sam,” I heard her say, and then the phone clicked dead in my hand. They had hung up. I put the receiver back on the hook. Outside on the stairs I heard footsteps and turned back to the pictures on the wall.

  The door opened behind me and I turned around. “Mr. Gottkin,” I said, “I didn’t know you were a fighter.”

  His face was flushed. He glanced at the telephone quickly, then back at me. “Yeah,” he answered. “I wanted to show yuh my stuff, an’ if yuh was interested, I’d give yuh some lessons. I think yuh got the makin’s of a great fighter, kid.”

  “Gee, Mr. Gottkin, I’d like that,” I said quickly. “You want to start now?”

  “I’d like to, kid”—he sounded embarrassed—“but some unexpected business just came up an’ I can’t. I’ll let you know in class to-morrow when we can start.”

  “Aw, gee, Mr. Gottkin,”
I said disappointedly.

  He put his hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the door, “I’m sorry, kid, but it’s business. You understand?”

  I smiled at him from the doorway. “Sure, Mr. Gottkin, I understand. To-morrow’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah, kid. To-morrow.” Mr. Gottkin quickly closed the door.

  I ducked quickly across the street and up a driveway. I sat down where I could watch his door and waited. About fifteen minutes passed before she came walking down the street.

  She was walking quickly, not looking around until she reached his door. Then she glanced up and down the street and ducked into the door, closing it behind her.

  I sat there another few minutes before I got up. Mr. Gottkin would be surprised if he knew just how much I understood. What a day this had been! First the fight in school, now this. And Miss Schindler was married to Mr. Rosen in the math. department, too. There was a new feeling of power in me. One word from me and they were all through.

  There was a fire hydrant in my path. I leapfrogged over it easily. Boy, was I glad Paul had been late!

  Chapter Five

  MY arms were tired. The sweat was running down my forehead and into my eyes, which were beginning to burn. I brushed at them with the back of my boxing glove and turned, facing the teacher.

  His voice was harsh and he, too, was covered with sweat. “Keep your left up, Danny. And snap it. Sharp! Don’t swing it like a ballet-dancer. Snap, from the shoulders. Fast! See, like this.” He turned toward the punching bag and snapped his left at it. His hand moved so quickly it seemed like a blur. The bag rocked crazily against the board. He turned back to me. “Now, snap it at me—fast!”

  I put my hands up again and moved warily around him. This had been going on for two weeks now and I had learned enough to be careful with him. He was a rough teacher and if I made a mistake I usually paid for it—with a poke in the jaw.

  He circled with me, his gloves moving slightly. I feinted with my right hand. For a split second I noticed his eyes following it, and I snapped my left into his face just as I had been told.

  His head jerked back with the punch, and when it came forward again, there was a red bruise marking his cheekbone. He straightened up and dropped his hands.

  “Okay, kid,” he said ruefully, “that’s enough for the day. You learn fast.”

  I let my breath out gratefully. I was tired. I pulled at the laces on the gloves with my teeth.

  “School’s over next week, Danny.” Mr. Gottkin was looking at me thoughtfully.

  I managed to get one glove off. “I know,” I answered.

  “Goin’ to camp for the summer?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’m gonna help my dad out in the store.”

  “I got a job for the summer as a sports director at a hotel in the Catskills,” he said. “I can get you a bus-boy’s job if you want. I’d like to keep these lessons up.”

  “Me too, Mr. Gottkin”—I looked down at the gloves hesitantly—“but I don’t know whether Pop’ll let me.”

  He sat down on the couch. His eyes swept over me. “How old are yuh, Danny?”

  “Thirteen,” I answered. “Made my Bar Mitzvah this month.”

  He looked surprised. “That all?” he said in a disappointed voice. “I thought you were older. You look older. You’re bigger than most fifteen-year-old kids.”

  “I’ll ask Papa, though,” I said quickly. “Maybe he’ll let me go with you.”

  Gottkin smiled. “Yeah, kid. Do that. Maybe he will.”

  I slipped Rexie a scrap of meat under the table and looked over at Papa. He seemed in a good mood.

  Papa,” I said hesitantly.

  He looked at me. “Yes?”

  “My gym teacher’s got a job in the country at a hotel,” I said hurriedly. “And he says he can get me on as a bus-boy if I want to go.”

  Papa continued to stir his tea while I watched him. “You told Mamma about this yet?” he asked.

  Mamma came in from the kitchen just then. She looked at me. “Told me what?”

  I repeated what I had told Papa.

  “And what did you tell him?” she asked me.

  “I told him I was going to help Papa out in the store, but he said to ask anyway.”

  She looked at Papa for a moment, then turned back to me. “You can’t go,” she said with finality. She picked up some dishes and started back to the kitchen.

  I was disappointed even though she had answered as I had expected. I looked down at the table.

  Papa called her back. “Mary,” he said softly, “such a bad idea, it’s not.”

  She turned to him. “It was decided already that he’s going into the store this summer and that’s where he is going. I’m not going to let him go away for the whole summer by himself. He’s still a baby yet.”

  Papa sipped at his tea slowly. “Such a baby he can’t be if he’s coming into the store. You know the neighbourhood. Besides, a summer in the country will do him good.” He turned back to me. “Is it a good hotel?”

  “I don’t know, Papa,” I said hopefully. “I didn’t ask him.”

  “Get for me all the facts, Danny,” he said, “and then your Mamma and me, we’ll decide.”

  I was sitting on the stoop when they came out of the house. Papa stopped in front of me.

  “We’re going to the Utica to the movies with Mr. and Mrs. Conlon,” he said. “Now, remember to go to bed by nine o’clock.”

  “I will, Papa,” I promised. I didn’t want to do anything that might queer my chances of going to the country with Mr. Gottkin.

  Papa walked across the driveway and rang the Conlons’ bell. Mimi came out on the stoop with her coat on.

  I looked at her questioningly. “You going too?” I asked. I really didn’t care much. We hadn’t been on such good terms since the Bar Mitzvah party. She had wanted me to tell her what Marge and I did in the furnace-room and I had told her to find out from her friend if she wanted to know so much.

  “Marge and I are going,” she said importantly. “Papa said I could.” She walked down the steps haughtily.

  The Conlons came out on their stoop. Marge wasn’t with them.

  Mimi asked: “Isn’t Marjorie Ann coming, Mrs. Conlon?”

  “No, Mimi,” Mrs. Conlon answered. “She was tired, so she’s going to bed early.”

  “Maybe you better stay home too, Mimi,” Mamma said doubtfully.

  “But you said I could go.” Mimi’s voice was pleading.

  “Let her come, Mary,” Papa said. “We promised her. We’ll be home by eleven.”

  I watched them all get into Papa’s car. It was a quarter to eight. I felt like a cigarette. I got up and went to a hall closet, where I found a crumpled pack of Luckies in one of Papa’s jackets. Then I went back out on the stoop and sat down and lit the cigarette.

  The street was quiet. I could hear the breeze rustling the leaves on the young trees. I leaned my head against the cool bricks and closed my eyes. I liked the feel of them against my cheek. I liked everything about my house.

  “Is that you, Danny?” It was Marge’s voice.

  I opened my eyes. She was standing on her stoop. “Yeah,” I answered.

  “You’re smoking!” she said incredulously.

  “So?” I dragged on the cigarette defiantly. “I thought your mother said you went to bed.”

  She came over to my stoop and stood at the bottom of the steps. Her face shone white in the light of the street lamps. “I didn’t feel like going,” she said.

  I took a last drag on the butt and threw it away, stood up and stretched. “I guess I’ll turn in,” I said.

  “Do you have to?” she asked.

  I looked down at her. There was an intent expression on her face. “Nope,” I said shortly, “but I might as well. There’s nothin’ doin’ around here.”

  “We can sit out and talk,” she said quickly.

  The way she said that made me curious. “About what?” I asked.


  “Things,” she answered vaguely. “There’s lots of things we can talk about.”

  A peculiar excitement began to fill me. I sat down on the steps again. “Okay,” I said, deliberately casual. “So we’ll talk.”

  She sat down on the steps beneath me. She was wearing a smock that tied on the side. As she turned to look up at me, it parted slightly and I could see the shadow fall between her breasts. She smiled.

  “What are you smiling at?” I asked, instantly defiant.

  She tossed her head. “You know why I stayed home?” she countered.

  “No.”

  “Because I knew Mimi was going.”

  “I thought you liked Mimi,” I said with surprise.

  “I do,” she said earnestly, “but I knew if Mimi went you’d be home, so I didn’t go.” She looked up at me mysteriously.

  The excitement was surging in me again. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet. I felt her hand touch my knee and I jumped. “Don’t do that!” I snapped, pulling my leg away.

  Her eyes were round and innocent. “Don’t you like it?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered. “It gives me the shivers.”

  She laughed softly. “Then you do like it. That’s what it’s supposed to do.”

  I didn’t like the way she stared at me. “I’m going in now,” I said, getting to my feet.

  She stood up, laughing. “You’re afraid to stay out here with me!”

  “I am not,” I retorted hotly. “I promised my father I would go to bed early.”

  Her hand made a quick movement and caught mine. I pulled away from her. “Cut it!” I snapped.

  “Now I know you’re afraid!” she taunted. “Otherwise you’d stay out. It’s still early.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll stay out until nine.”

  “You’re funny, Danny,” she said in a puzzled voice. “You’re not like the other boys.”

  I dragged at the cigarette. “How?” I asked.

  “You never try anything.”

  I looked down at the butt in my hand. “Why should I?”

  “All the other boys do,” she said matter-of-factly, “even my brother, Fred.”