He paused only when he reached the bottom of the hill and saw the Closed Until Further Notice sign on the door of Mr. Hoffman’s bakery.
3
Bored and tired of their game, David and his friends all went into the drugstore for sodas. His mother had already left for home, so he had to pay for his. It always seemed dumb to him anyway: If his mother were there, he didn’t pay; when she left, he did. What did her leaving change? Certainly not his name or his relationship to her. But this was Mr. Rosenblatt’s way, and his mother said if they questioned it, he would make them pay when she was there, too.
Mr. Rosenblatt was always threatening to take out his soda fountain, but David’s mother told him that the soda fountain was a big money-maker. His friends were surprised when he revealed to them that a ten cent soda cost only a penny to make. The fountain ran the length of the store and was very low. When a customer was seated at the counter, the person serving towered over him.
Mr. Rosenblatt was a tall, thin druggist who wore thick-rimmed glasses and made a whistling sound between his teeth when he pronounced his s’s. He had his hair plastered down and brushed back with a part in the middle. Buzzy said it looked like Mr. Rosenblatt’s wife took an iron to it every morning.
Mr. Rosenblatt was in his late fifties. His wife Brenda was almost diametrically opposite in every way. When they were side by side, they presented a Mutt and Jeff appearance because she was barely five feet tall and very round with a bosom that seemed to take up half her body. She was jovial and pleasant at all times and was not above giving away candy and small toys to sick little children who accompanied their parents when they came in for a prescription.
The Rosenblatts had two sons, both of whom had moved away as soon as they could. Now one lived in the mythical California of glamor and movies, and the other was somewhere in Connecticut supposedly working in advertising. David barely remembered them, but once when Mrs. Rosenblatt showed him a picture of her older boy, he had a flashback that put him on a sled going down Datchwell’s Hill. He was holding onto a much older boy whom he now realized was Bernard Rosenblatt. From what Mrs. Rosenblatt had told him and from what he remembered himself, he realized he couldn’t have been more than three years old at the time, yet the memory that flashed before him when he looked at the picture of Bernard was as vivid as a memory from yesterday.
There was something about the way his mind stored words and pictures that intrigued him. Sometimes it was so organized and logical, it reminded him of a big file cabinet like the one in the school administration’s central office. But sometimes, more often than not now, words and pictures would appear for no logical reason—at least none that he could fathom at the moment. He did have one good discussion with Mr. Pepridge about the human brain, during which Mr. Pepridge told him scientists now believed people employed only a small percentage of their brain power.
Could that mean that some individuals employed a great deal more? Mr. Pepridge didn’t know, but he thought it was an interesting question. David would fall into deep thought about these things at a moment’s notice. He was like that now in the drugstore until Buzzy started blowing bubbles in his soda, and Mr. Rosenblatt reprimanded him for spilling some of it out on the counter.
While he and his friends were having their sodas, Peter Sills, a forty-year-old accountant, came in to get some medicine for Betty, his wife. She was an invalid; he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her, but the gossip in town, gossip David overheard during his mother’s card and Mah-jongg games, was that she was a hypochondriac, a spoiled person who wanted to be doted on and pampered. According to his mother’s friends, no one was friendly with her or had anything to do with her. They had no children and they lived in one of the village’s more expensive houses, a brick structure halfway up what the kids called Dead Man’s Hill, supposedly named that because of two fatal car accidents that occurred on the turn at the top.
David never understood the uneasy feelings he experienced whenever he was near Peter Sills. The man smiled enough; he was soft spoken and apparently not disliked by most people. Some pitied him because of his wife, and some thought he was too weak because he put up with her. He had a heavy build and dark, wavy hair usually swept up in a pompadour. His parents had owned what was now Dottie’s Luncheonette on the east side of the village. They had retired and moved to Florida.
Perhaps the reason he felt the way he did about Mr. Sills was because the Sills had no children. His mother told him Betty Sills was too selfish. She wasn’t willing to make the sacrifices, his mother added and sighed to indicate some of the sacrifices she had made for him.
David felt the chill move up his back when Mr. Sills walked past them toward the drug counter. He closed his eyes reflexively and for some reason envisioned the gutted deer he had seen hanging from the top of the garage door at Stanton’s Station last hunting season. It made no sense; Mr. Sills was not a hunter.
Mr. Rosenblatt glared at all of them before he left the soda fountain. Merle eyed the two cent marshmallow bars only inches from him, and David knew he would try to pocket a half dozen before Mr. Rosenblatt returned.
David didn’t mean to listen, but he heard parts of the conversation between Mr. Rosenblatt and Mr. Sills. Mr. Sills’s wife had some kind of kidney infection. She was laid up in bed, and he was having a hard time getting her to drink the amount of liquids the doctor ordered.
Merle leaned over the counter and began moving his right hand toward the marshmallows. Before he reached them however, David stopped him. He grabbed his wrist and pulled it back.
“What the hell—”
“Don’t do it. He’ll see.”
“Shit. How can he see? He’s back there with Mr. Sills.”
“He’ll see,” David repeated. He wasn’t sure why he should be so positive about it, but he was and his voice carried that definite assurance. The note of warning was strong enough to get Merle to hesitate. He sat back and looked toward the rear of the store again.
“Jeez,” Tony said looking directly behind him. “Look at that mirror.”
All the boys spun around on their stools and saw the large, oval mirror nearly hidden from view because of the height of the book rack and because of the angle they were at when they sat at the counter. The mirror had never been there before.
“He can see all over the store with that,” Buzzy said. “He would have seen Merle swipe the bars.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Tony said. Merle looked stunned. They left the drugstore quickly and gathered at the corner of the sidewalk.
“Did your mother tell you about the mirror?” Buzzy asked. David looked at his friends. They were all staring at him in expectation. He knew they wouldn’t understand if he said no, even though that was the truth. He couldn’t explain it.
“Yeah. I just remembered when Merle reached for the marshmallow bars.”
“Lucky you remembered,” Tony said.
David nodded and looked back toward the store.
Peter Sills came out and got into his car. As David watched, the light-blue station wagon seemed to darken until it turned black. Suddenly it looked more like a hearse. In fact, he thought he saw a coffin in the rear.
David looked at his friends quickly to see if anyone else had noticed, but obviously no one did. He put his hands over his eyes and then uncovered them. It was Mr. Sills’s light-blue car that was pulling away from the curb.
David’s deep confusion was broken when Buzzy punched Merle in the shoulder playfully and then ran off down Highland Avenue. Everyone set out after him and caught up with him at the lot between Datchwell’s Lumber Company and the Methodist church.
Years ago there had been a small two story house on the lot, but Mr. Datchwell had had it burned down and plowed out, intending to expand his lumber company. Bad times slowed his plans, and the lot was left empty. Occasionally, the boys held an impromptu stickball game there.
In one of his more vivid dreams, David found himself wandering about on the Da
tchwell lot until he came to what looked like an opened grave. He approached it slowly and when he looked in, there was the bottom half of the body of one of his friends. He woke up to find himself in a sweat. The sneakers and jeans were clues as to whom it was, but he blocked out any further effort at identification, refusing to acknowledge the gruesome death.
Even so, every time they went to the Datchwell lot, the image of that decapitated torso began to resurrect itself.
Tony and Merle wrestled Buzzy down on a high mound of dirt, pinning his arms and legs to the ground until he shouted, “Give.” They remained there on the mound. Tony took out a cigarette he had stolen from his father. They all watched as he smoothed it out and took out a book of matches. He lit it and passed it to Merle, who took a long drag and then gave it to Buzzy. Buzzy held it in the corner of his mouth dramatically, took a small drag and handed it to David, who was standing in front of them.
They watched him debate taking his drag. He never really enjoyed it, but it was one of those things he did to remain one of them. He wondered if anyone else didn’t like smoking, but was afraid to speak up. Just asking about it could draw jeers and insults. They would compare him to Robbie Kaplow, a mama’s boy, and then they would sing Robbie’s song, only they would substitute his name for Robbie’s: “Robbie cannot play hardball, softball yes, hardball no.”
Robbie Kaplow’s mother actually prohibited him from playing hardball and forced him to wear a handkerchief around his neck when he rode his bike, so his sweating wouldn’t cause him to get a chill.
David put the cigarette to his lips quickly and took his drag, but he couldn’t help grimacing. Buzzy had dampened the end considerably when he held it in his mouth.
“I like filter tips,” he said, handing the cigarette back to Tony. He really didn’t, but from the way they were looking up at him, he knew they expected something. “They’re better for you.”
“My father says that’s bullshit,” Tony said. He held the cigarette in his mouth and leaned back, bracing himself on his hands. “He says what’s the difference what you do? When your time comes, it comes,” he added, imitating his father’s bravado. Buzzy nodded and Merle stared out aimlessly. He sat up when he saw Ruben McCarthy and Carl Burns come out of Sara Gordon’s house. Sara was Rube’s girlfriend. She was a buxom sixteen-year-old with dark-brown hair and hazel-brown eyes. Although Rube had never said so, they all assumed he and Sara had gone all the way.
It gave Rube an aura of sophistication. He already commanded respect because of his size. He was the biggest boy in their class, at least forty pounds heavier and three inches taller than everyone else. Seniors kept clear of him.
Rube and Carl spotted them.
“What the hell you creeps up to?” Rube shouted. Tony gave him the finger. He was the only one of their crowd who could give Rube any lip, and that was solely because of Tony’s temper. Physically, he was no match for Rube; but Rube knew, as did anyone who knew Tony, that to get into a fight with him meant an all-out war. The opponent might come out victorious, but he would suffer, and it wouldn’t end until someone stopped it or Tony was rendered unconscious.
Rube laughed and then whispered something to Carl.
“How about King of the Hill?” he shouted. “Me and Carl will stand the four of you pricks.”
“You’re on,” Tony responded, committing everyone.
“Shit, we’re goin’ get our heads kicked in,” Buzzy said.
“Let’s go,” Tony said getting up quickly. He started off quickly, and the three of them followed reluctantly.
They headed for the traditional playground for King of the Hill, a game that had as its object the throwing, heaving, pushing, punching, kicking down the opponents as they attempted to take the high ground. What made this place particularly exciting was that the slope was located just above the train tracks. Since it was nearly five-fifteen, there was no doubt that a freight train would be coming through right in the middle of their game, and the person or persons who wanted an intermission while the train roared through would be labeled forever “a chicken shit.”
Rube and Carl were on the high ground by the time they got there. Tony started up the hill first, but when he reached up, Rube seized his wrist and successfully pulled him completely around, sending him head over heels down the hill. He stopped just before the gravel around the tracks.
“Shit,” Buzzy said. He and Merle started for Carl as David cautiously approached Rube. He thought if he could just seize Rube’s ankle—but when he went for it, Rube stepped back and he fell to his stomach. Rube seized his ankles instead and dragged him down the hill, streaking his shirt with grass stains. Buzzy and Merle succeeded in driving Carl down the hill, and then, Rube stood them off for a good two minutes before everyone gave up. They collapsed together on the slope and stared out vacantly at the quiet, little village as they caught their breaths.
Then Tony pointed out Diane Jones.
With animated faces everyone watched as the beautiful high school senior girl got out of Ted Davis’s car. Eyes widened, foreheads creased, and mouths opened in admiration. Ted Davis got out and joined her on the sidewalk.
The six-foot-three center of the Centerville varsity basketball team had made all-county in this, his final high school playing year. He had already been accepted to NYU, where he would continue to play basketball. He was broad shouldered and had symmetrically solid legs. David envied him for his looks. He was popular, intelligent, and confident. He and Diane made the perfect high school couple, gravitating toward one another almost as though it were a result of a community poll.
“I saw her in gym class today,” Carl said. “Those boobs went up and down, up and down. I caught the coach looking at her, too. When he saw I caught him, he turned red and went back into his office.”
“His face is always red,” Rube said.
“Maybe he’s always thinking about Diane Jones,” Tony said. Everyone laughed, David tentatively, cautiously.
“My brother says she ain’t so hot,” Buzzy said.
“That’s because she won’t give him the time of day,” Tony said.
“You think Ted and her do it?” Carl asked.
“No,” David said quickly. It just came out; he hadn’t intended to say it. They all turned to him because he sounded so definite.
“Why not?” Rube asked. “You know something we don’t?”
“I just don’t think so, that’s all.”
“Shit, sure they do,” Tony said. “I seen them making out once.”
“When?” David asked. His first thought was that Tony had been a Peeping Tom, too.
“I was coming home from Shirley’s house one night, and I cut across the parking lot at the A and P and there they were, parked way in the rear.”
“In a parking lot?” Merle asked.
“It was closed and it was dark. Perfect spot, asshole.”
“What did you do?” Carl asked.
“I snuck up on them.” He let a wide smile form on his face, knowing he had everyone’s complete attention.
“And what?” Carl asked.
“I took a quick peek in and saw he had his hands in her sweater.” He stopped, put a blade of grass in his mouth and looked away.
“That’s it?” Rube said when he didn’t go on.
“I didn’t hang around.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” David said.
“I seen her in her bra and panties once,” Buzzy said. They all turned to him, and David’s heart skipped a beat. What if they knew what he had seen?
“Bullshit,” Tony said, but he said it more out of envy than out of skepticism.
“No, honest. I…I peeked into her bedroom window,” he confessed. He wasn’t sure how his friends would take it. There was a long moment of silence while the fantasy played in everyone’s mind. Except David. He didn’t have to fantasize; he had only to remember, and Buzzy’s confession did much to stimulate that memory.
“No shit,” Carl said. “Why did
n’t I ever think of doing that?”
“I wouldn’t want to be caught doing that,” David said. “It might get all over town, and your parents would—”
“So? We just don’t get caught,” Tony said. He tapped Buzzy on the shoulder. “About what time did you see her?”
“Nine, nine-thirty. I got the idea to do it from this book my brother was reading. It’s got great sex parts,” he added.
“Is that right?” Tony looked in Diane’s direction. “Who wants to try it tonight?”
“Not me,” David said.
“I’ll go,” Merle said. He smiled like a cherub and then brought his tongue out over his upper lips slowly.
“Me, too,” Carl said.
Buzzy didn’t know if he could get out again in the evening because his mother was pissed at him for failing another test.
“She has to go to the school tomorrow and miss some time at work,” he added.
Rube said he’d go just for kicks, and then Tony turned to David again.
“Maybe he’s got to get permission from his grandmother,” Carl said. David glared at him hatefully. What bothered him more than the kidding around was the fact that everyone knew his grandmother had more influence in his house than his mother had. That was intimate information; it shouldn’t be so obvious.
“Permission?” Merle asked. “What’dya mean?”
“Permission to go peepin’ at Diane’s house. Grandma,” Carl said, satirizing David, “can I go look at Diane Jones’s tits tonight?” Everyone but David laughed. He tightened his hands into fists.
“Fuck you, Burns,” he said. Carl was two inches taller and a good twenty pounds heavier. Even so, David wanted to lunge at him. He realized though that his friends wouldn’t understand the rage. Anger left people naked and vulnerable.
Diane and Ted had come out of the butcher shop. She was carrying a bag. David thought he would never let her do that if she were his girl. He would do everything for her, no matter how simple, no matter how small.
Sight Unseen Page 5
