by Packer, Vin
Ella had said to him in a coy, saccharin tone: “There’s a surprise tonight, Reginald.”
“What would that be, mother?”
“Mr. Danker’s coming over.”
“He was just here Sunday.”
“Why, Reginald! I’m surprised at you. Mr. Danker thinks the world and all of you.”
“I didn’t mean anything.”
“You’re like a son to him. Why, we’re practically his family.”
“I like Mr. Danker, mother.”
“Then why aren’t you pleased?”
“I’m not displeased.”
“You don’t have any other plans, do you, Reginald?”
“I may go out later.”
“Now, don’t be a silly boy! Where would you go at that hour of night? Mr. Danker will stay to watch Cash-Answer. It’ll be midnight before he leaves.”
“Mother,” Reginald Whittier said, “would Mr. Danker mind so much if I were to go out for awhile?”
“You want to watch Cash-Answer, don’t you, Reginald? I bought the set for you.”
“I know that, mother.”
“Then let’s not talk silly,” said Miss Ella.
• • •
His mother had cooked Reggie’s favorite food. Chicken and mashed potatoes and fresh peas. Mr. Danker brought along a copy of the National Geographic Magazine. There was an article in it about the scenic playgrounds and historic shrines of the United States and Canada. Mr. Danker wanted to show Reggie the pictures of the Haleakala Crater in Hawaii National Park, where he had visited as a boy.
“Not much older than you are,” Mr. Danker had said, squeezing Reggie’s knee as they sat beside one another on the couch. “Someday maybe Miss Ella will let you go there with me, for a little vacation.”
“Reginald will be twenty soon,” said Miss Ella from the kitchen, “and when he’s twenty, it just might be a good idea. I’ve always thought travel was wasted on the young. But twenty’s nearly a man!”
“Wouldn’t you like that, Reggie?” Mr. Danker asked. “A nice vacation off in Hawaii?”
“Sure,” said the boy.
“We could swim, and fish, and get you a nice tan, eh Reggie?”
“Sure, Mr. Danker.”
Miss Ella said, “Reginald has very sensitive skin. It doesn’t take to the sun.”
“I’ve been in the sun plenty of times, mother.”
“Oh, I know that, Reginald. But you know yourself you always turn that awful red color that makes you look odd. Some people look fine after sun exposure, but you don’t, Reginald. You’re fair-skinned.”
Mr. Danker said, “Never mind. You’ve got those nice baby-blue eyes, Reggie. That’s all you need.”
“Doesn’t he have nice eyes, Mr. Danker?”
“Very nice eyes,” Mr. Danker answered. “I wish I had such nice eyes.”
Reggie sighed. “What else about Hawaii?” he asked.
Miss Ella said, “His eyes are the color of a summer sky!”
“They certainly are!” said Mr. Danker.
“Everyone has something nice about them,” said Reggie’s mother. “Everyone has one good point. Reggie’s eyes are his good point. It makes up for his stuttering. God is fair.”
“Reggie has nice hands too,” said Mr. Danker.
Reggie wished they would stop talking about him. He bit his lip and sighed a second time.
His mother said, “When he was a little boy, I used to kiss his hands and tell him God made them for him to do good deeds with.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Danker. “You’re a lucky boy, Reggie, to have your mother love you the way she does. My mother, God rest her soul, was the same kind of woman. When she passed, I felt as though part of me went with her. Part of me just died with her.”
“Just how big is that Haleakala Crater?” Reggie asked.
“Well,” said Mr. Danker, stretching out his arms so that his right arm passed across Reggie’s shoulder, “It’s huge. It’s bigger than the whole island of Manhattan.” He let his right hand drop on Reggie’s shoulder and rest there. “It’s big, all right!”
Miss Ella said, “Dinner will be served in two minutes. Are you boys comfortable in there?”
“We certainly are,” said Mr. Danker, pressing his hand against Reggie’s back.
Now dinner was over. They had watched Mystery Hour and the Happy Honey Family. Now they were watching Cash-Answer. Reggie glanced at his watch in a nervous, surreptitious gesture. The quizmaster’s voice blared in the room: ”All right, Chuck. For forty-seven thou-sand doll-ars, name the forty-one signers of the Mayflower Compact!”
On the screen there was a close-up of the eight-year-old’s face as he puzzled over the question, while the music played in the time allotted for him to think out his answer.
Mr. Danker sat forward on the couch, counting on his fingers.
“Let’s see. There was William Mullins, Edward Tilly, William White, Edward Doty, John Tilly, Francis Cooke—let see, Myles Standish, of course—Gilbert Winslow—“
“Time is up,” the quizmaster’s voice shouted.
“… Issac Allerton,” said Mr. Danker, “John Goodman, William White—“
“You said William White,” said Miss Ella. “I did?”
“Yes, you said William White. Now, shhhh! Listen!”
“Samuel Fuller,” said Mr. Danker, “Degory Prist, Steph—“
Reginald Whittier’s mother said, “Shhhh! Mr. Danker! Listen!”
It was ten past ten by Reggie’s wristwatch. He was supposed to meet Laura Lee at ten-thirty in front of the college. He sat wondering how he would get out of there; could he just stand up and walk out?
The quizmaster was screaming: “You get cash for your answer, because your answer is correct!”
Mr. Danker said, “I knew them all.”
“You named William White twice,” said Miss Ella.
“But I knew them. It was a very simple question.”
“I’d never force a boy of mine to that extent,” said Miss Ella. “As far as I’m concerned, a boy should be the best of whatever he is.” She smiled across at Reginald. “If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill, Be a scrub in the valley—but be, The best little scrub by the side of the rill; Be a bush if you can’t be a tree!”
It made Reggie think of the Lees’ trailer; of the way he had hit his head on the bunk bed when he had bent over to get in it with Laura. He remembered how he had thought: You’ve got to do it someday, Reggie, if you ever want to grow up and be a man. He remembered how he had thought: Be a pine, Reggie! Don’t let her keep you a scrub!
Mr. Danker said, “I know the second verse to that poem!”
In unison, Miss Ella and Mr. Danker recited:
“We can’t all be captains, we’ve got to be crew, There’s something for all of us here; There’s big work to do, and there’s lesser to do, And the task we must do is the near.”
Miss Ella laughed. “That was fun!”
“I know that poem,” said Mr. Danker.
“I like to think of it as my touchstone,” said Reggie’s mother.
“It’s got some good sound advice in it,” Mr. Danker said.
Reggie stood up. The National Geographic Magazine fell from his lap to the floor. Miss Ella looked at him with surprise.
“What’s the matter, Reginald?”
“I have to go somewhere, mother.”
“Go where?”
“Somewhere,” Reggie said. “I have an appointment.”
“At twenty minutes after ten in the evening?”
“Why, even Stoker’s is closed,” Mr. Danker said. “The last show is just letting out down at the Green Mountain Theater.”
“I’m not going to a drugstore, and I’m not going to a movie,” said Reggie. “I’m going to meet a girl!”
“I don’t know what kind of a girl would be willing to meet a boy at this hour,” said Miss Ella, “do you, Mr. Danker?”
“I daresay I don’t,” Mr. Danker answ
ered.
“Don’t pretend,” said Reggie, “just don’t sit and pretend!”
“You’re starting to stutter, Reginald.”
“I never stopped stuttering, mother!”
“You’re embarrassing me before Mr. Danker, Reginald.”
“This is no way to behave to your mother,” Mr. Danker said.
“I’m going out. That’s all. I’m going out.”
“Go ahead,” said Miss Ella. “Go right on along. No one will stand in your way, Reginald. Go right on along.”
“Mother, is there anything wrong with my seeing a girl?”
“That depends on the girl,” said Mr. Danker.
“There’s nothing wrong with the girl!” Reggie shouted.
“Don’t try to reason with him, Mr. Danker. He’ll not listen to reason. He’ll find a way to put us both to shame.”
“I’m going,” said Reggie. “And there’s nothing wrong with it.”
He walked to the hallway and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be back later.”
“Don’t bring any diseases into this house,” his mother said.
Mr. Danker said, “Reggie—wait!”
But Reginald Whittier slammed the door. He went down the back stairs to the street. The car was parked in front of Whittier’s Wheel, and Reggie climbed in. Then he remembered. He had left the keys behind in his room. He would have to go back for the keys.
Suddenly, Miles Danker was standing beside the car.
He said, “I brought your keys, Reggie.”
“Thanks.”
Reggie held his hand out.
“I’ll give them to you in a few minutes. I want to talk to you first.”
“I’m late, Mr. Danker.”
“That kind of girl will wait,” said Mr. Danker. “Just don’t worry about that.”
Mr. Danker walked around to the other side of the car and got in. He sat sideways, facing Reggie. Reggie looked straight ahead.
“What do you know about women?” Mr. Danker said.
“You ought to know. You made the speech about them, Mr. Danker, a long time ago.”
“Three years ago, Reggie. Only three years ago. You’re still a boy.”
“I’m not a boy, Mr. Danker. I’m a grown man.” Reggie said, “Why can’t I be treated like one?”
“Do you want to go for a drive and talk, Reggie?”
“Yes. But with the girl who’s waiting for me, Mr. Danker.”
“A girl like that,” Mr. Danker said, “What do you know about a girl like that. A maid!”
“I knew you and mother knew where I was going. Why do you pretend?”
“Because we both know more about this kind of girl than you do, Reggie.”
“You’re not even married, Mr. Danker.”
“Do you think I’d bring a whore to my mother’s house? Do you think I’d violate my mother’s memory that way?”
“Mr. Danker, I’m not going to meet a whore, and I’m not going to bring her to my mother’s house.”
“She was in the shop today, wasn’t she, Reggie?”
“You know everything, don’t you? All the signers of the Mayflower Compact, and who was in and out of the shop today.”
“Why do you want to hurt me, Reggie? Because you hurt me everytime you’re sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t sarcastic before now, Mr. Danker. I’m sorry if I am sarcastic, but I want to keep my appointment.”
Mr. Danker said, “You were sarcastic earlier, Reggie. Earlier, when I was telling Miss Ella and you how dear my mother was to me. The minute I finished saying that, Reggie, you asked me how big the Haleakala Crater was. Now, if that isn’t sarcasm, what is it? It was your tone of voice. You were snide, Reggie. Snide. I tried to ignore it, but for heaven’s sake, Reggie, I’m human. I have feelings!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Danker.”
“I know you don’t mean to hurt me, Reggie.”
“No, I don’t want to hurt you. I like you, Mr. Danker, but I’m late as it is.”
“Do you know what that girl will want you to do, Reggie?”
“Nothing,” said Reggie, “Nothing!”
“All right, Reggie, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be brutal. I hoped I wouldn’t have to be brutal, but I’m going to have to be!”
Reggie turned his head and looked at Miles Danker. He was reaching into his coat pocket for something.
“What are you doing, for the love of Pete, Mr. Danker?”
“Turn on the dashboard lights, Reggie. I want you to see something.”
“What?”
“Turn on the dashboard lights, Reginald.”
Reggie leaned across and flipped the switch. Mr. Danker passed him a packet of cards.
“What is it?” said Reggie.
“Look at them carefully, Reggie,” said Mr. Danker, “I hate to be brutal, but Miss Ella’s asked me to be a father to you. It isn’t easy for a boy to grow up without a man to guide him, and I want to guide you, Reggie. Guide you along the right path.”
“Oh, jeez! Jeez!”
Mounted on the cards were pictures of men and women—pornographic pictures, one after the other.
“Look at every single one of them, Reggie,” said Mr. Danker.
“Where’d you get these?”
“You think because I’m not married, I don’t know about women, Reggie? You look at those pictures. How do they make you feel, Reggie?”
Reginald Whittier lied. “I don’t feel anything. They’re dirty pictures, that’s all.”
“Is that what this girl wants from you, Reggie? This maid?”
“No, Mr. Danker,” Reggie said.
“Then why are you stuttering?”
Reggie dropped the cards on the car seat. “Give me the keys, Mr. Danker.”
“Do you want to go for a drive, Reggie? We’ll talk.”
“I want to keep my appointment.”
“You still do?”
“Mr. Danker, please take your cards and give me my keys.”
Miles Danker reached for the cards, his hand brushing Reginald Whittier’s trousers. Reggie jumped.
“What’s the trouble, Reggie?”
“Will you give me my keys, please?”
“Your mother wouldn’t mind if we went for a drive. She’d like that a whole lot better than your meeting that maid.”
“The keys, Mr. Danker!”
Reggie held out his palm, and Miles Danker placed the keys there, his fingers touching Reggie’s skin. A pang of revulsion shot through Reggie. He shoved the keys in and turned over the motor.
Mr. Danker smiled. “All right,” he said, “all right, Reggie. But we’ll go for a drive another time. Don’t think I don’t know you by now. You won’t have any fun with that girl!”
“What does that mean?” said Reggie.
“Oh, you know.” Mr. Danker opened the car door and got out. He said, “I won’t say ‘have a good time,’ because you won’t have a good time. Wait and see, Reggie. We’re a lot alike, you know. A lot alike!”
For the first time since he had ever thought of the possibility that Laura Lee might really be pregnant, Reginald Whittier, backing away from Whittier’s Wheel with Mr. Danker’s paunchy figure framed in the headlights, just hoped to God she was.
Chapter Six
CHARLES BERREY
The Berrey family were on their way back to Reddton, New Jersey. Charles Berrey was curled up in the back seat of the car, pretending to be asleep, while his father and mother sat in front arguing. The car was passing through the Holland Tunnel, and the argument was so intense that neither bothered to turn down the radio. Charles made a face at the sound of the static, and buried his head in his arms.
Evelyn Berrey was saying, “Well, I simply won’t stand for it! We’re not going to lie to Life magazine!”
“They probably won’t even print it.”
“What do you mean they won’t print it? You know they’ll print it! ‘Quiz kid gets a B in English!’ I can see it now!”
“
I didn’t tell Chuck to say that to the Life reporters. I told him to say it to Mr. Carter. We were going to spoof Mr. Carter, that’s all. It was his own idea to tell Life.”
“A ‘B’ in English. English is Chuckles’ best subject!”
“Evelyn, it was Chuck’s own idea to say that to Life. Think of the kid, for God’s sake, instead of yourself all the time! Do you think he wants to be known as some kind of oddball genius?”
“He is a genius!”
“He is not a genius! He has a good memory, and that’s that!”
“I think you’re jealous of him, Howard Berrey.”
“That’s a laugh!”
“I think you’d have liked it if Life had interviewed you instead of Chuckles.”
“I’ve had my picture in the paper plenty of times. Pullenty of times!”
“Oh, sure! And I’m Princess Margaret.”
“Back at Mizzou it was Duke Berrey this and Duke Berrey that. Why, my mug was plastered all over the place!” Howard Berrey chuckled. “I used to get tired of seeing it.”
“Poor thing.”
“I actually did. After a while I even stopped clipping out the pieces on me. I remember mom got mad because I stopped sending them home. She said, ‘What do I have to do, take out a subscription to the Missouri papers myself?’” He laughed. “I told her, ‘What’s the matter, you don’t know what I look like by now?’” He took his right hand off the wheel, holding his thumb and his first finger wide apart. “She had a scrapbook this thick on me.”
“I’ll just bet there wasn’t any mention of your grades.”
“Evelyn, what college did you go to, hmm?”
“I’m not pretending to be anything but what I am,” said his wife. “And I’m not forcing my son to lie about his school marks!”
“I never forced Chuck to do anything. I’ve never laid a hand on either of my kids, and you know damn well!”
“Knife collection! Baseball player when he grows up! Where’d he get that stuff?”
“Turn the radio off, for God’s sake! You always have the radio on, or the television going. How many times have I walked into empty rooms and found the radio on or the television going?”
