"Oh? Let's see, that would be Sergeant Gordon. Which bush is he behind? I wouldn't mind punching a silver tip into him either."
"That's b-o-a-r, not b-o-r-e, Troop." They chuckled, visualizing Sergeant Gordon.
"Let me ask you something, Ben."
"Shoot, captain."
"What're your plans—after the Army, I mean?"
"Oh, I don't know, captain. I've kicked it around some.
"Maybe I ought to open a house of ill repute right beside Shultz's Gasthaus and get rich quick." They chuckled again.
"Well, you ought to be thinking about it, Ben. Life has a way of sneaking up on a guy."
He paused, then spoke a thought he had long held back. "You ought to think about teaching school, Ben. You're the best instructor I ever saw and you've already got some college time. Be a good steady income and only nine months a year. Not a bad living."
They were both silent.
"I've thought about that, captain; about teaching, I mean.
"I've seen too many lousy teachers. I know I could do better than most of them, but, God, do I hate the thought of sitting on my can through all those phony courses just so some guy can hand me a paper and say, 'Bless you son. You have endured 124 credit hours of crapola. Now you may teach.'"
"Yeah, most of it's bull all right, but it's the penalty you pay for the right to be up there. Might be worth it, Ben.
What's better to do?'
"Well, I could always check into the Old Soldiers' Home."
More seriously he added, "Let's see, I'll be 39 and a butt when I retire. Who said life begins at forty? Hope the guy was right. Most of my credits are in physical education, but I'll be getting a little old to roll out the ball by then. I think I'd like to teach history.
"I don't know though, captain, teaching in the Army is one thing. Kids? I just don't know." He became silent and pensive. "Soldiers always think they know a lot when they don't know anything; kids are probably worse. In here I can reason with the guy or give him a little knuckle drill behind the barracks, but kids . . . What do you do . . . beat their butts with a board? I don't know if I'd go for that Mickey Mouse stuff, captain."
"Hell, Ben, I've watched you for two years. You don't take guys out for knuckle drill, you get it done without that. Kids'll be easier. They don't know so much. Listen Troop, if you can make a company of draftees interested in something like the Articles of War, you can damn sure get kids to sit up and take notice."
A distant horn sounded, touching lightly on their reverie.
"Ben, you keep thinking about that teaching business. I wasn't kidding; you'd be good at it."
"I'm thinking, captain, I'm thinking . . . "
+++++
The meeting in Tom Ruby's hospital room began in tumult and steadily increased in volume.
Despite rules to the contrary, the Ruby women alternately smoked and wailed. While there were no anti-wailing regulations, the nurses endeavored to enforce the No Smoking rule but were met with stony obstinacy that finally led to the removal of Tom's hapless roommate and surrender of the immediate area to Ruby invective and threat.
Tobacco smoke billowed as the Ruby men guaranteed violent revenge on the person of Ben Troop, while above female shrieking rose repeated demands to "Let Tom talk." With his jaws tightly wired, his nose stuffed with cotton, and numbed by a powerful sedative, Tom Ruby was able to add nothing to the hubbub.
A stranger unfamiliar with Rubys' ways would have believed the uproar merely theatrics liberally mixed with crocodile tears. A native of Perry County might have recognized the rite as a prelude to Ruby violence and, in its way, a sort of oafish war dance. Someone from Newport might have been alarmed and spread a warning. The hospital staff merely shook their heads in disgust and waited for them to leave.
Into the Ruby maelstrom walked Earl Roebuck, practicing attorney to the needy and servant of the abused. He almost spun on his heel and deserted the field, for it all came back to him, his half-forgotten journey to Newport to defend one of these highly spiced clansmen, and the defeat at the hands of a competent school system. Once burned should be thoroughly warned, he thought, but went on in, adopting his professional smile and donning his air of friendly competence.
The fetid air of the room embraced him, raucous voices shouted, and hands clutched at him. At that moment, defense of the great American needy struck Roebuck as singularly unrewarding.
With patience born of other such occasions, Earl waited out the promises, threats, and assurances for and against assorted irrelevancies. Gradually, under weight of overuse, the performance dimmed and he was able to turn to Tom Ruby, the only Ruby present with firsthand knowledge and the only one so far unable to get in a word.
He closed his mind to the background clamor, waited until Pap Ruby had finished dribbling a stringy brown stream from his chew of Silver Cup into Tom's wastebasket, and empathized with the air conditioner's strangled efforts to strain essence-de-Ruby from the room.
He laid his hand reassuringly on Tom's arm. "Tell me about it, Tom." The boy's words were engulfed by an upsurge of Ruby opinion, all offering their two bits worth.
Finally exasperated, he faced them and shouted, "Shut up!"
Surprise brought him silence, and before anger and bruised feelings could replace it, he added in more moderate tones, "Now Tom's the only one who knows what happened, and I want to hear his words." He added again, "And only his words! Now Tom, tell me the best you can how this all happened."
Tom Ruby lay beneath the white hospital sheets dulled but still hurting, despite the sedatives. He was aware of being the center of attention and enjoyed it. He wished he could talk plain but his jaw was wired shut, and with thick bandages against the sides of his neck he could hardly swallow. He hoped he looked properly attacked and abused. His tongue felt thick and kind of furry, but he figured some doctor was soon going to run the whole crowd off, so he'd better make the most of it.
Roebuck had to lean close to hear the muffled words; the sickroom smell of blood and halitosis took some of his concentration.
"Well, Mr. Troop just up and slugged me with something, that's all."
Roebuck experienced annoyance. He should get used to dragging facts from people, he supposed, but when they were clients he was trying to defend he found it difficult. "Ok, Tom, but go back to the beginning. What started it all?"
"Nothin' started it! He just hit me." Ruby saw it wasn't going over and added, "Well, he got mad at me 'cause I had an accident. I hain't been feelin' good lately."
"What kind of accident? Tell me all of it."
Tom wished he had picked another way to annoy Ben Troop but it was way too late now. He could feel a flush rising in his face and was glad of the bandages covering him.
"Well, I been sick, like I told you, an' I couldn't help it. I accidently farted." A Ruby woman laughed and instantly smothered it. The attorney's face must have shown astonishment for Tom hurried on. "Then Troop came over an' insulted me. I tried to defend myself, but he hit me with somethin'." He stopped and was gratified to feel tears of self-sympathy running from his eyes,
"You say Mr. Troop insulted you? What did he say?"
"I can't remember—it all happened so quick. But then he told me to stand up an' pulled back his fist to slug me, an' I tried to protect myself, but he got me—with his nameplate, I think."
"Ok, now, let me get this straight. Mr. Troop pulled his arm back to hit you, right? Then what did you do?" He waved down a rising tide of Ruby invective.
"Why, I tried to hit him, Mr. Roebuck, but I was sittin' down, an' I never had a chance."
"How many times did you try to hit Mr. Troop?"
"Only once, or maybe twice. But I never touched him, honest!"
"Then he hit you with something? With what did you say?"
"Well, I couldn't really tell, but I think it was the sign off his desk."
"How many times did he hit you, Tom?"
"Gee, I don't know. More than once though. My no
se is broken an' so's my bottom jaw. I never got a chance."
This time Roebuck had to wait out the run of audible Ruby ire. Before he could resume questioning, a doctor arrived, and over their protests, the Ruby clan, including Earl Roebuck, was ushered from the room. He had to content himself with assuring Tom of his early return—alone.
The interview had been less than satisfactory but there was no rush. This was Friday and he could see Tom Ruby over the weekend at his leisure, without the disturbance of the rest of the family. He was mighty glad he wasn't Mr. Troop with that boogery tribe after him.
He managed to elude the Rubys at the elevator with the pretext of having another client, and sat in a reception room giving them time to clear out.
He remembered snatches of the other Newport hearing when a Ruby had resisted a haircut rule. They'd have lost if the boy had not seen fit to end it by dropping out of school.
Tough man, that superintendent, what was his name? He searched his memory until he came up with it. Boden, that was it, Robert Boden.
Struck by a sudden possibility, he went to a phone booth in the reception room, and charging the call with his credit card number, asked for Robert Boden in Newport, Pennsylvania.
Waiting, he checked his watch and found it to be nearly seven. Early dark was falling and he heard Boden accept the call on the other end.
Mr. Boden, this is Earl Roebuck, attorney-at-law, representing Tom Ruby in his difficulty at school."
"Yes, Mr. Roebuck."
Pretty noncommittal he thought. Those people don't like us in their affairs.
"I'd like to know if any action is being taken before Monday in this matter?" He caught a slight hesitation and thought, Ah-ha, pay dirt!
"Yes, Mr. Roebuck, I've called a meeting of the school board for tomorrow at seven in the evening."
"Isn't that a bit hasty, Mr. Boden? I mean with the boy in the hospital, unable to attend?"
"Any decisions by the board are of course subject to appeal, Mr. Roebuck, but I would remind you that Newport is a small town. It is neither wise nor necessary to let matters remain unsettled. I'm sure the board will be happy to consider any relevant information you wish to present, or any depositions you wish to submit. Can we expect your attendance, Mr. Roebuck?"
"Yes, Mr. Boden, I'll be there. That will be at the school I presume? Thank you. Good-by."
He congratulated himself. Talk about a shot in the dark! That Boden was a smart cookie! Well, there were other smart cookies!
Still, he was at a disadvantage. He'd have Tom's side of it, but that was sure to be less than objective. He'd have to get up to Newport early and nose around and that wasn't easy in Perry County. People clammed up to outsiders. He sighed. Hell, it was the same in the city. No one ever talked to anyone anymore. He wondered if they ever had.
+++++
Lin stepped from the bath into the bedroom, still drying with one of Ben's great shaggy towels. He had a large number of them; all brightly colored and neatly folded on a shelf near the shower.
The towels were typical of Ben's apartment. It was overwhelmingly masculine and completely personal.
Entrance was gained through the mean and shabby alley door, followed by a case of equally shabby stairs to the second floor. The door there opened into what had once been both second floor and attic. Troop had converted the unfinished area into his apartment. The transition from the shabbiness of the stairway to the muscular comfort of the apartment was startling. Ben claimed the wretched stairs, barely lighted, kept thieves away, as who could expect worthwhile booty at the end of such a hall? More privately he admitted he enjoyed the contrast between hall and apartment gave his ego a kick.
Few had visited Troop's place but, as in any small town, all knew of it. Everyone knew that Ben Troop had returned to Newport and bought the old building on the square for a song. He rented the store on the main floor to two elderly ladies who played at running an antique shop. He lived upstairs.
He seldom saw the antique ladies and received their rental check by mail in a pink lavender-smelling envelope promptly on the thirtieth of each month. The rent was a pittance that covered only the electricity and wintertime heat. But the ladies took it seriously and Troop was happy to have the downstairs occupied.
Wriggling her toes in the deep carpet, Lin patted water from her body, letting her eyes sweep across the bedroom, hardly noting the comfortable furnishings that had become so familiar. She followed her glance into the living room and moved silently across to adjust the long stereo to a deeper tone.
She stood for a moment well back from the picture window that looked out over the Newport town square and finished drying. She walked idly about the big room, admiring the great bear rug almost covering a wall and picking Ben out of various pictures of groups of men self-importantly arranged for the photographer. She supposed each gathering meant something to Ben but she saw only strange faces of vigorous looking men, often in military uniform, sometimes in athletic attire.
She stopped before the fireplace to wonder at her favorite picture. It was obviously Ben's favorite as well because, centered above the mantle, it occupied the place of honor.
It was a terrible picture she thought. There could be no doubt that it was a candid photo of a young Ben Troop snapped at a moment never to be recaptured. She thought it worthy of award. The photo showed Troop, blood dripping from a smashed nose and smearing his sweat drenched figure, raising a soggy boxing glove as though to swipe hair from hanging in his face.
There was an exhausted satisfaction gleaming from those eyes and the viewer knew who had been victorious. The muscular planes of the body stood out in hard, smooth ridges under the combination of ring lights and flashbulb. The colors were of tanned skin, sweat diluted blood, maroon glove leather, and finally, the gathered blue of boxing trunks—pulled well below the navel—centered with the name "Everlast." She imagined today's Ben Troop seated in repose before a crackling pine knot fire gazing at the young champion Ben Troop and reliving the ring combat.
She turned back to the bedroom, slipping into underclothing and a comfortable robe. Troop lay sprawled face down across the bed. She knelt beside him laying her hands gently on the relaxed breadth of his tanned shoulders.
Her fingers kneaded the thick muscle lying along either side of his neck and she could tell he liked it. She brought her fingernails scratching across his exposed back leaving temporary red lines across the tanned skin.
She worked her hands out onto the ends of his shoulders where deltoid muscles formed solid oval pads.
"Ben?" she ventured.
"Uh-huh?"
"How do you think this Ruby thing will turn out?" She could feel tension flow into his body, as though a turn or two on some internal turnbuckle had brought all systems closer to readiness.
"I don't know, Lin. Depends on the board, I guess."
"I know that, Ben, but how do you think it will turn out?" There was a moment before he answered. Then he rolled himself over, lying under her hand. "I think maybe I'm going to have to leave Newport." He felt her hands jerk, and reaching up, placed his over hers.
"Newport is a small town, Lin. Once the people make up their minds to something, they rarely change and they never forget. I'm afraid a lot of people are going to decide I beat Tom Ruby."
Irritated by his own thoughts, he gently brushed her hands aside and slid to his feet with the smooth coordination that so marked all his movements.
"I'm going to have to worry my way past the school board with this thing, though Boden will be right there with me," he speculated. "Then, those damned Rubys will haul me into court.
There really isn't much they can do to me personally, though if they win my insurance will have to pay them off.
"Sure as hell, it's going to drag out for months and the town is going to split on it. Finally everybody'll get tired of hearing about it. Most will wish I was gone just to be done with it all. Probably I'll feel the same way. My God; Lin, I'm already sick of thinkin
g and hearing about it.
"I caught him a good one and that would have done the trick, but I had to wing that second hook smack into the middle of his face." He pounded his fist into his open hand. "That's bothering me, Lin, that second punch!"
He leaned over her intently. "Look, Lin, for years I practiced punching, bobbing and weaving. Fighters have special names for every move, every possible action or reaction. It's like a dance routine; it's like chess; it's like ballet. If you're not a fighter, you can't really know the moves. You can't any more than you can really appreciate the training that lets a pole vaulter put it all together to haul, twist, and push at just the correct instant to force his body over a bar so high it looks impossible."
Immersed in his explanation, he knelt beside the bed talking across it to her. "A fighter trains and trains, forcing each move to become instinctive. His hands move on cues from the other fighter. His body reacts to positions of his feet and arms.
"The important point is that the fighter doesn't even think about it. He has trained his systems until they simply do it." He paused to gather the points of his argument.
"All those long years ago, I practiced, I trained and I bled over left hooks. Hour after hour for days on end, I worked on left hooks. If I hit solid with a left hook, Blam! in went the second.
"Lin, I wouldn't have given two cents on a bet that I had any of that left. And if I had known, what could I have done about it? When Tom Ruby went at me as hard and mean as he did, I was defending myself. I wasn't administering punishment, or meting out revenge, or applying an on-the-spot correction, or something. I was trying to keep from getting my head knocked off!
"And Lin, it felt great! I'm just an ordinary guy. I don't flatten some tough cookie every day and Tom Ruby is tough. I could have raised my hand as winner with a lot of satisfaction. Still, I didn't wish to hit him. I didn't plan to belt him with a pair of hard left hands and I certainly didn't plan to break his jaw and then his nose."
She watched him spring to his feet and walk agitatedly across the pile carpet. She could think of nothing to say and felt he was not yet finished clearing his own mind. She longed to comfort him but knew that was not what he needed or desired. Ben Troop was busy organizing his thoughts on the matter and when he was done, he would be sure and he would be able to act with determination.
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