The Non-Statistical Man

by Raymond F. Jones

  Jimmy could walk with his head high when he was with Brick. Everybody called out and waved when Brick passed. The greetings were not for Jimmy, but he knew the others were watching as he moved by the side of his friend. There had grown, day by day, a new look in their eyes. At first puzzlement—and now almost acceptance and respect.

  Jimmy had not hoped for so much when Brick first came to him. He was rude and bitter as he was to everyone then. Brick seemed not to notice. “I’m in trouble, Jimmy,” he said. “You’re the best man around here for my kind of trouble, if you’d be willing to help me out.”

  Jimmy remembered Brick had never called him “Professor” or “Four-eyes”, and he’d never laughed at him in the dressing room. Brick was always so sure of making his own way he never needed to stand in anyone else’s.

  “I’m going to flunk trig,” he went on, “unless I get somebody to beat it into my thick head. I don’t have enough time to do it alone. It looks like it’s got to be either football or trig—and the way I’m going it’s not likely to be either.”

  Without enthusiasm, Jimmy took on the coaching job. Trigonometry was lucidly clear to him, and he had the knack of making it so for the older boy. Brick offered substantial payment, but at the end of the first week, when the warmth was already growing between them, Jimmy made his own proposal.

  “I’m in trouble, too,” he said. “I want to learn to throw a ball halfway straight, so the guys will quit razzing mo in gym. I want to learn how to catch and run. Touch mo these things, will you, Brick?”

  They made a deal to exchange coaching, and Jimmy began feeling a measure of control coming into the muscles of his lean body. For the first time he felt his body was his own, with the right to occupy its quota of space. He had a right to the wild playground skills of his companions. Brick respected him and taught him to have respect for himself.

  And one day, in this same spot, Jimmy confided the great secret of his agonizing wonder about the universe to which they had come. Jimmy had caught his first fish, and in the sky, the sun was pinking the high cirrus.

  They watched the color slowly fading. “Don’t you ever wonder about it?” Jimmy said.

  “Wonder about what?”

  “Everything. . . 1” And then it came with a burst, the outflow of talk so long held back, because there had been no one to understand it.

  “The colors,” said Jimmy, “The colors in the sunrise and sunset, the colors in a rainbow, the blue of the sky. Out in space, away from Earth, the sky isn’t blue. It’s black. Did you know that, Brick? Someday I’m going out there. I’m going to walk on the Moon and see what Earth looks like from there. I’m going to go to Mars before I die.

  “I’m going to find out why an atom explodes. Nobody knows that, yet. Not really. They don’t know what fission or fusion really is. They only know a little about how to make it happen. Nobody knows what’s really inside an atom. I’m going to find out, Brick.”

  “Sure you are,” said Brick quietly. “You’re going to go farther and faster, and higher and deeper than most men have ever dreamed.”

  “What are you going to do, Brick? Wouldn’t you like to go there, too? Down into an atom, or out into space?”

  “Me? The trig hound of Westwood High? Dad’s got a place all ready for me in his contracting business. I expect to be a civil engineer, that is if I can ever learn which end of a transit you look into.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “Sure. I grew up on stories of bridges in South America and sewers in Syria. Actually, Dad’s never had an out of stages job yet. His biggest one was a thirty six inch sewer line half way across San Francisco. He had to start too close to scratch. He expects me to build it up; it’s what I want to do.

  “And a guy ought to do what he wants to, not what somebody else thinks he ought to. You’ve got a lot tougher climb than I have to get where you’re going. But maybe not, really. You’re starting from a higher jumping-off place than most of us will ever reach after a lifetime of trying.” "

  “Is that why they hate me?”

  Brick’s eyes widened in astonishment. “So that’s what’s eating you! For the love of Pete, stop dreaming up such crazy ideas. They’d like you well enough if you’d give them half a chance!” .

  Jimmy knew that was a lie, of course. Reclining now in the grass where they had once talked, he knew that Brick was just trying to be kind. He had given them a chance until his heart ached with the sickness of longing for their friendship. Still they hated him, and Jimmy was scared of them.

  He was too scared to appear for the farce of Jimmy Correll Day Assembly. He was too scared to go to the University next year.

  He was too scared to leave Brick.

  He wasn’t ashamed of this. For the first time in his life he knew what it was like to walk through the school yard and on the streets of his neighborhood with some feeling of pride and freedom from fear. Brick gave him an honest friendship. It wasn’t shameful to take pride in that— and fear its loss.

  Maybe if he stayed at Westwood just this next year— with Brick—he could get up strength enough to go it alone. But if he had to leave now for another world of taunting strangers he would be lost. He would never find his way back to this world of sky and light that Brick had shown him.

  He stopped thinking and let time drift while he sucked in Jhe pleasure of the water and the sky, and the gentle fondling of the wind in the grass and the willow branches. And then he knew it had happened, the thing he had known would happen because he was foolish enough to come back to this enchanted place.

  Brick was there, standing over him.

  Jimmy looked up to his friend’s face. A beam of light through the matrix of leaves blinded him. Brick sat down on the bank. “They’re looking all over for you, Jimmy,” he said.

  A hot burning flooded the inside of Jimmy’s stomach.

  They couldn’t have searched very long. “Why did you look here?” he said.

  “I guess I always knew this would happen,” Brick said slowly. He plucked at the blades of grass on die bank. “I guess I always knew you’d run out when the big chance came along. It’s all you’ve ever done—run away.”

  “You can’t taunt me into going back!” Jimmy said numbly. “I won’t go back, no matter what you say.”

  “I don’t expect you to. I just thought it would be a good time to tell you what I’ve always suspected: You haven’t got what it takes.”

  “I know what I’m doing!” Jimmy moved to a crouching position before Brick, his childish face almost snarling. “Nobody’s going to make me jump through a hoop like a prize dog anymore. Jimmy Correll, the trained pup, is through performing!”

  Brick leaned back, smiling cynically.

  “Brick—all I want is a chance to stay at Westwood another year.” The words tumbled out of Jimmy. “You don’t know what it’s meant—being able to talk to you and walk around the school as if I have a right to. If I can just hold off one more year maybe I can make it. But I can’t now. Can’t you understand that? Besides—you’ll be going to the University then, too.”

  Brick moved away. “Don’t count on me, kid. I left an hour ago. I had thought that if I waited long enough you might show some guts. You were able to learn to catch a fast pitch, and you let me rub your nose in the dirt teaching you to run with a ball. But I guess it takes still more in a pinch like this. You haven’t got it, and you never will.” Jimmy’s face twisted helplessly. “Brick—Brick—”

  “It’s about time you got wise to yourself. You can’t hang onto me any longer. You’ve got to get up gumption enough to face things for yourself. Find your own kind.” “Damn you, Brick Malloy—damn you—!”

  But Brick had turned and was already vanishing in the high grass along the bank.

  The enchantment was gone. Never would this be a sacred, wonderful spot again. Jimmy lay in the grass for long minutes, trying to get it all back again. But he knew it was gone now forever.

  He got up and moved a
long the trail. There was no use staying. When Brick got back to school they’d send somebody after him. His parents, or the Principal, or somebody ...

  He came in sight of the bridge and looked up. They had already come. It didn’t seem as if there had been time for Brick to get back and report, but there was a car there on the shoulder of the road, just off the bridge.

  Then Jimmy recognized it. The battered old car belonged to Mr. Barton,, the janitor. Surely Mr. Barton wouldn’t be the one to come and bring him back! That would be the final betrayal.

  Mr. Barton was waiting on the front seat, smoking a pipe. The door hung open, moving slightly with a creak in the breeze.

  The janitor waved a hand as he saw him. “Hello, Jimmy. Want to ride back with me? We can put your bike in the back.”

  Jimmy came up to the running board and stared in bitterness. “I guess Brick told everybody what I did.”

  “I wouldn’t know; I haven’t seen Brick.”

  “Then how did you know I’d be here? Why did you come?”

  “I just sort of guessed. And I supposed you were ready to go back by now so I thought I’d drive down.”

  Tears started suddenly in Jimmy’s eyes. He leaned forward pleadingly. “Don’t take me back! Drive me away from here somewhere where I’ll never have to come back!”

  “All right. We’ll go for a ride if you want to,” said Mr. Barton amiably. “Let’s get your bike up in the back.”

  In a few moments the ancient car was chugging down the road away from town and Westwood High. Mr. Barton said nothing, continuing to puff on the pipe between his teeth. Then suddenly Jimmy was pouring it out, the whole-story from the very beginning in the first grade. He told about the loneliness of being different, the hatred from those who were so perfectly normal, the insurmountable dread of facing all his enemies at the Assembly in his honor.

  “I’m nothing but a freak!” he cried in anguish. “I’m smarter than any of them in school and nobody’ll be my friend!”

  Mr. Barton nodded serenely, then spoke. “You have to decide which of two things you want. Is it the stars and atoms you are always talking about—or is it the backslapping of the guys in school, guys like Tom Marlow maybe, and Jack Foster? You can have one or the other but not both.

  “Tom and Jack and the rest of them will never savvy the Jimmy Correll who gets half sick with wanting to be out there in space, walking across the face of the Moon, digging up the ancient cities of Mars. They laugh at things like that because they’re afraid to look so high or so far.

  “But they’ll slap you on the back if you give up all that and become like them.”

  “I want to be like them! Why can’t I? And keep the other, too? What’s the matter with me that I can’t be like the other guys, so they’ll stop hating me and be friends?”

  “You can, Jimmy. Just close your eyes to the things you see, which no one else can. Close your ears to the sounds that only you can hear. Laugh at their stupid jokes. Then you’ll be one of them, and they won’t laugh at you any more. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes,” said Jimmy thinly. “I want them to like me and play with me and stop hating me.”

  “Wouldn’t you miss watching Ruffy and his friends? Wouldn’t you miss the sunsets on the desert of Loh-Khita?”

  Jimmy turned slowly to the old man. A sudden finger of chill traced its way along his spine. He felt cold and frightened all over. “How do you know about Ruffy?” he whispered hoarsely. “How do you know about the desert of Loh-Khita? They’re on Mars!”

  Mr. Barton nodded. “Yes, I know. You haven’t answered my question, though. Could you give up those? Could you give up watching the Earthshine from Mare Imbrium and exploring the ruins of the illfated Mars colony on the moon? Would you abandon those ancient vessels standing in the pumice of Mare Serenetatis in exchange for a backslap from Tom Marlow?”

  “How do you know about them?’’ Jimmy’s voice was a cry of torment.

  “I see them, too,” said Mr. Barton quietly.

  “Then you’re—you’re like me!”

  “Yes. I can see out there without a telescope. I can see the little things in a drop of water. I can know the thoughts of men before they speak them.”

  Suddenly Jimmy was sobbing in deep, sweet relief of all his anguish. “I thought I was alone!” he cried. “I thought I was all alone in the whole wide world!”

  “You’ve never been alone,” said Mr. Barton. “Not since the moment of your birth. We have watched over you carefully all the way.”

  Jimmy’s crying subsided and he looked up again in wonder and incredulity at the face of the old janitor. “Who?” he said in, a whisper. “Who has watched over me?” ’

  “Your own kind. Not. all men are bom blind and deaf and dumb as are the normal people of human society. But there have been many generations of those who are not—and who were crushed and destroyed just as you might have been.

  “We are like seeds of forest giants, drifted by the wind to a tangled jungle. The seeds germinate in the viney, strangling growth, but the immature plant is robbed of its sustenance and smothered by the wealth of inferior growth.

  “So it is with human beings. A ‘superior’ creature is still an immature creature during childhood and can be crushed by the swarms of normal beings whose potentialities are only a thousandth part of his. You have learned already to submit to those who are less than you are. You have been almost willing to give up your great gifts just to win approval from your classmates.”

  “But that was before I knew about you!” Jimmy cried. “It was because I was so lonely. I couldn’t stand it, being the only one—”

  Mr. Barton nodded. “I know. That’s the way it was with me. The seedling of even the greatest forest giant requires nourishment and protection during its stage of immaturity. Otherwise, it can survive only if it takes root where no competing cover exists.

  “It happened that way to us a few times. That’s how we got our start. Now it’s no longer necessary to wait for that. We do a good job of—let us say, gardening. We hold back the jungle until the seedling gets a growth that will withstand any attack. You might call me a gardener.”

  Jimmy continued to stare at his old friend. The things he said began to fall into place, to make sense in his mind. He recalled how it had been. His reading had always been with him. That was an easy one, apparently. But he’d never known microscopic vision before he went to school. He’d seen the deserts of Mars and the white plains of the Moon for longer, though. And his ability to know the thoughts of others was still a stumbling, uncertain skill that was scarcely under his control at all.

  He could understand what Mr. Barton meant. He was developing the skills of Homo Superior, but he was still a child, a growing, immature thing. And the adults of Homo Normal—even their children!—were capable of defeating him in his present stage, if he had to go it alone ...

  But he wasn’t! He never would be alone again! He looked up to the face of Mr. Barton with tears starting in his eyes all over again. “Tell me about the rest of them,” he whispered. “Where are they? How can I find them?”

  The janitor shook his head. “That must wait. You are not ready to be moved yet—to be transplanted, shall we say? You will go on to the University as they desire you to. You will live out your seedling time here where you have been planted. But you need have no fear of what Normals can do. You need have no longing to give up your gifts just to win their friendship. You can be yourself and grow in your own way for there will always be—a gardener—nearby to guide you when the jungle threatens to smother you.”

  Jimmy had not noticed until now, but they had driven around by the Creek Loop and were now approaching town again. Westwood High loomed in the foreground. Jimmy felt a pang of regret as he sensed that the interview was closed and Mr. Barton was once more just the high school janitor. With longing, he wondered how many years it would take him to be ready for them to invite him to—wherever they were . ..

  Mr. Barton park
ed the car and got out. “Just about Assembly time, I guess, Jimmy. We’ll have to hurry.”

  The sun seemed terribly bright in his eyes and he blinked against it. Walking behind the stooped, slouching figure of the janitor, he wondered for a moment if he’d actually heard the things he remembered or if he’d dreamed them. But it was no dream—Mr. Barton knew Ruffy, and the desert of Loh-Khita.

  They entered the building, and all of a sudden Jimmy hated himself intensely for trying to bridge the gap between Tom Marlow and the stars. Tom would grow up to be a truck driver, and would hardly care if the stars shone in the sky or not.

  What was it Brick had said? Find your own kind. That was it. That was the secret. Be patient. Lincoln and Westwood were not the whole of creation. Outside, in the rest of the world, were the scattering of others like him, lonely as he was lonely. Someday he would go to them, and his loneliness would be over.

  But loneliness was far the most terrible thing in the world. The stars were lonely, too, he thought, and men envy their glory.

  He moved through the hall toward the back of the stage. The auditorium was filling and a few of the crowd yelled out as he passed through. “Nice goin’ Professor!”

  He scarcely heard the hated nickname.

  Then he was in the semidarkness of the stage wings and almost ran into Mr. Mooremeister, who was pacing the stage in agonized indecision. “You—Jimmy!” he cried. “Where in Heaven’s name have you been? Your parents are frantic. We’d looked all over . . .”

  “I didn’t feel so good. I had to get away. I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”

  “Trouble . . .” the Principal muttered. He took Jimmy severely by the arm and led him out and up to the office. “Trouble . . .”

  His mother and father were there. They made it easy for him. They saw his face, streaked and tearful and grasped his feelings without a word being said. Mr. Mooremeister continued to mutter about the annoyance of the situation.