12

That night there was the smell. Faint, so subtle it might have been only in my mind. After all, Mead was hidden in a place that was cool, nearly cold. But real or not, with every breath, I knew what I had done.

I could sleep only if I drank, and every morning I felt very bad. My hands trembled, and I had a headache like a vibrating fissure down my cranium, into my spine.

But when I drank, I could begin to forget what had happened, and what was happening. I knew that every day Mead’s father did not know about his son was another day he could continue to live. If Angela did not have a bottle of the expensive booze for me in the afternoon, I would buy a bottle of whatever seemed right from the One Stop. I began to avoid plain wine, and stick to the fortified wines. Even when I was sober, I could feel the alcohol in me, making my not-drunk hours just the shadow of being intoxicated.

One morning, someone was stabbed on the steps outside Harding. There were quick, hissed obscenities, a sudden tangle of bodies, and then everyone ran. Everyone but me, and a guy I did not recognize. I was too hung over to function quickly, despite the two fingers of scotch I had swallowed to ease me into the day.

“They stabbed me! They stabbed me. I’ve been stabbed,” he said. And it seemed impossible that someone who was hurt would be able to speak so calmly. He looked right at me with an expression of mild surprise, and annoyance. “You better call me a doctor because I’m going to die.”

His shirtfront was glistening with scarlet. It was too red—nothing was that red, and it was sudden. “Don’t worry,” I said, like a talking piece of wood, awkward and barely articulate. “Don’t worry. Someone will call the police.”

“I don’t want any police. I’m dying.”

“You’ll be all right.”

“I’m going to be nothing if you just stand there like that.”

But then the crowd closed in, and Mr. Lindner was there, speaking in a quiet voice, calling for a blanket. A campus security man was there, his radio antenna wagging into the air, and I knew that authorities would take charge.

For some reason I was hoping to see Inspector Ng, but instead it was a policeman in a uniform, a notebook on his knee, and black ballpoint pen in his hand, writing nothing.

Mr. Tyler assured me that I could say whatever I knew. “There won’t be any harm to you,” he said. “No harm at all, so don’t worry. You can speak in utter confidence, Peter, as I know you will.”

“Just tell us what you saw,” said the policeman, perhaps a little irritated with Mr. Tyler.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“Everyone’s worried about reprisals,” said Mr. Tyler. “It’s hard to blame them.”

“No, honestly. It was all confused. I didn’t know any of the people—”

“You recognized none of them?” the policeman asked.

“I didn’t see hardly any of them. The one who got stabbed—I don’t know who he was. If I knew who did it, I’d tell you. I don’t care what happens to me.” I meant this. I didn’t have anything to lose if someone emptied a twenty-two into my head. “But I didn’t see anything. It happened too fast, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

The policeman nodded, and seemed to understand. “If you remember anything, let us know.”

“It all happened so fast—”

“Witnesses aren’t always reliable anyway,” he said, as though doubting my ability to tell night from day, no doubt recognizing me as yet another teenage zombie. I must have smelled like a distillery. But at least his voice was kind. You feel grateful if the police treat you with the least amount of courtesy.

They interviewed a dozen other people, and everyone knew zero. Some of the know-nothings probably knew what had happened, but people looked at me with respect, as though I had refused to tell what I had seen.

“This is insane,” I told Lani as we rode home on the bus. “They admire me because I’m protecting someone probably no one knows anyway.”

“It’s just drugs,” she said. “It’s just drug money. It has nothing to do with us. Are you upset at what you saw?”

“I didn’t see anything.” But in fact, I was shaken. All day, I had imagined the cherry jam on the guy’s shirt.

“There’s too much violence in the world,” she said, looking into my eyes. “Try not to be upset.”

I got off the bus at my usual stop, and did not see him until I nearly ran into him. Even then, I did not know who it was, although he obviously knew me.

“I expected you to be taller by now,” said a man with a military haircut, and a square jaw. He had broad shoulders, and wore a dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and dark slacks, a look I associate with narcotics detectives.

“I expected you to be better looking,” I said, but I didn’t know yet who it was.

“We have to talk.”

I knew then who it was.

“Actually, you’re looking good, Jack. I guess military school is just the thing for you. You look like a linebacker.”

“I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” He motioned with his head. “Let’s cross the street.”

His words were friendly, but his manner made it hard to argue. I had no choice. Jack had always been mean. Now he looked much older, and more like a drill sergeant than a football player. His neck was beefy, and his jaw muscles bunched like biceps as he chewed gum, or maybe a bite out of someone he had taken on the way to meet me. I felt tired and empty, and I wanted a drink.

He pointed to a booth, and I sat. He brought back a cardboard tray holding Styrofoam cups, and two glistening doughnuts.

“It’s nice to be back in the old neighborhood,” he said, looking at the interior of Dunkin’ Donuts as though he wanted to burn it. “You miss a place like this.” He found the wad of chewing gum in the back of his mouth, and retrieved it. It was about the size of a dolphin’s brain. He dropped it with a regretful expression into the ashtray. “But you don’t miss much else. What are you going to do?”

I stared at my doughnut, the exact twin of his, except mine was not ravaged. “Do?”

“With your life.”

“This is a pretty serious question.” I laughed. “To ask someone. All of a sudden.”

“I can do a hundred and twenty pushups.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“You might say, ‘What does that have to do with life in general?’”

“That’s not what I said. I said it was great.”

His forefinger was smeared with sugar and fat. He stuck it at me like he wanted me to suck it. “I have turned myself around. I see what I want, and I see how to get it. I’ve worked hard, Peter, and it wasn’t easy. But I’m proud. You might say, ‘Angela’s brother has turned into a total jerk.’ But I’m going to join the Navy and I’m going to go to college, and I’m going to be a naval officer, and I feel very, very good about that.”

I opened my mouth, and shut it.

“I know this is really a jackass way to present myself after months of being gone, and I hardly knew you anyway. But there’s a future out there, Peter.”

“Great—”

“And you are creeping around doing something, I don’t know what. Something illegal, I’m pretty sure. Hey, maybe I’m wrong. I know I’m ignorant. But I’m not dumb. Look at me. Are these the eyes of a dumb bunny?”

Indeed, they were not. Jack was not the smirking, dope-smoking character I remembered.

“You and Mead are up to something. I haven’t figured out what it is. Some kind of drug dealing, or I don’t know what. Angela has given me all kind of hints. This would be your business. I don’t care what happens to you. Actually, I never disliked you, so I’d rather see you grow up and not wind up floating to Honolulu in a barrel.”

He sucked the finger himself, and studied it. Then he leaned forward. “But I want you keeping your rotten, decayed, putrid, drugged claws off of my sister. I love my sister. And I don’t want her fooling around with the things you find under rocks.”

“Wait a minute—”

He put up a hand that was as broad and flat as a garage door, and I shut up. “I’m being friendly about this. Isn’t this friendly? Coffee, doughnuts. We are like civilized people. I don’t want to see you within a half a mile of Angela, or I will break every little bone in your body, including your pecker bone, and I swear it.”

“I like you, Jack. You’re direct, and have understandable—predictable, but understandable—loyalties.” I pushed my doughnut away from me. Not far, but away. “But Angela, whom I like and admire as a friend, and whose company I have always enjoyed, is only a—well, this is going to be hard for you. I love Angela too, in a way. But let me be blunt. Angela is in some ways only a cut above a tramp. I say this confidentially, because you’re her brother. I would fight to the death if anyone said this about her. But since you and I are nearly family—”

Jack’s face turned colors. From the lighter pastels, to the really vivid and turgid pigments.

“It’s a good thing I’m with Angela, and not some of the real cockroaches she would hang out with if it wasn’t for me. I respect Angela, which you apparently do not, feeling the only way you can protect her is to threaten to murder me. That’s what we’re talking about. Threats. Murder. You think you’re going to be an officer on a ship? You’ll be lucky to drive a garbage truck.”

I felt a little bad about slighting Angela’s character, but not at all bad about the wonderful panorama of Jack’s face. Angela was only a little trampish. She’s beautiful, and she wants to be rich. It’s the American way. And I didn’t blame Jack for looking after her. He was being the best sort of brother he knew how to be. I spoke without thinking, out of self-defense. I couldn’t sit there and let him threaten me.

Jack worked his fists as though they hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “She’s not a tramp. I just got irritated. I really didn’t mean it. It’s just—you can’t push people around like that. It’s just not something you can do. Even if you’re right.”

“I’m glad we had this talk,” said Jack, hoarsely. “Really glad. Because you know what? I’m going to watch you, Peter. I am going to follow you like a hound, and know everything you do until I can call the police and see you in cuffs, getting stuck into the backseat of a black-and-white. Because you deserve it. Because you,” he said carefully, as though the line had taken a great deal of thought, “are scum.”