A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (5 page)

She began to laugh softly, her eyes shining up at me. “I like you, Danny,” she whispered. She went to the door and turned back to look at me. The mockery was back on her face again. “Who shall I send in now, Danny?” she asked. “Your sister?”

I
WALKED
through the parlour, Rexie at my heels. “Danny, come here a minute.” Papa’s voice came from the couch, where he was sitting next to Mamma.

Mamma looked tired. She had just finished cleaning up after
everyone
had gone. The house seemed curiously quiet now.

“Yes, Papa.” I stood in front of them.

“You had a good Bar Mitzvah, Danny?” Papa said, half
questioningly
.

“Very good, Papa,” I answered. “Thanks.”

He waved his hand slightly. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank your mamma. She did all the work.”

I smiled at her.

She smiled wearily up at me, and her hand patted the cushion beside her. I sat down. Her hand reached up and rumpled my hair. “My little Blondele,” she said wistfully. “All grown up now. Soon you’ll be getting married.”

Papa began to laugh. “Not so soon yet, Mary. He’s still young”

Mamma looked at him. “Soon enough,” she said. “Look how quick the thirteen years went.”

Papa chuckled. He took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it, a
thoughtful
expression settling on his face. “David made the suggestion that Danny come to work in the store this summer.”

Mamma started forward in her seat. “But, Harry, he’s still a baby yet!”

Papa laughed aloud. “Today he’s getting married, but this summer
he’s too young to work.” He turned toward me. “How do you feel about it, Danny?”

I looked at him. “I’ll do anything you want, Papa,” I answered.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I asked what do you want to do. What do you want to be?”

I hesitated a moment. “I really don’t know,” I confessed. “I never thought about it.”

“Time you should start thinking about it, Danny,” he said seriously. “You’re a smart boy. A year in high school already and you’re just thirteen. But all that smartness is no good unless you know where you’re going. Like a ship without a rudder.”

“I’ll come into the store this summer, Papa,” I said quickly. “After all, if it will help you, that’s what I want. I know business is not so hot these days.”

“It’s bad enough, but not so bad that I want you to do something you don’t want,” he said, looking at his cigar. “Your mamma and me, we have great hopes for you. That you would be a doctor or a lawyer and go to college. Maybe if you come into the store you won’t go to college. That’s what happened to me. I never finished school. I don’t want it to happen to you.”

I looked at him, then at Mamma. She was watching me, sadness in her eyes. They were afraid that what had happened to him would happen to me. Still, business was bad and Papa needed my help. I smiled at them. “Going to work in the store for the summer doesn’t mean anything, Papa,” I said. “In the fall I go back to school again.”

He turned to Mamma. For a long moment they looked at each other. Then Mamma nodded her head slightly and he turned back to me. “All right, Danny,” he said heavily. “Let it be that way for a while. We’ll see.”

The boys were shouting as the volley ball shuttled back and forth across the net. There were four games going in the school gymnasium. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Gottkin walking towards us. I pulled my eyes back to the ball. I wanted to look good for him. He coached the football team.

The ball was coming toward me, high over my head, but I leapt and stabbed at it. It caught the top of the net, rolled over the other side, and fell to the floor. I looked around proudly, feeling pretty good. That made the eighth point I had scored out of the fourteen for my side. Mr. Gottkin couldn’t help noticing that.

He wasn’t even looking my way. He was talking to a boy on the next court. The ball came back into play again. I missed what seemed
like a couple of easy shots, but each time they were recovered. When the play seemed to be going over to the other side of the court, I stole another glance at the teacher.

From behind me I could hear Paul’s sudden shout: “Danny! Your ball!”

I spun around quickly. The ball was floating easily across the net toward me. I set myself for it and jumped. A dark figure on the other side of the net flashed up before me and hit the ball toward the floor. Automatically my hands went up to cover my face, but I wasn’t fast enough. I went tumbling to the floor.

I scrambled to my feet angrily, one side of my face red and stinging where the ball had hit me. The dark boy on the other side of the net was grinning at me.

“Yuh fouled it!” I shot at him.

The smile left his face. “What’s a matter, Danny?” he sneered. “You the only hero allowed in the game?”

I started under the net for him, but a hand gripped my shoulder firmly and stopped me.

“Get on with the game, Fisher,” Mr. Gottkin said quietly. “No rough-housing.”

I ducked back under the net to my side. I was angrier now than before. All Gottkin would remember was that I had got sore. “I’ll get hunk,” I whispered to the boy.

His lips formed a soundless raspberry accompanied by a gesture of derision.

My chance came on the very next play. The ball floated over my head and the boy shot up for it. I beat him to it and hit it savagely downward with both hands. It struck him squarely in the mouth and he rolled over on the floor. I hooted loudly at him.

He came off the floor and, charging under the net, tackled me around the legs. We rolled over and over on the floor pummelling each other. His voice was hot and angry in my ear: “Yuh son of a bitch!”

Gottkin pulled us apart. “I tol’ yuh, no rough-housing.”

I looked down at the floor sullenly and didn’t answer.

“Who started this?” Gottkin’s voice was harsh.

I looked at the other boy and he glowered at me, but neither of us answered.

The P.T. teacher didn’t wait for an answer. “Get on with the game,” he said in a disgusted voice. “And no rough-housing.” He turned away from us.

Automatically we started for each other as his back turned. I caught
the dark boy around the middle and we were on the floor again before Mr. Gottkin pulled us apart.

His arms held us at each side of him. There was a weary, speculative look on his face. “You guys insist on fightin’?” he stated rather than asked.

Neither of us answered.

“Well,” he continued, “if you’re gonna fight, you’ll fight my way.” Still holding us, he called over his shoulder to the substitute teacher who was his assistant: “Get out the gloves.”

The sub came up with the gloves, and Gottkin gave a pair to each of us. “Put ’em on,” he said almost genially. He turned to the boys in the gym, who had started to crowd around. “Better lock the doors, boys,” he said. “We can’t have anyone walking in on us.”

They laughed excitedly while I fumbled with the unfamiliar gloves. I knew what they were laughing at. If the Principal came in, there would be hell to pay.

The boxing gloves felt clumsy on my hands. I’d never had a pair on before. Paul silently began to tie the laces for me. I looked over at the other boy. The first flush of anger had died away in me. I didn’t have anything against this kid. I didn’t even know his name. The only class we were in together was this one. He looked like he was beginning to feel the same way. I walked up to him. “This is stupid,” I said.

Mr. Gottkin replied before the boy could open his mouth. “Goin’ yella, Fisher?” he sneered. There was a peculiar excitement in his eyes.

I could feel the heat flaming in my cheeks. “No, but——”

Gottkin cut me off. “Then get back there an’ do what I tell yuh. Come out fightin’. When one of you is knocked down, the other will not hit him until I give the okay. Understand?”

I nodded. The boy wet his lips and also nodded his head.

I could see Gottkin felt good again. “All right, boys,” he said, “go to it.”

I felt someone shoving me forward. The dark boy was coming toward me. I raised my hands and tried to hold them the way I had seen some fighters in the movies do. Warily I circled around the boy. He was just as cautious as I was, watching me carefully. For almost a minute we didn’t come within two feet of each other.

“I thought you guys wanted to fight,” Gottkin said. I stole a glance at him. His eyes were still burning with excitement.

A light exploded in my own eyes. I could hear the boys begin to yell. Another light flashed. Then a sharp, stinging pain in my right ear, then on my mouth. I could feel myself falling. There was a grinding,
buzzing sound in my head. I shook it angrily to clear it and opened my eyes. I was on my hands and knees. I looked up.

The boy was dancing in front of me. He was laughing.

The louse had hit me when I wasn’t looking. I got to my feet, anger surging in me. I saw Gottkin tap him on the shoulder, then he was all over me. Desperately I pushed in close and grabbed at his arms and held on.

My throat was raw, I could feel my breath burning in it. I shook my head. I couldn’t think with that buzzing sound in there. I shook my head again. Suddenly the noise stopped and the breath was easier in my throat.

I felt Gottkin pull us apart. His voice was husky in my ears. “Break it up, boys.”

My legs were steady now. I held my hands up and waited for the other boy to come after me.

He came charging in, arms flailing. I moved aside and he surged past me. I almost smiled to myself. This was easy: you just had to keep your head on your shoulders.

He turned around and came after me again. This time I waited for him. I could see his fists were high. I drove my right hand into his belly. His hands came down and he doubled up. His knees began to buckle and I stepped back. I looked questioningly at Mr. Gottkin.

He pushed me back toward the boy roughly. I hit the boy twice and he straightened up, a dazed look on his face.

I was standing flatfooted now. I could feel a surge of power flowing through my body into my arms. I brought my right up almost from the floor, and it caught him flush on the chin. The shock of the punch ran through my arm. He spun around once and then fell forward, flat on his face.

I stepped back and looked at Mr. Gottkin. He was standing there with a flushed look, staring down at the boy. His tongue was running nervously over his lips, his hands were clenched, and the back of his shirt was covered with sweat as if he had done the fighting.

A sudden silence fell over the gymnasium. I turned back to the boy, who lay there quietly, not even moving. Slowly Mr. Gottkin knelt beside him.

He rolled the boy over on his back and slapped at his face. The teacher was pale now. He looked up at the sub. “Get me the
smelling-salts
!” he cried hoarsely.

His hands were trembling violently as he waved the bottle back and forth under the boy’s nose. “Come on, kid.” He seemed to be pleading. “Snap out of it.” There were beads of sweat on his face.

I stared down at them. Why didn’t the kid get up? I shouldn’t have let them bulldoze me into a fight.

“Maybe we better get a doctor,” the sub whispered anxiously to Mr. Gottkin.

Gottkin’s voice was low, but I could hear him as I bent down. “Not if yuh like this job!”

“But what if the kid dies?”

The sub’s query went unanswered as colour began to flood back into the boy’s face. He tried to sit up, but Gottkin held him back on the floor.

“Take it easy, kid,” Gottkin said almost gently. “You’ll be okay in a minute.”

He picked the boy up in his arms and looked around. “You fellas keep your mouths shut about this. Understand?” His voice was menacing. Silently they gave their assent. His eyes swept past them and came to me. “You, Fisher,” he said harshly, “come with me. The rest of you get back to your games.”

He strode into his office, still carrying the boy, and I followed. He put the kid down on a leather-covered dressing-table as I closed the door behind us. “Get me that water pitcher over there,” he called over his shoulder.

Silently I handed it to him and he upended it over the boy’s face. The boy sat up sputtering.

“How’re yuh feeling, kid?” Gottkin asked.

The boy forced a grin to his face. He looked at me shyly. “As if a mule kicked me,” he replied.

Gottkin began to laugh in relief. Then his glance fell on me and the smile disappeared. “Why didn’t yuh tell me yuh knew how to fight, Fisher?” he snarled. “I got a mind to——”

“I never fought with gloves before, Mr. Gottkin,” I said quickly. “Honest.”

He looked at me dubiously, but he must have believed me, for he turned back to the boy. “Okay if we forget the whole thing?” he asked him.

The boy looked at me and smiled again. He nodded his head. “I don’t even want to remember it,” he said earnestly.

Gottkin looked back at me for a second, a speculative look in his eyes. “Then, shake hands, you two, an’ get outta here.”

We shook hands and started out the door. As I closed it I could see Mr. Gottkin opening a drawer in his desk and taking something out of it. He began to raise it toward his mouth.

Just then the sub pushed past me on his way into the office. “Give me
some of that,” he said as the door shut. “I never want to go through another minute like that again.”

Gottkin’s voice boomed through the closed door. “That Fisher kid’s a natural fighter. Did you see——?”

I looked up self-consciously. My former opponent was waiting for me. Awkwardly I took his arm and together we walked back to the volley-ball game.

I
STOOD
impatiently on the corner of Bedford and Church Avenues behind the school waiting for Paul. The clock in the drugstore window across the street showed a quarter after three. I’d give him five more minutes, then I’d start for home without him.

I was still tingling with a new excitement. The news of my fight in the gym had run through the school like wildfire. All the boys were treating me with a new respect and the girls were looking at me with a curiously restrained awareness. Several times I had overheard groups of people talking about me.

A Ford roadster pulled to the kerb in front of me and honked its horn. I looked up at it.

“Hey, Fisher, come over here,” Mr. Gottkin was leaning out of the car.

Slowly I walked toward him. What did he want now?

He opened the door. “Hop in,” he invited. “I’ll drive yuh home.”

I looked at the clock quickly and made up my mind. Paul would have to walk home alone. I got into the car silently.

“Which way do you go?” Mr. Gottkin asked in a friendly voice as he pulled the car away from the kerb.

“Over to Clarendon.”

We rode a few blocks in silence. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He must have had a reason for picking me up. I wondered when he was going to talk. Suddenly he slowed the car and pulled toward the kerb.

A young woman was walking there. Gottkin leaned out of the car and shouted after her. “Hey, Ceil!”

She stopped to look back at us and I recognized her: Miss Schindler, the art teacher. Her class was one of the most popular in school. The
girls couldn’t understand why all the boys suddenly signed for art in the third term, but I could. Next term I would be in her class.

She had dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a soft tan skin. She had been to Paris to study, and the boys said she never wore a brassiere. I had heard them talking about how she looked when she bent over their desks.

“Oh, it’s you, Sam,” she said, smiling and walking back toward the car.

“Hop in, Ceil,” he urged her. “I’ll take you home.” He turned to me. “Shove over, kid,” he told me. “Make room for her.”

I moved closer to him, and Miss Schindler sat down beside me and closed the door. There was just room enough for the three of us on the seat. I could feel the press of her thigh against me. I stole a look at her out of the corner of my eyes. The boys were right. I shifted uncomfortably.

Gottkin’s voice was louder than usual. “Where you been keepin’ yourself, baby?”

Her voice was low. “Around, Sam,” she answered evasively, looking at me.

Gottkin caught her look. “You know Miss Schindler, Fisher?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“This is Danny Fisher,” he said to her.

She turned to me, curiosity in her eyes. “You’re the boy who had the fight in school today?” she said half-questioningly.

“You know’ about it?” Gottkin sounded surprised.

“It’s all over the school, Sam,” she replied in a peculiar tone of voice. “Your boy here is the most famous man in the place today.”

I fought back an impulse to smile proudly.

“You can’t keep anything quiet in that place,” Gottkin grumbled. “If the old man gets wind of it, I’m sunk.”

Miss Schindler looked at him. “That’s what I always told you, Sam,” she said in the same peculiar tone of voice. “Teachers can’t lead their own lives.”

I looked up at her quickly, puzzled.

She caught my glance and her face flushed. “I heard it was quite a fight,” she said.

I didn’t answer. I had the idea she wasn’t really interested in the fight.

Gottkin answered for me. “It was. Fisher got off the floor and knocked the other kid for a loop. Yuh never seen nothin’ like it.”

There was a shadow in her dark eyes. “You can’t forget what you were once,” she said bitterly, “can you, Sam?”

He didn’t answer.

She spoke again, her voice unchanged. “You can let me out here, Sam. This is my corner.”

Silently he stopped the car. She got out and leaned over the running board to us. “Nice to meet you, Danny”—she smiled pleasantly—“And try not to get in any more fights. So long, Sam.” She turned and walked away. She had a nice walk too.

I turned back to the P.T. teacher. He was staring after her
thoughtfully
, his lips tight across his teeth. He put the car into gear. “If you got a few minutes to spare, kid,” he said, “I’d like you to come over to my place. I got somethin’ I want to show you.”

“Okay, Mr. Gottkin,” I replied, my curiosity returning in full force.

I followed him through the basement entrance of a small two-family house. Gottkin pointed at a door. “Go in there, kid,” he told me. “I’ll be with yuh in a minute.”

I watched him run up the steps to the upper floor, then turned and went into the room he had indicated. I could hear faint voices upstairs as I opened the door. I stopped in the doorway and gaped at the room. It was fixed up as a small but complete gym—parallel bars,
punching-bag
, horse, chinning-bar, weights. On a small leather couch against the wall were several pairs of boxing gloves. Photographs were scattered all around the walls of the room. I went over to look at them. They were pictures of Mr. Gottkin, but he looked different. He wore trunks and boxing gloves and on his face a menacing scowl. I hadn’t known he was a fighter.

A telephone on a small table near the couch began to ring. I looked at it hesitantly. It rang again. I didn’t know whether to answer it or not. When it rang once more, I picked up the receiver. As I was just about to speak, I heard Mr. Gottkin’s voice answer. There must have been an extension upstairs.

I listened. I had never used an extension before and I was afraid to hang up for fear I’d disconnect the call. A woman’s voice was talking now. “Sam,” she was saying, “you’re a damn’ fool for picking me up with that kid in the car.”

I recognized that voice too. I kept on listening.

Gottkin’s voice had a pleading sound in it. “But, baby,” he said, “I couldn’t stand it any more. I gotta see yuh. I’m goin’ crazy, I tell yuh.”

Miss Schindler’s voice was hard. “I said we were through and I meant it. I was crazy to start up with you anyway. If Jeff ever found out, we’d all be washed up.”

“Baby, he’d never find out. He’s too busy with his classes. He don’t even know what day it is. I don’t know how you ever came to marry that lunkhead anyway.”

“He’s not as crazy as you are, Sam. Jeff Rosen will be Principal some day. He’ll get further than you,” she said defensively. “You’ll wind up getting thrown out.”

Gottkin sounded more sure of himself now. “But, baby, he pays you no mind. With night school an’ all, he’s got no time to keep a real woman like you happy.”

“Sam!” she said, protesting weakly.

His voice was strong on the phone. “Remember what you said the last time, Ceil? How it was with us? There was never anything like it. Remember, you said so yourself? I remember. Come on over, baby. I want you.”

“I can’t, Sam.” Her voice was pleading now. “I said——”

“I don’t care what you said, Ceil,” he interrupted. “Come on over. I’ll leave the downstairs door open and you can duck right in.”

There was a moment’s pause, then her voice came heavily through the receiver: “Do you love me, Sam?”

“Like mad, baby.” Gottkin’s voice was roughly tender. “Like mad. Yuh comin’ over?”

I could almost hear her hesitation, then her voice came through softly, “I’ll be there in half an hour, Sam.”

“I’ll be waitin’, baby.” Gottkin sounded like he was smiling.

“I love you, Sam,” I heard her say, and then the phone clicked dead in my hand. They had hung up. I put the receiver back on the hook. Outside on the stairs I heard footsteps and turned back to the pictures on the wall.

The door opened behind me and I turned around. “Mr. Gottkin,” I said, “I didn’t know you were a fighter.”

His face was flushed. He glanced at the telephone quickly, then back at me. “Yeah,” he answered. “I wanted to show yuh my stuff, an’ if yuh was interested, I’d give yuh some lessons. I think yuh got the makin’s of a great fighter, kid.”

“Gee, Mr. Gottkin, I’d like that,” I said quickly. “You want to start now?”

“I’d like to, kid”—he sounded embarrassed—“but some unexpected business just came up an’ I can’t. I’ll let you know in class to-morrow when we can start.”

“Aw, gee, Mr. Gottkin,” I said disappointedly.

He put his hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the door, “I’m sorry, kid, but it’s business. You understand?”

I smiled at him from the doorway. “Sure, Mr. Gottkin, I
understand
. To-morrow’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, kid. To-morrow.” Mr. Gottkin quickly closed the door.

I ducked quickly across the street and up a driveway. I sat down where I could watch his door and waited. About fifteen minutes passed before she came walking down the street.

She was walking quickly, not looking around until she reached his door. Then she glanced up and down the street and ducked into the door, closing it behind her.

I sat there another few minutes before I got up. Mr. Gottkin would be surprised if he knew just how much I understood. What a day this had been! First the fight in school, now this. And Miss Schindler was married to Mr. Rosen in the math. department, too. There was a new feeling of power in me. One word from me and they were all through.

There was a fire hydrant in my path. I leapfrogged over it easily. Boy, was I glad Paul had been late!