B.u.g. Big Ugly Guy (9781101593523) (20 page)

25.

Sammy Confesses All (Sort Of)

Erik was just coming to as Sammy knelt by him. He was rubbing the back of his head. “Ow.”

Sammy could see a giant bump forming there.

“Give me a hand up, will ya?”

Sammy reached out, then, realizing how big Erik was, gave him
both
hands.

“That cousin of yours can sure fight,” Erik said. He'd finally managed to get to his feet with Sammy's help. “Might want to let him know I'm on your side.”

“Are you?” Sammy bit his lip. “On
my
side?”

Erik didn't stop to think before answering. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Trying to take a step, Erik wobbled. Sammy steadied him, throwing an arm around him for support. Though if Erik had actually collapsed, Sammy wasn't sure he could hold him up.

“What about when James Lee comes back?” Sammy asked. “Are you still on my side then?”

Erik didn't get a chance to answer. In words. But Sammy got his answer anyway, because just then James Lee came charging back into the bathroom. His face was somehow transformed. He didn't have his normal bully's sneer on. Instead, he looked angry and shamed and fearful. And moving fast.

Like he doesn't want to come back here and face Gully, but would rather do that than go home and face his father,
Sammy thought.

True to his word, Erik shrugged off Sammy's assistance, pushing him back.

“James Lee . . .” he began, trying to step between Sammy and James Lee, but—still woozy from the blow to the head—he swayed hard left and James Lee shouldered him aside.

Sammy felt like things were moving in slow motion. He saw Erik fall again, saw James Lee closing in, his big fists clenched, his eyes scrunched up tight.

And I'm all alone this time. Gully's gone. Erik's down. Skink's off celebrating.

Sammy raised alarmingly small fists and stood his ground. He didn't feel brave, but there was nowhere else to go.

James Lee stepped forward and threw a hard overhand right at Sammy's nose.

In return, Sammy threw a punch of his own, an untrained uppercut that had no hope of landing, and even less hope of doing any damage if it did. He closed his eyes as he swung but instead of the expected pain of a broken nose, he felt a sharp sting in the knuckles of his right hand. He opened his eyes just in time to see James Lee falling to the ground!

Things moved very fast then. James Lee may have been down, but he was far from out. And Sammy was so stunned to have thrown a punch that landed, he just stood there staring at his momentarily downed assailant.

James Lee began to scramble to his feet, the sound coming from his mouth was more like a beast's than a human's.

Sammy guessed—
no he knew
—his end was in sight. He wondered how his parents' would take it. Tears prickled his eyes.

Suddenly there was another person in the bathroom, moving with such speed that Sammy hardly recognized him.

Suddenly, James Lee was back on the ground, but this time he was entangled in a strange hold that involved legs and feet and his arm bent back at a near-impossible angle.

Suddenly, Sammy heard a familiar voice.

“Shalom aleichem,”
Reb Chaim said to Sammy. Then to James Lee, “Don't move, son, or I'll have to break your arm.”

“Aleichem shalom,”
Sammy said automatically, though even to him it seemed an odd thing to say under the circumstances.

“The police are on their way,” Reb Chaim said to him, but it was James Lee who answered.

“For what?” His voice was pinched and tense from obvious pain.

But he doesn't sound defeated,
Sammy thought.

Reb Chaim chuckled. “To arrest you, I imagine. Kids started showing up in the gym hurt bad, and someone called the cops.” He looked up at Sammy. “I was wrong to leave you alone to deal with this, Samson.” Nodding his head toward the pile of gray dust on the bathroom floor, he said, “But it looks like you did just fine on your own.”

“Hardest thing, Rabbi, hardest thing I ever did in my life,” Sammy said, “but then you'd know about that.”

The rabbi looked down and nodded.

At that Sammy glanced down, too, at the pile of dust in front of him He felt a huge pang of sadness.
Gully!
And then he saw what the rabbi had seen—a long, strange skid mark in the clay dust.

Suddenly smiling, Sammy realized just why it was he'd been able to connect when he threw that punch. James Lee must have slipped and skidded in the dust, his nose landing right on Sammy's fist.

But wasn't the dust behind me when James Lee came in?
He laughed out loud.
Of course it was!

Reb Chaim and Erik both looked at him strangely.

“You were right about golems, Rabbi,” Sammy said. “But you were wrong about Gully. He protected me right to the very end. Even when it was himself he had to protect me from.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Sammy,” Erik said, finally standing up by himself. “Gully's nowhere in sight. How could he have helped you?”

“Maybe I'll tell you later.”

“Not going to be any later, dude. I'm taking off before the cops show up.” Erik's hands were trembling, but whether from fear or just the aftermath of the blow to his head, Sammy couldn't be sure.

“And why would you want to do that, young man?” Reb Chaim asked.

This bathroom is getting downright crowded,
Sammy thought.
And very strange. It's getting harder and harder to tell the good guys from the bad guys, whether they're standing on the left or on the right.

Then suddenly the cop Sammy had met in Skink's hospital room was there with two other officers. Their hands were near their guns, and they looked around the room with suspicion.

“Sir,” said one of the other cops to Reb Chaim, “let go of that young man right now and place your hands on top of your head.”

“Wait,” Sammy said as the rabbi did as instructed, and James Lee sprang to his feet. “Don't arrest him! Arrest
him
!” He pointed at James Lee.

“For what?” James Lee grinned at Sammy. “I didn't do anything.”

“For . . . for . . .” Sammy stuttered.

“For assault,” Erik said.

The cop from the hospital said, “He assault you? Because this kid,” he gestured toward Sammy, “looks fine.” His mouth curled into something like a grin. “If slightly wet.”

Sammy realized how crazy it would sound if he tried to explain what had happened there. Even if he substituted a nonexistent cousin for a golem, they wouldn't believe him. He might even end up arrested for all the kids Gully had beaten up!

“Not me,” Erik said, “and him.” He glanced at Sammy and shot him a small smile. “But me and James Lee Joliette and a few other guys beat up a boy called Skink pretty bad the other day. I think you guys heard about that. We were wearing Power Rangers masks.”

“You willing to testify to that?” the cop asked.

Erik nodded.

Sammy gulped. “You sure, Erik?”

Erik looked grim and vaguely heroic. “I told you I was on your side.”

The cop from the hospital nodded to the officers who'd been about to put a pair of handcuffs on Reb Chaim. “These two,” he said, inclining his head toward Erik and James Lee. “Get them down to the station.” He turned to Sammy. “I'd appreciate you and your friend coming with your parents so we can talk about what happened that day.” He looked around the bathroom, taking in the blood and dust on the floor. “And what happened here tonight, as well.”

“Yes, officer,” Sammy said, though he wasn't sure what he would tell him.
Maybe Reb Chaim will have some advice. Isn't that what rabbis are for, anyway?

The cops took James Lee and Erik away with Reb Chaim close behind. Sammy stumbled out after them, his mind awhirl with conflicting emotions.

Suddenly Skink appeared, asking what had happened. Julia, too, putting a hand out toward him, but not actual touching his arm.

“Are you okay, Sammy?” she asked. “I swear if you're hurt, I'm going to eviscerate James Lee.”

“Good word,” Sammy said. “Bad idea.”

And then they were all laughing, and Sammy was telling them how Erik tried to save him, and that Gully was the one who did the deed.

“But he's . . .” Sammy's voice cracked slightly, “gone now.”

“Gone?” Julia asked.

Gone. Such a short, nothing word. Four letters, one syllable. And yet it hurts so much.

Sammy nodded and
searched for a lie to tell them, something that would explain why Gully had been here one moment and gone the next. But not only couldn't he think of a believable tale, he also realized he didn't want to lie to his friends anymore.

Yet if I tell them the truth, can they handle it?
He shook his head. They might think he was crazy, and he might lose them because of that.
But . . . I need to be truthful or I'm not being a
real
friend.

He drew himself up.
Crazy time!
he told himself, trusting them to understand.

“Gone back to the Czech Republic?” Julia asked.

“Farther than that,” he told them. “But let me tell you where he came from before I tell you where he's gone . . .”

And slowly, painstakingly, openly he did.

That they believed what he said—and later Erik did, too—amazed him. But they'd all seen Gully in action on the drums, in the classroom, and Erik had remembered a bit of what Gully had done in the bathroom. A little, but not the last bit, not when he'd been turned into clay dust. Telling that was the hardest part of all, especially with the clay still coating his shoes, his jeans. But with a catch in his throat, Sammy made it through the telling.

They were all silent for a moment before Julia said, “There was always something
otherworldly
about him. I never really thought he was from the Czech Republic actually.” Then she smiled.

It was,
Sammy thought,
a friend's forgiving smile
.

“Otherworldly,” Skink agreed. “Or maybe
Under
worldly.”

It was their last word on the subject then, but not the final word. Sammy had that, months later, at his bar mitzvah.

26.

Sammy's Bar Mitzvah Speech
and What Happened After

“Shabbat shalom, everybody. It is a wonder that I am here today at all, as my parents and Reb Chaim can attest.
Attest
—that's a great word. I collect great words. Attest means to affirm or assert or authenticate. And my parents and Reb Chaim can do all that about how I got to this place and this space.

“I have a story to tell you. It has to do with my namesake, Samson of the Bible, and the story of Samson which is my Torah portion as well.

“When Samson was born, his mother was so happy, she promised an angel she would raise him as a Nazirite. Now that's a word I had to look up. Nazirites were consecrated to God. As a sign of this consecration, they never ever cut their hair. In exchange, they sometimes got extraordinary powers. The angel promised Samson's mother that Samson would become very strong—the strongest man in the world—and help deliver the Israelites from the hands of the Philistines who ruled them.

“Well, as Samson grew up, he turned into a truly big, powerful guy. Nobody messed with him. The Torah says he single-handedly killed over a thousand Philistines in a battle using just the jawbone of a dead donkey. Wow! That was a big deal. For the man
and
for the donkey. And I guess, for all those dead Philistines and their families, too.

“For twenty years, Samson led the Israelites. He was considered by them to be a good man, a fair man, as well as a strong man. The Philistines sure didn't think of him that way. That's what happens with power.

“In some ways Samson was the Israelites' golem. I doubt you all know about golems. The golem was a man made of clay and then animated by the name of God, and his only task was to save the Jews of old Prague who were being beaten and imprisoned and murdered just for being Jewish. Maybe the story of the golem was simply a folktale about power, power wielded at the start for the good. A folktale. Or a parable. Or a fantasy story. Or all three.”

Sammy paused for a deep breath, looked over at the rabbi who nodded and mouthed, “Good point.”

“The problem is
that
kind of power corrupts. The abused person wants one good day, one day without abuse. Reb Chaim told me this. He said about the Prague golem, that ‘one good day turns into a thousand bad ones.' He meant that relying on someone else to fight your battles means that you are beholden to evil.

“So was Samson right to lead the Jews against an oppressor? Absolutely. Was he right to kill a thousand men? That's where things get fuzzy. Is killing an enemy
always
good? And what is an enemy, really, but a friend you haven't yet made. What if instead of
killing
those thousand men, Samson had laid down the jawbone and invited them to a conversation? Trading jawbones, you might say? I don't know. We only have that Biblical tale. The other side of it . . .” Sammy shrugged. “Well, that's all rabbinical commentary.

“And the reason I tell you this story? I was in a situation where I was oppressed. You all know
that
word. It means downtrodden, abused, helpless, mistreated. I was bullied in school. Bullied because I was smart and mouthy and small. An easy target. Bullies love to pick on anyone different and I was certainly different. I was the Other.

“After the third or fifth time my head had been pushed into the toilet—

“I hear you gasping, but I mean that literally for I got to know the toilet in the boys' room at my high school intimately. By the third or fifth time I knew what I wanted. I wanted a golem to be my protector. A Samson. A big guy carrying the jawbone of a donkey.

“What I found instead were friends. And we founded a band, a klezmer/jazz/pop/rock fusion band. In making music, we found our own kind of power. Creativity
is
power. Friendship
is
power.

“So, I'd like to call up those friends now, and we will play two songs for you here. The first is about power. When I asked if we could do so, Reb Chaim reminded me that King David himself sang and danced before the ark of God, so it's not a disrespectful thing to do up here on the
bimah
. Though we'll do it unplugged. After all, I promised my mom.

“The song ‘
Power
!' has two new verses, which I've written just for this speech, and even the band hasn't heard them yet. The new words go like this:

 

But power when it's not in check

Can leave your life an awful wreck,

Turns success right into drek.

Power!

 

With love and friendship, side by side,

We can find a better guide,

Not just with power, but with pride.

Power!

 

“The second song is about
mitzvah
—which means a good deed. And
tzedakah
, which is about charity and mercy and doing something for all the underprivileged in the world, which is really what a bar mitzvah should be about. And when we're done, you're all invited to my bar mitzvah lunch in the rooms below. After eating, we'll play some more for you. Plugged this time. Sorry, Mom, but it's
my
party and
my
band!

“Oh—and as part of the good deeds we are asked to do in honor of a bar mitzvah, I have talked the band into playing once a month for free in nursing homes and for children in hospitals in the area. I have already set that up, and we have twelve free gigs in as many months ahead. You can find out all about that at your seat downstairs. My principal, Mr. Kraft, helped us get in touch with all those places. And if you want to add some money to give to the hospitals and nursing homes, there are envelopes by every place setting, and we will pick those up and distribute those as well.

“So, Julia and Skink and Erik—come on up. Skink plays guitar, Erik is on drums. Julia—she's the pretty one on fiddle. And I'm on clarinet.

“And we are BUG. You will find out why later.

“As a friend of mine—a real good friend to all of us in the band—used to say,
Shalom aleichem
.”

As Julia and Skink and Erik took their places on the bimah, Sammy stepped forward to adjust his microphone. Erik raised his drumsticks and started the count.

“One, two, three . . .”

Mitzvah

 

The bigger the hole,

The longer to fill.

The deeper the valley,

The higher the hill.

The wider the longing,

The louder the cry.

Who's willing to help?

I am.

And I.

 

The bigger the bully,

The weaker the boy.

The greater the sorrow,

The better the joy.

The harder the hardship,

The more we must try.

Who's willing to help?

I am.

And I.

 

Chorus:

 

There's not enough time

To fill every hole;

Not enough tzedakah

For every soul.

But the greater the need,

The more we must try.

Who's willing to help?

I am.

And I.

 

The wider the sea,

The smaller the boat.

The greater the need,

The weaker the hope.

The longer the illness,

The sooner you die.

Who's willing to help?

I am.

And I.

 

The littler the child,

The larger the love.

The bigger the eagle,

The smaller the dove.

The farther we go,

The nearer we get.

The greater the stakes,

The more we must bet.

 

Who's willing to help?

I am.

And I.

And I!

AND I!

 

EVERYBODY:

 

WHO'S WILLING TO HELP SAY—

AND I!!

 

Bobby Marstall stood up first. Then one by one so did each of the kids from the seventh and eighth grades, all of whom had come to the bar mitzvah. They shouted out, “And I!”

After that, the Big Cheese and Ms. Holsten stood and called out, “And I!”

Next Sammy's mother and father, tears running down their cheeks, stood up. And Sammy's uncle Freddy, the musician who'd come all the way from Hartford. And the major and the general, both clapping loudly, Julia Nathanson's two moms, and Erik's dad. And then everyone in the congregation.

From the far side of the
bima
h, Reb Chaim came over and whispered to Sammy, “And I.” Then he raised his hands above his head and began to sway.

Sammy nodded and was about to play a trill that signaled the last chorus, when he heard a deep, uninflected echo from somewhere overhead.

“And I.”

Gully
? Sammy waited,
but there was nothing more.

He turned and looked at the band. Julia was smiling. Skink nodded and mouthed, “
Aleichem
, buddy.” Erik hit his drumsticks together. “Thanks. God speed, Bugman.”

With a smile, Sammy blew one last, long note that slid up and up and up like an angel winging toward heaven. Then he led his band into the final chorus.